Dog Canyon, The Rematch: Noble Cause or Stupidity??

Sunday night! At last!!

In a few hours the visitors from hell; AKA the long divorced parents; AKA the parents that, for some cockamamie (How's that for a good, old-fashioned kind of parenty word?) reason decided to share the same space together for the first time since 1983 and do so while just dropping in on the kids, will finally leave!

Time has run out and they’re going their own ways, leaving the kids to pick up the shattered remains of their psyches. Allowing the mistreated and abused, The Daughter, The Son-In-Law, and Lula the canine fur-kid, to collapse on the couch, (Ahhh, our own couch all to ourselves again at last!) where they’ll cuddle together (Lula in the middle of course.) and talk bad about The Parents.

Oh, they’ll deny that last bit, but we all know that not only is bad-mouthing The Parents in the rule book, it’s also one of the constitutionally protected perks of living under your own roof and not theirs. (Haven’t seen that part in the constitution? You’re just not looking hard enough!)

One of The Parents, undoubtedly the smart one, will soon be stuffed into a plane to be whisked back to her own home in a matter of hours. The other - well turns out he’s not quite so smart.  (Guess which one of the two I am. . . ) As the sun sinks that Sunday evening he slinks off a mere dozen miles south, hangs a left and quietly rolls back into Oliver Lee State Park, returning to the scene of his recent, and decisive, TKO at the hands of Dog Canyon National Recreation Trail.

There he sets up camp and whiles away the sunset alternating between reading and glowering up at the mountain that chewed him up and spit him out only days ago.   

At dawn the next day I’m standing at a fork in the trail with a decision to make.

And like the withered up, comb-over Lothario that won’t take the hint and hang up his ascot and crusty old pickup lines; like the tubby office-bound suburbanite that insists of shoveling snow right up to the heart attack; like an aging prize-fighter that doesn’t have the sense to just lay down and take the count; like a - well - you get the idea. Like all those reality-challenged, most likely delusional, guys, I hang a right and step back into the ring.

 

By the time I cross back into the National Forest for the second time on this difficult trail (The Forest Service's word, not mine.) and look back I find the rising sun has chased the shadow of the Sacramento Mountains across the Tularosa Basin to within 4 miles of the escarpment. (I know the distance because US54 is out there four miles away, right at the juncture of shadow and sunlight.)

Notice the notch in the shadow just over the right-hand fence-post. It’s created by the deep scar of Dog Canyon. I don’t know for sure, but I suspect that the little community of La Luz, a good 15 miles north of here, got its name because it sits right there in the same sort of shadow-notch created by another canyon. (La Luz translates as The Light.)

But anyway, back on the mountain: that first bench is still at least as far away as it was the previous time I hiked up here, though I’m not entirely sure it wasn’t even farther! But I make it and, ignoring the well-meaning pleadings from my corner to throw in the towel during a short rest, at the bell I jump back in the ring with determination in my eye.

Yes, perhaps it is misguided determination, but it’s my determination dammit!

Eventually I reach the site of my previous defeat, that faded wooden sign warning that the line cabin ruins are still a full mile, and half a mountain, away.

I get there just as the sun is peeking over the rim of the canyon, which might be an omen, but an omen of what I don’t know.

Daylight comes late to the southern slope of the canyon because of the nearly vertical 1500 foot wall hugging it there to the south, so don’t let the ‘rising sun’ fool you, by the time I get here it’s already 9:30 and I’ve been on the trail nearly three hours. . .

Unlike Rocky Balboa, I don’t have an Adrian over in my corner to draw inspiration from; in fact nobody even knows I’m up here except the voices in my head, and they can’t seem to agree on whether this is a noble cause or a dumb-ass-stunt; but I push on anyway with bullish determination (OK, so yeah, bullish is usually the mashing together of bullheaded and foolish, but I’ve learned to live with it.) and tackle the switchbacks that knocked me on my ass the last time I faced them.

A half mile and 500 vertical feet later I reach the second bench.

And I mean Wow!!

The second bench makes the first bench look like a three-legged milking stool!

Despite the passing morning the bench is still more than half covered in the shadow of the canyon wall, but this place doesn’t need direct sunlight in order to sparkle.

With an eye tuned more to the desiccated tans and browns of the basin below, the bright green of succulent leaves up there on the slope shine against the darker Juniper,

punctuated here and there

 by exuberant splashes of spring color make the place dance, sun or shade.

Even some of the trees

 get in on the act and add a little of their own glitter to the scene

And there is plenty of space for all this sparkle.   From the base of the cliff towering overhead across to where the mountain drops off towards the river some 400 feet below, (Creek, river, it’s all a relative thing and around here it doesn’t take much to reach river classification!) from the top of the switchbacks up to where the trail drops off the far end of the bench, is an area a quarter mile wide and a good half mile long.

It’s early spring and at a black-spots-in-the-vision-inducing altitude of 6000 feet, with Burnt Ridge hugging it to the south keeping the desert sun away until late in the day, this place is lush with a capital L. The lushness nearly choking off the lightly used trail in a couple spots

And it’s flat here on the bench!

Well not exactly, but compared to most the rest of the canyon this place is nearly billiards ready!

Which means there’s plenty of room on this bench to spread out without getting into any serious climbing, and this makes it a favorite overnight destination of back-country campers, but apparently not today since I see absolutely no one else during my entire hike.

But as inviting at the bench looks, don’t make the mistake of thinking the place is benign.

Yes, compared to lower elevations, vegetation-wise, this place is a virtual paradise, but it still has plenty of things that will poke and slash you, there’s no surface water available up here, and this house-sized pebble, currently sheltering a couple of Alligator Junipers, got here by falling off the mountain overhead.

I’m sure it made quite a racket on the way down which is a good thing because if any more of the mountain wants to come down and join it I’ll need every bit of warning I can get to stay out from under!

All the way up here altitude and verticality have been tag-teaming me, which seems a little unfair but what can I do? Oh I suppose I could turn around but this has become personal, it’s between me and – well – me, up here. (Face it, the mountain doesn’t give a damn so it’s never me verses the mountain.) I won’t deny that being tag-teamed hasn’t hurt, hasn’t delivered a couple good body shots, taken the spring out of my step (Oh who am I kidding here, more like destroyed the suspension altogether!) but here on the relative flatness of the bench, verticality is temporarily banished from the ring and I get a second wind.

But as pleasant as this respite is is, as I make my way towards the far end of the bench, the canyon seems to be pinching off as Burnt Ridge to the south (Right in the photo) and Juniper ridge to the North (left in the photo) look to be on the verge of meeting somewhere up there ahead of me. So I have a feeling that verticality is about to jump back into the ring – properly tagged in or not.

By the way, you see those two ledges hanging off Juniper Ridge there on the left edge of the photo? I didn’t know it at the time I took this, but that second ledge from the top is going to become pretty important to me in the near future!!

But first I come to this.

The point where the trail drops off the upper end of the second bench and descends a little over 100 feet

to the first surface-flowing section of the river since the mouth of the canyon.

And here is where the stone ruins of a line-cabin, using one of those mammoth fallen rocks as the back wall, sits just on the other side of the river.

This is where the ranch-hand that drew the short straw stays as he keeps an eye on the herd partaking of the gourmet delights of the second bench.

This is also where the vast majority of hikers that make it this far call it a hike and turn around to make the return trip back down the canyon.

That’s my plan too, but as some of you might have surmised by now, there’s something wrong with me!!

It all starts out well enough. I’m kicking back not far from the cabin ruins tucked over there between that dark tree to the left and the smaller but brighter one near the center, enjoying a nice comfortable breather - well, as much of a breather as the thin air up here allows - and glowing in the satisfaction of pushing myself up the mountain without dying. But before graciously accepting the accomplishment and retracing my steps I make the mistake of pulling the trail guide out of my pocket.

You see, technically this riparian paradise, so hard won and well deserved, isn’t actually the end of the trail.

Remember that photo where I talked about the second ledge from the top?

Well here’s my current view of the same ledge from almost directly below it. According to the trail guide this formation is called the Eyebrow, and the continuation of the trail is up there on that lower ledge!

Here’s another view of the Eyebrow from back there on the second bench.

After a near-vertical scramble up a fault in the cliff, there at the yellow arrow, the continuation of the trail (in red) teeters along that ledge

before, after a final hair-raising traverse across an ever-narrowing ledge, making another near-vertical scramble up a different fault  then finally swinging in an only slightly less vertical arc towards the top of the ridge.

Oh, and by the way, that’s still not the end of the trail! Beyond this point there’s nearly a mile of pinyon-pine forest covered ridge to be negotiated before the trail officially ends at Forest Road 90B. But don’t count on a shuttle picking you up there because that involves 20 miles of highly questionable 4-wheel-drive forest road before it eventually comes out on US 82 at High Rolls.

The official guide says “The trail across the Eyebrow above is a challenge for even the experienced hiker. It rises 1000 feet in 8/10^th of a mile”

Now any normal person would read the warnings in the guide, look up at the Eyebrow looming so menacing, all skinny and high up there, then kick back and enjoy the significant accomplishments already achieved; and that’s exactly what I started out doing.

But – well – you know. . .

As I sit with my aching feet nearly in the water there in the dappled shade with the liquid-chime of mini-rapids lulling me, I get to thinking (Oh crap! That’s hardly ever good!) that I’m not going to get any younger - and I have no way of knowing if I’ll ever make it back up here again – so it would be a shame to come this far and not – well, you get the whole sordid, sorry idea.

That sort of senseless brain-fart is the reason I soon find myself scrambling, on all 4’s at times, up a crack in the mountain in order to reach The Eyebrow.

I’m not acrophobic, but then again I’m not unafraid of heights either!

Once standing there on the Eyebrow and seeing firsthand what was in store for me, after feeling that weird tingle start at the backs of my legs and run all the way up until it's crinkling at my scalp because it's clearly way too high up here, or maybe it's way too far down there. . . either way. . .you would think that I just might do the smart thing and turn around at this point

But nooo.

Instead I continue on, though reduced to very carefully doing one, and only one, thing at a time. Taking a step, reaching for the camera, even turning my head to look in another direction, all has to be thought out before-hand and then executed with great care lest the void below sucks me in, or rather down.

Looking back the way I’ve come doesn’t really help either!

In fact it only emphasizes just how steeply pitched into the abyss this narrow ‘shelf’ I’m on really is!

(Not to mention how far back I have to go to get myself out of this mess! - - Dammit! I asked you not to mention that!!)

There are times up there on the Eyebrow, that I envy these ravens’ ability to soar so effortlessly above this terrain, but I know their graceful show isn’t for my enjoyment as I burn up electrons taking photos of them.

Nope, they’re just hanging around up there in case I slip, bounce a few times and turn into carrion!

But I have to admit, when I can pry my eyes from the few inches of trail just beyond my toes, the views from up here are pretty spectacular!

Like this one right down the length of the canyon, across the Tularosa basin which is about 2500 feet below my carefully planted boots, to the San Andreas Mountains in the distance. Closer in there’s the river sliding down the V-notched and nearly inaccessible bottom of the canyon with just a hint of the Cottonwoods growing along the upper reaches, and across the way there, circled in red, is the second bench; that blissfully wide and flat second bench.

And finally, right in front of me, a few scraggly saplings that I just might be able to grab onto if I fall off of this precarious situation I’ve gotten myself into. (Yep, ya gota think about these things!)

OK, full disclosure here.

I did not make it to the official end of the trail.

Even with my misguided delusions, that was never part of my (revised) plan. 

When sitting down there looking over the trail guide with an over-inflated sense of my abilities, some saner part of me knew the far end of the trail was beyond me. (Besides, I think I was afraid that if I scrambled off the far end of that final narrow ledge I would have a tough time getting back on it again, but the alternative is a 60 mile hike around the long way to get back to The Van.)

I just wanted to know that after coming so close that I did, in fact, make it at least up onto the Eyebrow.

So I ease my way along the ledge until I figure I’m just past what they call the overhang, far enough along so I can see around the shoulder to where the ledge fractures into several, even narrower splinters. From here I can’t tell which one actually carries the trail, (I left the heavy binoculars back at The Van and the zoom on the camera makes a poor substitute, especially since I can't seem to stop the trembling in my hands long enough to hold it steady.) but I decide this is far enough anyway.

With a great sense of relief and an even greater sense of accomplishment, I turn back, taking such careful, tiny little baby steps as I reverse myself it would have been classified as an 8-point turn, and retrace my way back towards saner ground, pausing in the sweet air near the river, well away from any steep drops, to shake off the jitters of ledge-crawling before heading the rest of the way back down the mountain.

Green is my GPS track from campsite to the overhang area of the Eyebrow

Remembering the last time I made this decent, I had cut my toenails appropriately short before setting out today so there was no blood in my socks by the time I made it back to the bottom hours later, though short toenails certainly didn’t help the ache in my knees much!

I figure that by the time I stumbled back to The Van after completing the 8 mile round trip I had processed enough air through my lungs to blow up every tire in a small city, with enough left over to take care of a couple bouncy-houses too!

But I did it!

Not bad for a 68 year ol- - -

    Oh wait!

                  Crap!  I’m only 63!!

       

                                       Well that takes some of the triumph out of it! - So never mind. . .

No! You know what? No matter how old I am I did the Dog Canyon National Recreation Trail, and I did more of it than many of the hundreds of hikers that come up this trail every year, and no one can take that away from me!

This is a challenging hike worthy of two hiking sticks, (Maybe it's about time I went and bought that second stick?) plenty of water, plenty of time, and plenty of determination, (A dash of insanity might help too. . .) but the rewards in scenery and accomplishment more than make up for a few aches and pains.

So I'm going to leave the Dog Canyon National Recreation Trail pin in my map because who knows, maybe I'll be back someday.

Because as long as I’m out there challenging myself I’m going forward, and even though they may be safer, I prefer not to sit in the backwards seats on trains, planes, buses - or life.

PistachioLand!!!

OK, I have to admit that left to my own devices I would never have stopped here at McGinns Pistachio Tree Ranch, and that would have been too bad. So it's a good thing a fun-loving, adventurous, gregarious member of the family was piloting the car that day instead of me since I'm a bonafide people-avoiding, tourist-trap-phobic, stick-in-the-mud curmudgeon. (All right already! It's not necessary for everyone to agree so enthusiastically!)

McGinns, home of the world's largest pistachio, is a family run place (The current generation have added the grape vines.) that got its start during the Iran embargo of the late 70's which suddenly made it economically feasible to home-grow pistachios.



In addition to the touristy-trinket side of the shop, and the wine bar, the ice-cream bar, and, of course, a lot of nuts for sale, for a couple bucks you can hop on a big green, mega-golfcarty kind of thing and take a guided tour of the  ranch.

I highly recommend taking this tour!! But then again I'm a geek that finds learning new things fascinating. . . Even if learning isn't your thing, just remember that after the tour you can exchange your ticket-stub at the ice-cream bar for a big fat homemade cookie!

I'll try not to subject you to the dialog from the entire tour, but I just have to spout off a few of the things I learned.

• Mcginn's has over 12,000 pistachio trees and 6000 grape-vines
• It takes 4 years for a pistachio tree to start producing and then only a few pounds worth
• A mature tree will produce 50 to over 100 pounds of processed nuts depending on the year
• Each tree is hand-grafted onto a disease-resistant root stock
• Only female trees produce nuts but each grove has a couple male trees on the downwind side.
• During summer irrigation season each tree gets 25 - 30 gallons of water once a week.

And I have to give special attention to a couple more cool facts.

There are a few large, blooming rose-bushes incongruously scattered around in the groves. Being particularly sensitive things, these roses are the grove's version of mine-canaries, giving advance warning of any issues that might affect the trees.

And finally; remember the red pistachios we used to stain our fingers, mouths, teeth, and furniture with years ago?? Pistachios are drupes. That means like pecans and coconuts they grow under a fleshy outer skin. If the skins of harvested pistachios are not dried and removed right away (It's raining, there's too much harvest to spread out in the sun all at one time, etc.) this outer skin ferments, staining the hard shell underneath and it's pretty ugly looking. The way around that was to cover up the staining with a bright red dye. Today modern processing machines strip the outer skin off the nuts quickly so the staining no longer has a chance to occur and the dye is not necessary. In fact, what with the persistent questions about the safety of red dyes in food, it's pretty much impossible to find red pistachios anymore.



But here's the point where I feel it's my duty to give a word of warning about stopping at McGinn's.

Of course most visitors are probably going to buy some pistachios while they're there. I mean, come on! That's pretty much the law when you stop at a pistachio ranch!

And I was not immune to this consumerist urge. In fact after picking up one bag it occurred to me that I was still a good week away from home (Easter Weekend was coming up and since I am holiday-crowd phobic it put an expiration date on my trip, otherwise I'd have been even farther out from returning home.) and I got to thinking that history has shown when left to my own devices I'm pretty susceptible to the temptation of sampling the goods, yet if I returned home with nothing but an empty bag of one of our favorite nuts I'd be in deep shit, so I picked up a second bag, vowing that I would eat from the first but not break the seal on the second until back home again when we could share it. (And, for the sake of my continued health, I stuck to my vow!)

But; and here's the warning part; when you're standing among bins and rows and shelves of shelled, unshelled, natural, flavored, spiced, and brittled (One of their specialties.) nuts stacked from floor to nearly as high as the average fingertip can reach, there's a strange size-envy phenomenon that occurs.

My two little 8 oz bags of shelled pistachios looked so small and puny there in my hands among all this nutty bounty it was embarrassing! So I surreptitiously slipped them back onto the shelf and pulled down a couple one pound bags instead.

Well somewhere just beyond the front door, the grip of this phenomenon quickly faded and halfway to The Van I was wishing I had brought along a hand-cart, or maybe a Sherpa. What was I thinking?! Two pounds of shelled pistachios is one hell of a lot of nuts!

I should probably stop at a truck-scale and see if I need to add some air to the tires. . .

Valley of Fires Recreation Area

Again, as with Living Desert Gardens and Zoo, Dog Canyon, and Three Rivers Petroglyphs, there could be location confusion here too.

Don't mix up the BLM operated Valley of Fires Recreation Area I'm talking about (To confuse things even more, based on old maps this might have actually been a New Mexico State Park in the past!!) with Valley of Fires State Park in Nevada.

We're still here in the Tularosa Basin, about 4 or 5 miles northeast of the basin town of Carrizozo on a low ridge poking up in the middle of the Malpais lava flow. (More confusion possible since malpais is Spanish for bad-lands and there are many other places, including at least one more right here in New Mexico, named that.!)



At 1500 to 2000 years old, this is among the youngest lava-flows in the 48-states, but looking out at this I'm kind of glad I wasn't hanging around to watch it happen!



For most visitors the key attraction here is the Malpais Nature Trail that wanders out onto the lava flow itself.



This slightly less than one mile loop is paved and fully accessible,



but there are also spots along the way where the intrepid can wander out onto the lava itself. But the footing out there is not very forgiving so be careful! One slip and you could get sliced up worse than a tie caught in a shredder at the office Christmas party, and footwear won't fair any better so opt for sturdy if you plan on wandering off the paved trail.



There is a bit of a drop from the trail's start, there up on the ridge, down to the flow itself, but the gentle, ADA compliant switchbacks take care of that.



This is a fee area with a self-pay station at the entrance out by the highway, but it's still worth-while going on down to the visitor center to pick up a guide to the trail before setting out on it.



In addition to the numbered stations with their corresponding information printed in the trail guide, there are a number of additional information plaques along the trail. These are getting rather sunburned and a little fuzzy, but are still readable with some patience.

The right side is as they actually appear, the left is where I have used an editing program to enhance the clarity.



There's also a couple of kid-of-all-ages-friendly education centers



along the way like this fauna-themed one. (Again, this image has been enhanced through editing for clarity.)



It's amazing what will grow on the lava, (Can you imagine how hot this stuff gets in the summer sun!!) everything from lichens



to this 400 year old thing!  No! I mean the Juniper, not The Daughter!! (Though, come to think of it, it has been a long time, and I mean a really long time, since she took her first plane trip at the age of one month. . .)



It doesn't really look all that alive does it?  (The Juniper dammit! I'm talking about the Juniper!!)



But it is!  Robustly alive in fact.



We were there the week before Easter



and many of the plants growing in seemingly impossible places out on the lava



were blooming nicely, thank-you very much!




Eventually we'd wandered the entire loop and it was time for us to start the climb back up to the parking area.

There is a much more primitive trail across the lava down at the southern end of the ridge the campsites sit on, We were told that this trail has seen some recent maintenance and improvement, but once we were back in the comfort of the car that was off the books for us. Something to check out next time.

Once Again I Pick the Dinosaur of Batteries

During my recent post on replacing the Tripp-Lite inverter/charger with an IOTA charger I mentioned that I was also replacing the batteries. Actually the battery replacement is what triggered the charger replacement. After all, despite its failed inverter the Tripp-Lite was still serviceable as a charger, but as long as I was going to be messing around in the electrical compartment anyway . . .

The death of, and need to replace my 200 amp-hours of battery is what prompted the replacement of the Tripp-Lite with the IOTA

It all started because the summers in Central Texas are a tad warm, with daily highs running from the low 90’s to the low 100’s for a good solid three months. During those three months the humidity runs in the 90’s as well, and with all that water in the air hanging on to the heat it means that nighttime temps only dip by 10 to 15 degrees.

Me, I’m pretty stubborn (or stupid depending on who you talk to) and continue to spend the majority of my day either outside or in the barn which is not air-conditioned, but the supplies in The Van that wouldn’t fare as well as I do under those conditions get stuffed into her fridge for the duration. Beans, rice, sugar, dried foods, toothpaste, deodorant, lip balm, and anything else that could be affected by prolonged heat, all goes into the fridge which is turned on to its warmest setting, in my case that’s 50 degrees in the fridge section and 42 in the freezer section.

So with new batteries in hand I gathered a few simple tools and supplies to drop them into place.

Which is why, even though I don’t do much camping during the summer, the 12V system still gets a decent workout.

Even parked in the partial shade of an oak tree and accounting for some cloudy days, the solar panel/battery combination has proven up to the task of keeping the fridge running all summer, but that doesn’t mean I skip keeping an eye on things. Every morning I stick my head inside The Van and check the fridge thermometer and the 12V system monitor panel.

Good thing too because one morning, pretty much without warning, the battery voltage had dropped to below 12 volts overnight despite less than a 20% discharge. (Yes, I knew the batteries were showing signs of aging but to go from low-normal to essentially dead that quickly was unexpected.)

After horsing the new batteries into the boxes the next step was to use a wire brush to clean up the eyelets on the ends of the cables

According to my records the current batteries have been in use for just shy of three years. Even accounting for the fact that they are lowly wet-cells that’s just barely long enough to be reasonable and – well – turns out that’s on me this time. My excuse? The time honored but true none-the-less; "I forgot"

Then to ensure a good solid connection that will conduct well and won’t corrode over time I smeared each eyelet with GB Ox-Gard (This stuff is conductive so watch where you smear it!)

After three frustrating rounds of maintenance-free AGM's, when I switched back to wet-cell because the performanceof the AGM’s was not justifying their expense I apparently didn’t pick up all my marbles and completely twigged out on topping up the water.  Yeah, that's right, I forgot. . . And when I did finally pull the caps there was no water to be seen!

I tried topping up the cells, which took about a half-gallon of distilled water between the two batteries, and then hitting them with an equalize charge, but over the next couple days I did some draw-down testing which only confirmed that I had killed them both.

Before connecting the batteries back into the system.

Oh don't get me wrong, adding water and equalizing helped and the batteries were still serviceable at a reduced capacity, but for how long? Based on my experience with those tiny but expensive motorcycle batteries, not very! (I have now converted all my small engines over to Walmart's $20 U1's. This usually means relocating the battery and building a new carrier but it beats the hell out of buying tiny little, and decidedly delicate, original replacements at $70 or more a shot!) I rely heavily on The Van's house batteries so would rather call them dead now than get caught short somewhere and have to deal with them on the road.

I'm pretty sure some of you started shaking you heads at my regressive choice of battery back there at the first photo, after all, that's the equivalent of choosing to drive a truck with manual transmission and crank-down windows and who in their right mind would do that in this day and age, right?!

Well read on!

Despite AGM’s looking better on paper (Granted, mostly marketing paper but paper none-the-less.) after carefully analyzing the actual costs of the three sets of AGM’s I had used up in a little more than ten years of real-life usage, I switched back to wet-cell three years ago because I could not justify the nearly 200% cost premium of the AGM’s anymore.

Now in the past three years there have been some amazing strides in battery technology and right now Lithium Ion are all the rage. Ohh goody!!  New toys!  

Except Li-ion’s are pricey things with a capital P! so are even more worthy of a careful cost analysis.

and here’s what happened when I ran the numbers:

Then finally putting the tops back on the battery boxes and sealing them up. Very important with wet-cells since they out-gas as a normal part of the charge cycle and I definitely don’t want explosive hydrogen floating around inside The Van!!

* Li-ion batteries can be discharged to 80% as compared to wet-cell’s (AGM and gell too) 50%. With my 200 Ah setup that means that instead of 100 Ah of usable power I could get 160 Ah. I’ve been getting along fine with my 100 Ah but more is better, right? So add this to the nice-to-have column.

* Unlike wet-cell, Li-ion batteries can deliver their power at an incredible rate without damaging themselves, and can also be recharged at equally unbelievable rates if you have the equipment to do so. This is great for electric vehicles, golf-carts and mobile devices, but not so much for RV’s. With the limited capacity found in most RV’s because of space and funds, taking advantage of the Li-ion fantastic discharge rate would be a lot like the M16 I carried back in the dark-ages when I was in uniform. At 600 rounds per minute that sucker could empty a 30-round banana clip in seconds, but then what? “Ummm, time-out guys. I need to reload. . .”  So put this one in the ‘ehh, so what’ column.

* Even with the on-board smart-charge electronics necessary for the common man to keep Li-ion’s healthy over the long term, 200 amp-hours of Li-ion weighs in at more than 40 pounds less than the same capacity of wet-cell. And this only gets better if you figure it based on usable amp-hours. Great! Add this to the plus column.

* With the proper onboard smart-charge electronics, I can use my existing charge controllers, solar and shore-power, to keep the Li-ion’s topped up. Another one to add to the plus column.

* Li-ion’s are supposed to have a 2000 to 5000 cycle life-span compared to the wet-cell’s 500 to 1000. To be fair here let’s take the low end of both, which means I will have to replace the wet-cells 4 times for every one time for Li-ion, and if the life-cycle of the Li-ion’s trend towards the higher end it only gets better. Sounds like another one for the plus column, but for now let’s just hold onto that one.

So right now I have one in the nice-to-have, one in the ‘ehh, so what’ , and two in the plus column with a potential third to follow, Based on that the Li-ion’s are looking like a winner – but - 

  

When I said earlier that Li-ion’s are pricey, that might be an understatement! To purchase a fully tricked out pair of group-27 100 amp-hour Li-ion’s costs $2600, to replace my pair of lowly NAPA 8301’s cost $270. Broken down by usable amp-hours over expected life of the battery the numbers come out like this

Type	Cost	Usable Ah per cycle	Expected Cycles	Usable lifetime Ah’s	Cost per usable lifetime Ah
Li-ion	$2600	160	2000	320000	$0.00813
Wet-cell	$270	100	500	50000	$0.00540

This is rather simplistic, but even though the Li-ion’s are getting there in terms of cost effectiveness, they still cost a premium over the wet-cells; so lowly wet-cells it is.

Who knows, in 3 or 4 years when I’m in the market for new batteries again maybe the numbers will come up differently, but for now I’m sticking to the wet-cells.

Of course next time around I’m going to have to add in an estimated expiration date on both The Van and my ability to use it. If the longevity claims of the Li-ion’s hold up over time in actual RV-type usage, as opposed to electric car usage which is entirely different, extrapolating based on my experience with the wet-cells, one set of Li-ion’s could last 20 years and I’m not sure I see much sense in paying money to buy something for the next guy to use.

 In the mean time I’ve already added checking the water levels to my quarterly maintenance schedule.

Three Rivers Petroglyph Site

If you drive north on US 54 about 30 miles out of Alamogordo there's a right turn onto County Road B30. (Bottom left corner of the map below.) If you see this poor, highly embarrassed donkey tucked in beside a building on the right you just missed the turn. (OK PETA people, don't get your panties in a bunch. It's a fiberglass sculpture.)



If you make the turn then drive over the rr tracks and stick with that road for about 13 miles and 2000 feet of elevation gain, just clipping the southern end of a ridge-line and a corner of the reservation along the way, at the end of the road you come to Three Rivers Campground. (Top right corner of the map above)

This is a National Forest campground with 12 sites, water, trashcans, and vault toilets. (Motorcoaches don't bother as the max length is 26 feet) Oh, and apparently cell service is quite good at the campground due to towers on a ridge to the west.

For entertainment, in addition to the river there's trails in the area, but this is the White Mountain Wilderness and the trails tend to be uphill when outbound, to the tune of about 1000 feet per mile!



So if that's not your thing, about 5 miles after turning onto the county road the Three Rivers Petroglyph Site is on the left.

Don't confuse this with the Three Rivers Petroglyph National Monument in Albuquerque. The site I'm talking about is a BLM site in the Tularosa basin.

It is a fee site but a geezer card takes care of that so I don't know what how much it costs and the BLM is, and I quote "currently working through a website transition process, and we appreciate your patience! The recreation information on the BLM’s website will be launched in the coming months".so I couldn't look it up on-line.





       Yep,


The Daughter was photo-bombing again. . .

          damn kids!! But whatryagoonadoo?






There's a visitor center, there on the left, flush toilets in the building just right of center, picnic tables, and a couple parking-lot style campsites.



And, of course, a few petroglyphs. Over 21,000 of them!! all pecked into a fairly small basaltic ridge thrusting up out of the basin. (The trail is just over a one mile round trip out to the shaded rest area and back.)

Best guess is that these date from the time of the Jornada Mogollon people. I once read that anthropologists, using data from digs worldwide as well as more modern studies of isolated Amazonian tribes, estimate that prehistoric, pre-civilization, peoples spent 3 to 6 hours a day on obtaining and processing basic needs and the rest of the time resting and playing. Given the amount of graffiti up here on this ridge I would have to say they are right!





Be sure and pick up a trail-guide at the visitor center



 The numbered points on the map correspond to signposts on the trail



and information in the guide.





The trail isn't a flat, paved, stroll in the park, but it isn't all that rugged.



If you can handle a couple flights of stairs

you can handle this trail just fine.



But don't rush it. There's tons of petroglyphs up here and the more you look the more you see.



Apparently even pre-historic people had some rough mornings



and had to put their face on before going out in public. Note the earrings.




Between 200 AD and around somewhere 1500 AD (When the Spanish turned up and the Mogollon disappeared, probably due to European diseases) a Jornada Mogollon man stood right here where I am with his basic, and to us primitive, tools in hand, yet when he looked out across the arid basin to the base of Sacramento Mountain escarpment, and up through the pinon-juniper zone, followed by the pine-oak then fir-aspen belts, then the spruce zone and finally the 11,000 foot peak we call Sierra Blanca today, what he saw was everything he needed to survive, and even thrive, in this land.

               That must have been a powerful and satisfying feeling.