Last weekend, the two most important events of the weekend occurred at my folk’s house, because my father turned 80, and my sister, her family, and I spent time twice visiting with him and my mom. I am so grateful I have my folks nearby to spend time with.

Dad was born 144 days before the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, at a time when the U.S. economy was still in the dump, and Americans wondered when the war would come to them. He’s seen so much during his life.

Between the heavy partying, last Saturday evening I had a reservation at Fenton Lake’s campground, so late in the day I rolled on up there to spend the night. The original goal was to be there with my nephew for some morning fishing, but he had had other plans develop, and I just felt a desire to get out of town.

I enjoyed driving up through the Jemez and anticipated finally visiting the lake for myself.

I arrived at Fenton shortly before sunset and got my truck tent up before taking a walk at the lake as the sun dropped. I boiled some water and made a bagged camp dinner (red beans and rice) and then did my dishes, and it was bedtime.

I was still gonna try my hand fishing in the morning.

At 5 AM, my phone alarm went off, and I got up and wandered back to the lake.

I found a nice spot on the south side of the lake for fishing and just enjoyed the sunrise.

Soon other campers and lake visitors populated the access points, and, with several hours behind me with no bites, I decided my fishing try was done. I abandoned my fishing spot and circled back around the lake and returned to my truck and made some oatmeal and coffee for breakfast, and then climbed back into my truck tent for a short effort at a nap.

And then it was time to pack up and go.

At my departure, the day was still young, though, and while I considered a left turn on NM-126 and a ride home back through Cuba, a right turn offered more options: a possible stop at Bandelier National Monument, or at Valle Caldera.

And as I drove back into and through the northern Jemez, I came upon the Las Conchas Trailhead of Trail 137 area stocked with visitor cars- and I thought, hey, I always drive by here but I’ve never checked it out. A hiking opportunity. Now is a good time.

I found a parking place, stowed all I had in my truck bed into the cab, grabbed my backpack and my camera, and wandered down onto the trail. Between the numerous rock climbers dangling from lines on nearby rock faces and the botanists and biologists admiring the plants and butterflies, the immediate trail proved to be busy. But green and decorated by wildflowers and a busy creek, the trail canyon was inviting.

I took my time following the trail west, admiring rocks and birds and flowers and butterflies, shuffling along for a few miles, ignoring the gray sheet that settled over the Jemez Valley, oblivious, until the drops began to fall. I was soon in a steady rain, and then under the rumbles of thunder- and then being pelted by hail. Fortunately, I had a rain jacket that I had put on when the storm broke. Unfortunately, I was under a thin umbrella of pine trees, and by the time the shower returned to sprinkling, I, in my fine rain coat, was absolutely soaked.

After 25 minutes of standings semi-sheltered from the rain, with the shower tempering and thunder rolls muting in the distance, I decided I should head back for the trailhead and my truck. I met and stayed with a family that had the same goal as we navigated the muddy trail by the creek. About a mile from our starting point, we came out from under the rain as blue greeted us above to the southeast. Thunder rumbles grew behind us as we got back to the parking lot, passing new hikers heading down the trail we had just returned upon.

I said goodbye to the family, got to the truck, and moved some of the cab contents back into the truck bed. I contemplated changing my clothes, but then decided “Why?”. What I had dry to wear were hiking boots and some gym shorts. I changed my shirt but decided to live with the rest. I put a towel on the driver’s seat, fired up the truck, and cranked up the heater full blast as I got back onto NM-4 and headed towards Los Alamos.

I was wet, but not wet enough to not stop by the Valle Caldera pullouts to see what was going on, and to my fortune, a good-sized herd of elk were grazing on the skirt of a western hill.

I drove on into the National Preserve and made a stop at the bridge over Jemez Creek to snap a few pics before winding over to the Visitors Center. Still doused and sloshing in my tennis shoes, I asked a friendly ranger about the wildlife this year, and he listed off a good set of statistics on animals in the area. He invited me to take the Backcountry Drive if I’d like- there was a slot available at the moment. It was about three and I felt I didn’t have time to do it well, so I thanked him and said I’d be back to do it on a later date, used the facilities, and headed on to Los Alamos.

The dark clouds stayed behind me in the Jemez until I neared Albuquerque a few hours later- still wet, still absorbing heater heat, but satisfied with my weekend adventure.

I looked forward to a hot shower, dry clothes, and a return to my folks to enjoy a birthday dinner for my dad with my family.

My sister put together a fine Hawaiian Luau themed party for the evening- and we enjoyed it. Complete with pineapple and coconut bowling.