Sangre de Cristo Mountains

John’s team was not at the camp site. I had been hiking alone for several hours. The idea was to meet John’s team and hike together to the top of Baldy Mountain. Instead, I found myself in the unfamiliar, uncomfortable situation of being completely alone in the wilderness.

Despite my urban Minneapolis life at the time, I had ventured out to New Mexico for the summer, working at a ranch bordering the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Though more familiar with catching the bus, my summer job required me to explore the beautiful land by the ranch on foot.

It was clear rendezvousing that day was no longer an option. The sun was slowly setting. At most I had three hours to get elsewhere on foot before dark. Camping out was not an option. I had no tent, plus having brought extra food to share with John’s team, there was too great a risk of attracting a bear. I pulled out my simple map. Following a path due south, it looked like I would hit Highway 64 before nightfall. While still 20 miles from the ranch, perhaps I could call someone from the lone gas station to get me.

Hearing rattlesnakes hissing as I ventured down the overgrown path, I hiked quickly but carefully, as I would have to fend for myself if anything happened. I was scared; being alone in the wilderness was a new challenge. Coming upon a crossroads, there were two paths to choose. Heading due south, hopeful I was on the right path, the distant highway finally came into view. After a steep descent, I was able to run toward the highway. Though it took me another thirty minutes to reach the highway, I finally knew I was going to be okay.

And I was okay. In an amusing coincidence, shortly after getting to the highway, a rancher I met only days before passed me and offered me a ride I was only too glad to take. As I sat in his truck driving back east toward the ranch, I had a new sense of pride of having faced my fear of being in the wilderness alone.