Hands tingling from the altitude, I'm inevitably overtaken by a joyful feeling of expanding spirit, as if part of me is only accessible up there, hanging out with the marmots and gray jays.

The Back Door to the Divide

by David Leach

ay up high, 25 miles to the northeast and a full mile above Santa Fe, is a giant, curving charm bracelet of a ridge with mountains dangling from its rim: the Santa Barbara Divide. Sitting up at 12,300 feet, it seemed remarkably level from where I stood last fall, about a mile south of Jicarita Peak, up near the top of the Divide's eastern arm. Within its four-mile-wide loop drain the three forks of the Santa Barbara River, running down to the Rio Grande. To the south lies the Pecos watershed, its river also joining the Rio Grande, but far to the south in Texas. Other watersheds lie to the east and west, while numerous peaks dot the Divide's rim: Jicarita, Chimayosos, North Truchas and Trampas. I was thrilled to be there; for years I'd despaired of ever reaching the Divide at all.

've done some backpacking, but mostly I'm a day hiker, which limits me to 16-mile round-trips. That way I can enjoy hiking the trail without a heavy pack as I anticipate emerging into the high country, with its long views of distant peaks. Hiking up to Lake Peak, 2,600 vertical feet above the Santa Fe Ski Basin, hands tingling from the altitude, I'm inevitably overtaken by a joyful feeling of expanding spirit, as if part of me is only accessible up there, hanging out with the marmots and gray jays.

There is one trail that blows my circuits without nearly as much exertion. When I first hiked it about 10 years ago, I got my first glimpse of the Divide. Just east of the town of Peñasco lies the Santa Barbara campground and trailhead at the end of Forest Road 116. Trail 24 climbs gradually along the west bank of the river, crosses a footbridge, then winds up through a beautiful canyon to a confluence about two miles up from the campground. Here the Middle Fork of the Santa Barbara meets up with the West Fork, and just before the confluence the incoming Middle Fork must be crossed either by wading, which is difficult and dangerous if the water is running high, or by walking across a long, slippery fallen tree trunk.

Another two miles of easy hiking reveals a spectacular horseshoe-shaped valley formed by a high cliff face to the right, a gently rising forested ridge to the left, and, right in front, Chimayosos Peak, sitting up on the Santa Barbara Divide and rising above the trees to 12,841 feet. The smaller Barbara Peak is also visible, but not the nearby Truchas Peaks, hidden behind the steep canyon wall.

The river is interrupted here by a network of beaver dams, some of them twisting and turning for hundreds of feet. The ground nearby is spongy and swampy, but it's possible for the fleet of foot to get right up on top of some of them. You won't see any of the dome-shaped homes that beavers build elsewhere, as these beavers build their dwellings inside the riverbank.

The trail carries on past numerous excellent campsites, crosses the river a few times, and climbs via switchbacks to the right of Chimayosos, right up to the Divide, where it joins the Skyline Trail just below East Truchas Peak. At least, that's what the Forest Service's Pecos Wilderness map shows, as I haven't yet made it up there! One day in midsummer a few years ago, a friend and I tried it. The total round-trip distance is at least 16 miles, probably more. We got to the top of the switchbacks alongside Chimayosos, but then the weather closed in and lightning forced us to turn back a mile short of the Divide. We couldn't see a thing and had to march seven miles back to the car in the rain. Even if we had made it up, we would have had to turn around immediately or walk back in the dark. Clearly, it was impossible to reach the Divide in a day, by that route at least.

I love maps and often comb the Pecos Wilderness map for hikes I don't know. But it's always a gamble — what if there aren't any grand vistas up the new trail, just a dark tunnel through the woods? Instead of risking it, my friends and I would go to Lake Peak, Hamilton Mesa or Santa Barbara time after time, taking the "bird in hand" approach. Nevertheless, I had been intrigued by a squiggly little line on the map at the end of Forest Road 207 just north of Trampas, a town midway between Truchas and Peñasco. The map's contour lines converged tightly around Trail 31, indicating a very narrow, steep-walled canyon. At the top I saw two lakes indicated and, right above them, the Divide. Perhaps this trail would yield a route to the top?

In August of 2006 my friend Jon and I drove in to find out. The small campground at the trailhead is one of the most beautiful I've seen, placed at the confluence of the Trampas and San Leonardo rivers. Several campsites stretch out alongside the Rio de las Trampas as the trail climbs above. It's a wonderful, picturesque trail. The first two of its six miles climb gradually above the river through a forest of ponderosa pine and Douglas fir. There are numerous views of river rapids and small waterfalls, as well as side trails down to the bigger ones. Finally, the trail rounds a shoulder of the ridge dividing the Trampas from the Rio San Leonardo drainage to the south and emerges into a lush valley before turning into the upper canyon. It then rises hundreds of feet in altitude over six long switchbacks.

The final section of the trail winds across several tributary streams and around promising but false summits until reaching a large marsh full of skunk cabbage. Here the trail divides. One branch (#45) curves right over to Hidden Lake, which I have yet to explore. The main trail skirts the swamp to the left, although I missed it and blundered straight through the swamp. About this time I felt a wave of goose bumps, and looking up through the tall Douglas fir, I glimpsed for the first time the towering rock cliffs.

My expectation in venturing up a new trail is that I will discover something wonderful, at least as exciting as the view from Lake Peak or the valley below Chimayosos. I get a nervous, happy feeling that any bend in the path could bring a revelation. The further I go, the more it builds, wedded with the fear that there might be no break in the dark trees, no glorious vista. I'll end up in a half run at times, wasting energy just to see what's around the next corner.

As I struggled out of the swamp that day, I saw the beginnings of steeply rising hillsides off through the trees. Then, looking up through the treetops — way up — I felt a thrill pass through me as I saw jagged edges of high cliffs that seemed impossibly close. I ran the last several dozen yards through the trees to the edge of the first lake and looked across at a long, curving rock cliff a thousand feet high, broken in places by spires of rock and green licks of vegetation spilling down from the Divide above.

Having driven from Santa Fe and then hiked six miles up, I calculated that my friend and I had but two hours to explore before starting back down. I was envious of the several parties of campers who had lugged tents, sleeping bags, stoves and food up to edge of the lake. On the far side of the lake was a big shoulder of the mountain covered in old forest that blocked a complete view of the cirque — the rocky half circle of high cliffs.

We climbed the small wooded ridge to the right of the lake and found the second, smaller lake. Scrambling up through the mossy, steep forest, we came to the base of a huge scree (loose rock) slope that curved away a mile or more in either direction. The ridge crested 800 feet above us, and we stood looking for a way up between the cliffs. There appeared to be several routes, and if we'd packed in and had another day up there, I'd have given it a try, although it would have been a tricky climb, similar to the cirque above Lake Katherine, which lies on the far side of Santa Fe Baldy. I climbed that years ago, and it was a bit like climbing an impossibly long, steep ladder with grass hummocks for rungs.

In the short time we had left that day at Trampas Lakes, we made it up the scree only a hundred feet or so, to the point where we could turn around and look back down over the treetops to the valley of the Rio Grande and the Jemez Mountains beyond. Above us, unreachable, was the rocky ridge that connects the Truchas Peaks (once again invisible to us, though we were right below them) with Trampas Peak, which we could see to the north. To the east, on the other side of the cliffs, lay the West Fork of the Santa Barbara River and the many beaver dams. Once again, I had to turn back, about 700 feet below the Divide.

Encouraged by my experience of getting closer to standing on the Divide, I searched the map for other intriguing trails along its edge. One kept grabbing my attention: Trail 19, at the end of Forest Road 161. The only trouble was, it's all the way around the north side of the Pecos Wilderness, off Highway 518, which cuts through the Sangre de Cristo Mountains from Mora on its way to Taos, a very beautiful drive. Even considering the two-hour drive from Eldorado, a friend confirmed what I'd suspected: Trail 19 makes the Santa Barbara Divide reachable in a day hike. I had to check it out.

On what proved to be the last warm hiking day of 2007, I drove up with Jon and our friend Mark to the trailhead, about four miles in from the highway. It was already mid-October, and the first winter storm of the season had left behind a few inches of snow. Even so, the hike was neither particularly strenuous nor very interesting — just rocky. The snow helped to cushion our feet, but my excitement to reach the Divide made the three miles up to the Serpent Lake side trail seem like 10, as we marched on and on through the dark forest. We decided not to explore the lake on this trip; sunset comes quickly in October.

Finally I noticed a high, steep ridge ahead through thinning trees. The trail turned alongside it, then switchbacked up. At that point we had maybe half a mile and 350 vertical feet to go. We were soon above the trees, enjoying grand views to the north and east, with Serpent Lake directly below us.

Before I knew it, I was standing on top of the Divide, in a howling cold wind. Its great hump stretched away to the south covered with broken rock and brown tufts of grass. At times hundreds of feet wide, it narrows, rises and falls toward a grand turn to the west about five miles south. I could see most of the Divide from where I stood: Jicarita Peak, a mile to the north, was hidden behind a high jumble of rock, but directly across the expanse of the Santa Barbara watershed I could see Chimayosos, all three Truchas peaks, Trampas Peak and even Pecos Baldy, looking tiny in the distance. I could also clearly see the other side of the jagged ridge I had admired from Trampas Lakes the year before.

The Divide isn't as level as it appeared to me that day; according to the map it rises up several hundred feet in places. I hope to find out later this year; if I can get up there early enough, I'll be able to hike along it for five miles or so, perhaps far enough south to see down to the Pecos River.

I've started calling this hike "the back door to the Divide." Maybe it's too easy a hike for such a spectacular view, but having to turn back from the brink of glory just for lack of time convinces me to accept the gift of this one with gratitude. See you up there!




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		Photos clockwise from top left: Up Switchbacks—Chimayosos Overlook from the top Trampas Spires Trampas Lake
Hands tingling from the altitude, I'm inevitably overtaken by a joyful feeling of expanding spirit, as if part of me is only accessible up there, hanging out with the marmots and gray jays. The Back Door to the Divide by David Leach ay up high, 25 miles to the northeast and a full mile above Santa Fe, is a giant, curving charm bracelet of a ridge with mountains dangling from its rim: the Santa Barbara Divide. Sitting up at 12,300 feet, it seemed remarkably level from where I stood last fall, about a mile south of Jicarita Peak, up near the top of the Divide's eastern arm. Within its four-mile-wide loop drain the three forks of the Santa Barbara River, running down to the Rio Grande. To the south lies the Pecos watershed, its river also joining the Rio Grande, but far to the south in Texas. Other watersheds lie to the east and west, while numerous peaks dot the Divide's rim: Jicarita, Chimayosos, North Truchas and Trampas. I was thrilled to be there; for years I'd despaired of ever reaching the Divide at all. I 've done some backpacking, but mostly I'm a day hiker, which limits me to 16-mile round-trips. That way I can enjoy hiking the trail without a heavy pack as I anticipate emerging into the high country, with its long views of distant peaks. Hiking up to Lake Peak, 2,600 vertical feet above the Santa Fe Ski Basin, hands tingling from the altitude, I'm inevitably overtaken by a joyful feeling of expanding spirit, as if part of me is only accessible up there, hanging out with the marmots and gray jays. There is one trail that blows my circuits without nearly as much exertion. When I first hiked it about 10 years ago, I got my first glimpse of the Divide. Just east of the town of Peñasco lies the Santa Barbara campground and trailhead at the end of Forest Road 116. Trail 24 climbs gradually along the west bank of the river, crosses a footbridge, then winds up through a beautiful canyon to a confluence about two miles up from the campground. Here the Middle Fork of the Santa Barbara meets up with the West Fork, and just before the confluence the incoming Middle Fork must be crossed either by wading, which is difficult and dangerous if the water is running high, or by walking across a long, slippery fallen tree trunk. Another two miles of easy hiking reveals a spectacular horseshoe-shaped valley formed by a high cliff face to the right, a gently rising forested ridge to the left, and, right in front, Chimayosos Peak, sitting up on the Santa Barbara Divide and rising above the trees to 12,841 feet. The smaller Barbara Peak is also visible, but not the nearby Truchas Peaks, hidden behind the steep canyon wall. The river is interrupted here by a network of beaver dams, some of them twisting and turning for hundreds of feet. The ground nearby is spongy and swampy, but it's possible for the fleet of foot to get right up on top of some of them. You won't see any of the dome-shaped homes that beavers build elsewhere, as these beavers build their dwellings inside the riverbank. The trail carries on past numerous excellent campsites, crosses the river a few times, and climbs via switchbacks to the right of Chimayosos, right up to the Divide, where it joins the Skyline Trail just below East Truchas Peak. At least, that's what the Forest Service's Pecos Wilderness map shows, as I haven't yet made it up there! One day in midsummer a few years ago, a friend and I tried it. The total round-trip distance is at least 16 miles, probably more. We got to the top of the switchbacks alongside Chimayosos, but then the weather closed in and lightning forced us to turn back a mile short of the Divide. We couldn't see a thing and had to march seven miles back to the car in the rain. Even if we had made it up, we would have had to turn around immediately or walk back in the dark. Clearly, it was impossible to reach the Divide in a day, by that route at least. I love maps and often comb the Pecos Wilderness map for hikes I don't know. But it's always a gamble — what if there aren't any grand vistas up the new trail, just a dark tunnel through the woods? Instead of risking it, my friends and I would go to Lake Peak, Hamilton Mesa or Santa Barbara time after time, taking the "bird in hand" approach. Nevertheless, I had been intrigued by a squiggly little line on the map at the end of Forest Road 207 just north of Trampas, a town midway between Truchas and Peñasco. The map's contour lines converged tightly around Trail 31, indicating a very narrow, steep-walled canyon. At the top I saw two lakes indicated and, right above them, the Divide. Perhaps this trail would yield a route to the top? In August of 2006 my friend Jon and I drove in to find out. The small campground at the trailhead is one of the most beautiful I've seen, placed at the confluence of the Trampas and San Leonardo rivers. Several campsites stretch out alongside the Rio de las Trampas as the trail climbs above. It's a wonderful, picturesque trail. The first two of its six miles climb gradually above the river through a forest of ponderosa pine and Douglas fir. There are numerous views of river rapids and small waterfalls, as well as side trails down to the bigger ones. Finally, the trail rounds a shoulder of the ridge dividing the Trampas from the Rio San Leonardo drainage to the south and emerges into a lush valley before turning into the upper canyon. It then rises hundreds of feet in altitude over six long switchbacks. The final section of the trail winds across several tributary streams and around promising but false summits until reaching a large marsh full of skunk cabbage. Here the trail divides. One branch (#45) curves right over to Hidden Lake, which I have yet to explore. The main trail skirts the swamp to the left, although I missed it and blundered straight through the swamp. About this time I felt a wave of goose bumps, and looking up through the tall Douglas fir, I glimpsed for the first time the towering rock cliffs. My expectation in venturing up a new trail is that I will discover something wonderful, at least as exciting as the view from Lake Peak or the valley below Chimayosos. I get a nervous, happy feeling that any bend in the path could bring a revelation. The further I go, the more it builds, wedded with the fear that there might be no break in the dark trees, no glorious vista. I'll end up in a half run at times, wasting energy just to see what's around the next corner. As I struggled out of the swamp that day, I saw the beginnings of steeply rising hillsides off through the trees. Then, looking up through the treetops — way up — I felt a thrill pass through me as I saw jagged edges of high cliffs that seemed impossibly close. I ran the last several dozen yards through the trees to the edge of the first lake and looked across at a long, curving rock cliff a thousand feet high, broken in places by spires of rock and green licks of vegetation spilling down from the Divide above. Having driven from Santa Fe and then hiked six miles up, I calculated that my friend and I had but two hours to explore before starting back down. I was envious of the several parties of campers who had lugged tents, sleeping bags, stoves and food up to edge of the lake. On the far side of the lake was a big shoulder of the mountain covered in old forest that blocked a complete view of the cirque — the rocky half circle of high cliffs. We climbed the small wooded ridge to the right of the lake and found the second, smaller lake. Scrambling up through the mossy, steep forest, we came to the base of a huge scree (loose rock) slope that curved away a mile or more in either direction. The ridge crested 800 feet above us, and we stood looking for a way up between the cliffs. There appeared to be several routes, and if we'd packed in and had another day up there, I'd have given it a try, although it would have been a tricky climb, similar to the cirque above Lake Katherine, which lies on the far side of Santa Fe Baldy. I climbed that years ago, and it was a bit like climbing an impossibly long, steep ladder with grass hummocks for rungs. In the short time we had left that day at Trampas Lakes, we made it up the scree only a hundred feet or so, to the point where we could turn around and look back down over the treetops to the valley of the Rio Grande and the Jemez Mountains beyond. Above us, unreachable, was the rocky ridge that connects the Truchas Peaks (once again invisible to us, though we were right below them) with Trampas Peak, which we could see to the north. To the east, on the other side of the cliffs, lay the West Fork of the Santa Barbara River and the many beaver dams. Once again, I had to turn back, about 700 feet below the Divide. Encouraged by my experience of getting closer to standing on the Divide, I searched the map for other intriguing trails along its edge. One kept grabbing my attention: Trail 19, at the end of Forest Road 161. The only trouble was, it's all the way around the north side of the Pecos Wilderness, off Highway 518, which cuts through the Sangre de Cristo Mountains from Mora on its way to Taos, a very beautiful drive. Even considering the two-hour drive from Eldorado, a friend confirmed what I'd suspected: Trail 19 makes the Santa Barbara Divide reachable in a day hike. I had to check it out. On what proved to be the last warm hiking day of 2007, I drove up with Jon and our friend Mark to the trailhead, about four miles in from the highway. It was already mid-October, and the first winter storm of the season had left behind a few inches of snow. Even so, the hike was neither particularly strenuous nor very interesting — just rocky. The snow helped to cushion our feet, but my excitement to reach the Divide made the three miles up to the Serpent Lake side trail seem like 10, as we marched on and on through the dark forest. We decided not to explore the lake on this trip; sunset comes quickly in October. Finally I noticed a high, steep ridge ahead through thinning trees. The trail turned alongside it, then switchbacked up. At that point we had maybe half a mile and 350 vertical feet to go. We were soon above the trees, enjoying grand views to the north and east, with Serpent Lake directly below us. Before I knew it, I was standing on top of the Divide, in a howling cold wind. Its great hump stretched away to the south covered with broken rock and brown tufts of grass. At times hundreds of feet wide, it narrows, rises and falls toward a grand turn to the west about five miles south. I could see most of the Divide from where I stood: Jicarita Peak, a mile to the north, was hidden behind a high jumble of rock, but directly across the expanse of the Santa Barbara watershed I could see Chimayosos, all three Truchas peaks, Trampas Peak and even Pecos Baldy, looking tiny in the distance. I could also clearly see the other side of the jagged ridge I had admired from Trampas Lakes the year before. The Divide isn't as level as it appeared to me that day; according to the map it rises up several hundred feet in places. I hope to find out later this year; if I can get up there early enough, I'll be able to hike along it for five miles or so, perhaps far enough south to see down to the Pecos River. I've started calling this hike "the back door to the Divide." Maybe it's too easy a hike for such a spectacular view, but having to turn back from the brink of glory just for lack of time convinces me to accept the gift of this one with gratitude. See you up there!