“There comes a time when a man must hide. Must slip away from the human world and its clutching, insane, insatiable demands.” —Edward Abbey, “Coda: Cape Solitude” in Abbey’s Road: Take the Other
By Don Scheese — In the pre-dawn light I could hear, from the cozy warmth of my sleeping bag inside the tent, the soft hoots of great horned owls from the rim of the gorge. Donning layers of clothing in the 40-degree chill, I slowly emerged from the cocoon of the bag and tent. Looking west I saw the lovely light of sunrise softly illuminating the peaks of the fire-scarred Jemez Mountains. Below twisted the river, a silvery blue, still lying in the cold morning shadows. The sky was clear and cloudless and there was barely a breath of wind. It was going to be another good day.
I was camped on the rim of the Rio Grande gorge on the Caja del Rio, about 10 miles from the trailhead, on a section known as Chino Mesa, worlds away from the tourist trap referred to in some circles as “Santa Fake.” The Caja del Rio, Spanish for “box of the river,” is a plateau around 100,000 acres in size lying west by southwest of the capital of New Mexico. It is bounded on the west by the canyon itself, on the south by the Cochiti Indian Reservation, on the east by the city of Santa Fe, and on the north by the reservation of the San Ildefonso tribe. Its elevation ranges from 7300 feet above sea level at its highest points to a low of 5400’ along the river.
The terrain is rocky, full of lava-strewn igneous chunks the result of volcanic activity over a million years ago. Atop this volcanic soil grow blue grama and sacaton grasses, sagebrush, prickly pear, staghorn cholla, banana yucca, and pinyon-juniper forest. The only reliable water sources are the river far below and scattered wells dug by ranchers to keep their cattle alive.
For thousands of years indigenous peoples lived on and visited this plateau, evidenced by scattered remains of habitation sites and petroglyphs carved onto the faces of the basalt rocks. The nearby Puebloan tribes still consider this land sacred and part of their homeland. In Euroamerican times the Caja was sliced by the El Camino Real, or the “Royal Road,” the connecting route from Mexico City to Santa Fe, a 1600-mile supply road dating back to the 1600s following Spanish conquest and colonization of the territory. Centuries of grazing and over-grazing by Spanish and then Anglo-American ranchers followed. Today the Caja is managed as a unit of the Santa Fe National Forest, and ranching remains a main use. More recently, however, recreation is flourishing, with hiking, biking, and horseback riding growing in popularity as the Caja becomes better known. Unfortunately, abuses like illegal dumping and target shooting have been longstanding practices as well.
I’d started my bikepacking trip the day before around noon from HQ Well, a main trailhead on the Caja. Carrying around 30 pounds on my trusty steel Niner RLT, including 6 liters of water, I anticipated a challenging but not overly taxing adventure. There are no steep long climbs on the plateau, the main challenges being the occasionally rutted, sandy, rocky stretches across rolling terrain interrupted by shallow arroyo crossings. The first six miles took me through a P-J forest with spur roads leading to and around nearby summits like Twin Hills, Ortiz Mountain, and Montoso Peak, all modest rises in the topography. On the northeast horizon soared the snow-capped Sangre de Christos, representing the southernmost reaches of the Rocky Mountains.
I managed to maintain my momentum grinding down to lower gears on the short punchy rises, while enjoying the freewheeling if short descents and the not-frequent-enough stretches of champagne gravel, always on the lookout for the best line amidst the ruts, sand traps, and soft spots of the road’s crest.
At mile six I turned off the main artery onto a spur road heading due north, across Chino Mesa. Here the road surface worsened to deeper ruts and softer crests, slowing me down even further. No matter: I had plenty of time to reach my intended destination of a camp on the edge of the gorge, silently chanting my mantra, “It’s not how far you travel, it’s how much you enjoy the ride and the experience.” I came to several chunky sections across more arroyos, and ever the cautious older solo rider, chose to hike-a-bike these sections—why risk a cracked rim, popped spoke, and/or broken bones for the cheap short thrill of bombing across the rocks? Gradually the gradient decreased, and I could cruise leisurely on a long flat plateau extending to the edge of the gorge, a nice finish to the day’s ride.
At road’s end, I stopped, stunned by both the views and the silence. I had not met a single vehicle or another person since leaving the trailhead. Now the only sounds were the wind through the trees and the occasional chirp of a bird. I thought: this is exactly why I came here, why I took the time and effort to reach this point.
To the west lay the burnt-over country of the Jemez Mountains, in the foreground glimpses of the city of Los Alamos, home to the national laboratory where the atomic bomb was developed. Along the western edge of the escarpment was White Rock Canyon, named for the soft volcanic tuff in which Ancestral Puebloans carved out cavates, or cave dwellings, in nearby Bandelier National Monument. Immediately below, 1000 feet below, lay the Rio Grande, its waters backed up by Cochiti Dam some ten miles downstream. There was some evidence of civilization, admittedly…but given the quietude, I experienced the illusion, if not the total reality, of wild country.
A fire ring with a pile of readily placed firewood lay nearby. There was enough space for me to set up my 1-person tent, small kitchen, and Helinox chair to take in the surrounding views, sheltered by scattered junipers. It was a good site.
For the rest of the afternoon and into the early evening I did nothing but take in the views and contemplate the eternal question: Why was I here? Truthfully, I was in something of a funk—the recent unexpected death of a beloved family member, toxic politics, the totalitarian and oligarchical directions this country is headed towards, had had me in a melancholy mood for days if not weeks. So, I came here, like Abbey, to escape….to discover my own Cape Solitude….
“Each time I come here; I wonder why I ever go back. Every time I go anywhere out in the desert or mountains, I wonder why I should return. Someday I won’t.” (Abbey, “Cape Solitude”)
The Caja is not wilderness per se, but it is wild country. Granted, there are obvious signs of civilization. There are numerous roads (disqualifying the area for wilderness designation). A towering power line transects the northern part of the plateau. There are scattered cattle tanks, corrals, and wells strung about the landscape. A far greater threat to the area’s wildness is the plan to build yet another power line, from Los Alamos across the river to Santa Fe. Proposed by the Los Alamos National Lab (LANL), it would extend for 14 miles and connect to the existing power grid; the LANL claims it needs an additional power supply for its operations. As part of the power line a new highway, connecting the west side of the river to the eastern side, is also being proposed, which would require the highest bridge in New Mexico to be built. Because the project runs across federal lands, an environmental impact statement is required, to be conducted by the U.S. Forest Service. Both the New Mexico Wilderness Alliance and a group recently formed to protect the area from such further incursions, the Caja del Rio Coalition, have vehemently opposed this new project, along with some one hundred organizations and individuals.
Members of the New Mexico Congressional delegation drew up legislation to declare the Caja a national monument, but, for whatever reasons, the bill was never signed into law in the waning days of the Biden administration. As a result, the Caja remains a severely threatened landscape.
Such thoughts were not helpful in easing me out of my funk….
“All my life a loner, an outsider, a barbarian from the steppes, the wolf on the snow-covered hill looking down at the lights of the village, I think I’ve never been accepted by my fellow men, fellow women, never been a bona fide member of the club. And looking back at the human race, feeling I never belonged, my first thought, right now, is—thanks God. Or Whatever.” (Abbey, “Cape Solitude”)
Occasional sips of whiskey helped to improve my attitude the rest of the afternoon. After all, I thought, I’m not here to solve the world’s problems, I’m here to escape them, If only momentarily. And to be reminded of the virtues and benefits of the Simple Life and (as the saying goes) Getting Back to Nature.
Does the Caja del Rio deserve further protection as a national monument? An interesting question. The Antiquities Act, passed by Congress and signed into law by President Teddy Roosevelt back in 1906, gives the president sole authority “to declare by public proclamation historic landmarks, historic and prehistoric structures, and other objects of historic or scientific interest that are situated upon the lands owned or controlled by the Government of the United States to be national monuments….” Roosevelt then wasted no time the next three years of his presidency by setting aside 18 new national monuments. Many of them, like Montezuma Castle in Arizona, Chaco Canyon, and Gila Cliff Dwellings in New Mexico, were clearly preserved for their archeological and historic value. Others, like Devils Tower in Wyoming, Petrified Forest in Arizona, and Muir Woods in California, had obvious scientific—i.e., geological or ecological—value. Since Roosevelt’s time, many other presidents have created more national monuments, often in the last hours of their administration, much to the delight of environmental organizations, and much to the anger of some local residents opposed to “locking up” valuable natural resources like timber, minerals, and grazing rights. The continuing brouhaha over Bears Ears National Monument in southern Utah epitomizes the conflict over preservation versus exploitation. Two states—Alaska and Wyoming—have recently passed laws prohibiting the creation of national monuments unless they are enacted by Congress, not the President.
To get back to the question at hand: does the Caja del Rio deserve to be set aside as a national monument? It has some archaeological value given the evidence of ancient residences and rock art but compared to the spectacular ruins of Chaco and other Ancestral Puebloan sites set aside as national monuments, clearly does not measure up to the standards established by the Antiquities Act. As for “scientific value,” the volcanic landscape of the Caja possesses some geologic value, but it’s hard to make the case that it is as visually impressive as national monuments like Devil’s Tower, Petrified Forest, or Mount Olympus (now Olympic National Forest).
The gorge of the Rio Grande on the western edge of the plateau does, I would argue, represent sublime scenery, but the Antiquities Act does not specifically mention aesthetic values of nature as a criterion for preservation. The gorge itself is an example of geologic value, which I think renders the Caja at least worthy of consideration as a national monument. Maybe the best case for stronger preservation than simply national forest land lies in the idea of the Caja as an island of solitude and serenity within close proximity to a metropolitan area of well over 1 million people (if you include Albuquerque, just 30 miles south). Solitude and serenity, though not explicitly stated as criteria for national monument status in the Antiquities Act, should be included as such. After all, wild lands comprise only about 4-5% of the total US land mass.
National monument or not, the Caja represents a local retreat from the stresses and tribulations of what Abbey called “syphilization.” It is said that Time heals all wounds. So does solitude in nature, if only temporarily. So, I spent the rest of the twilight taking in the sensory pleasures of the natural world. Like the passing of time, the seamless transition from dusk to darkness…the ephemeral beauty of a spectacular sunset… the phenomenon of alpenglow on the distant peaks of the Sangre de Christos… the appearance of the first star…the lights of Los Alamos glowing across the canyon like the embers of a dying campfire…the incessant insistent calls of a couple of common poorwills…the appearance of the Big Dipper, standing on its handle, in the dark night sky….
The ride back was uneventful. I returned to the vehicle, refreshed and ready to face the human world, and its myriad problems, once again.
“As any honest magician knows, true magic inheres in the ordinary, the commonplace, the everyday, the mystery of the obvious. Only petty minds and trivial souls yearn for supernatural events, incapable of perceiving that everything—everything!—within and around them is pure miracle.” (Abbey, “Cape Solitude”)
