Hiking Ghost Ranch - Trail #7
Red dust swirled and danced around us as I slowed the car and put it into park. We looked at each other, grinned, and then stepped out onto the side of the road. Immediately, the sun's rays kissed our shoulders, whispering sweet nothings and promises of burns if we weren't careful. On the straightaway, cars continued to zoom past us at 60 miles-per-hour, the passengers inside formless blurs. As I turned away from the road, I could see that D'Ali was already up ahead, angling their camera and body to get the best shot of the burnished cliffside. I picked up my own camera and put its lens cap on the hood of the car. As I walked toward the scene ahead of us, I was suddenly distracted by...the ground.
"Wow!"
"What?" D'Ali was suddenly next to me again.
"I've only seen shit like this in The Lion King!" I said, pointing to the scorched and cracked earth. D'Ali laughed and shook their head.
"Welcome to New Mexico."
D'Ali and I were on our way to Ghost Ranch, 21,000 acres of pure New Mexican landscape. It was once the home and studio of Georgia O'Keeffe, and the land itself was frequently the subject of her paintings. Today, Ghost Ranch is a retreat and education center that offers everything from sunset trail rides to jewelry-making classes. D'Ali and I had purchased $10 day passes, which allowed us to hike and explore to our heart's content. Except, we hadn't even made it to Ghost Ranch yet. Instead, we'd stopped on the side of the road because the cliff faces and mesas and deep red dirt that were along the way there couldn't be resisted.
"Ready?" We got back in the car, only to pull over if a half-mile later at another scenic point. As we took photos and jumped around in excitement, I suddenly frowned.
"I definitely drove off with my lens cap still on the hood of the car..."
With all of the dirt and dust, not having anything to protect my lens wasn't the best scenario. D'Ali groaned in solidarity, offering reassurances that since I was using a pancake lens, the lack of a lens cap hopefully wouldn't be too bad...
Almost as soon as D'Ali said this, a car flew past us and kicked up a piece of plastic that noisily rolled nearly to our feet.
"There's just no way," I said, as I leaned over to pick it up. D'Ali started laughing before I even had it in my hand. It was my lens cap!
"There's just no way!" we yelled, giddily laughing at the serendipitous moment. We considered it a positive sign for the hike ahead.
We got back on the road, beats thumping through the stereo. Finally, up ahead, we could see the entrance to Ghost Ranch, tall and looming in the distance. The person manning the gate had leathery, burnished skin and looked as though he'd been in the sun for eons. His dog, some type of Collie, sat panting in the shade beneath a small table covered in pamphlets.
"Welcome to Ghost Ranch. It's a great place to be," he said, in a complete monotone. D'Ali and I looked at each other, trying not to raise our eyebrows at his lack of enthusiasm. After he signed us in and handed us our "Visitor" stickers, we pulled away and let ourselves laugh. The poor man seemed over it, although we agreed that we would be too if we had to stand in the hot sun all day.
We parked and entered the gift shop, where we were told we could get a map. The shop's clerk handed us two copies and then laid a map out across the counter in front of us.
"Hikes #1 and #9 are our most popular. If you're looking for a hike that's scenic and beautiful, those are your best bet. Hike #7 is the shadiest."
"The shadiest?" D'Ali asked, laughing. I immediately imagined little lizards and chipmunks popping out of the brush and reading us to filth.
"No, shade like trees" I explained, cracking up. The store clerk just smiled and shook her head as we exited the gift shop.
Of course, we decided to go on hike #7.
The trail was around 4 miles and, ostensibly, would lead us to a scenic area with water. I traded my Tevas for Nikes, threw on a lightweight long-sleeved top, and packed a few nectarines for D'Ali and I to snack on. A week earlier, my dear friend, Caroline, texted me recommendations for what to do in New Mexico. When she listed Ghost Ranch, she said: "It feels silly to pay for a hike, but it WAS SO WORTH IT, ISABELLE." As we started walking toward the trail entrance, I was excited to discover the beauty and serenity that Caroline had referenced.
The trail was a zig-zagging scavenger hunt. Within 10 minutes, we'd lost all sight of trail signs and were following what we hoped was a path. Suddenly up ahead we saw a cairn — neatly stacked and baking in the sun, it was our North Star. In hindsight, I think I was more nervous about getting lost than D'Ali. I don't consider myself a city girl, per se, but I definitely have bougie tendencies. Getting lost in the woods is pretty far down on my list of "exciting" adventures. Even with my hesitancy, we trekked on, excitedly pointing to the next cairn and the next as they guided us along our way.
Around halfway through, we reached a stream with muddy, shoe-sucking banks. The next cairn was on the other side. Tenderly stepping from rock to rock, we made it across, only to walk 50 feet and realize that the trail required us to cross the stream again. And again. And again. In the entirety of the hike, we crossed the stream probably 12 different times, only occasionally slipping or getting splattered with mud. We stopped once or twice for water, but spent the majority of the time trekking along, passing jokes back and forth like old familiar friends.
As we crossed the stream yet again, we ran into a pair of oncoming hikers. They joked with us that the trail was a jigsaw, but well worth it. And then, they said the magic words that every muscle-fatigued and weary hiker loves to hear: we were almost at the end.
"When you get there, make sure to climb all the way up the rocks. You'll get a pretty good view."
We said our thanks and kept moving, although I thought about the hikers' advice the rest of the way. What rocks? How steep would they be? My sneakers were already muddy — would I be able to climb? At the same time, I knew that I'd find a way to climb those rocks, even if I had to go barefoot. I was going to finish this hike on a high (pun intended).
We walked for another 10 minutes or so and then reached what we could only assume to be the end of the trail. A mountain of rocks towered above us, but with enough footholds and crevices that it felt more like a vertical jetty. We began the ascent, warning each other of loose rocks or unstable footholds. After only a few minutes, we were at the very top of the rocks and looking out at the path we'd just traversed. In the opposite direction was what would normally be an expanse of water. Instead, in the dry July heat, it looked like an expanse of mud. A sulfuric, eggy smell rose up from the muck. So much for a scenic view of the water!
We crawled down into a shadier patch of rocks and pulled out our nectarines. As the juice of the fruit dripped down our chins and onto our fingers, we looked around in silence. This land, this beauty, was real and immaculate. We took a few beats to just be present and experience the moment fully.
The trek back felt like it took 1/4 of the time. D'Ali and I started hiking in "full goat mode," which basically meant that we tried our best to unthinkingly leap from rock to rock, like a goat, hoping instinct and our feet would support us. We stopped to observe hummingbirds feeding on a patch of flowers, to pick up a tiny sand frog, to talk about how the clouds were so lush and the rocks so crunchy-looking that we just wanted to eat them. We saw crows the size of hawks, a harmless garden snake and a potentially not-so-harmless giant snake that disappeared quickly into the crevice of a rock. We yelled loudly and listened to our echos yell right back. We celebrated being young and beautiful and present and alive.
With only a half-mile to go, I turned to D'Ali grinning.
"I'm having so much fun!" I said, childlike in my excitement and honesty. D'Ali turned to me and smiled right back.
"Me too, Isabelle. Me too."
