Adventure 727: Lyons and Campbell Ranch Headquarters/Post E

We spent another fine, though chilly, day wandering around Southwest New Mexico. We started by hiking a little ways up the trail from the Sherridan Corral trailhead. We turned back when the trail became indistinguishable from the side of the mountain. I guess we should have heeded the sign that read: "Trail not maintained and difficult to follow." No worries. We decided to go up to Mogollan (MOE GHEE YAWN), a ghost town now, but once the richest silver strike in New Mexico. It's hard to believe that over six thousand people lived in the little crevice where the town is located. It was quite an experience driving the eleven miles up and down into the crevice. The speed limit was ten and the hairpin turns were formidable. I dared not take my eyes off the road, for the drop off was formidable, too. Unfortunate it would be to leave the road. An unfortunate would have quite a few seconds to pray before crumpling like so much mine debris. The fact that it's stunningly beautiful country made it all the harder to focus. We made it in and we made it out, so thanks again for traveling mercies. Before we left this morning, another guest at the ranch drove by while I was doing the form. We chatted a little bit, and he said, "Maybe we'll have a beer later." To prepare for that possibility, I stopped at the Last Chance liquor store on the way home to buy a six pack. I chatted the lady up a little bit about liquor laws, and she was eager to explain things as she understood them. On the way out I noticed a female mannequin dressed in a fuzzy Christmas like one piece. The mannequin cradled some kind of toy gun in her arms. I asked the lady, "What's that?" She replied, "That's an a-salt rifle." It turns out that it really shoots salt at flies and millers and such with a stream of salt. She chortled as I headed out the door, "My husband says we should write a letter to Nancy Peloki (accurate quote) and tell her we have an a-salt weapon in our possession." I thought to myself, "Remember, you're the one who live and let live." So I moved to my default position, "Life is good, especially today."

It's been awhile since I've punctured a can of beer.

The ghost town has a year around population of fourteen. May through Sept. the place is more lively. The cafe is open. The museum is open, and a few more folks are out and about.

Doors into the side of the mountain are scattered about the crevice. Mine shafts as it were.

Reading is easy. Understanding comes a bit harder.

Liz and Judy checking GOOGLE maps. We live in an astonishing world.

Today, we entered an enclave that's hoping to make America great, again.

Mining debris is littered throughout Mogollan. 

A perfect description of our brave new world. This cabin, built in the 1880s, has electricity.

Gun toting mannequin. An allure for the local cowboys.

Wow factor high.

42 degrees, climbing, and still smiling.

One side of the street in Mogollan.

We had lunch at Alma's Griddle in Alma, NM. Our young blond waitress was sweet, polite, and efficient. Our fellow customers were dour, vocal, great Americans. One lady said, and I agree with her, "If a politician's lips are moving, he's lying." Her friend replied,  "I heard a poll that only 40% of the Democrats would fight for this country if it came to war." That made what little hair I have on my head stand straight up. C'est la vie.