Guadalupe Peak, Texas

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At 8,749 feet, Guadalupe Peak is the highest point in Texas, rising out of Guadalupe Mountains National Park. It lies 62 miles north of Van Horn, Texas, 110 miles east of El Paso, and 55 miles south of Carlsbad, New Mexico. There are no supplies anywhere near the park, so visitors must be sure to stock up and fill the gas tank before leaving these towns.

The trail to the top of Guadalupe Peak begins at Pine Springs Campground, ½ mile from the park headquarters visitor center on U.S. 62/180. A $5 fee is self-payable at the trailhead. Water is available at the visitor center and at the trailhead. Round-trip is 8.5 miles and takes most of a day.

I was coming from the south, so I stopped for supplies in Van Horn, an intriguing western town with one main street. Just off I-10, the town offers fast food as well as local flavor. The well-known chain motels are here in miniature, but more inviting are the local motels straight from the late 50s, advertising rooms for $25. Alas, I would not be staying in any of those rooms. I wanted to be close to the mountain for an early start climbing, and I was still an hour away.

I headed north on U.S. 54, a lonely road through the west Texas desert. The only things moving were the giant grasshoppers crossing the road. As I turned onto U.S. 62/180, it was immediately apparent that the elevation was rising. The van labored against the climb and against the ever-present wind.

I am averse to paying for a campsite, so I pulled into a picnic area three miles shy of the park. Beyond my windshield, El Capitan boasted its importance by presenting its dramatic cliff face and blocking my view of the taller Guadalupe Peak. I stepped out to view the desert stretched out far below, and heard the haunting song of the mountain. I told myself it was just the wind blowing across and around the picnic area structures, but I never could pinpoint the source. After watching the sunset, I snuggled into bed. The wind rocked the van, and I fell asleep listening to the ethereal tones of mountain music.

Photo © Nancy Shepherd

The mountain was still a dim suggestion against the sky when I awoke the next morning. It was chilly and windy, but not bad enough to keep me from climbing. I dressed and busied myself loading my daypack with water, extra clothes, food...wait, I didn't have enough food. When I'd stopped for supplies in Van Horn, I thought I had plenty of food in the van, and I only picked up some trail mix. Could I do a strenuous, all-day hike with only a bagel, an apple, and a bag of trail mix? Would it be wise?

I sat back in the driver's seat and looked out. The sky was lightening, but a dense gray-white cloud slid down the road toward me and rose to engulf the mountain. It looked like smoke. Leaning out the window, I sniffed the air. There was no fire; it was only fog -- fog that rode the wind into a cloud hiding El Capitan's boastful face. Would it lift or would it get worse? The wind was already picking up. How long could I wait and still have time to hike to the top and back?

I watched the clouds build as I agonized over the decision. I knew I could go ahead and do it. I knew I could stretch a little bit of food over a whole day of hiking. I knew I could balance against the wind. I knew I could push single-mindedly toward a goal, even if there were no views to enjoy along the way. I'd done it all before on other adventures. But for the first time, I didn't want to.

Photo © Nancy Shepherd

It was no longer good enough to do something just for the sake of doing it. I wanted to have fun at it. It would be no fun to struggle alone, cold, and hungry to the top of a mountain, putting myself at risk just so I could say I did it. I slumped in my seat as I realized the mountain had won again.

Slowly, I unpacked my pack and put things away. Then with a salute to the mountain, I cranked the van and turned away, back to the desert below. The 100-mile drive to El Paso wasn't nearly enough time to figure out who I am if I'm no longer my headstrong, independent self. But admitting that I'm not so independent -- that I'm tired of being alone all the time -- was a turning point. It's time for a change in my life. And maybe that's what the mountain was trying to teach me all along.

Photo © Nancy Shepherd