Farmer Jim, 50; Gila Monster, 8 billion

Sunday, May 15, 1994

Yep. Farmer Jim was 50. Half a century. Five decades. I was gonna celebrate with a great father-son backpacking adventure. After all Jason was a quarter century. This is the thing that father-son bonding is made of. But the battle with the Gila Monster was not what I had planned.

We’d had some great backpacking adventures. A 40-mile trip in the Weminuche Wilderness in Colorado, when Jason was about 10. The only bad part was having to carry Jason's pack when he got tired.

Another great adventure also included Big John Kabbes in the Sierras near Lake Tahoe. We were quite a trio - Mutt, Jeff and the dwarf. Big John at 6'7", me at 5'10", and Jason about 4'6". Big John had visions of basking in the California sun, but it turned out to be cold, windy and snowy the whole time. We decided to just stay huddled in camp by the fire, and eat everything we possibly could so we wouldn't have to pack out. Did a pretty good job, too. I don't remember seeing any other fools on that whole trip.

I guess our greatest previous father-son only trip was the 40-mile hike on the Skyline Trail in the Pecos Wilderness. Jason was 18 then. He was able to carry all his own stuff. I was 42 and in good shape. We did that trip pretty easily. Had fun feeding the "wild" Rocky Mountain bighorn sheep at Truchas Lake. Whenever we rustled a plastic bag of food, they were the first in line for chow. One even tried to eat the shirt right off my back. I guess to get at the salt from my hot, sweaty body. Sorta like my second wife. Ha! Ha! It misted rain almost the whole five days, but didn't rain hard 'til the last 2 hours. It was like being in a time warp, hiking in that cold rain and hail. My watch was flashing 88:88. Pecos abnormal time, I guess.

So we've done a lot of hiking in various and sundry spots, but not southwestern New Mexico. Where Geranimo hid from the cavalry. That was our destination -- the Gila Wilderness. First official wilderness in the world. Somehow seems rather ironic that the government has to bless an area as wilderness for it to be that. Then everyone wants to go there. But what we were about to discover was the Gila is big and tough. The meanest SOB in the valley. I don't know why anyone would want to go there, although it's pure, unadulterated wilderness. No honky tonks or titty bars for hundreds of miles. Although, I hear the Corps of Engineers has some planned

But on the night of May 15, 1994, here we were flying low in a VW bus along a dirt road in the New Mexican desert, dodging the jackrabbits and night hawks zooming into the headlights. Lots of livestock checking us out, too. I was just hoping the bus wasn't in heat, as some of those bulls looked awfully amorous. Noting worse on the tailpipe that a lovesick bull. Get the condoms and K-Y jelly, here comes Ferdinand again!

Finally there it was. An actual sign saying "Sacaton Trailhead --->." And we were there. Jason drove around like a drunk Native American trying to find a flat place to park. He decided on a spot, completely differentiated from all others by the fact that the bus was parked there. No other distinguishing features. Certainly not any flatter. But we were there, and our adventure would begin at daylight.

It was pretty warm that night, so we slept with the door open. I had visions of a rattlesnake crawling in, looking for a warm place to hide. Thank goodness, Juneau the Wonder Woofer slept in the floor. I was on the bed in the back, and Jason was in the pop-top. Sounds like a tri-level sleeping arrangement, but on that hill, it was really tri-slant.