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photo by Brian Kendall
Hiking to the top of Guadalupe Peak
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photo by Brian Kendall
Hiking to the top of Guadalupe Peak
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photo by Brian Kendall
Hiking to the top of Guadalupe Peak
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photo by Brian Kendall
Hiking to the top of Guadalupe Peak
Guadalupe Peak sits 8,751 feet above sea level in West Texas. Hidden behind the more prominent El Capitan in Guadalupe Mountain National Park, Guadalupe Peak is the highest natural point in Texas (I am admittedly still trying to figure out if an unnatural location exists that exceeds this height). While this high spot in Texas is a mile in elevation away from being classified a fourteener — a peak that’s 14,000 feet above sea level (96 exist in the U.S., making this a natural bucket list item for hyperactive climbing enthusiasts) — and nor does it require more than a pair of shoes, some water, and a few hours of your time to tackle, there remains something oddly fulfilling about making it to the top of your home state. To claim in a brief moment that you were standing above everyone else in the largest state in the contiguous U.S. strokes the ego just enough to bring a smile to one’s face.
Such a reward piqued my interest, and in April of this year, I packed my toiletry bag, a couple shirts and pairs of socks — leaving behind my hiking shoes in a regrettably irresponsible move — and left for Carlsbad, New Mexico (a 6-hour drive from Fort Worth), the closest thing to the national park that resembles civilization.
A quick aside about Carlsbad: This is an incredibly interesting city. Being the only place one can sleep, eat, or get gas near the geographical holy trinity of Carlsbad Caverns, White Sands National Monument, and the Guadalupe Mountains, the city is frequented by recreational vehicles, rookie spelunkers, and novice hikers. Despite its label as a tourist destination, Carlsbad seems forever frozen in 1956. The motels and diners that line the city’s busiest street all have midcentury modern design elements and their original retro signage — with lights sparingly operational. Similar to many places in our neighboring state of New Mexico, there’s something jarring and creepy about it. Nonetheless, its convenience makes the city’s Cavern Inn an obvious spot for me to rest my head after a day of hiking — complimentary shampoo and conditioner be damned.
The mountain range, which stands prominently next to the juxtaposed salt flat graben, is actually an exposed ancient reef barrier, the result of evaporation, tectonic shifts, and other geological activities that far exceed what I learned in my freshman geology class at Angelo State University. However it came to be, nature created one of our state’s most jaw-dropping land formations.
There’s an article on Texas Monthly’s website, dated 1969, that asks “Why climb Guadalupe Peak?” While some might say it’s semantics, I will argue that making it to the summit of Guadalupe Peak is not a climb, but a walk. To claim I climbed to the top of the mountain would be disingenuous; there was no climbing. My hands, outside of moments when I sat Indian-style on the ground, never touched rock; upper-body exertion was never the culprit for my shortness of breath; and Sherpas were not necessary for navigation. Though it’s undoubtedly a difficult walk, with most steps hammering away at the hike’s 3,000-foot elevation gain, it is a walk on a well-traveled trail nonetheless. The trail — the Guadalupe Peak Trail — is a rocky path that switchbacks through 8 1/2 miles of multiple ecosystems and three false peaks.
The opening mile of the climb is the most difficult. Beginning adjacent to the park’s visitor’s center, it’s easy for one to return to an air-conditioned building if they quickly realize the hike’s steep grade is too much for them to handle. It was at the end of this difficult section that I immediately regretted my choice of shoes. Wearing a CamelBak, Patagonia quandary pants, and SPF 45 sunscreen, my footwear was the only thing that screamed “newbie outdoorsman.” Making the mistake of forgetting my trail runners, I was stuck with my everyday footwear: low-ankle Chuck Taylors. Despite blisters surely being in my future, I pressed on.
I was fortunate enough to tackle the hike on a clear, beautiful day. Even with the elevation changes, I left my jacket in my bag and required only globs of sunscreen for my pasty complexion. The cooperative weather made the views awe-inspiring.
As mentioned before, the hike contains three false summits. And, as the trail’s steep grade makes the four-mile trek seem double the distance, it’s easy to get caught in the false hope that you are almost to the top. This hope, naturally, led to more frustration and disappointment than anything else.
As I got sweatier, more out of breath, and the blister on my left foot ever closer to popping and exposing tender skin, I got in the habit of asking every passing hiker how far the summit was. Without exception, every passerby laughed and exclaimed, “You’re not even close, dude.” One fellow trailblazer decided to open up about his own frustrations: “I thought it was just around the corner, but it’s, like, 100 corners away.”
The exhaustion and irritation, however, were allayed by gorgeous scenery. Every turn seemed to present an entirely new ecosystem with surprising flora. Tall varieties of pines, meadows, and dry treeless spots all make an appearance. There are times you’ll feel you’re in the Appalachians, and others you’ll feel you’re in Sierra Nevada; the drastic changes in diverse environments are enough to give a hiker whiplash.
A short scramble and one is suddenly at the summit. There’s no giant archway or finish-line tape to welcome you for your accomplishment. Rather, a pyramid erected in 1958 to commemorate overland stage and air travel serves as the selfie spot. Of course, those who make the top are also greeted with a view that, for lack of a better word, is majestic. To the south is the peak of El Capitan, and to the west is a 180-degree view of the Salt Basin Dunes, which disappear into the horizon. A small green book and pen rest in the small monument, where hikers who dared to make it to the top can write their names. Hundreds upon hundreds of names filled the pages, and as I flipped through, I realized it only went back three days. I am merely one of thousands to trek these slopes a year. Though grasping the fact that I’m not that special certainly deflated my ego a tad, it didn’t waiver my feeling of accomplishment.
If you’re going to walk to the top of Guadalupe Peak, here’s what to pack:
• 4 quarts of water (I recommend filling a CamelBak)
• Hiking boots/shoes or trail runners (this is a must)
• Light jacket
• Sunscreen
• First-aid kit with Band-Aids
• Snacks (granola bars and dried fruit are what I brought)
• Hat
• Plastic bag for trash (leave no trace)
