Grants, New Mexico?

Moving on toward home, we departed Santa Fe for a few days stopover in Grants.  Why does anyone vacation in Grants?  Turns out there were a few things we wanted to check out in that neighborhood.  A short drive on moving day allowed us to have a late afternoon drive up Mt. Taylor and a brisk hike.

Road access took us to about 9,300 feet elevation; from there, we climbed another 500 or so feet on the washed-out rocky trail.  Even blindfolded, it would have been obvious we were at an elevation to which our lungs were not accustomed.  It was beautifully forested on that mountain slope: we had plenty of time to admire our surroundings because we stopped often to catch our breath.

We attained enough height to see the summit, but we dared not go further so late in the day lest we have to make our descent in the dark.

 

We were traversing a trail that will be the route for an annual 50K run next week.  Curiosity demanded that I look up past race results.  Last year, male runners did it in less than five hours, and females in less than six!  The señor opined that we could do it in three days; I'm not certain we could make it at all.

Cougar country . . .

Glad I didn't notice that sign until we were back at the truck.  My head would have been on more of a swivel than it was.

War in the West - too many battlefields . . .

Before we began our way back home, we spent our final day in Santa Fe visiting two sites of interest: the Civil War battlefield at Glorieta Pass, and Pecos Pueblo.  

Bureaucracy strikes . . .

The battlefield site is allied by the feds with Pecos Pueblo - one visitors center and more than its share of federal government idiocy.

The only facility at the Glorieta site is a bathroom.  The gate to the parking lot is kept locked, and one must get the gate code at the pueblo site.  There is no charge, no ID required, and no reason whatsoever for the gate to be locked, but some bureaucrat somewhere deemed it must be.  Without the code, anyone can park outside the gate and walk a few feet for the same access.  The inanity continues: those with the gate code are admonished to relock the gate behind them.

I admit I carried on for a spell about the absurdity, but finally settled into the walk through the woods.  Although we were deep in thick piñon/juniper forest with almost no views beyond, we learned by interpretative signage that at the time of the Battle of Gloriieta Pass, the area was quite different.

The 1862 Battle of Glorieta Pass took place on range land between two historic ranch headquarters - Pigeon's & Johhnson's; at that time, the land had been cleared of trees for building timber and firewood.

Several skirmishes occurred between federal troops and Texas military over the course of three days, with the southerners finally being repulsed in their efforts to gain territory for the Confederacy. 

Although mostly obscured by brush, we spotted bits and pieces of remains from ranching operations, but little else of interest.  Although signage explained about what occurred at various places along the trail, it was hard to envision because of everything being so closed in.

It was a good workout walk, one of quite a few we've gotten on this trip.  Back on the road - the old Santa Fe Trail/old Route 66, we stopped near the only remaining structure from Pigeon's Ranch, which had been quite a large waystop on the trail.

This 1880 photo by Ben Wittick shows an entirely different scene than what we encountered. 

Now, the highway guardrail is so close to the adobe building that it requires a life-threatening dash across the road with a leap (more like a tortured scramble in our case) over the railing.  At that point, one must try not to notice that vehicles are speeding past mere inches away while one is attempting to lean back far enough to take a photo.

Got 'er done, for no particular reason really, but it was there and I had to do it.

This is what we call the Kelley stance: in my family when in proximity to an abandoned building, we must do several things - 1. Take photos always, 2. Peer into every window, 3. Try every door, and if unlocked, enter.

 

After risking life & limb by reclimbing the guard rail and dashing back across the road, we discovered the most amazing well I've ever seen.  It was about 15 feet across with a rock wall built around its perimeter and sides reinforced with rock.  Must have been a bear to construct - very impressive!  Water was standing about 20 feet down.

The tragedy of Pecos Pueblo . . . 

Near where the Glorieta battle occurred eons later,  an ancient dwelling site was constructed along and on a long ridge rising above the surrounding land at a major cultural crossroads of indigenous people.  Known as Cicuye Pueblo, the native name for Pecos Pueblo, the site was occupied as early as 1100 AD, eventually growing to house 2,000 people as a major trade center.

Coronado's expedition arrived at the complex in 1540; the first of a series of Spanish missiions was constructed in 1619, destroyed like so many others during the Pueblo Revolt of 1680 and rebuilt later.

There are at least 40 kivas at the once-five-story village of  Cicuye.  We walked the self-guided tour and entered one of the kivas.  This time, we were allowed to take photographs of the interior.

 

 

 

From high on the ridgetop, the views are of surrounding countryside and Glorieta Mesa. 

 

 

 

The pueblo flourished for eons before disease and warfare tolled its demise; the last twenty surviving inhabitants moved to live with their kin at Jemez Pueblo in 1838.  Broken potsherds - evidence of its habitation - are amply strewn everywhere on the ground.

Although the huge once-thriving center is now only a long high rubble heap, ruins of the Spanish mission stand as a stark reminder of conflict; ironic, in that the mission ruins are a symbol of the disease and loss of agricultural land to Spanish settlers that ultimately was the downfall of Cicuye.

Wandering through time

Some years back when we were cruising through this neck of the woods, we paused for a delightful soak in the warm mineral water of Jemez Hot Springs, formerly known as Giggling Spring.  Memories and proximity induced us to determine whether you can indeed go back.

The answer was a big positive: turns out the hot springs have expanded their soaking opportunities and their facilities while retaining the casual laid-back atmosphere that we remembered.  The clientele there is a bit different than many other hot springs, in that it's a place much used by residents of the area rather than being a destination.

We quite enjoyed the pleasant experience and quiet conversations, also the indulgence of a raspberry smoothie afterwards.  In my defense, another couple ordered and savored them right in front of me, so what's a person to do.

The old bathhouse still stands (well, leans might be a better description) where it has been since the 1800s.  It was in use until 1941 when it was damaged by floods.  The Jemez River flows along the perimeter of the property.  Its sign advertises "sulphur" baths - interesting because the mineral springs are not sulfurous - presumably it just sounded like a good promotion.

 

 

As the hot spring water flows, it creates build-ups of colorful and interesting mineral deposits.

Rock dam, aging . . .

Those same mineral deposits that we see at developed hot springs created a rock dam on the river nearby into a gigantic fantasmagorical shape as the water continues to seep and drip and run out higher and higher from its own creation.

The river has cut its way under one end of the dam where it gushes and cascades through its opening and where folks make their perilous way across the current to enjoy the warm spring on the other side.  We watched as one child was swept off his feet and saved by an adult clutching his life vest.  I was semi-tempted, but the señor had better sense.

We did climb up into the caves and overhangs of the natural structure.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

Perhaps a little more foolhardy endeavor was when we climbed up on top of the long structure.  I was wearing slippy-soled shoes which made the adventure a bit more precarious.  My sense of self does not know that I am old; however, it must be quite obvious to people around me (duh!).  I am charmed by the number of younger folks who offer to give me a hand, or ask if I'm okay when I appear to teeter a bit.  I appreciate their solicitousness; some of it must be a result of my caution.  I clearly do not bound over tall buildings nor do I leap and cavort quite like I did in the past.  Is my caution a result of age, or is it a holdover from the tib/fib ankle dislocation that I incurred a few years back?  I am unsure, but certainly I do exercise more vigilance than previously. 

The next photo is along the top of the rock dam; water flows through the crack along its length . . .

  

. . . and seeps out and over the top of its mineral accumulation at the end where it towers over the river's cascade.  The awesome sight made me glad I did the climb, although I was somewhat less glad when I have to make my way back down. 

  

Across the road, we found this oily looking stream of hot water flowing lazily to reach the river further downstream.

 

 Jemez historic site, Giusewa Pueblo . . .

Although we'd been in that region previously, we had not stopped at the Jemez Historic Site.  While I admire the beauty of the ruins with their interesting textures and historic appeal, the atrocities that occurred there and other similar places casts a pall over the experience.  It is easy to marvel at the wonder of the ancient pueblos; however, the warfare, subjugation and enslavement of the native peoples is abhorrent.

The Jemez site includes archaeological remains of the 16-century Native American Giusewa Pueblo and the 17-century Spanish colonial mission, San José de los Jémez.  The pueblo was described by Spanish explorers as early as 1581, likely established in the second half of the 15th century.

A small Spanish mission was established next to the pueblo in 1598; the main church was completed in 1623, constructed by slave labor of the indigenous people.  It and many other Spanish missions in the Southwest were damaged during the pueblo revolt of 1680, at which time Giusewa was abandoned.  The site is an ancestral home of the nearby Jemez people.  We were allowed to enter the kiva, considered sacred, but not to take photographs inside.

 

 

 

I admired the small garden at the site, but was sorry it had only two of the traditional three sisters of native gardens: corn, beans & squash.

Plans evolve . . .

As usual, we anticipated doing much more than our allotted time allowed, often because we can't resist other things as we go along, as in the Jemez site, an unplanned stop.  This was our second time at the incredibly vast Valles Caldera and the second time we have not done any exploration within its depths.

We did manage to drive into it near day's end; it is high on my list of places I want to investigate more thoroughly.

The volcanic crater is nearly 14 miles across; a herd of 100 or so elk we saw from the rim are next to invisible within it.

 

Within the caldera's depths are numerous streams and other hot water sources.

Love me some critters (except the RV-gas-line-eating type).

White Rock overlook . . .

Some folks we met casually were from White Rock, not far from the hot springs, and encouraged us to stop at the Rio Grande River overlook.  We were happy to have that encouragement, and were amazed at the beautiful views from that high vantage.  As a result of the recent rainstorms and the resultant runoff, the water had the appearance of a thick chocolate malt.

I am attacked . . .

There I was one casual morning innocently folding up the beach towels that had been drying on our lawn chairs when I began to yell, hop, scream, stomp and jump up & down from pain.  "Something bit me", I screeched, without a clue to what was causing my pain.  Chris had been stung by one years previously and thus spotted the culprit quickly: unbelievably, it was an innocent appearing caterpillar that I must have touched without ever seeing it on the towel.

Although the pain on my hand continued for quite some time, accompanied by my ongoing carryings-on, the señor managed to get a photo of the poisonous culprit.  I am here to say it was excruciating!  Not an experience I care to repeat.

  

Bird shenanigans . . .

I shot a pic of one of the jays flapping frantically as he attempted to nab seeds from a feeder that doesn't accommodate his size . . .

 . . . and another of rock doves that have chosen one particular sign as their roosting place - hilarious, and undoubtedly messy down below.