Sleep was interrupted by strange dreams and waking up in a momentary panic, thinking I had fallen asleep and missed the CDTC ferry. When 5 a.m. rolled around, I couldn’t tell how many hours I had actually slept. I had triple checked and packed my gear and food the night before. It was a grab and go morning.
I left my room at the Econo Lodge and stopped by the hiker box in the lobby to drop off extra food and Ziplock bags I didn’t need. The air was fresh. The sky was dark and the city was silent, except for the sound of traffic on Interstate 10. I arrived at the ferry location fifteen minutes early. Shortly after, the driver, Clint, arrived.
The Continental Divide Trail Coalition Ferry.
He verified who I was, gave me a CDT tag and a summary of what was next. I decided to take advantage of some porcelain one last time before the next four or five days of digging cat burrows.
When I returned, the rest of the group had arrived. A Kentucky couple looking to secure their Triple Crown. I quickly filled out a postcard for my roommate in Pennsylvania:
«I made it. See you in September.
—Murph
The black hue slowly gave way to a deep red as we left Lordsburg. Interstate 10 to state highways, to county roads, to dirt roads dug on Bureau of Land Management land. Along the way, Clint pointed out the water tanks visible from the road. They would be a lifeline for the next hundred miles from the terminal to Lordsburg.
When the sun fully rose, it revealed the true scale of the Chihuahuan Desert, the largest hot desert in North America. “A true desert,” unlike anything I had seen before and nothing like what I had walked through. As we approached the southern tip, Mexico came into view and traffic from the construction of the new border wall kicked up dust visible for miles. We pulled into the terminal and parked in front of steel piles just three meters from the monolith I came here to see.
It was smaller than I imagined. But there it was: the beginning of a journey of approximately 3,000 miles.
The pre-hike nerves subsided when the reality of the moment hit. We took a group photo, I did my own photographer routine, slapped the monolith, and we headed north. There was only one thing on my mind: water. I’ve had enough, but of course, you can never have enough in a desert like this. For the next five days, heck, pretty much until I reached the Gila River alternative, all I had to look forward to were blinds, cow troughs, and other artificial sources.
Fourteen miles to the first cache, and where I thought my day would end.
It wasn’t long before I came across the ruins of an abandoned structure, with giant holes in the sides like something out of a Fallout game. «There’s gotta be some loot in there,» I joked to myself. I stuck my head inside, and sure enough there was a stash of several gallon jugs of water. They had someone’s name and ETA written on them, so I left them alone. A lifeline for a stranger in an inhospitable land.
The building offered shade where there otherwise wouldn’t be any, so I had an early lunch: a giant frozen Tastykake honey bun. One of the best trail delights out there. Over seven hundred calories of pure sugar and chemical-laden goodness that somehow ensures that the muffin retains its soft, moist, delicious profile no matter how much you squish it in your lunch bag. Honestly, poison in normal life, but here on the road, a feast to feed you for a few hours.
These things have a big impact.
The Chihuahuan Desert was teeming with unexpected life. There had been a rain a few weeks earlier that caused the area to bloom abnormally, according to Clint, and it was evident.
The ocotillo rose from the ground, stems like the spiky tentacles of some subterranean alien creature, flowers blooming a vibrant red-orange glow. Multiple varieties of cacti and wildflowers provided shade for lizards and snakes in the heat of the day.
Ocotillo
Dalea formosa (indigo bush)
hedgehog cactus
Desert Blue Penstemon
After following a long, dry riverbed, I reached the first water tank. Fourteen miles into my first day, I felt great despite being covered in sweat. I took a quick nap, made an omelette with peanut butter, honey, and trail mix, and decided I felt good enough to head back to the red line and camp where sunrise would be nicer.
Greater earless lizard
Gopher Snake / Bull Snake
the washing
The end of the first day: seventeen miles.
When I arrived at my destination, an unusual feeling of joy came over me. There’s nothing like setting up camp when there’s daylight left after hiking 15+ miles.
The sky began to glow red and purple as the clouds caught the last rays of light. I immediately took off my shoes and put on a pair of cheap foam sandals. My feet could breathe and relax. I could breathe and relax. The day hadn’t been particularly challenging, but it was long. This was my first foray into hiking in four years. I knew that what I felt at the end of today would set the stage for how I would feel in the days and months to come, and I was happy to say that I felt amazing, even if I was tired.
First order of business at camp.
As the daylight faded, I remembered a moment on the Pacific Crest Trail in 2022 when I said out loud, “I will never do anything like this again.” Four years later, I felt like I had picked up where I left off. No matter how much time had passed or what I had done with my life, «I will never do this again» had become «How can I do this again?»
I was where I was supposed to be, doing what I was created to do.
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