The Gila – please schedule your breakdowns

109 – CDT alt: the Gila

October 4th.

Morning greets me with a thin layer of frost, covering the grass, my quilt, my backpack. Temperatures have plummeted from the 90s to freezing in less than a day. The desert, she keeps you on your toes.

In front of me lie my dirty, wet socks. I can’t bring myself to put them on. At least they’re not frozen solid – just very, very cold.  A quick glance at my watch tells me I’m running out of daylight before I’ve even started hiking. The miles I planned for today are slipping further out of reach. ‘Just do it’, I growl at myself. Frustrated by my weakness that’s been slipping up lately, my mind gives out before my body does.

I sigh, long and deep, and finally pull the socks over my taped-up feet. Months of this – dirty, wet socks every morning – and it’s never been an issue. Turns out, today is no different: it wasn’t bad at all. It’s just wet, cold socks.

Since yesterday, I’ve been hiking the Gila route, an alternate to the official CDT. The northbounders couldn’t stop raving about it, calling it one of the trail’s crown jewels. It’s my final highlight, a grand finale to this long, winding thru hike.

wild rhubarb in the Gila?

Snake skin

But that’s not why, a few miles into my day, I start sobbing.

I’ve cried before on this trail. Because of fear. Because a friend’s words touched me so deeply.  Because the mountains do that to me sometimes with their unbearable beauty.

But today, there’s no trigger. The floodgates simply open. It isn’t quiet, contemplative crying, either. It’s raw, ugly, loud. The kind that racks your whole body.

And yet, this isn’t sadness but release.

I’ve carried every ounce of my emotional baggage to the Gila, and my subconscious has decided: we’re dumping it right here. 🚮Like a snake shedding its old skin, I walk and cry, letting go of all the weight I didn’t realise I was carrying.

Please schedule your breakdowns on the CDT accordingly

The dead grass around me shimmers gold in the morning light. The sun kisses my skin, warming me as I keep moving forward. Slowly, the crying turns into something else. A bubbling, unstoppable wave of laughter. My face is streaked with tears, snot dripping from my nose, but I can’t stop laughing.

I turn around, just to make sure no one is witnessing this… moment. As weird as it sounds, this felt really good.

Anyways, Gila! Magical place, logistically strategic to cry here because you have great access to water for rehydration. Wouldn’t recommend any crying between Davila ranch and here, those water carries are brutal.

Gila Canyon – Jungle of New Mexico?

I fight my way through the dense, tangled flora of the Gila Canyon. Each step into the cold river is a welcome relief, a momentary balm for the heat pressing against me.

The Gila flows slow and steady. Most crossings are shallow, the water rarely reaching higher than my shins or knees, though one came up crotch-deep. Even then, the stable riverbed and gentle current make the crossings feel effortless, the northbounders had it so much harder. Nothing like the deathly, fear-inducing water crossings of the PCT last year.

Red cliffs tower above me, their rugged faces bathed in the golden light of late afternoon. It feels like I’m walking through nature’s art gallery, every turn offering another masterpiece. The dense bushes crowding the trail make the canyon feel like a jungle, vibrant and alive.

On my first day in the Gila, I don’t see a soul, except for two horseback riders who pass by without a word. The solitude feels sacred. As I walk, I grab water from the river, drinking straight from my filter. Luxury.

Nightlife past 9pm

The morning’s procrastination catching up on me, I attempt to night-hike, but weaving through the dense canyon proves impossible. The night swallowed the faint spur. Frustrated but resigned, I settle for cowboy camping instead.

But sleep doesn’t come easily. The canyon feels too alive after dark. I hear animals splashing across the river nearby, their movements echoing off the cliffs. Then, something ventures too close to my camp. I grab my headlamp, the beam cutting through the night to reveal a pair of curious eyes – and the unmistakable black-and-white fur of a skunk.

“What a wild place,” I murmur to myself, lowering the light as the skunk waddles away. I turn over, listening to the canyon’s symphony of rustling leaves and distant animal calls while falling asleep.

110 – Hot springs and cold Kombucha

Jordan Hot Springs and Little Bear Canyon

I pack up my things just north of Jordan Hot Springs, the air is crisp but I know it won’t be long until the heat returns. Tents come into view. A small village of nylon fabric domes sprawls between the trees, dotted with hikers lingering in various states of their morning routine – sipping coffee, cooking breakfast, tending to camp chores. Their murmured conversations drift toward me, but I don’t linger. I’m tired today, drained by miles and the pull of the trail, and my thoughts are fixed on Doc Campbell’s. And their ice cream chest.

For now, the Gila River still holds me in its thrall, like a ribbon twisting through cliffs and trees, sunlight catching on its ripples. There are warm and hot pools of water in this section. I walk alongside the Gila for a few more hours, taking in the canyon’s beauty even as my feet ache and my mind drifts toward rest. Somehow the Gila has felt short, but maybe it’s just easier to do bigger days in this section hiking sobo. The trail splits, leading me through Small Bear Canyon, a narrow, shadowed path that eventually spits me out onto an empty stretch of tarmac. 

Get the coconut ice cream

The bell over the door chimes softly as I enter the general store along New Mexico Highway 15. The selection isn’t huge, but stocked with just enough – souvenirs, cookies, protein bars, some pieces of fruit and vegetables, trail mix, small pints of homemade ice cream, cold drinks. I fill a small basket with snacks, more out of habit than hunger, and head to the picnic table set aside for thru-hikers outside. Thank you, Doc Campbells!

Here, I linger. Exhaustion settles into my bones, heavy but familiar. I sit there for hours, picking at my snacks, watching the world pass by – or rather, not pass by. The parking lot is quiet, almost eerily so, considering the nearby Gila Cliff Dwellings and the river’s popularity. The day stretches long and still until the kind woman from the store peeks her head out in the late afternoon.

“Do you need anything else before I close up?” she asks.

I shake my head with a tired smile. “No, thank you.”

towering Gila cliffs

Gila end – more trail magic than I deserve

The store closes, the quiet deepens, and I finally shoulder my pack again, heading down toward the gila hot springs campground. Which, in contrast to the rest of the day, is surprisingly busy. In fact, the camp host has put up a “campground full” sign at the gate. I walk up to the small trailer anyways.

“I always find space for CDT hikers,” Allen says with a generous smile, waving me toward a spot tucked perfectly between the springs and the river.

Despite the number of guests, it doesn’t feel full or busy. Just a handful of campers are soaking in the various pools. After pitching my tent I soak my sore muscles in the natural hot springs and chat with a few women until my fingers look like prunes.

Just before sunset, Allen approaches our girls pool, carrying something in his hands. He sets them down beside me: a pomegranate and a bottle of kombucha.

“I got something for you,” he says, his tone easy.

I blink, startled by the gesture. “You’re too kind. Thank you,” I manage, my voice thick with gratitude.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I don’t like this flavor anyway,” he says with a chuckle, already turning to walk away.

I glance down at the bottle, reading the label – Marine Greens. “That’s my favorite flavor, actually.”

Some said there’s barely trail magic on the CDT. And while, according to stories from triple crowners, it might not quite be the AT. But no doubt, I’ve been showered with generosity on this thru hike.