Mexicowoods—An Expatriate Life

Hiking the Blue Ridge Mountains

We are hiking mountain trails near Cashiers, North Carolina: Whiteside Mountain, Rock Mountain, Silver Run Falls. The woods we walk through are cool and serene.

None of the paths are flat. All have steps cut into them. Good thing we're conditioned from scampering up and down San Miguel's hills every day. Our cardiovascular systems are acclimated to 6000'—we don't get winded at Cashiers wimpy 4500'.

It's said that long ago, a squirrel could travel from Georgia to Maine jumping from one American Chestnut tree to another. Chinese Chestnut trees, introduced at the beginning of the 20th Century, carried with them a blight that killed more than three billion trees throughout their Appalachian Mountain range. All that remain today are shoots from old roots. The photo shows two live sprouts and a dead 4" sapling. Sad. A Nantahala National Forest brochure encourages hikers to report any tree at least 10" in diameter in the hopes of finding blight-resistant varieties.

Details seen along the trail: a granite outcrop encrusted with an unknown green mineral. Can anyone identify it?

Fungi sprout from a dead snag. I don't know enough about them to pick and eat them. These looked good to me, though.

The season is fall—and lucky us, we caught the peak of the color change.

Autumn leaf color is more muted here than in New England, but gorgeous nonetheless.

Atop Whiteside Mountain, Laura and her Uncle Jon read all about the granite formation they're standing on. Part of our oldest mountain chain, it's a mere nub compared with the Himalaya-like peaks that existed here 450 million years ago.

From the mountaintops, we look out over the Cashiers Valley, our view enhanced by all that fall foliage. This view is from Rock Mountain, looking toward Whiteside.

I found myself drawn to this old land, its gentle mountains more nurturing, more inviting than California's Sierra Nevada where I used to backpack. Unlike the high sierra, I could find a home here.

Others feel this way: this area is home to retiring boomers. Land values inflate, mountain cabins give way to elegant lakefront homes, chi-chi restaurants line the main streets. The Cashiers area, with its moderate climate and beautiful setting, is becoming a haven for the well-to-do. We who live in San Miguel know this story all too well.

On the Rock Mountain trail, we met only one group of hikers (although the trail had recently been detoured to bypass a new housing development). On Whiteside Mountain, we ran into hundreds. Whether we shared the trails with others or had them all to ourselves, our experience was exhilarating and memorable.

A Nature Walk

Laura's dad is a professor at the University of West Florida. We went there to sit in on his course on the works of Cormac McCarthy, and arriving early, took a walk through the 1600-acre campus, much of which has been set aside as a nature reserve.

A boardwalk gives access to extensive wetlands.

A small, slow river meanders through, reminding me of Rancocas Creek in southern New Jersey, where my parents would take me canoeing when I was very small. The smell of brown water, the hum of insects, the warm sun on my back enfold me in a benign, lazy world.

Few plants flower in this late season; berries are the main source of color.

Snapping turtles, some quite large, lurk in murky waters. Their scummy shells could use a good scrub, an issue the groundskeepers at UWF may want to consider. Familiar with these creatures from my boyhood days in the Eastern United States, I don't even consider reaching into the water to pick one up.

Here in Western Florida I encounter my first Red Velvet Ant. It's a large insect—¾" long. It's not actually an ant, but a wingless wasp. Another creature to avoid touching.

A sign at the entrance hints at the prospect of somewhat more interesting wildlife, but we don't run across any, more's the pity.

 

UWF is a center of excellence for environmental studies. It prepares students for careers in environmental restoration. The wetlands we walk through are a model project, a demonstration that environmental destruction is not irreversible, a sign of hope that the planet can indeed be saved.

Parque Ecológico Joya—La Barreta

Take the highway east from San Miguel de Allende. Shortly after crossing the Guanajuato-Querétaro state line the tiny community of La Monja appears. There a roadside sign points out the winding cobblestone road to Parque Joya. Billed as an ecological park, we anticipated a place of natural features and good hiking. Four of us set out to explore it one early morning.

The park was created in 2003. More than 600 acres of ejido land were set aside to preserve some of the last unspoiled country near Querétaro.

Steep oak-covered hillsides punctuated with meadows and rocky crags characterize the topography. Occasional stone walls are all that remain of previous human uses.

A couple of steep trails provide access to the park features: panoramic views, cool forests, abundant wildflowers.

Away from the forest canopy, rocks exposed to sunshine host colorful lichens, those unlikely symbioses of fungi and algae.

Steep trails offer glimpses of the park picnic grounds, well developed with concrete shelters, picnic tables and parrillas. The John Muir Wilderness this isn't, and appropriately so. Mexicans are far less likely to seek solitude in backcountry hiking. Their focus is on family activities. To attract them, access to nature needs to be designed for everyone from aged abuelos to niños.

The park contains a camping area. The picnic area includes playground equipment and bathrooms (so, as the Tourist-A website says, you won't have to go behind a tree). Also—rare in Mexico—there are recycling bins. Environmental progress in this country is heartening: smoking bans, plastic bag prohibitions, and now, recycling.

I was almost shocked to see a ban on music players. This is asking a lot: no family gathering is complete without fiesta music.

We hiked up a steep, muddy trail. I estimate our altitude was 7,500 feet. The air was cool and invigorating. One of our party, our friend Angela, is a gazelle. She bounded to the top of a ridge and was resting at a mirador (lookout) as the rest of us come puffing up.

Parts of the ascent were so steep they were scary. We debated the merits of continuing onward along the ridge in hopes of finding a gentler descent. Ever enthusiastic and energetic, Angela volunteered to serve as scout.

The path she found looked promising, but farther along, we began to wonder if retracing our ascent might not have been better. One stretch of the new trail would have been impassible but for a thick rope someone thoughtfully had tied to a tree.

Here Laura demonstrates her rappelling form.

Laura and I became separated from our companions and took a wrong fork in the trail. After backtracking, hopping a stone wall, and much yoohooing, we found our way back to open meadows and the road back to the park entrance.

The park staff works to eradicate evidence of prior agricultural use. A nursery contains thousands of native plants. I noticed a hillside that at first glance seemed to be littered with hundreds of one-liter plastic coke bottles. They turned out to be serving as individual greenhouses for newly transplanted seedlings—an old gardener's trick.

All this effort and expense has created a real jewel—as the name of the park implies. So many so-called ecoparks in this country are little more than commercial enterprises where people swim with dolphins or some other such outrage. Parque Ecológico Joya is the real thing; an attempt to save and provide access to a natural place.

It's a hard place to find. Turning south at La Monja means leaving behind the last directional sign. The cobblestone road winding through the pueblo of La Barreta provides ample opportunities for wrong turnings. I followed the practice of those experienced at driving through Mexico, asking at every opportunity: "¿Es la ruta al parque Ecológico?"

(On back roads, signs are unnecessary. Installing them would only deprive travelers of brief encounters with friendly people along the way, of opportunities to exchange courtesies.)

Parque Ecológico Joya opens at ten every day and closes at seven (except for campers). We hopped the fence at eight in the morning and nobody seemed to care. Fees are $10 pesos for entry and another $10 to use a picnic shelter. If you live here, you should go there.

[The only map I could find locating the park is at this link.]