Dave Jaffe won my friends' annual guys-only vacation competition this year. The five of us each pitch a destination, cajoling, using brochures -- and rarely common sense -- to persuade the others to vote our way.
Frankly, the rest of us would have preferred to sail in the Virgin Islands, feet up, sipping Sam Adams and cracking open lobsters. But Jaffe was persuasive.
And, how bad could it be, we figured, hiking for three days in the beautiful Sangre de Cristo Mountains of New Mexico? And with a string of llamas carrying our loads, no less. Piece of cake, a walk in the park, sounds like fun, no problem, we joked.
Six hours into the first day's hike, things were not so funny. Already at an oxygen-deprived 11,000 feet and still short of our base camp, problems were sprouting faster than mushrooms from the rotted logs around us. We had hiked 4 miles uphill, we were sore, we were panting for precious oxygen, we were chugging water like an Oktoberfest drink-off in Munich, Germany, and we felt dazed by our mild altitude headaches.
Yet, while taking a break on the rocky trail and staring down at a magnificent waterfall and roaring stream, all enveloped by a dense forest of fir, pines and yellow-leaved poplars, we knew in our hearts that our efforts were being richly rewarded. With base camp only an hour away, we were tantalizingly close to Shangri-La.
Humble beginnings
After an uneventful June flight from Baltimore, we landed in Albuquerque, N.M., at lunchtime. Jaffe, who knows New Mexico well having completed a stint there as a dermatologist with the Indian Health Service, asked if we could wait a bit for lunch. An hour later, the five of us, starving, pulled our rented sport utility vehicle into Harry's Road House Restaurant.
Despite a packed parking lot, we were seated quickly and perused the multipage menu that features Southwestern fare and ultra-fresh ingredients served in an open setting bathed in pastel colors. Enclosed porch seating is available as well.
Our group ordered an assortment of Southwestern foods, from blue-corn turkey enchiladas to sesame noodles, vegetable muffalettas and garden burgers. While eating, Scott, poked me to say that Gene Hackman was walking into the restaurant. "Ha!" I thought to myself, "a transparent ploy to grab my french fries."
But, sure enough, Hackman, dressed casually in jeans and one of many actors who frequent the funky restaurant, strolled past us and quietly sat himself at a small table on the porch. But the real thrill came when the waiter brought us our bill. Lunch for five, with drinks and a couple of homemade desserts, came to just $65.
Our next stop was Taos, a little more than an hour from Harry's Road House. We had planned to spend a day at Taos' 8,000-foot altitude to give us a chance to adjust. It turns out that was a good decision. Taos is a fun place to explore, with its selection of art galleries, craftspeople, historic locations and good eats.
A llama primer
Technically, our trek began the very next morning, some 45 minutes from Taos. On an unpaved parking area on the shore of mountain-rimmed Cabresto Lake, at an elevation of 9,000 feet, Stuart Wilde, the owner of Wild Earth Llama Adventures, met us with six of his 14 llamas.
In order to get on the trail and make it to our base camp before dark, we hustled to repack our gear into bags that would fit comfortably onto the llamas' backs. Once done, Wilde gave us an introduction to the nature of llamas (very easygoing), their likes (grazing and more grazing), their dislikes (having their faces pet too aggressively) and peculiarities (they hum constantly, the land equivalent of whale songs).
All our llamas were males - they are larger and can carry a heavier load. The presence of even one female would turn the normally docile males into testosterone-crazed hunks vying for her attention.
After a quick map and compass orientation to the 20,000 acre Latir Peak Wilderness area, an admonition to hydrate constantly and a quick review of what to do if we encountered bears (thankfully, we didn't), we were off.
The five of us, friends for years and all of us living in Harford County, are an eclectic mix. Three of us, Jaffe, Scott Brown and Sherif Osman, are physicians. One, Terry Sexton, is a cement contractor. And yours truly is a writer and author.
The trail we climbed was rocky and narrow, so we hiked single file, each man leading a llama. Because of a leg injury, necessitating a slower pace, I brought up the rear, quite literally. For the next 6 1/2 hours, my view ahead was painfully restricted to the rear ends of llamas and men.
Fortunately, the scenery to my sides was spectacular, increasingly so as we climbed and mountain vistas began to open. After a time on the trail, I found that the creaking of the two coolers that were carefully balanced on my llama, Domino, and the constant roar of Cabresto Creek cascading down the mountainside, put me into a meditative zone that kept me shuffling up the trail.
After an hour of steady climbing, we ran smack into our first logistical challenge. Two immense trees were lying across the path. After exploring our options, Wilde decided that we would need to offload all our gear, take the llamas on a frighteningly steep detour and reload, a process that ended up taking an hour.
The llamas, with their four-wheel drive and camel-like splayed hooves, handled the climb far better than we humans, despite the fact that everyone in our group (ages 47 to 59) exercises regularly and is in good shape. Llamas do not like to stand still, so, as we reloaded their packs, they continuously hummed softly to one another, each with a distinctive melody. The effect was eerie; their tonal sounds resonating perfectly with the natural world around us.
Reaching the heights
At 11,200 feet, we finally crested a ridge, crossed a shallow stream and entered base camp, a protected alpine meadow, sprinkled with tiny blue and white wildflowers and surrounded by dense forest.
After congratulatory high-fives, we offloaded the llamas, loosely tied them, set up camp and collapsed on the thick grass for a quick nap. Only when we woke did we realize how stunning our campsite was. The meadow sat in a hollow encircled by snow-capped mountain peaks. The llamas grazed contently.
The smells of a gourmet dinner wafted through the thin air, courtesy of Wilde, who trained as a chef in a previous life. In fact, mealtimes - with fresh salads, cheeses, gourmet olives, tuna, various kinds of hummus, grilled salmon, even desserts - became joyous occasions.
As we ate around the campfire, Wilde reminded us again to hydrate continuously. That meant that before every dinner we collected water from the stream that ran through base camp, chemically purified it by dropping in tablets and distributed the clean water among our bottles. We each drank at least a gallon of water a day. At this elevation, the weather changes quickly. One minute it is sunny and clear with few clouds, the next minute the clouds gather into dark thunderheads. The one consistent phenomenon is that by late afternoon the temperature quickly drops 20 or more degrees, so we experienced highs in the upper 70s and lows in the lower 30s. Layering is the comfort byword.
One evening, for example, within minutes of descending from a difficult hike to 12,700 feet, the skies opened and pea-sized hailstones pelted our camp for an hour. Fortunately, Wilde had anticipated the weather and erected a tarp large enough for all of us to sit under. Unfortunately, I had forgotten to close my tent window and ended up spending the night in a damp sleeping bag.
Hygienic facilities were, to put it politely, primitive, consisting of toilet paper, a shovel and several thousand acres of forest. Germicidal lotion was always available, but there were no showers.
Washing involved drawing a plastic bucket full of ice cold water from the stream, finding a private area, washing with biodegradable soap and rinsing very gingerly.
Llama sentries
It was difficult to choose which part of the day was the most memorable. By daylight, the views on our hikes were spectacular. Once the 12,000-plus foot summits were crested, the views stretched far into Colorado. But at night, the mountains became a very special place, indeed.
As the sun set, the stars put on an incredible show, the bands of the Milky Way so distinct you would swear that a ribbon of pure white clouds was descending into camp. By the time we bedded down, the only sound was the stream bubbling through camp and the periodic contented moans of the llamas. Then, as night settled comfortably into the camp, even the llamas went silent. When we would get up during the night to heed the call of nature (even on a mountain, a gallon of water is a lot), the llamas would be sitting on their haunches, alert, chewing their cud, the moonlight reflecting off their soft fur. They served as sentinels, which is reassuring when you are in utter darkness in bear territory.
Mornings were a bustle of activity as we chowed down on a hearty breakfast, topped with mugs of strong coffee. Depending on the day's plans, we typically loaded up the llamas and went for a hike into the mountains.
As it turns out, base camp sat only a 10-minute walk from, and 320 feet below, Heart Lake. On our second day, the climb over the rocky trail to Heart Lake brought us to a trailhead that continued up to the 12,700 peak. However, spread out before us was the tiny glacial lake, completely enclosed by mountains and dense woods, its water so clear you could see to the rocky bottom.
On our last day, I awoke before sunrise and spent a cold but magical two hours watching the sunrise over the snow-capped peaks. As the sun rose higher, the light green leaves of aspen groves shimmered in the sunlight against the darker greens of the conifers.
The hike to Latir Mesa and Latir Peak was challenging. Snow blocked the trail just shy of the peak, and the group had to detour along dangerously slippery slopes. At the summit, a herd of bighorn sheep grazed. The views from the summit were spectacular, stretching from the Wheeler range that rings Taos in the south to the southern Colorado mountains. Just as some of our group were about to crest the Latir Peak at 12,700 feet, immense thunder clouds blew in and Wilde reversed course. In a mad dash, holding on for dear life to our llamas, we got back to camp just minutes before the hailstorm pelted us.
Coming down off the mountain, the tenor of our tight group changed markedly. We knew we were headed back to appointments and deadlines, responsibility and accountability. We hiked quietly, each absorbed in our own thoughts. But, as we approached the parking area, we began to debrief about our experiences.
One thing we all agreed on was that, aside from a guys' getaway, the trek would be perfect for a family, especially ones with young teens who were interested in animals. Every day brought opportunities to feed or groom the llamas and to appreciate their patience with us humans.
Wilde was a big part of the trip's ambience. He was full of interesting and humorous stories, and his detailed knowledge of wilderness medicine was reassuring even to the physicians in our group.
Most of all, the trek was a chance to leave behind the prescribed and synthetic, and instead to bask in the tranquillity and wonders of the natural world.
IF YOU GO
Getting There
Southwest Airlines flies into Albuquerque, N.M., and you can often get Internet specials for $99 each way. Going to or from Taos, it's well worth spending a day or two in Sante Fe, a mecca for artists and craftspeople that has excellent restaurants and dozens of galleries.
Lodging
Taos offers a range of lodging options, from chains like Best Western and Super 8 to more intimate bed and breakfasts.
El Pueblo Lodge
is within walking distance of the 400-year-old Taos Historic Plaza. (Paseo Pueblo del Norte Street, 800-433-9612, elpueblolodge.com)
Casa Benavides Inn
is a bit more upscale and just a short walk to the Historic Plaza and boutique shopping. Lodging includes an excellent breakfast and clean, well-appointed rooms. (137 Kit Carson Road, 800-552-1772, taos-casabenavides.com)
Dining
Harry's Road House
is an iconic Southwestern eatery singled out for praise by Fodor's and the winner of numerous culinary awards. The icing on the cake is that Harry's plays host to many movie and television stars. (An hour outside of Albuquerque, 96B Old Las Vegas Highway, 505-989-4629)
Joseph's Table
is an upscale restaurant in Santa Fe with wonderful ambience and delectable organic and wild foods. Entrees: $30-36. (108A S. Taos Plaza, 505-751-4512, josephstable.com)
Michael's Kitchen
is one of a wide assortment of eateries, many featuring organic alternatives using local farm fare, in Taos. For a truly local experience, try a very traditional breakfast. Be sure to leave room for its pastries. Our favorites were the anise cookies and the cream puffs. (304C Paseo del Pueblo Norte, 505-758-4178, michaelskitchen.com)
Dragonfly Cafe
is one block north of Michael's and features traditional Southwestern cuisine with savory twists. While Dragonfly is known for its dinners in a relaxed, comfortable setting, don't miss the upscale and reasonably priced breakfasts. (402 Paseo del Pueblo Norte, 505-737-5859, dragonflytaos.com)
Information:
Wild Earth Llama Adventures
offers many different experiences, from day hikes to five-day overnights. Prices are $89 to $749 per person, with discounts for children. For informantion, go to llamaadventures.com or call 800-758-5362.
Taos
For general information about the area, go to taoschamber.com or call 800-732-8267.
Santa Fe
For general information about the area, go to santafeliving.com or call 800-777-2489.