We’re working our way up and over several Mesas today. I pushed my cowboy hat down more firmly in the morning wind, as I didn’t ‘t want to say bye bye to it going over the edge to the floor several hundred feet below.
Louis, Breeze, and I agreed to get up at 6 and start moving by 7. We wanted to put some extra miles in today to save us those same miles tomorrow morning. We are also just about out of food, which is good. An accomplished hiker heads into town for re-supply of food with an empty grub sack.
We also wanted to start early in order to put some miles on in the cooler morning temperatures, as it reached ninety- three degrees again, with not a cloud in the sky.
Had two glorious water moments today: the first at a working spigot just a couple of miles from our campsite and the second in Jones Canyon. We knew that jones Canyon had water, but the spigot was chancey. We assumed 28 miles of trail between water sources. I was not interested in running out of water again, so I carried a full 6 quarts out of each source. That’s 12 pounds extra. I ended up drinking 9 quarts today, and will probably down another quart before I hit the sack. I’m still thirsty.
The Jones Canyon water was coming faintly out of an old pipe, into a metal cow trough. As we walked up to spring, we encountered the caretaker, a very recently deceased coyote splayed out in the path. The water was relatively clear, but there were all kinds of little black shapes swimming around in it. We had to have water or die, I so I put my bandanna over Tiki-man’s mouth and poured through it as a filter, and then zapped that water with a UV treatment from my Steripen, which has worked flawlessly to date. The water was cold and tasted good. Some of this hiker behavior is nothing that one would engage in at home, but out here, it’s truly a survival game.
We put down 15 miles by 2 PM, and just kept it up until we had 24 down by 7:30. The last push of the day was up the side of a pretty serious mesa, which had new rock stairs constructed recently, and even some steps and hand holds chipped out of the rock faces. I did surprisingly well, with the extra water weight in my pack.
Today we traveled through ridiculously prolific and dangerous cacti. They are everywhere, and ready to latch on to you in their live or dead states. Where the trail drops into a groove, small, lumpy pincushions lines the sides of the trenches, little demons eager to attack ankles as they plod on by. We talked about how dangerous it would be to night hike here, trip, and then fall into a bed of the monster plants with the huge white needles.
I gotta crawl into my tent and become unconscious, ASAP.

I received a question from my faithful transcriber Clarkie, AKA John Clark, and decided to make that today’s post. Maybe it can generate more commments :

“Can you discuss the issues related to group hike vs individual hike?
For example, decision making involved in “hike your own hike” and starting whenever you want versus waiting for others; or vice versa, hurrying to keep up or leave with others. What level of concern does MeGaTex have when you write for instance on Day 23, May 9: “Still no Patburglar sightings.” Is their a faith that everything will work out in time?
While through hikers may all know these ethics, many of us who are not long distance hikers might be enlightened with this information.”

My answer:
We are at the same time concerned about everybody else and also not overly concerned if a break in the group occurs.
Regarding Patburglar, he’s a unique very capable hiker who started a different route (Crazy Cook) from us (Columbus) on this hike. He joined us through the Gila portion and somewhere here in Grants today who has chosen to embrace the ultralight philosophy to the max and understands that by forwarding his phone north to Chama, he has made it more difficult to stick with the group, and he’s apparently fine with it. He has our numbers if he wants to call and coordinate the next leg to Cuba 112 miles away. I personally miss hiking with Pat, but am not worried at all about his ability to take care of himself out there. He’s very skilled at surviving difficult situations.
Me Ga Tex and other solo hikers fit together easily. So many great trail relationships continue from individual contacts: Boat, Dreams, Psycho and Apricots come to mind from the PCT’s 2010 hike.
There is no distinction as to who is joining who, either. I recall the most powerful presences on the PCT and think of Boat, now a Triple Crowner, after his solo CDT northbound hike of last year. He allowed us to join him, and we shared his company for a time northward from California as long as you were willing to rise at daybreak to walk with him. MeGaTex is open to sharing campsites and meals as well as the tread with any hikers.
That being said, it is common to split up for a day or more and reunite with this group if one so chooses. It requires strong compromises to move a group along the CDT.
On the AT, hundreds of shelter registers allow the whole shifting cast of characters to keep track of one another. Even if one only stops at a shelter for a snack, a quick entry can be made, like “Passin’ thru” with time, date, and name. Word travels up and down the trail due the thousands of hikers who travel the AT. This allows one to ascertain how much work it will take to reunite with someone ahead. You simply do the math and figure it out.
It’s was harder on the PCT due to no shelters and no registers. Despite that MegaTex started, and finished on the same day, and managed to communicate barely enough to hold the group, there were periods where each individual member was indeed separated and it will happen here too. Moving on seems to be the norm, and fact be told, this Trailjournal serves as a focus point to pinpoint the general group’s progress. Phone numbers and emails help too, when you can get a connection, and Verizon rules here. Louis has an AT&T account and he hasn’t been able to get one bit of service so far.
The CDT will turn out to be a tougher situation for stragglers. No shelters, no registers, no agreed upon route, no towns to rally around ( it has been close to 350 miles since we have been able to enjoy a motel). Also very little capability to make phone calls or send texts or emails. There have been reports of former CDT hikers who never encountered other thru hikers on the whole trail, and these are recent reports.
Pat called Breeze a few minutes ago, he decided to head out today, on his own. That’s the way it rolls. Likely we may see him again, though. I hope so, we need all the help we can get to keep steady northward momentum.

When I finish hiking, all my focus will shift back to the blog again. Hold on! In the meantime, go to my daily Trailjournal and follow the adventure.
My Trailjournal site is http://www.trailjournals.com/tjamrogCDT/

Day 21 May 7
Rest (zero miles) day at Pie town

Record number of hikers were here last: Rambler (from Ambler, Pa), Papa Smurf, Litterbox and Yukon,
Balls and Sunshine, Samurai and Lily,
Steady and Skeeter, plus MeGaTex.
The owner of this hostel, Nita, is an ascending trail legend . She’s done an excellent interview/ conversation with long distance bicycling professional Matthew Lee on the dvd RIDE THE DIVIDE (on Netflix). She lets bikers and hikers stay here. At times, she’s not even in town. She’s a woman who has retained beauty and grace and intelligence in style.
For a donation, I scored a bed, and there are free drinks in the fridge, and frozen meats in the freezer. There are many canned foods to use up, and this place has the best hikers box you can imagine. I enjoyed the pleasures of a new private washroom and shower at the RV park for another donation.
I washed my clothes in the utility tub in the same building. That was a long, wet, tiring story. My clothes were so dirty, I must have wrung out and soaped up and wrung out my shirt fifty times before the water was reasonably close to clear.
Ate like a pig today at the only cafe in town, open from 8-4 daily. Had a piece of blueberry pie with milk while I waited for my delicious burrito. In the afternoon, we went back and I had a huge Chef’s salad, and then then pulled pork sandwich. O, yes, another pie, chocolate cream. No cream. Heavy chocolate heaven.
The feature of the day was MeGaTex helping a local couple move a display case from their house to a room at the side of the Pie-o-neer Cafe. We hopped in the back of a pickup and rode out into the desert where they have lived for the past 10 years. They are totally off the grid, and described themselves as ” freegan”. They had dropped off some ground elk, and fresh greens for our supper tonight. It was the best example of what a lifetime of reading Mother Earth News can do for you.
Before we left, a pile of quartz crystals was spread on the table and each of us was invited to pick one that spoke to us, that felt right in our hands.
“You have to keep it with you all the time”, said Tony.
It was the right decision for us to stay here today. Tomorrow, we launch across the El Malapais for a 4 night, 5 day , 82 mile trek to Grant’s where we will rest up another day. It’s going to be new vistas for the gang.
Patburglar researched a route that puts us near some water caches, and working windmills.
I also want to give a shout out to my wife and hiking partner Auntie Mame, who out together a super intelligent and tasty resupply box here to me in Pie Town.
It’s a place where you can’t buy anything on some weekdays. But where everyone is good to the hikers.

Emory Pass to campsite on Bear Trap Creek
16 miles.
Finally had a day when the hiking enjoyment outweighed the aggravation. Word class hiking was the norm most of the day. Lots of ledges, cliffs, side slabbing hills, wildflowers, and plenty of water flowing that culminated in a primo campsite on pine needles in a grove of ancient trees.
Louis wanted to have a fire, but there is too much dry vegetation laying all about and the wind is still gusting strong.
We are in the Gila Wilderness, the first of the National Wilderness areas, enacted in 1924. It is huger 3.3 million acres huge, inconceivable vistas that go 40 miles or more with no habitation.
After begging more water at the Pass, or “trail strong arming” as Train described it, we tackled the 1800 foot climb to Hillsboro Peak (10,000′).
I felt stronger today and was not so exhausted with the climbs.
Hillsboro has a active fire tower on it with a cabin for the ranger, and another crew cabin that was left open for hikers, that we enjoyed.
I read a book about fire spotter culture that is excellent – Check out Fire Season: Field Notes from a Wilderness Lookout. They have a chapter about this tower.
We all had at east 5 quarts of water, and were prepared to go 24 miles with no water if we had to.
I misjudged my food plan and am coming up short, on reduced rations until tomorrow when I can pick up a food box I sent to myself.
Here’s what I ate today: breakfast was a can of Coke, an orange, a half apple that I shared with Louis, a half banana, and 1/2 a peanut and butter sandwich. I had a cliff Bar for a mid morning snack. Lunch was 6 Triscuits, a Three Muskateers bar, and a Myoplex protein drink carton. I had an Almond Snickers bar for afternoon snack. Supper was a package of pre-cooked rice with a packet of Kentucky Fried Chicken barbeque sauce, and the last two of my Mom’s date nut bars. I had a cup of sweet tea to drink. Not enough, but I am not complaining.
We started seeing water in East Canyon, which relieved our water worries.
Really sweet feeling of fatigue tonight. I hope to sleep well. I was able to finally call my wife Marcia and my mother Isabel today. I get all emotional speaking to them, and miss them both. Things get real when you are outside walking in the wilderness all day. Little things in life grow huge and are treasured.

Today we welcome a guest entry by General Lee. I asked Lee, Train, and Louis to submit their own entries for occasional posting here. Lee was the first to come through. If you are in touch with any if these guys, encourage them to write and tell them what you want to hear about so that you can appreciate their own points of view !

From General Lee:
A parched, bleak barren plain is what we behold as we take our initial steps north-bound on this most challenging of endeavors. We are in the wasteland of scrub brush, cactus, and dirt.
The wind gusts upward to 60 MPH and it is unrelenting. Grit is blown into every crevice imaginable- nose, ears, mouth, are all encrusted with sand. The squall is blinding; mountains that are 4,000 feet higher directly a ice the horizon are completely blanketed in a haze of dust.
We’ e seen more wildlife dead than alive. Nothing seems to survive this unforgiving, foreboding environment at all. And all the while we are under the watchful eye of big brother- Border Patrol strictly surveys the scene for miscreants misbehaving. Still we feel fortunate for the opportunity to even be here in the first place.
We are in the elite echelon of our unpopular sporting event and openly embrace the brutality of this environment and the uncountable, interminable challenges the lie ahead.
MeGaTex is perpetually prepared to ” get ‘er done and still have fun”.

Back to UncleTom:
We slacked 6 miles today, thanks to Keith.

He had dropped the Czech Express, AKA Lester Burnham, off at the Mexico border earlier this morning.

We needed this easier day to heal up from the past three days of heat, thorns, unrelenting sun, and sand storms. Extra sunscreen, aloe vera gel, ice, and ibuprofen need to be put into active duty right now.

“Would you like to spend more time relaxing in a motel tomorrow or surrounded by and on top of cow shit?”, asked General Lee. At this point we had just kicked cow shit aside to sit in a small patch of shade on the side of an ancient rusting water tank.
So we got up off the ground and trudged out 5 more miles this after noon.
Much better day today, but we are all tired and Louis had sprouted a blister on his little toe. There is nothing to do around here but walk all day. Around noon we aimed for the shade of a telephone pole in the middle of the parched desert.
The vastness of this dried up universe is astounding. I am afraid to put on shorts, I don’t want sunburned legs. The grit is everywhere.
We see no one out here. We passed a woman walking her two dogs this morning on the highway after we left our campsite and she told us only 10-12 hikers pass by this route every year. No exactly a popular hiking destination. There is no conceivable reason anyone would be going here except to say they walked from the Mexico border on the CDT. Every hour or so we have to crawl on our stomachs under a barbed wire fence.
We took water out of troughs for cattle, ignoring the thousands on dead wasps and bees floating in the green algaed- up tanks. There is no option if you want to stay alive.
We camped on hard gravel half mile off a jeep trail that led to more solar powered water sources.
I heard the sound of a pair of owls in the night where it got down to 35 degrees.
The wind finally stopped. Every part of my body aches.

“There is no escaping it,” said Louis, as we pondered our fate on our first day of walking. We later learned that I-10 and Route 11 were both closed due to sandstorms and high winds.
I raised doubt as to the wisdom of holing up a day and waiting for the worst winds and sand storms to pass but Lee put the Kabosh on that plan.
D-Low coined the term ” Embrace the Brutality” in reference to the CDT and we had a hug with it today.
We started hiking at exactly noon and just made it to our campsite as the sun was setting. Inside my Tarptent everything is covered with fine grit-my hair, tent floor, even the threads of my water bottle. The winds were incessant, reaching a peak around 5 PM when gusts up to 50 MPH lifted the sands off the bleak desert and drove waves of visible sand at us, peppering our faces , eyes with tiny rocks. Thank God we all had sunglasses. Also , the force of the gusts pitched us around a bit. The roar of the wind in our ears drove us nuts.
The humidity here is exceedingly low, possibly in single numbers. Despite walking quickly with a pack that had 4 quarts if water, I never raised a sweat. Consequently we drank copiously, our first resupply at a cemetery on the outskirts of Columbus.
We saw not one sign marking the trail. Lee punctured both his Thermarest air mattress and his three quart Platypus today. There are huge thorns and needles everywhere, dead and alive.
The end of the day was close to a disaster. Yesterday Keith drove out into the desert to stash 4 quarts if water under a bush on the side of a jeep road. I had marked it as a GPS waypoint. The problem turned out to be finding it in the middle of a vast desert where everything looks the same in all directions as far as the eye can see. We followed our map but the water cache was off the route. I had been practicing with the GPS at home but not with this function, and it took us too long, but we did finally find it, just as the sun was setting. So we were exhausted, and the wind was now a very cold wind and it was getting dark. It was too windy to cook.
Lee and Louis slept cowboy style (no tent) in a shallow sandy draw, and Train and I put up our tents. The stakes were small and not holding mine, so I had to tie the tent to a small bush to keep it from blowing away. I ate my granola and dried milk for supper and collapsed into my wonderful, glorious safe cocoon of a tent.

The last three days before my thru-hike attempt of the CDT were anxiety-producing and tiring. There is no downloadable list for life extraction.

My departure punch list grew daily, and I definitely saved the best and worst for last. The best was when we split up a pile of dry firewood for Auntie Mame to use on these last cold spring Maine days. The worst was cleaning out the composting toilet at the Hobbes camp. At least I am getting quicker at it. Definitely a rubber gloves situation.
Another unique chore was applying a couple of thin layers of Shoo Goo to the exposed toe stitching on my New Balance hiking boots.

I believe I’ve stockpiled enough to get me through, thanks to my brother Roy and New Balance.

I’m dealing with three flights to El Paso Today. I just learned that my Maine Driver’s license expired. I didn’t have that on the checklist. Soon I won’t be Tom Jamrog, and will revert to my trail alter ego, Uncle Tom.

Is the unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach my fear of the open trail ahead or is it perhaps me already missing my rooted connection to my family, wife, friends, neighborhood, and the little black dog’s perpetually hopeful eyes?

Part of me is embarrassed to whine about having to deconstruct the life I’ve led for the past three years to haul a relatively small backpack of objects across America where I’m likely I to spend some portion of the next 156 days being lost.

Who am I to grumble about how difficult it is to walk away from a good life, when most people are struggling ?

There are deep threads holding
Us where we are right now.
Freedom extracts it’s price.
I hope that I have enough
Inside to see me through.
What will
I be like if
I can keep walking
across America
for 5 months?

Photo courtesy of Maine State Police

‘North Pond Hermit’ a ‘model prisoner,’ bail set at $5,000 — Augusta — Bangor Daily News — BDN Maine.