If this is La Niña, I have no complaints: one Pacific storm after another, swinging south over us. High mackerel scale clouds, then the storm itself, then the cold wind. Just like when I lived in San Francisco, decades ago.

Throughout the night I woke repeatedly to a soft sound of rain on the porch roof outside my bedroom. The mountains north of town had been capped with snow since Monday, but after last Sunday’s dark, wet, and cold hike I wanted something lower elevation, something less challenging. I really wanted to drive to Arizona, but the saddest time in my life is approaching and I needed to stay close to home. Part of me didn’t think I should be hiking, or doing anything for myself, at all.

But hiking keeps me sane, enables me to cope, so I decided to hike the CDT south of town up a series of ridges to an 8,000 foot peak with communications towers. I figured there would be snow on top. The forecast high in town was nearly 50. I debated taking my fleece jacket, but the jacket is for temps in the 30s, and as before, I forgot I would end up 2,000 feet higher than town. Even worse, I ignored the forecast for wind. This is what happens when you’re distracted by tragedy.

I had some sun starting up the trail, but the dark clouds soon closed over and brought drizzle. The trail starts in a sandy basin then winds its way through granite boulders up a seemingly endless series of mazelike ridges, finally reaching the crest of this low range, where ponderosa pines rise sporadically above oaks and junipers. When I’m in shape, this hike is too short and monotonous for me, but I’ve done it several times, twice in snow up to a foot deep.

The exposed nature of the trail through the foothills is what attracted me today, but it soon exposed me to wind, and even after the rain stopped, despite my long-sleeved shirt, sweater, and storm shell, my arms got chilled. I’d only gone a mile or so and hated to give up, so I pulled out my rain poncho for another layer of wind resistance. It whipped around in the wind and wasn’t very efficient, but it just barely kept my arms from getting colder.

The views, normally nice, were extra special under those dark, shifting, ornate clouds.

During the final climb to the crest I was loudly clearing my throat, preparing to spit out some congestion, when I suddenly saw another hiker right next to me on a boulder, waiting for me to pass on the narrow trail. He had a cowboy accent and wasn’t very friendly, but it transpired that he was a through hiker finishing the Canada-to-Mexico trail. He said there were three more not far behind, and shortly I came upon another guy, very friendly this time. I asked him if he’d camped on top last night, and if he’d been snowed on. “Wintry mix”, he replied. He said his partner was right behind, and after another hundred yards I saw a tall, 30-something woman striding down the trail, ignoring me and jabbering into her smart phone. That is so annoying.

Not much later I passed the final through hiker, who seemed to be in a hurry. I was wearing the strap the new doc had recommended, but my knee started hurting and was tender to the touch, for the first time in a couple of weeks.

On the crest I entered a patch of sunlight, then passed under even darker clouds. My arms were still on the edge of uncomfortably cold and I assumed the effort of climbing was the only thing that kept me from shivering. But before long I reached the forest road that services the towers on the peak. It’s only a short distance from there.

I found much less snow than I expected. I didn’t want to continue up the road to the towers, the peak, and the spectacular view, because it’s totally exposed up there and I’d just get more chilled. A plateau less than a hundred feet below the peak contains the foundations of an old scout camp in parklike ponderosa forest – a nice picnic spot in good weather.

The return hike seems really endless, with lots of ups, downs, and arounds before you begin descending from the crest. On the way, I got more rain, but finally the sky cleared and I was able to take off the poncho.

Nearing the trailhead I heard people talking, and two mountain bikers, a couple in their late 20s or early 30s, appeared. This is no mountain bike trail, and I couldn’t imagine them riding more than another quarter mile, after starting the steep, winding climb through boulders on loose rock and over rock ledges. In the parking lot, their Prius had an NM plate. I figured they were from one of the cities – Cruces, Albuquerque, Santa Fe.

I hit more rain nearing town – meaning more snow in the high mountains to the north. May this continue for months…