Bisti Badlands Part II

Picking up where we left off in the previous blog about Bisti (scroll down past the next one to see it first if you haven't yet)...

And so the sun came out and the day warmed up at last. I was entranced all over again with the bizarre formations and roamed all over taking pictures with my little Pentax.

I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd been transported, like in some Twilight Zone episode, to an alien world. Rocks rose like waves, frozen into unimaginably delicate whipped froth.

And the beasts of the Bisti Badlands were everywhere, usually more humerous than frightening. If you click on this one to enlarge it you'll see what I mean.

Here's a great example of a disintegrated petrified tree, the vertical trunk fractured into fragments while the roots remain intact.

As the sun lowered in the west, the light kept getting better for photography. I needed to stay fairly close to the van. I didn't want to be out there lost in the dark!

I shot as late as I could, moving closer all the time to the sheltering cliff beside which I had parked, out of sight of the dirt road.

At last the sun set and I settled in for the night. It grew very cold, and I ate my simple supper in my sleeping bag inside the van. I soon fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. When I woke up the next morning I decided that I must've seen all there was to see of the Bisti. A fence stopped me from exploring further east, and to the west and north I could see the main road and distant buildings and power lines. I had read that this was a wilderness area made up of tens of thousands of acres, and, in spite of the natural beauty I had enjoyed, I was a bit disappointed. I decided to head to the larger part of the wilderness area, some miles east, called the De-Nah- Zin.

I started to drive back out to the main road, went about quarter of a mile, and stopped short. I was stunned by a sign and a stile marking the entrance to the Bisti-Denazin Wilderness Area. In my wonder at the landscape the day before, I had driven right past this modest parking area; the previous day's exploration had all been outside the actual designated site! I had another day I could spend hiking, and my time was my own, so I parked and hopped out with renewed enthusiasm. Cassidy, a bit confused but willing as always to go for a walk, led the way down the well-worn trail.

"Now Junior, behave yourself!"

We entered a large drainage basin shaped roughly like the upturned palm of a hand; the hand of one of the ancient Titans. There was a broad plain several miles in length, with finger-like canyons that disappeared into the higher land beyond. I knew I couldn't get lost; to return I could just head back downstream.

And there was indeed a stream, small and opaque, which thrilled the pooch. She can't pass a body of water without wanting to go into it. This one was no exception, and she came out pretty mucky and stinky. Although designated as a wilderness area, ranchers apparently are allowed to graze their cattle in the area. The creek was polluted. Crossing it to get away from the trail, we headed south and discovered...

...forms even more attenuated than those we had seen before...

...and wind sculpted hoodoos, while the evidence of a drowned forest remained all around us.

Exploring the flats we stumbled on these happy clams...or are they hamburgers?

With every step I discovered new delights. And it was practically deserted! I only saw one or two other people all day, though it was a weekend and a perfect day.

Then I spotted my first whole petrified log, perched on top of a mud pedestal. I had been to the Petrified Forest, in Arizona by Interstate 40. But there was a much greater sense of discovery here, where there were no trails to guide me, and no signs to interpret the sights, leaving me free wander and to speculate.

And so I sussed that when trees lay horizontally, they are not susceptible to the penetration of water, and don't break up with freezing the way the vertical ones do.

Which way shall we go? What a delight, to have such wide, trackless space to explore!

We found a beautifully preserved log in a sheltered nook and stopped for lunch. I had brought a bag of buffalo jerky, which proved to be the perfect trail food. Of course I shared it with Cassidy.

This side canyon was particularly beautiful, with many grand columns and petrified logs.

Everywhere we turned the beasts continued to emerge from the stone.

It was in that sacred canyon that I discovered someone had been moved to do ritual here. It seemed a fitting tribute.

In this close-up you can see how well the grain of the wood is preserved in stone.

At last it was time to turn back. I ran out of batteries for the camera just about then. From there I went on to De-Na-Zin, but was too tired to do much more hiking. However, I knew Steve would love this place as much as I did, and I planned to return with him just as soon as we could get away.

If you go, know that this is very, very basic: no campground, no water, no toilets. As you can see from the pictures, there is very little vegetation. Come prepared for desert hiking. Where a broad-brimmed hat, and

Cliff Swallows Inspiration

If you head down Buckman Road off Camino La Tierra on the Northwest edge of Santa Fe, you will eventually get to the Rio Grande. Buckman is a dusty dirt road a bit more heavily traveled than most in the Caja del Rio area. It leads to the well-known Diablo Canyon, just before the river. Here you'll see fantastic cliffs covered with grafitti, a lot of broken glass and shotgun shells. I prefer less popular destinations.

As you drop downhill, you will see a great rocky cliff across the valley. This is made of cooled magma which flowed over the land in the not too terribly distant past, perhaps a bit over one million years ago. The magma poured over earlier layers of compressed volcanic ash, called tufa. Oxides have stained the rock brilliant reds, oranges and golds, with the slate grey basalt capping the massif.

Directly ahead as you descend is an intriguing cove, a dry canyon that glows in the sunlight. An old windmill marks the spot to turn off the main road, just where Buckman road bends down the valley. Ranch tracks will let you get closer to the cliffs. The biggest problem with this hike is the level walk across the flats, where invasive alien plants have established. These leave prickly stickers in socks and shoes...a pain!

The last time I went to this area, it was torn up because of work on the Buckman Diversion Project. They had put in a perplexingly wide dirt road going down the valley. I imagine the weeds will reclaim it in short order once the work is done.

This is a favorite nearby hike for us. We can get there in about twenty minutes. As long as it's been dry for a few days the road is passable. It is a rough uphill hike to climb the slope to the base of the basalt layer, but there are plenty of beautiful spots to rest along the way, and ample shade.

We usually climb the slope on the outer edge of the cove. While a steep climb, it is the easiest route up. The bottom of the canyon is filled with huge boulders of broken basalt. The last time I went there I was alone with Cassidy and I tried to go up through these boulders. It proved to be impossible for my poor old dog to follow me through the jumble of giant rocks. About 2/3 the way up I gave up and headed towards the side, which was a relief...I'm getting old, too!

There are many unsung natural wonders in our state. It seems that no one ever goes to this one, although there is ample evidence of human presence in the past. There is a cave at the top which had been used as a shelter, and recently I found what might be evidence of a gunfight: pock-marked boulders some distance apart. Maybe I've just seen too many old Westerns.

On the slope are some big old junipers, many bearing ax scars. This has to date back fifty years or so, when burros still carried firewood to Santa Fe. Today no one would go so far from where they could drive a truck to get wood.

As the we ascend, the slope gets steeper. We pull ourselves up from boulder to boulder. The rocks are cleaved into smooth facets, and are warm from the sun. This is a hike for the cool time of the year.

Looking back over the valley, it's hard to believe we are just a few miles from the city. Unfortunately this view is now scarred by the new road.

The Junipers cling to life in a harsh environment. Their twisted forms are expressive of their will to survive. Sometimes they appear to dance with the landscape.

As long as we stay out of the No Dog's Land at the bottom of the canyon, Cassidy has no trouble with this kind of trek. Indeed, she runs circles around us!

Looking through an ancient fractured juniper towards the Rio Grande, just beyond the hills.

At the top of the slope rise the basalt-capped cliffs. There is a place 3/4 of the way around the cirque where these can be climbed, although Cassidy needs a leg up. Here you can see the layers of compressed ash capped by the basalt flow. This is the place I painted in my oil canvas entitled Cliff Swallows.

Bisti Badlands Part I

Before I even moved to New Mexico I had once seen a calendar photo that lodged like a thorn in my imagination. It was of a place called the Bisti Badlands...a name to conjure with! Of course I assumed, based on the weirdly animal-like forms I had seen in the picture, that it was pronounced "beastie' badlands. How could I not want to go there? But I had trouble finding anyone willing to go with me. It wasn't that close, and would mean an overnight at least. At last I decided to go by myself, with Cassidy for company. I threw a pad and blankets in the car, got some food, the dog, and headed west. Just before getting there, I stopped to take this shot of some promising rock formations.

Finally I spotted a small sign pointing out a gravel road which it promised would take me to the fabled Bisti Badlands. The entire area is Navaho land, and I passed a small herd of their horses just after making the turn.

I drove into another world. I had expected some kind of signage, maybe a campground or outhouse at the least. All I saw were waves of pale eroded rock...or not rock, but rather very old mud, carved into bizarre shapes by eons of wind and water.

Cassidy was thrilled to be let out of the car at last. With no one around, I gave her free rein, and she went all coyote, running up and down exploring this strange new world, totally alert with all senses.

Cassidy in coyote mode.

The rock formations more than satisfied my expectation of what I'd see in a beastie badlands! To me these rocks recalled a scene in Yellow Submarine. Know the one I mean? Blue Meanies!

It was a place full of mysteries. Everywhere I went I found mounds of tiny tesseract tiles in shades of rust, sienna, umber, slate. They lay scattered on the surface of the mudstone, in roughly circular concentrations. It took me a while to figure out what they were, and how they could possibly be scattered on the top of ancient mud.

In addition to the broken chips, there were also tubular formations of similiar color running horizontally through the mudstone. They were crystalline and sparkled, looking quartz-like, though with dark pigmentation. Mystery!

I took this close-up, beginning to have a theory of how such a mineral formation might have come about. Now I feel I was really dense. I grew up calling myself a rock-hound, and should have gotten it sooner! Have you figured it out?

I finally came across this absolutely obvious piece of evidence just as I had pretty much reached the conclusion that the quartzite tubes and chips were petrified wood! The tile chips were all that was left of trees which had been standing when the area was hit by a devastating flood millions of years ago. Buried in mud, the trees gradually transformed to stone, molecule by molecule.

Eventually the mudstone which encased the trees eroded away. As the stone trees were exposed, they too eroded, succumbing to the devastating process of freezing and thawing which New Mexico now undergoes every winter. Vertical trees were prone to disintegrate as fast as they were exposed, because their structure, even though stone, was based on the structure of the living trees. Water was able to enter the vertically-oriented layers of the cambium and then freeze, expand, and break the layers apart bit by bit. All that is left is the shattered remains of an ancient forest. The horizontal tubes were roots.

Cassidy just laughed. She'd known it all along, of course.

Just about that time the storm which had been threatening all day finally began to lift. It had been cold and windy all day, and had almost felt like it would snow, although only the fall equinox.

Even as the day was coming to an end, the light now increased. I welcomed the sun with a grateful spirit, and was rewarded with a whole new experience of the area. Forms which had seemed flat now stood out in clear definition. And I continued to be amazed at the lack of human presence. Everywhere I walked it seemed my foot prints were the only ones there.

As the sun broke through in earnest, the full beauty of the mudstone carvings was revealed. I wandered around snapping more pictures of this dreamscape, which still had surprises in store for me. I will continue the tale in my next blog. Meanwhile, if you are interested, you can google Bisti Badlands and find many more posts about this amazing place.

Inviting trail in the hills west of Santa Fe

There is a vast area to explore close to town. After driving our Dodge caravan, which has fairly high clearance, as far up into the wild web of dirt roads west of Santa Fe as we dared, Steve, Cassidy and I set out to see what lay around the bend. Beware of getting stuck on these roads, which can be treacherous, especially when wet.

Moria and Cassidy

Unless I'm in a national park or other area where dogs aren't allowed, I always hike with my trusty companion Cassidy. We got her at the shelter when she was about three months old; border collie, Australian shepherd, blue heeler mix. She's the smartest, best dog we've ever had! If she can't manage a route, then I know I shouldn't go there. We carry extra water for her when it's dry.

Enchanted landscape

After the summer monsoons arrive, New Mexico is transformed. Grasses green up, flowers bloom, and the landscape is filled with life. August through early October is generally the most beautiful part of the year.