Desert Dwellers in Search of Water

In the desert southwest, it seems that we have either too little or too much water at any given time.
Check out that flooded road ahead!

We're enjoying a pretty good monsoon season this year. In some places in New Mexico, we hear that the clouds pile up every afternoon and the rain comes down, just like clockwork. We aren't always so lucky here in the Mesilla Valley--the clouds often seem to slide on by (a friend calls it the teflon effect) to drop their moisture somewhere else. However, we've managed to get 5.67 " of rain so far this year, spread out over 37 rain days. Not a lot, but more than we've received in some years. Keep reading to find out about a place just up the road (in New Mexico terms) that has almost too much water at times.

Sidebar: I just finished reading The Camel Bookmobile by Masha Hamilton. The protagonist, an American librarian called Fi, has taken on a project to deliver books by camel to the farthest reaches of the Kenyan desert, spreading literacy to wandering peoples who might never have held a book before. After spending some time in a place where every drop of water is precious, Fi finds herself dreaming about water in all its lovely forms, and especially the ways she is used to lavishing it on herself back home in America--luxurious shampoos, deep baths, big drinks of icy water, and so on. I wish I could share the exact quote about her water dream with you, but the book is already back at the library. (I hope you get a chance to read it, as it is a good story that also raises questions about foreign aid and bringing "progress" to traditional peoples).

Back to the idea of water here in New Mexico. As a former New Englander living in the desert southwest, the smallest (and briefest) puddle will stop me short, and I long for the sight of a flowing stream.  Fi's dream is one that I might have had. Lovely, cool, flowing water...

And so, as a Labor Day gift to ourselves, we set off in search of water. In only three hours by car, we found it up in Catron County, near a little town called Glenwood, on the Catwalk Trail along Whitewater Creek in the Gila National Forest.

Here's where that monsoon rainfall comes in. The Catwalk Trail area is open only from 8AM to 1PM during the monsoons, because it is one of the places where the rain comes down in serious amounts in the afternoons. Because the trail goes up a box canyon, any rain at all can bring dangerous flash flooding and debris flows. The roads into the area can become impassable and downright dangerous.

Speaking of dangers, we got a kick (sort of) out of this signboard at the entrance to the trail, which warned happy hikers of the possible troubles ahead. From the left, we were told that we might encounter flooding, rabid foxes, cougars, bears, dry conditions (no open fires or fireworks, please), falling rocks, more bears becoming angry due to the presence of dogs, and rattlesnakes. To round out the list, there was also a sign showing the Statue of Liberty and promising justice for all (which seemed somehow threatening under the circumstances). 

In spite of the warnings, the picnic area looked rather inviting. There were some immense shade trees that we thought might be sycamores. 

And here it was: Lovely flowing water at last! The creek was deceptively deep in the middle, flowing fast, and it was very, very cold. 

Further up the trail were the catwalks, which apparently were first put in during the late 1800s for workers who maintained a water pipe leading to an old mill at the mouth of the canyon. The walkways were eventually improved and strengthened, and became the Catwalk Trail we see today. 

Every once in a while, as we moved up the trail, there were more signs reminding us to watch for rattlesnakes. By the way, have you ever seen a rattlesnake in the wild? They are usually very difficult to spot, as they blend in to their surroundings so well--good thing they have that rattle to warn us when we get too close. I'm speaking theoretically now, as we didn't actually see any snakes (or cougars, rabid foxes, or bears) during our walk, though I'm sure they were out there. 

The day in the Gila wasn't terrifically hot, as New Mexican summer days go--only in the high 80s. However, because of the high altitude (something like 5800 feet), it felt blazing in the sunshine and quite cool in the shade. 

The ranger came through to remind the trail visitors to leave the area by 1PM. Indeed, on the way out, the road was under flowing water in two places (see the photo at the top of this post). We carefully forded the streams, and continued on our way, happy to have seen and heard and experienced some beautiful flowing water. Back home, it was another record-breaking high temperature day (97 F.) with lots of beautiful storm clouds sliding by to drop their moisture somewhere else in the land of rabid foxes and bears.

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Thank you, Beez, for taking the photos for this post, since I left my camera in the car.

The Secret Knowledge of Water

No water around here...

... or is there?

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The Secret Knowledge of Water; Discovering the Essence of the American Desert, by Craig Childs.

I have always loved to read. When I was a child I read anything and everything and carried home armloads of books from the library. When I finished with those, my mom would hand me some of the books she used in her classroom. The books I read in those days always stayed with me, unlike some of the books I read now, and then accidentally re-read, having forgotten them!

There was a book, Our California Home,* used back then in California fourth-grade classrooms, that absolutely enchanted me. It presented the history of the state through its use and control of water. I never forgot the opening chapter, where a thirsty child on a hot summer night went into a bathroom gleaming with chrome and porcelain to get a drink of cold, sparkling water. After slaking her thirst, she let the water run over her hands and arms. It turns out that my childhood imagination embellished the memory, as when I went back to read the book again (that good Beez found me a copy on Alibris) the hot summer night scene was much smaller and less significant than I remembered it.

I have just finished the book, The Secret Knowledge of Water, and it was another beautiful experience. Childs shows us how desert lands are defined by water, rather than by their lack of it. He introduces us to hidden desert waters, fearsome floods, and to tiny springs that disappear underground during the heat of the day, only to reappear at night, fish and all. I loved this book so much that, when it was over, I read every single item in the pages-long bibliography; marveling that I had learned a bit about desert hydrology, hyporheic invertebrate assemblage, and geomorphology.

And I had loved every bit of it. Read this book and you will never see deserts in quite the same way again. I know that sounds trite, but it's all I can tell you.

*Our California Home, by Irmagarde Richards. California State Series, Sacramento, 1933. 

Drawn to Water, for Blog Action Day

This year's Blog Action Day, an annual event held every October 15th, is focused on water issues. When I looked on Thursday, there were 4157 blogs signed up to write about the same issue--water. This year, 131 countries are represented, with an estimated 31,949,913 daily readers of those blogs.

Be sure to visit Blog Action Day 2010 and click on "participants" to see other blog entries. I am sure that many of them will be about technical or environmental issues regarding water. The last time I wrote on water for a blog action day (Ogallala Aquifer in 2007) I had to do a lot of research and felt a bit outside of my comfort zone. This time I just want to write about how I feel about water, living in the desert as I do.

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When I first came to live in this part of the Chihuahuan Desert, I brought with me lots of warnings that I had read in books and on the Internet: Carry water with you wherever you go, bring two Chapsticks (one for your lips and one for inside your nose--yes, it's true, those nose goblins can be painful), and remember to hydrate, hydrate, hydrate.

Even so, I wasn't used to the constant need for water in the dry climate of New Mexico when we arrived here from New Hampshire. On our first trip here, Beez and I went out for a morning of exploration in Albuquerque's Old Town. We forgot to carry water that day and found ourselves begging shopkeepers to sell us just a drink of water. We just couldn't get enough water inside of ourselves. They say if you are already feeling thirsty, you are too late and are dehydrated. I know what "they" mean now.

Over the years, we have learned to keep ourselves hydrated by constantly chugging water. We bought a nice big refrigerated cooler for the kitchen. We have recycled bottles of home-filtered water in the fridge all the time. It is second nature to bring along water wherever we go, both for us and for our dogs. When in a restaurant, we order a big glass of iced tea and a big glass of ice water.

I am not a mall shopper, but when we first visited New Mexico we wanted to see everything. We went through the doors of a big mall, heard the sound of trickling water, and were immediately drawn to the fountain. It was a funny experience. We felt a little dazed and almost that we had arrived there without a conscious decision. Such is the magic of water--any water--here in the desert.

One of my favorite places to visit is Dripping Springs, located in the Organ Mountains above Las Cruces. It is an incredible spot--rugged igneous mountains, lush meadows (at least they are lush this year because of abundant summer rains) with antelope and deer scampering about, and a panoramic view back toward the city and the Mesilla Valley.

At the Dripping Springs Visitor Center, there is a garden that highlights native flowering plants and trees. It also features a tiny pond with a recirculating waterfall. You guessed it--that is what draws us in, every time. Without even realizing what is happening, we find ourselves moving closer and closer to that sound of trickling water.

And once we are standing near our heart's desire--the sight and sound of that wonderful water, so rare in a dry climate--we read the sign that has been put there for our benefit. That is the moment when we remember that humans are not the only ones drawn to the sound of that cool, trickling, refreshing water.