Roswell, New Mexico
February 7–11, 2022
February 7–11, 2022
Let’s just get it out of the way: I didn’t see any aliens in Roswell. The weirdest thing I experienced was the eerie sound of a flock of sandhill cranes squawking around sunrise each morning. And the town itself is kind of a hole, to my mind. It’s a tourist town built up around the concept of aliens, which can result in some charming kitsch, but it’s mostly just cheap and depressing.
The land around the town, however, is gorgeous. It’s the Chihuahuan desert I’ve come to love, but with water. I love watching the way the desert interacts with the appearance of water. I stayed at Bottomless Lakes State Park, and the dogs and I took a few excellent hikes around the desert lake landscape. The sunsets were mind blowing. There was one unfortunate incident in which the dogs and I went out for a four-mile walk that ended up being a ten-mile walk, thanks to a campground trail map that secretly was not to scale. We had some sore feet and thirsty mouths by the end, but all’s well that ends well!
On one of my days in Roswell, I drove down to Carlsbad Caverns National Park. I’m somewhat claustrophobic, and I’d never been in a cave before, but I was determined. I psyched myself up, and during the long hike down into the deep caverns I tried to stick with the smattering of other humans nearby. When I lost sight of other people, I gave myself little murmured pep talks—“You’ve got this. Brave! Be brave! Nothing bad is going to happen. Eeeeeeverything is fine!”—and I made my way 750-feet down into the depths. Once I got to the Big Room, it all felt magnificently worth it.
The experience deep underground is hard to describe, but the stillness, the occasional soft dripping noises of water steadily building new formations, the steady 90% humidity and 56º temperature, the ornate delicacy of the formations, and most of all the scale combined to be awe inspiring. Once I was in that space, I never wanted to leave. If hiking slowly down into the ever-darkening depths felt a bit like dying, emerging into the magic of the Big Room felt like ending up in heaven, deep underground.
The land around the town, however, is gorgeous. It’s the Chihuahuan desert I’ve come to love, but with water. I love watching the way the desert interacts with the appearance of water. I stayed at Bottomless Lakes State Park, and the dogs and I took a few excellent hikes around the desert lake landscape. The sunsets were mind blowing. There was one unfortunate incident in which the dogs and I went out for a four-mile walk that ended up being a ten-mile walk, thanks to a campground trail map that secretly was not to scale. We had some sore feet and thirsty mouths by the end, but all’s well that ends well!
On one of my days in Roswell, I drove down to Carlsbad Caverns National Park. I’m somewhat claustrophobic, and I’d never been in a cave before, but I was determined. I psyched myself up, and during the long hike down into the deep caverns I tried to stick with the smattering of other humans nearby. When I lost sight of other people, I gave myself little murmured pep talks—“You’ve got this. Brave! Be brave! Nothing bad is going to happen. Eeeeeeverything is fine!”—and I made my way 750-feet down into the depths. Once I got to the Big Room, it all felt magnificently worth it.
The experience deep underground is hard to describe, but the stillness, the occasional soft dripping noises of water steadily building new formations, the steady 90% humidity and 56º temperature, the ornate delicacy of the formations, and most of all the scale combined to be awe inspiring. Once I was in that space, I never wanted to leave. If hiking slowly down into the ever-darkening depths felt a bit like dying, emerging into the magic of the Big Room felt like ending up in heaven, deep underground.
