SEARCH Travels With LD

Monday, January 21, 2008 - Oliver Lee Memorial State Park, Alamogordo NM

Campground from Dog Canyon Rail, Oliver Lee Memorial State Park, Alamogordo NM, January 20, 2008
Campground from Dog Canyon Trail, Oliver Lee Memorial State Park, Alamogordo, New Mexico, January 20, 2008

It's warmer, more comfortable without that cold air streaming down the uninsulated windows of this old Lazy Daze. No, we haven't moved, Oliver Lee Memorial State Park is at the mouth of Dog Canyon.

An observation about the southern US climate

I may have to rethink the basic premise of this trip - the idea of escaping northern winters while exploring New Mexico. Traveling about this beautiful land I'm constantly drawn, as I like to put it, "out of the woods." I don't know quite how to explain it but my spirit lifts once I cross the Mississippi River and leave the forested east behind. I feel comfortable in these wide open spaces. This is a feeling I discovered on my motorcycle trips west years ago and have been wanting to explore further ever since, maybe to winter, maybe even to retire, "out of the trees." That's a story for another time; let's get back to the observation.

Ever since I got a late start on this road trip (it was November 15th when I finally left home in New York) I've been trying to get ahead of the cold nights. Two months and 3,500 miles later and the night temperatures are often still colder than when I left New York. What am I missing here?

Through all these years dreaming of getting a chance to explore the southwest I guess I just assumed the southern US enjoys warmer winters than it actually does. Without ever paying much attention, just assuming. Gotcha, John, once again the world isn't what you think it is.

Back to the observation.

It warms up nicely during the day, usually, quite unlike the northeast, but the night time temperatures I've experienced on this trip are more often than not below freezing. Incredibly, at least to naive old me, it was 8 degrees F on two successive mornings when I camped was last week at Bottomless Lakes State Park outside Roswell, New Mexico . Those are the coldest mornings of the trip; colder than those mornings back in New York in fact. This is southern New Mexico; it's not supposed to be this cold here.

While looking at the NOAA Graphical Forecast for CONUS Area the other day I finally saw what I was seeing. It looks to me like southern New Mexico has the coldest climate of any point touching the southern US border. From the Pacific ocean off southern California all the way across southern California, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama to the Atlantic ocean of Florida. Can this be right? That to get truly free of frost restricts one to a very small bit of US territory in southern California and Florida, with maybe a bit of southern Texas thrown in for good measure? John, you haven't been paying attention.

Revising Weather forecast for Chatham NY

Today I started working on improvements to Weather forecast for Chatham NY to get forecast information and maybe some climate information, if I can find it, up on my weather pages for the areas I'm interested in. Maybe I can begin to fill in some of the gaps in my climate awareness.

Night camp

Site 8 - Oliver Lee Memorial State Park, Alamogordo NM

Interior of a Settled Korak Yurt

The interior of a Korak _yurt_--that is, of one of the wooden _yurts_ of the _settled_ Koraks--presents a strange and not very inviting appearance to one who has never become accustomed by long habit to its dirt, smoke, and frigid atmosphere. It receives its only light, and that of a cheerless, gloomy character, through the round hole, about twenty feet above the floor, which serves as window, door, and chimney, and which is reached by a round log with holes in it, that stands perpendicularly in the centre. The beams, rafters, and logs which compose the _yurt_ are all of a glossy blackness, from the smoke in which they are constantly enveloped. A wooden platform, raised about a foot from the earth, extends out from the walls on three sides to a width of six feet, leaving an open spot eight or ten feet in diameter in the centre for the fire and a huge copper kettle of melting snow. On the platform are pitched three or four square skin _pologs_, which serve as sleeping apartments for the inmates and as refuges from the smoke, which sometimes becomes almost unendurable. A little circle of flat stones on the ground, in the centre of the _yurt_, forms the fireplace, over which is usually simmering a kettle of fish or reindeer meat, which, with dried salmon, seal's blubber, and rancid oil, makes up the Korak bill of fare. Everything that you see or touch bears the distinguishing marks of Korak origin--grease and smoke. Whenever any one enters the _yurt_, you are apprised of the fact by a total eclipse of the chimney hole and a sudden darkness, and as you look up through a mist of reindeer hairs, scraped off from the coming man's fur coat, you see a thin pair of legs descending the pole in a cloud of smoke. The legs of your acquaintances you soon learn to recognise by some peculiarity of shape or covering; and their faces, considered as means of personal identification, assume a secondary importance. If you see Ivan's legs coming down the chimney, you feel a moral certainty that Ivan's head is somewhere above in the smoke; and Nicolai's boots, appearing in bold relief against the sky through the entrance hole, afford as satisfactory proof of Nicolai's identity as his head would, provided that part of his body came in first. Legs, therefore, are the most expressive features of a Korak's countenance, when considered from an interior standpoint. When snow drifts up against the _yurt_, so as to give the dogs access to the chimney, they take a perfect delight in lying around the hole, peering down into the _yurt_, and snuffing the odours of boiling fish which rise from the huge kettle underneath. Not unfrequently they get into a grand comprehensive free fight for the best place of observation; and just as you are about to take your dinner of boiled salmon off the fire, down comes a struggling, yelping dog into the kettle, while his triumphant antagonist looks down through the chimney hole with all the complacency of gratified vengeance upon his unfortunate victim. A Korak takes the half-scalded dog by the back of the neck, carries him up the chimney, pitches him over the edge of the _yurt_ into a snow-drift, and returns with unruffled serenity to eat the fish-soup which has thus been irregularly flavoured with dog and thickened with hairs. Hairs, and especially reindeer's hairs, are among the indispensable ingredients of everything cooked in a Korak _yurt_, and we soon came to regard them with perfect indifference. No matter what precautions we might take, they were sure to find their way into our tea and soup, and stick persistently to our fried meat. Some one was constantly going out or coming in over the fire, and the reindeerskin coats scraping back and forth through the chimney hole shed a perfect cloud of short grey hairs, which sifted down over and into everything of an eatable nature underneath. Our first meal in a Korak _yurt_, therefore, at Kamenoi, was not at all satisfactory.

more...