Mount Taylor

As stated previously, I had my eye on a peak. Above the tree line, round with a long expanse of ridge, it had all the makings of a perfect photo spot. Problem was, I didn't plan to head up it. I planned on taking the dogs to the top of a false peak above the home in which I am staying. So I grabbed the water bag, the camera out of habit, whistled for the dogs and hit the trail. In retrospect, whenever you head into the backcountry, bringing a cell phone or GPS and a map is a good idea. Both I left on my bed. When I arrive at the top of the false peak (see the blog post from ) I saw another peak just above. Merrily I headed up, noting the trail was getting thinner. Upon reaching it, there was the true peak of Mount Taylor, basking in the high altitude sunshine. Feeling good and with two happy dogs by my side, I reasoned that the trail was becoming more defined and whatever I planned on doing could wait. Down I went to begin another ascent. After losing the trail I found it again and began a serpentine climb to the true summit. When the trail finally ended, faced with either pushing on or heading home, I opted for the former. Noting my surroundings carefully, I began a somewhat arduous bushwhack up. But I knew the peak would be worth it. Every opening in the trees revealed parts of the valley floor distant and clear. So I made it, and photographed it from every angle, corner, peak and dale, even trying to climb a tree only to be repelled by ferocious tree ants. Then, hungry, slightly sore, and ready to be heading down, the bad decision was made. There were three false peaks to choose from. Based on my landmarks and what i had seen the day prior, I choose #2 and decided on new markers to make a straight line descent to it. Ooops. But after a seriously fun descent, finding the trail I used to find my way up only to lose it again, I found myself eventually on the wrong/right ridge. When you are lost, you are lost. I was smart enough to know this, so knowing that heading downhill and and following the water flow, eventually you come across a road. After shimmying through barb wire, running into a herd of cattle (FYI, I'm knee deep in manure), and stealthily creeping by cattlemen repairing fences in a state where messing with cattle is punishable by hanging, I found the road to take me home. Only bad news was that I was two thousand feet below said food shelter and hot shower, and a three mile hike back up it was an lamentable end to an otherwise fine day. In the end though, I would have done nothing different (except maybe bring the map and GPS) because look at the photo I got!


-jb.