New Mexico - the Land of Enchantment

 NM - the Land of Enchantment

I’m always sceptical of signs that announce a welcome.  My home county’s algae covered ‘Welcome to Bedfordshire, A Progressive County’ was the foundation of the cynicism. A promise made which fizzled the moment the sign was erected.

The first steps into New Mexico, The Land of Enchantment however did not disappoint.  Turning around at the Colorado / New Mexico State line was a bittersweet moment.  The Rockies on the near horizon stood majestic in the morning sun.  We waved goodbye to them, relieved to be free of their dangers and sad to say farewell to our home for the last month and 800 miles.

Colorado - New Mexico border

The change came swiftly, maybe over the course of the day.  Aspen gave way to Oak with leaves of gold.  And although the mountains were high, we were still at 10,000’, they were less rugged; rounded  with long sloping descents.  

It was these descents that took us through forests and meadows where the haunting bugling of elk kept us company as we left camp under a full harvest moon.  And like every morning for the past fortnight I experienced the feeling of Momijigari - 紅葉狩り - the Japanese for the sheer delight of walking in autumn.

And then, everything changed.  It was so sudden.  We were just two days across the border and now deep in desert.  How did I know?  I sat on a cactus.  Sally laughed but all around crumbling Neapolitan ice cream coloured cliffs stood waiting to be shaped by winds, flash floods and my curses.

The path took us to Ghost Ranch, a film set for Oppenheimer, and once studio for artist Georgia O’Keeffe.  The landscape, lighting and rock colours are the attraction and inspiration for the many artists that live and work in nearby Santa Fe.

Once again in the back of a truck an kind elderly couple took us to the State Capital.  So unique and genuine was its Spanish and Indigenous heritage we stayed a day longer than we needed to pick up fresh hiking shoes!   There were dozens of galleries, many art museums and restaurants to enjoy, our time here was too short.

Awaiting the monsoon

Pre dawn walk along the Charma

Views from Ghost Ranch

Back on the trail, a descent down a crumbling mountainside of switchbacks and rockslides took us into a valley towards the 550 that ran this section of the continental divide through the town of Cuba.  

Water for the day

And it was here that the insular ‘South’ began to reveal itself.  

Chained gates, property warning signs and loose dogs protecting ramshackle cabins and hoarded, rusting vehicles that will never see the 550 or any road again.

Attempts by a church to create a park fall foul as people waddle on canes to their trucks, bellies full of the local dish - fried bread.  

The place is a fuck up where people don’t stand a chance.  Fentanyl, an illegal hang over from the US Big Pharma opioid crisis, claims hundreds of lives here and surrounding north east New Mexico.  Even the county sheriff overdosed and died this September. 

Indigenous people stripped of any dignity work in Dollar stores devoid of nutrition a continuation of a shameful apartheid and genocide that began with the slaughter and near eradication of their primary food source, the bison, nearly two centuries ago.  

The place is pitiful and I know that towns along the rest of the trail will carve in my mind further images of the indignant abuse of all people.  

The ambitious ones seek to escape and leave places like this to be near a Walmart and affordable veg.

Those who remain will seek solace at the cannabis dispensary, the god-washed cafe where righteousness is served with hash browns, or if things get too bad, you can always take a pill. 

I can’t wait to get out of town and back to the desert.