We team of three mountaineers, Barry Raven, Jefe (true name withheld), and I conducted a successful trip in the 311,000-acre state park on the Rio Grande. As a team we successfully bagged three of four attempted peaks: Solitario Peak, the Needle, and Agua Adentro. The fourth, La Mota, was successfully summitted by Barry although Jefe and I did not summit out of concern for the poor quality handholds on the crumbling and fractured rock. After these four peaks, none of which required technical climbing gear except climbing helmets, I soloed two additional peaks in the Llano Dome highlands. The trip consisted of five nights out with a day’s drive on either side and an epic snowstorm that dumped rain and five inches of snow on the Chihuahuan Desert.
Solitario Peak, also known as Fierro (Spanish for Iron) Peak juts out of the center north of the Solitario, which is the crater and surrounding “flatiron” mountains of an ancient volcano. The Solitario used to be flat seafloor until 78 million years ago a massive eruption ripped through the seafloor and pushed out ripple-like mountains around a massive crater, which is visible from space and can be seen in Google Maps. Theses mountains have a smooth slope on one side and a steep cliffs on the other resembling irons, hence the geologic moniker “flatirons.” Solitario Peak, on the other hand, looks nothing like this, but instead rears out of the otherwise flat central volcanic basin like a jaggedly toothed fan of sharp rock, leading us to speculate that it was a volcanic plug. We circumnavigated the peak and used our best judgment to determine the best way to the top. We decided on a gully close to the summit, and charged up it. A hundred feet from the summit (although we couldn’t tell yet that it was the summit), the gully turned to Class 4 exposed rock, part of which was through a tree and all of which was slightly uncomfortably “exposed” in mountaineering lingo, meaning a drop from a height would be severe. But the handholds where plentiful and solid and we made it to the top from which the views of the entire basin were terrific. Mindful of the descent, we spent only 15 minutes on the top, but descent was actually not as bad the ascent (which is usually not the case). On the way down, Barry and Jefe espied a different route to the top consisting of a catwalk that could be further explored.
The next day, we attempted The Needle. The Needle is a definite volcanic plug that rises like a single-toothed spire from the southern end of the basin, four miles south of Solitario Peak. This time, we had to hike almost four miles until we reached the base, and then the circumlocution of The Needle was considerably more arduous than the previous day owing to the rough terrain. The Needle was a gnarly mess of extremely technical (viz., requiring serious rock climbing gear of ropes harnesses, and bolts) and “bad,” i.e., crumbly, rock. However, Barry espied a solid route up to a gully that led to the top. I led the route up the rock face to the gully from whence we were home free. Again, the views from the top were amazing, affording views deep into Mexico’s Sierra Rica range and even the Chinati Mountains to the west. Santiago, another volcano but with its mountain walls intact, was also visible to the north. We lingered at the summit due to the earlier arrival than at Solitario Peak, and I discovered an easier descent on the northeast side of the mountains. That night, back at camp, we had a victory dinner of venison, a buck that I had shot a week earlier. We encamped on an overlook three miles away from the Solitario from whence we could see most of the Solitario’s peaks, with Solitario Peak’s serrated edges visible above the surrounding flatirons.
Hickory-smoked venison victory dinner overlooking the Solitario mountains. Note Solitario Peak sticking out like a sore thumb in the upper right of the range.
The third day took us to a completely different part of the park, away from the Solitario, to the Llano uplift to the west. There we attempted La Mota mountain, which rises like a curved, upward sloping aircraft carrier 900 feet above the surrounding high plains. A wall of cliff, in some places a hundred feet high, ringed the summit. We scaled to the base of the cliffs and sought a chink in the armor. Barry found a thirty-foot Class Four break in the cliff face, but Jefe and I did not feel sufficiently comfortable in the weak and fractured rock to pass ourselves. I had to pound each handhold with my fist before committing my weight to it, and I was glad of this precaution for seemingly stable holds would vibrate or shift altogether. Jefe said that he’d seen this type of rock before, where entire blocks would suddenly shift outward from the novel weight of a climber, squishing the climber as it did so. Thus we proceeded with extreme caution and maintaining three points of contact with the rock at all times. Although Barry made it to the top of the cliff, he didn’t look like he wanted to descend the same route. He departed to claim the summit and to look for another way down, which he did. Jefe and I made our leisurely way down the mountain and back to camp where Barry intercepted us with news of a different route down (and up) along the east face (the prow of the aircraft carrier) that was a complete break in the cliff.
The fourth day we attempted Agua Adentro peak, one of the tallest and most striking mountains in the park. Meaning “Water Inside,” Agua Adentro has a spring at its base that supports diverse wildlife and a grove of majestic alamos, or cottonwood trees. From the base we spied a gully directly leading to the ridgeline and from thence a clean walk to the summit. We had seen the back of Agua Adentro from La Mota the day before and knew that the back did not have the ring of cliffs that the front did. Our assessment proved correct, and we made the summit in an hour and a half. The view was the most spectacular yet, with views deep into Mexico and almost all of the peaks within the park laid out before us. To the west, however, we could see the approaching cold front and departed before it hit. Upon return, we parted ways, Barry and Jefe to a hotel in Alpine and me to a campsite on the Llano Plateau.
View to the east from the summit of Agua Adentro.
View to the west from the summit of Agua Adentro.
As I drove to the campsite, it began to rain. The rainfall increased as I approached the site. I noticed that the neverending expanse of creosote bushes were dropping their pungent leaves in expectation of the foliage renewal made possible by the precipitation. I set up my tent in heavy rain, and as soon as the tent was up, the rain stopped (of course). A heavy west wind sprang up as I surveyed the area and the map, and I decided to attempt a summit of a nearby unnamed peak at 4,563 feet. From it I could see Ojo Mexicano, a spring of water with stately alamos in fall colors around it. On the way back to the campsite, I summited a lesser peak and as I approached “home,” the snow began to start in earnest. I was amazed to see it start to stick to the ground and realized how the rain and subsequent wind had sufficiently cooled the earth. The dropping temperatures allowed the snow to stick to even me.
I had a pleasant dinner in my campsite, and enjoyed the break from the incandescent full moon from the previous three nights. I also quite enjoyed the cooler weather after the seventy- and eighty-degrees of the past four days. It fell to 22 degrees that night. At first I slept well but awoke to the walls of the tent bulging in on me under the weight of the snow. I pushed, punched, and kicked the snow off the walls of the tent sufficiently to resume slumber but a small worry formed as to how I would return through snow or mud in a light SUV.
As it turned out, I had no need to worry. My Honda Pilot was sufficient to handle the five inches and bad road, and views of mountains in the snow reminded me of my travels in Sweden. On the way out of the park, I drove past Agua Adentro, now wreathed in dignified white mist and glory. A fitting end to an epic adventure.
