Spring Hiking: Winsor Trail & Raven's Ridge to Deception Peak

July 10, 2022

Stone Mother, by Tanaya Winder

I was born in the desert

learned to cherish water

like it was created from tears.

I grew up hearing the legend, the lesson

of the Stone Mother who cried

enough cries to make an entire lake
from sadness. From her, we learned
what must be done and that the sacrifices
you make for your people are sacred.
We are all related
and sometimes it takes
a revolution to be awakened.

You see, the power of a single tear lies in the story.

It’s birthed from feeling and following

the pain as it echoes into the canyon of grieving.
It’s the path you stumble and walk
until you push and claw your way through to acceptance.
For us, stories have always been for lessons.

It was a spring of grief and sadness in New Mexico as forest fires ravaged hundreds of thousands of acres of land. Homes were burned to the ground, lives were lost, and sacred land that has been a part of the culture and the identity of this region was damaged beyond repair. The Calf Canyon/Hermit's Peak officially became the largest in state history and some parts of the state may never fully recover.

For much of the spring, the land was parched and cracked, the trees thirsty for hydration. My tulips and irises, which are usually so low maintenance that they bloom beautifully without a single thought, didn't even attempt to sprout this year. Leaves on the trees drooped drearily and lilacs, normally aromatic and bright, never reached their vibrancy and fragrance. Even though the fire was many miles away from my neighborhood, there were days when we would open the front door and instantly met the smell of burning wood, like an ominous bonfire. I had never seen the sky the color it was when the smoke was thick, and the kids would come inside with itchy eyes and dry mouths after playing.

Because of the extreme fire danger that persisted for weeks, our National Parks were closed. For the first time in the (almost) 11 years we have called New Mexico home, we faced spring and early summer without access to trails for hiking and biking. It's a very small price to pay in the grand scheme of the loss of life and land, but I didn't realize how much the access to the forest and the nearness of the mountains meant to me living here until it was no longer there.

When I caught word of the impending forest closure, I committed a day to one last trail run of spring and a hike to the top of Deception Peak. I was craving the feel of the mountain air in my lungs, the sounds of the birds and the wind in the trees, and the view of the world from 12,000ft, one last time before the forest closed for who knows how long. It's funny how we appreciate things so much more when they are fleeting. I also hoped to be able to see the Hermit's Peak fire while looking down into the Pecos Wilderness from the top of the peak and to appreciate the proximity of fire first-hand.

My day started with a trail run along the Winsor trail, one of my favorite stretches of trail in the forest. It begins with switchbacks up hill to the Pecos Wilderness fence, followed by a long gradual descent along the narrow trail toward Puerto Nambe. I love the part of the trail when the pine trees open up to the brightness of the white bark of the Aspen trees. In springtime there were still patches of snow in the shade, and I was surprised to see so much precipitation, snowmelt, running water, and fresh buds sprouting despite the roaring fires on the other side of the mountain range. The sprouting plants and budding branches brought hope for new life and rebirth.

After a run, I hiked up Raven's Ridge toward Deception Peak, a climb I have done just a handful of times but which always seems so much longer and steeper than I remember. My muscles were sore and my lungs were burning. I had to pass through snow that was still several feet deep (I wish I had worn long pants!), making the trail difficult to find sometimes, and I ended up winding around in circles and backtracking a few times to find the path. Finally the summit was visible and I made it up the final climb above the tree line. The incredible views from the top of a mountain bring such an overwhelming feeling of inadequacy and connection to the greater world that I wonder how different the world might be if everyone took the time to do it once in a while.

I made my way back down the ridge toward the trailhead, encountering only a few other hikers on the trail that day, probably all out there with the same purpose of spending a few precious hours in the forest before the trails closed. A few days later, in the midst of the uncontrolled forest fires, the national forest and local trails closed for the rest of the season.