Summer 100: #1-10
The drive East; it begins. From cities, to suburbs, from backwater, to nowhere, over and over again. The fully-loaded suburban hurtles down the highway at 80mph, power lines...
Summer 100: #1-10
1/100
The drive East; it begins. From cities, to suburbs, from backwater, to nowhere, over and over again. The fully-loaded suburban hurtles down the highway at 80mph, power lines racing off towards the horizon. Plans are made and futures are speculated upon. Miles tick away and beverages tip empty. And so, it begins.
2/100
A denim-ed viking sits atop his throaty, snarling beast, surveying the great desert lands. A toothy grimace falls out from his sun-worn face as he stares at me through the tempered, tinted glass. He guns the throttle, backfiring loudly, but sputters on ahead of our vehicle. Have any exceptional encounters from your car?
3/100
The vehicle pulls over for a much needed pit stop. Turning down offers for venison-jerky from the cloistered townies, I continue to wander away from the main road, looking for the abandoned shack which had caught my eye from the car. It smelled strongly of “Do Not Enter”. Ever see something from the car window that you just must explore further?
4/100
Bending down to the moistened earth, I gazed over the leathery remains. The flesh has been daintily picked away from the bone, no doubt with help from the beetles which scurried into the fur the moment my shadow crossed them. This wonderful specimen was waiting for us in the driveway at the cabin in Eagle's Nest; welcome back to the woods, kids. Ever see any cool carrion?
5/100
The rocks here, are alive. Several types of pale blue and bright orange lichen engulf the surface of the weathered stone. They share remarkable similarities to sea coral. The blood starts to pool in my ears from invertedly staring at the ground for such a time. I start to imagine the sea floor thriving with life. Fish swimming around in dense clusters, the tide swaying to and fro, the crushing pressure of the water. I stand up and the blood starts to drain from my skull; seems I still haven't acclimated yet.
6/100
The smell of fresh rain and body odor waft through the sunny streets of Taos. Quaint shops sell their tchotchkes to the thriving tourists. The town is an odd mixture of rustic Southwest and vintage urban grunge, even the barred windows have a little design flare. Sunglasses on and iced Americano in-hand, I try to disguise myself from the busking hippies and gentrified window shoppers.
7/100
The stores' diverse wares range from leather crafts and books to eco-friendly kitchen tools and precious gemstones. We wander through the narrow streets and back alleys digesting the afternoon's fare of green chile burgers and beer. There is an inaudible apprehension in the air; the crowds are days away from pouring into the quiet ski resort town. Summer has arrived.
8/100
On the way back home from Taos, we take a detour and stop by the Vietnam Veteran's Memorial Center to take a moment and sit on the benches. Thankfully, there have been a few days of intermittent precipitation, which is unusual this time of year. The dark and heavy clouds have been lingering throughout the day. Looking out upon the sweeping and vast valley, the grass appears greener. Finally, after four years of brown, a little green starts to return.
9/100
The Chase Ranch, founded in 1867 by Manly and Theresa Chase, was home for the pivotal ranching family of Cimarron, New Mexico. They raised sheep, cattle, and planted apple trees which are still growing and producing fruit to this day. Gretchen Sammis, the last living decedent of the Chase's, owned and operated the ranch for the last 58 years. In August of 2012, she passed away and the land was entrusted to Philmont. Today, during the second day of Camp Director training, we got to tour the majority of the house and grounds which had recently opened to the public. There was an eerie silence throughout the spacious but cluttered home; four generations of history under one roof left a distinct and curious smell lingering in the air. I meandered out to the courtyard and garage area, the day's teachings absorbing into me. Note to self: find cattle skulls for O'Keeffe devotionals and decorative purposes.
10/100
One of the last places at the Chase Ranch we visited for the day was the pen and barn area. The fences, which once held back hundreds upon hundreds of heads of cattle, now, are my last source of protection between one beastly bovine and my trampled demise. She incessantly mooed at the entire group until we departed. We come to learn her calf had been sold a few weeks ago – the will of the West. Someone important yells and we head back to the school bus, load up, and take off for home. The raucous bus vibrations send me into a nap-haze as our seemingly endless training schedule unfolds in my mind.
Summer 100: #11-20
The week waned and finally Camp Director training came to a close, its sparse but impactful lessons far too fresh in our naïve brains. Looking to celebrate on our...
Summer 100: #11-20
11/100
The week waned and finally Camp Director training came to a close, its sparse but impactful lessons far too fresh in our naïve brains. Looking to celebrate on our last full free-day for several weeks, we hastily threw on civvies, piled into the minivan, and barreled down highway 64 towards ever-popular Taos. The twisting mountain road snaked ahead of and behind me for miles. We rounded a corner and a sweeping view of Mt. Baldy reveals a fresh coat of snow from last night's storm atop its usually stark 12,441' peak; an unfamiliar sight. Our gasoline-powered DJ booth sped onward. The traffic sign seems to be more omen than warning.
12/100
Exiting the winding mountainous road from Angel Fire, we descend into Taos valley, stopping at everyone's favorite pizza joint for some much needed lunch. We chatter and joke, anxious for our Program Counselors who will be arriving tomorrow en masse, bringing with them the start of a second full week of training. First aid training, astronomy training, ATV training, our waitress asks for my order and I am pulled back into the conversation. A warm and quenching summer breeze floats lazily through the cottonwoods, cooling my damp forehead. Our afternoon's grub arrives – pizza, pesto, porter – perfection.
13/100
With a forceful yank, I relieve my sweaty skull from the confines of my glossy black full-face helmet. Our first four hours of ATV training is proving exceptionally challenging and the unyielding sun's rays are not making our lessons any easier. Lunch break arrives and we start the long retreat back to the Dining Hall. My breathable pants *zip-zip* against my ankles while my camera collides with my kidney in-step. A small scurrying raisin/creature grabs my attention. I stooped down to discover this little guy trying to seek refuge from my lumbering shadow. He crawled into the dense grass and proceeded emulate “pebble” with great results. Gingerly with a twig, I coaxed him from his grassy enclosure. Exposed, he froze, most likely admiring his own reflection in my lens two inches away, granting me a few moments for a portrait session. The meatball sub had a hard time matching my level of satisfaction for nailing the shot.
14/100
I feel myself start spiraling into a pit of paperwork, angst, and laundry. It is far too late to be awake. The omnipresent sodium vapor lights bathe everything in a sickly shade of orange. Jittery, I decide to check on the stars and go for a walk to calm my nerves. So far, it seems 75% of the time I look up at the sky, there are clouds, tonight being no different. Distant light from the small town of Springer feebly beams back towards the cosmos. I shuffle back towards the confines of my tent and try to forget about the lack of time and the abundance of paperwork which lies ahead of me.
15/100
The low, scraping afternoon sun begins to set after our second full day of ATV training; only two more days remain before we earn our instructor status. My staff this year mostly consist of first years, my buddy Jimmy being the exception, who worked with me for a few weeks back in 2011 because of the fire closures. Reunited, we are stoked to spend the summer with each other and deliver awesome program. Having someone who understands you and anticipates your next move is a valuable asset to have. As Jimmy and I walk back to the mess hall, we joke about the coming summer. "We're gonna kill it", he says. I agree. Bring it on.
16/100
In a blur, the second training week passes and we find ourselves loading up the suburbans with our worldly possessions en route to Zastrow, our home for this summer. We arrive and I hop out of the vehicle and survey my vast new land; there is much to explore. For now, we must unpack and clean. Everything. After a few hours tackling the kitchen, I take a water-in\water-out break. On my way to find a rock, my eye catches the glimmer of a winged bug. He was sitting nonchalantly in the middle of the path; something didn't feel quite right. I reach for a stick, the tried and true method, and give it the gentlest of pokes. Slowly, he wiggles his limbs. I timidly pick up the stoned bug with the stick and transport him to greener and safer pastures for a little rest. I retreat to do my business and when I return, he is no longer there. Making friends on day one.
17/100
I grab one of my staff, Gordon, and we leave on a small two mile hike to set up our Geocaching course. Although several days have passed since our arrival, the newness of camp has yet to wear off. The diversity of the flora at Zastrow is some of the most unique I have seen across the entire Ranch. We finish hiding a cache and our course leads us to a vista overlooking our entire home. We admire the view for a minute and head down the gully into a shaded patch of old pines. The ground is dense and sponge-like with compacted and decaying needles. I see a branch with a rotted out knot and notice a Gambel oak leaf nestled comfortably inside; something about it seems oddly poetic. I set a waypoint in the GPS. I must return.
18/100
Break-time ends and we leave the grove of trees. Our GPS units take us back out into the open, back out under the sun. The scenery begins changing again as we find ourselves scrambling up the side of an arid rocky hill. The pines and cottonwoods are gone, replaced by creosote bushes and rocky mountain juniper. The hill is very steep now and I turn my attention to the ground. A cactus! Not just one, but dozens of petite, ankle-sized cacti hide all around. Some species are even flowering. I make a mental note to warn all future Croc-wearers who wish to complete the course. Forests and deserts, what next?
19/100
The sun and temperature have both reached their peaks as we finish hiding the tenth and final cache and start our return trip back to the cabin. In a small wash, I notice a bit of blue winking back at me amid the coarse gravel. Crispy like thin jerky, I find an expired Sagebrush lizard who's once brilliant azure stripes have now quickly begun losing their luster under the harsh light. I stand back up and brush the impacted grit from my fleshy kneecaps and jog to catch up with Gordon. A lone cloud lazily drifts by in the late afternoon heat. Hopefully it brings company.
20/100
A dark and ominous gray has been swirling above camp for the last few hours. I put a few paces between me and the cabin, drinking in my surroundings. There's a coolness to the air and the wind has started to shift directions, as evidenced by the flagpoles. Down the road I notice a few visiting staff hiking-in to visit. Their timing appeared to be perfect; there's definitely a storm a brewin'. Our warning is over and a few drops begin hitting me on my scalp. The New Mexico rain is cold, bringing with it hailstones which increase in size before our eyes. The thunderous assault on the tin roof is deafening as the hailstones reach the size of Brussels sprouts. Tree limbs crack and fall under the unrelenting force, a river of water is now surging through our road. As suddenly as it came, the skies finally cease and we race out from under the safety of our porch. My province has been covered in stunning white - limited edition. Jessica and I quickly hurry to the bridge, anxious to see what camp looks like on the other side. The Rayado has grown nearly half a foot during the intense 15 minute storm.
About the Blog
Justin Kernes is a photographer and writer who thrives in the great outdoors.
From 2010-2017, he worked in the backcountry at Philmont Scout Ranch in New Mexico.
In 2018 “Tiny Slice” successfully thru-hiked the Pacific Crest Trail.
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