I loaded up my camping gear and secured the kayak atop my Buick for the 100 mile drive west on I-40 beyond the town of Grants. It looked like the forecast might be right. Puffy fair weather cumulous clouds were encouraging. No signs of rain means camping should be dry.
The high desert west of Albuquerque was surprisingly green for this time of year. Places usually brown were grass-covered and lush. That's good news for the grazing cattle and sheep one sees on passing through the Indian country. It's also good news for the forest fire crews. Soaking rains recently have lessened the risk dramatically.
It's about 2:30 in the afternoon when I pull into the state park. My first order of business is to drive around to select a campsite, before registering and paying the fee. The rates depend on what accommodations are available. RV's wanting water and electric hookups pay the most. Tent campers like me have two choices, improved sites or unimproved sites. The difference is with or without picnic tables and fire pits. I chose improved and paid my ten bucks. And besides, it's only 100 yards to portable toilets, versus much greater distances in the eight dollar unimproved sites.
The ranger in the office told me that the winds should abate by sunset, promising me some decent kayaking conditions the following morning. I sure hoped so, because it's too choppy now to be any fun. Fighting the winds makes kayaking hard work. I'll wait until dawn. Just as I was leaving the visitor's center, the ranger mentioned that I should not leave any food out unattended. There is a pack of wild dogs roaming the area. I nodded in understanding and headed for my campsite.
The winds gave me a little bit of a problem getting the tent set up, but once in place it withstood the gusts just fine. A bungee cord to a handy pine tree helped hold things steady. For the rest of the afternoon I strolled a bit, sat and read a bit and generally enjoyed being in the beautiful high country. The campground was about half full, mostly with locals. Up in the RV area there were a number of out-of-staters.
Just after sunset the winds did abate somewhat, encouraging me about tomorrow's prospects for paddling. A grassy meadow at the north end of the lake held a couple dozen grazing cattle, who turned as one and headed for the lake shore to drink. Then they turned, almost on cue, and headed back up to the grass and the trees beyond. Those trees are what we call PPJ, pinon, ponderosa and juniper evergreens.
Several hawks and dozens of ravens fly past, some swooping down to see what the clatter of my portable typewriter is all about. And down at the water's edge, where the cattle just drank, I saw a heron wading in the mud. Now and then he thrusts his head down into the water, but I didn't see him catch anything. Soon it was too dark to watch.
The campground is far from quiet this evening. Several late arrival campers drive by, trying to find the perfect camp site in the dark. Down by the lake shore, some 500 yards below the bluff where I am set up, a radio blares, a generator whines and dogs bark. Soon a chorus of howling coyotes join in and the whole area reverberates with noise. Quiet and peaceful it isn't.
I turn in early, after double checking to be sure there is no food to temp visitors, canine or otherwise. A last look around the skies overhead is a treat. I soon forget the noise and ruckus, lost in the joy of viewing so many stars. The milky way is especially clear in the cloudless sky, far away from city lights. Up here on the Divide is a great place to star gaze. I even saw a shooting star, just before closing the tent flap for the night.
Throughout much of the night the barking of dogs, far away and then closer, make getting sleep all but impossible. It was well after midnight before they quieted down. But not all of the campers were as cooperative. Radios still blared and people shouted. Such animals.
Just before dawn the dogs really got going. You could hear them bark, cry and scuffle. There must be a power struggle in the pack. They are below me, down near the lake when the really got noisy. A woman's voice screams " Shut up, damn you. Get outta here." And it isn't even light yet.
At 6:00 I crawl out of the sleeping bag and put on some clothes. The flapping of my tent isn't very encouraging, for the winds are still here. I step out and stretch, to be greeted by a stiff breeze in my face. I look down toward the lake and see whitecaps already. There is no sign of dogs, though a yelp comes from the south, past the boat ramp. They are still at it.
After paying the obligatory stop to the portable toilet, I think about making coffee and some breakfast. I am uncertain about prospects for kayaking. And just as I begin to pour some water in a pot to heat for coffee, the winds freshen even more. This is not a good sign.
In fact, I just gave up. There would be no kayaking today, and probably no coffee either with this wind blowing. It's a shame, a darn shame. The skies are clear and the dawn is beautiful. It's just that wind that deters me.
By 8:00 I was packed and ready to leave. Breakfast would be at the truck stop outside Grants. And you know, those eggs, pancakes and bacon tasted pretty good. And the coffee was especially welcome. I was home by noon. It was a different kind of camping and kayaking trip. What kayaking? My boat never left the top of my car.