Monthly Archives: June 2017

Purple Mountains (A New Mexico Story)

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It was my first time in New Mexico.

I was in an AmeriCorps program in Texas. I was offered the opportunity to go to New Mexico on Memorial Day weekend to work on a trail building project in the Gila National Forest. I was excited to go, to visit a new state, to get out of the Texas heat.

Our caravan made it as far as Las Cruces on the first day of our trip. I grew up in the flatlands of the Deep South, so this trip to New Mexico was one of my first experiences with mountains. Oh how I loved them! I’d barely been able to take my eyes off them since they’d come into view.

The plan was to spend the night at a state park outside Las Cruces. We arrived in the late evening, not very long before sunset. We began the business of settting up our tents.

At 29, I was the oldest person in my AmeriCorps program. (How impossibly young 29 seems now!) I was even older than the AmeriCorps boss on the trip, who was only 23. The other AmeriCorps folks on the trip ranged in age from 16(!) to  early 20s. Also, I really only knew two other people in the group, two guys who, like me, worked in the building program. The other people in our AmeriCorps group did trail building and maintence, and I hadn’t mingled much with any of them.

During my struggle with my tent, I glanced over at the mountains. They were purple, really purple, just like in the song! They were part of one of the most beautiful landscapes I’d ever seen.

I started jumping up and down. I was literally jumping up and down and shouting, The purple mountains majesty! The purple mountains majesty!

I’d been hearing and singing “America the Beautiful” for 20+ years, and I’ll be damned if I had any idea what “purple mountain majesties” was all about. How could mountains be purple? Here was my answer! Now I understood. These were the purple mountains majesties.

I looked over. It seems as if all the young people had stopped assembling their tents and were staring at me. Who is this old woman, I imagined them thinking, jumping up and down and yelling about purple mountains?

I stopped jumping and shouting and went back to pitching my tent. I was a little embarrassed at my outburst, but mostly I felt grateful to have seen those purple mountains.

I first tell in love with New Mexico that evening, and I’ve been in love with the state ever since.

Unfortunately, I have no photos of those purple mountains near Las Cruces, but I did take this photo of Taos County mountains.

The Water Knife (A Book Review)

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The Water Knife
I first heard of the novel The Water Knife (set in the American Southwest, primarily in Phoenix, AZ from a blurb in Sunset magazine (http://www.sunset.com/). The description intrigued me, and I wanted to read the book. Thanks to a kind BookMooch (http://bookmooch.com/) member, I had my chance.

In author Paolo Bacigalupi’s Phoenix, water is precious and scarce, and society is divided according to who has it and who doesn’t. The rich have water, of course, The rich live in lavish “arcologies” where all waste water is sceientifically filtered clean and reused. The rich have plenty of water to drink, can bathe whenever they want, have their clothes cleaned regularly, and even use flush toilets. The poor have limited water resources. The poor live in squats built from salvaged materials or abandoned houses; neither type of housing has running water. The poor buy their water one gallon at a time from pumps with fluctuating prices. The poor are dusty dirty because they can rarely shower or wash their clothes. Needless to say, there are no flush toilets for the Phoenix poor.

Not every place in this distopia Southwest has the water problems Phoenix does. Things are much worse in Texas, and refugees have poured into Arizona via New Mexico. The good people of New Mexico wanted nothing to do with Texas regugees and sent them on their way, sometimes violently. Life isn’t so hard in California and Nevada, and those states want to keep it that way by limiting who crosses their borders to use their limited resources. In this world, coyotes still guide people across borders, but the borders crossed are into states with water.

The most important thing in this world are water rights, and the water knife of the title makes sure his boss gets the water rights she needs to stay wealthy and priviliged.

There’s a lot of dark action in this book: shooting, torture, murder, death. Young women (called “bangbang girls,” usually Texans) sell their bodies for money and, hopefully, the chance to wash their panties in the sink while the rich man sleeps. A man who controls a neighborhood and demands a percentage of the money the area residents earn uses hyenas as part of his enforcement plan. Dams are blown up and precious water is diverted. People are tortured for answers. This book is so dark, in fact, that I put it aside for four months after reading the first nine chapters. The book was good, but it had me on edge, knowing all the characters were facing terrible fates. When I picked it up the second time, I must have been in a better state of mind, because I was able to enjoy the story without letting the violence get to me.

The action of the novel just keeps coming. I enjoyed the suspense of not knowing what would happen next or who would doublecross whom. I did, however, figure out the story’s key mystery long before the characters did. (Of course, I had a big picture view the characters were lacking.)

I also enjoyed the characters. I was pleased to see two of the three main characters through whose eyes the story is told are women. The women aren’t damsels-in-distress women either, but strong, ass-kicking, gonna do what has to be done women. Even though the book is primarily an action/adventure/mystery story, there is also character development, which I appreciated.

The social problems the book examines are not easy to look at. What happenes when modern life as we know it breaks down? What happens when one of humankind’s most basic, most necessary resources becomes so scare people are willing to kill for it? What happens when the environment changes to the point people may no longer be able to survive on the surface of the earth? The Water Knife raises these questions and offers only bleak answers.

Still, I’m glad I read this novel. It was difficult to get through some parts of it, but those hard parts really made the story ring true. It’s a good book, but maybe not for readers who can’t handle the dark side of humanity.

Amazon Associates

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Since October 2016, the Rubber Tramp Artist has participated in the Amazon associates program.

The Princess Bride: S. Morgenstern's Classic Tale of True Love and High Adventure
Here’s how it works. Say I’m writing a blog post about The Princess Bride. I get information from Amazon that allows me to put an image of the book’s cover in my post. Nifty! I now have a nice image related to my topic to go along with my text. However, the image isn’t just a nice picture; it’s also a link to the book on Amazon’s page. If a reader clicks on the image, the link will take him/her directly to Amazon’s website. At that point, any qualifying items placed in the reader’s shopping cart within 24 hours of their arrival at Amazon via my Associates link will earn me advertising fees.

Of course, Amazon is not just about books. I could also write about the movie The Princess Bride and get information from Amazon to put an image of the DVD cover in my post. That image is also a link to the DVD’s Amazon page. Clicking on the image of the DVD on my page will take my reader to The Princess Bride DVD Amazon page. From there, if my reader puts a DVD of The Princess Bride or any other item in his or her cart within 24 hours and purchases those items before the shopping cart expires (usually after 90 days), I will get an advertising fee.

The Princess Bride

Here’s another scenario: Say a reader wants to buy something from Amazon I’ve never even mentioned on the blog. The reader can go to my blog first and click through my site to get to Amazon. A reder can do this in a couple of ways.

The first way is to find the Amazon.com link in the column to the right of the main body of the post. The words “Just click here!” are in orange; that’s my link to Amazon. That link will take readers to Amazon and get me credit for items placed in their carts within 24 hours and purchased (usually) within 90 days.

If that link is too hard to find or too small on a cell phone, there’s another way to do it. On the top of every page of this blog, there’s a link for the page about my book Confessions of a Work Camper: Tales from the Woods. Go to that page. The image of the cover of my book is a link to Amazon. Click on the image of the cover of my book, and you’ll go to Amazon.com. Once a reader has gone to Amazon via either of these methods, s/he can shop for any item. Any item s/he puts in her/his cart in the next 24 hours and purchases within 90 days (usually) will earn me an advertising fee.

Going through the Rubber Tramp Artist blog to shop on Amazon costs the reader/shopper nothing extra. Amazon pays the advertising fee, not the reader/shopper.

Every month, I receive a list of items folks who clicked through my blog purchased from Amazon, but there’s absolutely no names linked to these purchases. I’ll never know who bought what items.

Confessions of a Work Camper: Tales from the Woods
Of course, I’m not encouraging folks to buy things they don’t want or need. However, by going through my blog to make Amazon purchases, readers can help me earn a little money to keep me on the road.

I appreciate everything folks have done to help me since I’ve started this blog. Thanks for every donation, every necklace and collage and hat that’s been bought from me, and every Amazon purchase that’s originated from this blog. Also, a big THANKS to my computer guy who set things up so I could participate in the Amazon Associates program.

 

Brantley Lake State Park

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After a long, hot day in the city of Carlsbad, NM, The Man said he really needed a shower.

Isn’t there a state park around here? he asked.

I got on FreeCampsites.net (https://freecampsites.net/) and had a look. Although staying at state parks isn’t free, it’s often cheap, so parks with campgrounds are sometimes listed on the Free Campsites website. The closest state park that showed up in the search engine was at Brantley Lake.

I don’t remember why we didn’t look for a community or rec center with a swimming pool, as those are often good places to shower for a couple of bucks. In any case, we were soon making the 20-mile drive to the state park.

When we pulled up to the entrance to the park, I read the information board, trying to figure out where we should go. It looked like the price for primitive camping was $8 and the price for developed camping was $14. I was sure the Free Campsites page said the cost of camping in the developed area was $10 Where was the $10 option?

While I was trying to figure things out, a truck pulled over behind us. The Man backed out of its way, but it didn’t go around us and into the park as we’d expected. The truck had some sort of official looking emblem on the door, and the driver looked at me expectantly.

Go talk to him, The Man urged.

Turns out, the man in the truck was the camp host at Limestone Campground, the park’s developed area.

I confirmed that the primitive camping area had no showers. There aren’t even porta-potties down there, the camp host said. I realized later I should have asked if we were allowed to camp in the primitive area but take showers in the developed campground, but it didn’t cross my mind at the time.

At other New Mexico state parks I’ve been to (Caballo Lake, Elephant Butte Lake), primitive camping costs $8, a developed campsite with no electricity costs $10, and a campsite with electricity costs $14. I was confused when I got to Limestone Campground in Brantley Lake State Park because I couldn’t find the $10 non-electric campsites. It finally dawned on me that there was no $10 option there because all sites offered electricity. As I thought more about New Mexico state parks where I’ve stayed before, I remembered Percha Dam campground offered no primitive camping. All sites at that campground were considered “developed,” and I had to pay $10 per night when I stayed there. I learned a lesson at Brantley Lake: Every state park in New Mexico is different, and I need to do a bit more research than FreeCampsites.net to find out if a particular park offers the kind of camping I want.

Brantley Lake is beautiful and large. According to http://www.emnrd.state.nm.us/spd/brantleylakestatepark.html, it is the southernmost lake in New Mexico. Wikipedia (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brantley_Lake_State_Park) says the lake is

a man-made reservoir created when Brantley Dam was built across the Pecos River in the 1980s… It has a surface area of approximately 4,000 acres (16 km2), but that varies due to the inconsistent flow of the Pecos River and the arid climate in which the lake is located.

Brantley Lake is beautiful and large. This photo shows only a small portion of it.

The Limestone Campground is divided into two sections: one has sites that can be reserved and the other has sites that are nonreservable. We pulled into the section for folks without reservations and found several empty sites to choose from. We were visiting on a Thursday in early May, and there was plenty of room. However, if I wanted to stay at Limestone Campground on a summer weekend and I hadn’t reserved a spot, I would be sure to arrive early in the day to secure a site.

Apparently, campsites have a bar-b-que grill too. I guess I didn’t notice the one on our site.

Each site in the nonreserveable part of the campground has a flat area for parking a camper and/or a vehicle and a covered picnic table. Each site has an electrical box too, but since we didn’t need to plug in anything, we didn’t even look at the box. We took a spot next to a trail leading to the lake, but we were too tired to walk down there.

Like the rest of the campground, the women’s restroom/shower house was very clean. A woman was leaving the shower house as I arrived, and no one else came in, so I had the place to myself. I had a couple beefs about the shower, complaints I’ve also had at the other two state parks in New Mexico (Percha Dam and Elephant Butte Lake) where I’ve showered.

First, I had to press a button to start the water flow. The water ran a few minutes (3? 5?) then shut off automatically. I understand managers of state parks wanting showers to shut off automatically to cut down on pranksters or just plain forgetful people leaving the water running and flooding the place or wasting resources. However, having the water shut off during my shower harshes my mellow. Certainly, it’s not a huge problem, as I can simply reach out and push the button again, but I’d prefer a continuous water flow while I’m washing up.

The trail leading to the lake,

The second complaint is more difficult for me to shrug off. The water in New Mexico state park showers never gets hot. Yes, the water is warm. Yes, a warm shower is better (to me) than a cold one. Yes, hot water uses precious resources and opens the park to a lawsuit if someone scalds him or herself. I understand all these factors, but I love me a hot hot shower, and I can’t seem to get one at a New Mexico state park.

Of course, I was happy to get clean, even if I got a little chilly in the process. To this van dweller, a shower is always a luxury. However, I’d rather take a hot shower for $3 at a rec center instead of my paying my half of $14 or even $10 to take a warm shower at a state park.

I took all the photos in this post.

 

 

C. diff

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I didn’t write this post with Father’s Day in mind, but today seems like an appropriate day to share it.

I was at the village library on a Saturday afternoon. The regular library worker–a soft-spoken, helpful woman in her 60s–had the day off. The woman working the desk had a loud voice and a pronouned Southern accent. The library is tiny–children’s area on one side of the small building, books for adults and public access computers on the other–so I could clearly hear everything she said as her voice carried through the place. She wasn’t the normal Saturday worker. The normal Saturday worker was sick, as was her son and husband. The three of them were vommitting, had diarrhea, so the lady with the Southern accent had been called in.

(I wondered how the regular Saturday worker would feel about her replacement telling anyone who cared to listen–as well as those of us who didn’t care to listen–the personal details of her family’s sickness.)

The replacement worker announced how she’d set off the library’s alarm when she’d unlocked the door. She’d called 9-1-1 to let them know she wasn’t a burglar, but the dispatcher told the library lady of course a burglar would call 9-1-1 to say s/he wasn’t a burglar if the arlarm went off. Thankfully, an early partron had helped her disarm the alarm. She was still waiting for the security company to call and ask her for the code.

All of the above information was broadcast across the library from the main desk near the front door. I heard it as clearly as if the library lady had been talking directly to me.

I hadn’t been in my seat long, my laptop barely connected to the internet when someone asked the library lady how her husband was doing.

Not good, she said. He’d been sick.

He has clostridium difficile, she said. They call it C. diff.

Oh, shit! I thought. That’s what killed dad!

The library lady went on to give her willing and unwilling listerns details about C. diff. Most people got it in the hospital. (I was unclear on whether or not her husband had been in the hospital.) The C. diff bacteria is resistant to antibiotics. The bacteria lives in the digestive tract and kills off parts of the large intestines. The dead parts of the large inststines have to be bypasses. (To read what WebMD has to say about C. diff, go here: http://www.webmd.com/digestive-disorders/clostridium-difficile-colitis#1.)

That’s what killed my father! I wanted to shout, but I kept my mouth shut. It was clear the library lady was worried–had been worrying–about her husband. Surely she knew C. diff can and does kill. Surely she had contemplated losing her husband. I doubted she wanted to hear some stranger talk about how C. diff had killed a family member.

I was surprised to find hearing about C. diff upset me.  I wasn’t crying or freaking out big time, but overhearing the libray lady’s C. diff litany certainly made me uncomfortable. I do not want to hear this! I wanted to shout.

I haven’t spent a lot of time and energy missing my dad. We weren’t in touch very often before he died, so mostly I don’t remember that he’s dead. When I do remember, it’s a small blow, a small pain of recollection. Sometimes I want to ask him for advice about the van, then I remember I can’t. Earlier this year, when I came up short on screws and reused some I’d saved, I wanted to tell him how frugal and smart I’d been. I felt sad when I realized I could never tell him the story. And now this lady in the library was talking about C. diff and I had to remember, Oh yeah. That’s what killed my dad.

My relationship with my dad has gotten better since he died. He can’t do new things to piss me off now. He can no longer tease and bait me. He can’t purposely push my buttons. Now I can think about his good qualities, remember nice times we had together, think of him fondly.

Later that afternoon, my sibing and I were messaging on Facebook. I told my sibling about the loud library lady and her C. diff husband.

Did you yell out yell out, “C. diff killed my father! You are freaking me out and making me sad with all the C. diff talk! Shut the fuck up!!!”

I told my sibling, I didn’t tell her it killed my dad or to shut up or anything. I just ignored her.

We agreed my sitting there quietly was probably for the best.

Then we listed back and forth all the things that killed our father. The C. diff took him out, but he probably should have been more upfront with his doctor about his lack of bowel action. (I’m still unclear as to whether or not his doctor knew Dad had gone many days without a bowel movement. If the doctor knew and did nothing, I’ll lay some blame on him too.) We also blame worker’s comp because Dad got jerked around for months before he was approved for the sugery his doctor said he needed. Let’s not forget the workers and managers at the big box store who let pieces of plastic sit on the floor for hours until my dad came along and slipped on the plastic, falling and causing the back injury that forced him to live his last months in pain, the reason he needed surgery in the first place. While we were at it, my sibling blamed the poorly made washing machine returned to the store and spilling the broken plastic on the floor. And how about we place a little blame on the Chinese worker(s) responsible for the defective washing machine? Also responsible for my dad’s death? The system of capitalism that required a 70-year-old man to hold a full-time job in order to pay his bills.

In reality, all the blame in the world isn’t going to bring my dad back, so why bother with it?

How’s the library lady’s husband doing? Better. He was on a 10-day dose of antibiotics costing $1,600, but he was getting better. That day he drove 30 miles to town by himself, the first time he’d been able to do something like that in a long time. He was getting better.

My dad didn’t beat C. diff, but I hope the library lady’s husband does.

 

 

 

Carlsbad Caverns (Part 2)

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Once Jerico was secured in a kennel, The Man and I decided to take the Natural Entrance route down into the cave. We were both in fine health, able to walk a mile on “steep and narrow trails.” We thought it would be cool to follow “the traditional explorers’ route” in, rather than take an elevator down hundreds of feet into the earth.

I bought our tickets while The Man looked in the gift shop. (There’s no reason for us both to stand in line, I told him.) Tickets for the self-guided tours of both the Natural Entrance route and the Big Room Route were $10 for adults without any special passes. Once I procured our tickets, we followed signs to the Natural Entrance. Before we started in, a very cheerful park ranger went over the rules visitor are expected to follow.

Don’t touch any of the cave formations.

No smoking or tobacco use.

No gum.

No eating. Drink only water.

Don’t throw anything into cave pools.

Talk in a whisper.

After the brief interaction with the ranger, we were on our way.

The Natural Entrance to Carlsbad Cavern is just past the Bat Flight Amphitheater.

Just past the Bat Flight Amphitheater, visitors walk down toward the huge, dark opening of the Natural Entrance via a series of paved switchbacks. As one descends, the world becomes quieter and cooler. As the temperature in the cave is always 56 degrees Fahrenheit (13 degrees Celcius), visitors are advised to “take a jacket or a sweater.”

A column formation in Carlsbad Cavern.

The cave wasn’t very crowded or noisy during our visit. Visitors are asked to keep their voices low to maintain a quiet atmosphere, but a large number of people whispering could be a noisy bunch. Even if a crowd was quiet, it might still be difficult to navigate around a lot of people. I prefer to visit attractions when I’m one of few visitors. To avoid crowds at any National Park or other popular place, I advise folks to visit before Memorial Day or after Labor Day, during the middle of the week, and as early in the morning as possible. We visited Carlsbad Cavern on a Thursday in early May and started our exploration before 10am. While we didn’t have the place to ourselves, the cave was quiet, and everyone had plenty of elbow room.

We hadn’t gotten very far into the Main Corridor when The Man said he felt very good, peaceful, even as if he had been to this place before. We wondered why we felt so calm in the cavern. Was it the cool temperature? The soft lighting? The quiet? The lack of electromagnetic radiation? We didn’t know, but we surely enjoyed our calm peacefulness.

The Natural Entrance route and the Big Room route are both highly developed areas. The trail is paved and most parts of it have handrails. Both the pavement and the handrails are safety features. In many places, the trail is steep and narrow and could be difficult to navigate if it were made of dirt or loose rock. The trail is often wet and slippery from the high levels of moisture in the air. The handrails help visitors make it safely through those treacherous areas. The trails are accessible to visitors with a range of physical abilities. “Portions of the Big Room are accessible to visitors in wheelchairs…Visitors in wheelchairs should only go into the Big Room with assistance.”

Both the Big Room route and the Natural Entrance route are lit with artificial light. The lighting is kept dim and is sort of yellow. The low light gives the cave a mysterious atmosphere. “The Natural Entrance route descends over 750 feet into the Earth…” and natural light can’t penetrate so deeply. Without artificial light, the dark zone of the cavern would be pitch black.

It’s difficult to describe how it feels to be in the cavern. It’s both huge, like the tallest cathedral imaginable, and womblike. The air is cool and thick with moisture; it’s hard to remember the Chihuahuan Desert is a few hundred feet above. Carlsbad Cavern is its own unique world.

The chambers are decorated with amazing, sometimes enormous rock formations that were created one drop of water at a time. Of course, the cavern is ancient. “The story of Carlsbad Cavern begins 250 million years ago with the creation of a 400-mile-long reef in an inland sea that covered this region.” How does a sea become a desert? I guess a lot can change in 250 million years.

“The decoration of Carlsbad Cavern with stalactites, stalagmites, and an incredible variety of other formations began over 500,000 years ago after much of the cavern had been carved out. It happened slowly–drop by drop–at a time when a wetter, cooler climate prevailed.”

To learn more about how Carlsbad Cavern and its fantastic decorations formed, go to https://www.nps.gov/cave/learn/nature/geologicformations.htm.

Soon after we passed Iceberg Rock, “a single 200,000-ton boulder that fell from the cave ceiling thousands of years ago,” we found ourselves near the elevator up and the beginning of the Big Room route.

This is as far as I went the other time I was here, I told The Man. When we got here, my ex said he was too tired to go on, so we took the elevator up and left.

The Man and I wanted to see every last bit of that cave, so we set out on the Big Room route.

This is one of the formations I saw in the Big Room.

The Big Room consists of “8.2 acres” and is “the largest room in the cave.” The paved trail is a mile long and goes in a loop around the perimeter of the Big Room. There’s a shortcut at about the halfway point for people who don’t have the time, energy, or inclination to walk the whole route. The Man and I were having nothing to do with a shortcut; we wanted to see it all!

You missed all of this? The Man whispered in bewilderment as we walked through the Big Room. This is the best part!

I had to agree. My ex’s foolishness had caused us both to miss the largest and most famous formations like Rock of Ages, Giant Dome, Twin Dome, and Crystal Spring Dome.

The Man took my hand and said, I’m glad we got to see this for the first time together.

Me too, I smiled.

My biggest frustration in Carlsbad Cavern was trying to get photos capturing the beauty and momentous nature of the formations I saw. I used my digital camera (not the one in my phone), and even with a flash

StalacTites are on the Top.

and a zoom, it wasn’t up to the task. I’m not a fan of flash photography, but the low light in the cave made it impossible to capture any image without using a flash. The Man got a few really nice photos using his phone, but even a nice photo is totally lacking. Like with so many natural wonders, the only way to begin to understand the majesty of Carlsbad Cavern is to actually visit it.

The Man said seeing the cave had totally been worth the time, money, and effort. He was glad we had visited and thanked me for suggesting/insisting we go. He’s been to some beautiful places–the Oregon Coast and Moab, UT among them–but he said Carlsbad Cavern is one of the most amazing places he’s ever visited.

Carlsbad Cavern is open every day except Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Day. Hours vary by season. For current information, contact the park at 575-785-2232 or see https://www.nps.gov/cave/planyourvisit/hours.htm.

All information in quotation marks comes from the Carlsbad Caverns information sheet and map I was given when I bought our tickes.

I took all of the (terribly disappointing) photos in this post.

 

 

 

Carlsbad Caverns (Part 1)

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The first time I visited Carlsbad Caverns, I knew it was something special.

I was still with the man who would one day be my ex. We were already fighting a lot, and by “fighting,” I mean he was angry at me most of the time and yelled at me when we were in the privacy of the van. I’m not sure if the hitting had already started, but if it hadn’t it would soon. In fact, he almost canceled our visit to the caverns because I “made” him yell at me so much the night before that I “made” him sick, and he didn’t know if he had the energy to enjoy himself. I cajoled him into going, mostly so I wouldn’t be blamed later for “making” him miss the attraction.

Neither of us was very happy when we arrived at the Natural Entrance to the cave, but we were quickly

The Natural Entrance to the cave.

overcome by the shocking beauty it contained. As we descended deeper into the earth, we were amazed by the rock formations we saw: stalactites, stalagmites, soda straws, draperies, and columns. The formations we saw were like nothing we had ever seen. We were in awe.

Of course, after the one-mile hike into the cave, the boyfriend punished me by saying he was just too tired to walk another mile through the Big Room, the basic tour through Carlsbad Cavern. We had to leave, he insisted. He just couldn’t go on. So we took the elevator back up to the visitor center, found the van in the parking lot, and left.

What a manipulator! He got to experience fantastic natural wonders, yet still got to blame me for not getting to see both parts. He got to have his bitter cake and eat the nasty thing too!

Honestly, it hardly mattered to me that we left without seeing everything. Just seeing what I saw of the cavern was enough for me. I didn’t care if the boyfriend wanted to be mad at me. What I had seen had been extraordinary, and I think I was changed, maybe minutely, maybe imperceivably, but something inside of me was a little bit different.

At one point, while we were walking along the Main Corridor, somewhere between Bat Cave, Devils’ Den, and Iceberg Rock, I had the urge to fall to my knees and give thanks. I wasn’t sure who I wanted to thank. God? The Goddess? The Universe? Mother Nature? The Creator? Before that day, I hadn’t really believed in anything greater than myself or any sort of force bigger than chemical reactions, but on that day, something clicked. Sure, chemical reactions were involved in this grandeur before me, but something so majestic surely was formed by some extraordinary force.

I left the boyfriend some months later, and we got back together. We repeated the process several times until I left his ass for good. Fast forward six yeas, and The Man and I found ourselves in Roswell, NM.

I knew The Man had never been to Carlsbad Caverns.

We should go! I encouraged him. We’re so close!

He seemed a little skeptical. Was it really worth going nearly 100 miles out of our way? He said he’s been in other caves. Did he really need to see this one?

I didn’t blame him for his skepticism. There was no way my mere words could describe to him how glorious those underground rooms are.

That’s the problem with trying to describe Carlsbad Caverns–there’s no way words can do it justice. Even photographs–even professional photographs–fail to capture the splendor of Carlsbad Caverns. Maybe a photograph of one formation–say Rock of Ages–will do a really good job of showing its features, but no photograph can convey the vastness of the Big Room, the cool dripping wetness of the atmosphere in the cave, the near silence enveloping visitors.

I took many photos at Carlsbad Caverns, but only a few look anything like real life. This is one of the few decent photos I ended up with. Even a decent photo cannot convey how it really feels to be deep in the earth.

Somehow, what I was able to convince The Man that a visit to the cavern would be worth the trip, so we drove out to Carlsbad on a Wednesday afternoon. We spent the night on BLM land (free boondocking!) on Highway 62/180, and the next morning we only had to drive a few miles to the park entrance.

Because dogs are not allowed in the caverns and pets can’t be left in vehicles if temperatures are predicted to rise above 70 degrees, our first order of business upon arrival at the visitor center was to deposit Jerico in the park’s kennel.

The kennel service cost $10 when we visited in May 2017. The kennel closed earlier than the cave, but a dog could stay the entire time the kennel was open for the same price as a dog that only stayed an hour. The kennel and the gift shop are run by the same concessionaire. We didn’t have to show proof of any vaccinations to secure Jerico a spot.

The kennel was very sparse. It consisted of about a dozen cages made from metal wire lining the walls of a large storage closet. Each cage contained water in a bowl and nothing more. While the room didn’t stink, it didn’t have that medicinal smell veterinary clinics have which lets clients know floors have been recently disinfected. Also, no attendant stayed in the room with the dogs. If we’d had a better choice, I wouldn’t have left Jerico there.

Without encouragement, Jerico went right into the cage the worker pointed to, but once the door was zip tied shut, we understood the pup’s displeasure by the look in his eye and the tone of his bark. The Man filled out a form with basic information, then we walked to the gift shop to pay the kennel fee.

(A few hours later, when we retrieved Jerico, I was surprised to see a different worker took no steps to make sure we were leaving with the dog we brought. He didn’t ask to see The Man’s driver’s license or compare the duplicate of the form attached to our receipt to the original. I bet this lax security would get the operation in a heap of trouble if someone’s precious pet was stolen.)

Our task complete, The Man and I headed into the visitor center to begin our adventure.

I took all of the photos in this post.