Crouching in the scant shade of a mesquite tree last weekend, I didn't think that I would really ever want to run again. Images of bikepacking along the border in the bootheel of NM or bushwacking along Cherry Creek came to mind instead. What I experienced along the 50 miles of the Colossal Vail course almost brought me to tears twice, tears from beauty and not pain. Seeing the woman who must have been in last place, 18 miles from the finish and darkness quick approaching raised intense emotions and an empathy for her experience. Was she hurting, stressed about making the cutoffs, and frustrated to be in last place? Elated to simply be lucky enough to run in the desert? The dark skies and solitude in the Rincon Valley must have been incredible for her. Again, with 2 miles to go, I passed a runner dressed in a goofy hat he'd picked up at the final aid station. I was at this point running really hard, and his encouraging words as I passed seemed deeply authentic and real. Shivers sent down my spine and a smile on my face. The saguaros were turning pink as I flew into the finish, stronger than I'd ever finished an ultra before. That race rubbed me to the core in a way that I often seek yet seldom find. To have all thoughts stripped away, infinite inspired energy, emotions rubbed raw, and viewing life anew through eyes as a primate on the earth is what I had found in spades. Masochism granted.
Seven days later I was shuffling along the Tadpole Ridge Trail for the first time. All week I'd been daydreaming of a long day trip into the Gila Wilderness, but ultimately knew that I shouldn't be away from home for so long. Still needing to feel the draw of new terrain, it was gratifying when the idea of traversing Tadpole Ridge came to mind.
I'd always assumed that this trail would be hidden away in the trees, with nary a long view. Coming from last weekends trip in the wide-open Sonoran Desert, being surrounded by thick trees with no views seemed like a fair trade-off. What I hadn't expected were fairly constant views into the thick of the Gila along incredible tread. Footsteps in pine needles and crushed dry leaves. Fingers numb from the cold, fumbling with camera settings
It was so quiet out there that I noticed my tinnitus for the first time in a very long time. Incredibly still with very few birds. This is what we come to the Gila for.
The trail contours along the north side of the ridge, often on top of it at the saddles between peaks. I'm excited to return in the winter when snow should linger for a while on these north slopes, simultaneously giving deep views into the whiter Gila to the north. In a way it was sad to see that this trail was of such high caliber, knowing that it couldn't be used in the 50 mile race route I'd designed earlier this year. However if the USFS gods decide to open up the trails surrounding the Signal Peak burnzone, the Tadpole Ridge Trail will be a memorable middle section on the loop.
