Sacramento Mountains
Don’t Wait for Answers You Don’t Like: Woody and the Snowy Pass
“Bernie we took a vote this morning and decided you shouldn’t leave today,” Tommy said. “There’s too much snow up on the pass. You might not make it through in this cold.” The coffee swirled to a stop in his cup. The Barn Door crew sitting around the table nodded. “Here,” Ed Turpin said, handing me a bread baggy full of pecans, “take these with you. My brother cracked them for you.”
Oh good, at least someone thought I was… Continue reading
Back Into Where-Are-We-Going-To-Sleep-Tonight Land
The 5,000 foot climb that took us two weeks to go up takes four hours to descend.
We’re back down in cactus country. We’re back into Where-Are-We-Going-To-Sleep-Tonight land.
That’s how I met Ray and Polly Quick. That’s how I learned the water table’s dropping and you shouldn’t have screens on your windows if you’re serious about shooting… Continue reading
Snowed In With Cowboys: Ed’s Two Dollar Belt Buckle in Mayhill, NM
At seven thousand New Mexican feet, it takes a long time for water to boil but snow piles up in a flash. The gods smiled on me. I boiled my pasta water in Terry Stovall’s cabin as the snow piled up outside. Woody and Maggie holed up in a shed across the street.
For months I’d dreaded the ride across what I’d come to call “The Hill.” Like “flu” sounds less lethal than “influenza,” the “Hill”… Continue reading
No Passing. Not Even If You’re a Tumbleweed: Up to the Sacramento Mountains
“No Passing Lane” the yellow sign reads and the tumble weeds take heed. They’re piled against the steel legs, slammed to a halt from a run.
Others won’t mind. They skip and bound across Highway 82 and regroup along the lee-ward wire fence. Russian Thistle, or tumbleweed, is about the only traffic out here on the plain leading to the foot of the Sacramento Mountains.
The road rises before us and tumbleweeds… Continue reading
