Location: Bottomless State Park, Roswell, New Mexico
First night went well except our water hose froze. We screwed into one of those weird, non-freezing, outdoor faucets which means we didn’t freeze their pipe. It’s colder than expected. Possibly a case of cold air flowing downhill. I unhooked the hose and laid it out as flat as I could. There’s a lot of circular memory in it. It’s like trying to wrestle with a scrawny boa constrictor.
We began the early morning with a mile walk to the closest lake. We were surprised to see this mountain — Sierra Blanca in Ruidoso in the distance. It reminds us we aren’t very far from home.
Oh, boy. Gonna get my fishing on. Whut? This is the lake? I hunt all around. Nope. This really is the lake. Not sure why they call Pasture Lake a lake. It’s the width of a house and because of thick water weeds, the fishing area is maybe 20′ x 20′. The water looks very stagnant. An icky tea color. What a disappointment.
We returned from the walk. We’d take the truck to the other lakes.
I don’t think I’ve ever been more disappointed in bodies of water. Only two are stocked. The rest can’t support fish because of too much salt in the ground or the sides of the lake are straight down.
I was pleased with one lake purely from a visual standpoint. Two lakes meet. The lake on the left is saltier than the right. It’s like looking at two different worlds. The left has moss fighting to live. The right, it’s bright green.
At Devil’s Ink Well we saw vehicles. Fishermen, yay. Here’s my fishing place. Yay. Well, hell. Two determined fishermen were standing at the edge of a cliff and tossing hooks with corn down 15′ to a shallow white ledge where you could see trout waiting. Out from that, the depth falls to a dark green 90′. The third fisherman had walked a goat path down to the water and was trying to fish next to a tiny tree. He had maybe three feet of space and was hanging onto a small tree. The rest is straight down.
The old codger tells us to be careful near the edge. He fell in the week before and felt lucky to be alive.
But he’s back. Standing in the same place.
Fishermen. Gotta love em.
We returned to the travel trailer for lunch then walked across the street to The Wetlands Trail which doesn’t show up on gmaps. A wide Trex path floats above the soggy ground for a quarter mile. Water comes from Lea Lake through a small ditch. Signs say this water might be snow melt from the Sacramento Mountains which travels underground and the pressure pops the water out of fissures under the lakes. The excess is channeled across the road to this area and then farther east to a nearby wildfowl management area. We hiked over and spoke with a hunter was suiting up.
Boy, we are tired. Margo makes the first sit down meal in the travel trailer. Snow’s BBQ (See that mature lady. That’s Tootsie. She and I are friends from way back. That makes me famous through osmosis), mashed potatoes and green beans. It was excellent.
The floor show was sitting at the picnic table around 4 p.m.and watching other mobile vehicles coming in. The dogs were learning how to wrap themselves up in their long, thin cables. We learned to clip one on the bumper of the travel trailer and the other on the truck bumper. That way they can’t get tangled.
At dark we went in. Wish we’d taken a couple good solar lights and some hardwood for burning and staring at. Lotsa dark hours to occupy. We don’t have a TV yet. It goes in a cabinet which visually separates the living area from the bed. The center of the cabinet spins on a mechanism. The backside is a large mirror which at the moment is only six feet from my schnoz and keeps telling me I’m old and have a double chin.
The evening ended with me writing in bed and Margo reading at the half size kitchen table. Tomorrow we head for home. It feels way too soon, but we’ve learned some important things about travel trailerin’.