Greetings from Valles Caldera National Preserve

Valle Grande

“A seemingly misplaced prairie lies before you, a tawny sea of grass miles deep and broad, which has been dropped into the top of a heavily forested mountain range. This stunning grassland bowl is the Valle Grande.” William DeBuys and Don J. Usner, Valles Caldera: A Vision for New Mexico’s National Preserve. Museum of New Mexico Press, 2006.

When I was a child, our family spent lots of time in the Valle Grande just 15 miles from our house. Our favorite place to go was Las Conchas campground just off highway 4. The East Fork of the Jemez river flows right past this campsite. Dad was an avid fly fisherman, and he would often fish upstream from there. Frequently he would outfit me with a fly fishing pole about the right size for an 8 year old. I would flail around for about 10 minutes, and if I didn’t catch anything, I would go back to playing with toy trucks in the dirt. We had family outings there quite regularly until I entered High School. After that I looked for other adventures. Today (2023) that campground is a day use area, no camping allowed.

The big expanse of the heart of the Valle Grande is a caldera. It was the source of a lot of adventures for me. In about 1964, my brother Rick built a large glider out of balsa wood and paper. It had a 7 foot wingspan. We would take it up to the large expansive meadow in the caldera just off highway 4 and launch it. The updrafts there were unusual, and the glider would stay aloft for 10 to 15 minutes at a time, spiraling lazily in the breeze. Inevitably the glider would land deep inside the meadow where the East Fork of the Jemez River flows sinuously along. To retrieve it we had to trespass into the meadow about ½ mile. The land belonged to the Dunigan family of Abilene, Texas. They had a full time caretaker whose job was to keep trespassers out of the property. He took his job very seriously and from his headquarters, he could see any activity in the caldera. So the first time we launched the glider, he showed up to make sure we were not up to any mischief. He was intrigued by the device, and he let us go retrieve it without penalty. After that, each time we flew the glider he would show up. We were curious how he managed to show up each time. He explained that he would watch us with binoculars from the ranch headquarters, over there, he pointed. The next time, we brought our own binoculars, and would watch him get in his truck and start out when he saw us arrive. He was a nice fellow. I think we gave him something to do.

The big parcel of grazing land in the caldera was originally part of the famous Baca Location #1, a Spanish Land Grant. It has quite a colorful history dating back to 1820. But more recently, in January 1963, James Patrick Dunigan of the Dunigan Tool and Supply Company, Abilene, Texas, purchased the land from the Frank Bond Estate for $2.5 million. In 1967, the Dunigan family drew up plans to build a ski area on Redondo Peak on the western edge of the caldera. A horse racetrack was also proposed. Those plans never came to pass. In 1975, Dunigan sold a 165-acre parcel on the steep forested east margin of the holding to the Pajarito Mountain Ski Area. This sale allowed the ski club to develop the western portion of the ski area now served by the Big Mother Lift. Then again, in 1977, Dunigan sold a 3,076 acre tract (called the Upper Frijoles Tract) to the National Park Service (NPS) as an addition to Bandelier National Monument for $1.35 million. Finally, Dunigan sold the remaining parcel, all 95,000 acres, to the federal government in 2000 after the passage of “The Valles Caldera Preservation Act of 2000”. The selling price was $101 million. At that time, 5000 acres were ceded to the Santa Clara Pueblo, and another 300 acres went to Bandelier National Monument.

For a few years after the National Park System acquired the land, it was closed to the public while they created a usage plan. During this time I would often drive to Camp May at the base of Pajarito Mountain Ski Area and hike up over the ridge into the Caldera. There are no trails, so I would bushwhack through the forest to the Valle below. It is a pretty healthy forest with minimal downed timber, so bushwhacking was easy.

During elk calving season in the spring, there is an area in the woods just north of the large tract of grass where the elk herd would hang out to care for their newborn calves. Cow elk, when they are ready to give birth, will find a private site away from the herd. There they will give birth to a 35 or 40 pound calf. Soon thereafter, the cow and calf will join the rest of the herd in a “calf nursery” in a remote, protected area. For several years I would sneak up on the herd and watch the activity in the nursery. There is a lot of bleating and prancing around, while the calves are learning to verbalize and gain confidence. The noise from the young calves could be heard from the ridge top, so it was pretty easy to find them. I was very careful to avoid being detected because I didn’t want to spook the herd. It is wise to avoid getting too close, since the mother elk are constantly watching for predators. It was an amazing and eerie experience, almost magical, to see and hear the newborn calves. In my downwind position hidden in the forest, I could watch for hours through my binoculars.

Later, in the early fall I would hike into the caldera from Camp May and climb up one of the mounds there. I call them mounds, but they were rounded buttes about 500 vertical feet high, possibly rhyolite domes. There are about 5 or 6 of them in the caldera. The name of that particular dome is Cerro del Medio. There were old, overgrown logging roads all over the dome. In many places on top of the dome just on the ground were large pieces of obsidian, I mean, like hundreds of them, about the size of your fist. Each time I went there, I was tempted to pick out a few pieces of obsidian to take home, but I resisted. I took photographs instead. It was spooky to be in the Caldera because I was trespassing on federal property. Every time I heard a vehicle or an airplane, I would get nervous. But for all the times I explored the area, I never was detected. Finally in 2010 or so, they opened the area to the public. I haven’t been back since then, even though I have some really fond memories of the area.

A major tributary of the Jemez River, San Antonio Creek, flows past Spence Hot Springs just off highway 4, and joins the East Fork of the Jemez River shortly below that at Battleship Rock. When I was in High School, I didn’t know about Spence Hot Springs, but I started visiting it in my 30’s. In the early days, the area was often visited by some very interesting characters. One could always ask for a hit from a joint from somebody in the hot pool. Later, after the area became popular with tourists and the forest service improved the river crossing and built a parking lot, the hippy types stopped frequenting there. Early on, the water temperature was quite hot, like 108 degrees or so. Some minor geologic event must have happened, because later in the 2000’s, the water temperature wasn’t quite hot enough for a good soak. Maybe it was the time of year I visited. The last time I visited, I was disappointed with the water temperature, and with the large number of tourists. It just wasn’t the same as in the early days. Now it is listed on various websites, and is shown on Google Maps.

The word, “Valle”, from Spanish, does not translate directly to “valley”, but rather to grassland or meadow or grass valley. So Valle Grande is big meadow or big grassland. The Valle Grande has a very special significance for me. It is sacred ground. I am very grateful to have been gifted these experiences.

Sincerely,
David