8/30/97 thru 9/1/97
Dark Canyon Off Road Klub

Mark Taylor & his family ( Joni & Austin), Mark Scott & his family (Leslie, Teressa & Ryan) and Randall Dunn and his family (Susan, Jared & Jamison) met at the campsite in Dark Canyon dubbed “The Guardian” (How the campsite got it’s name is a whole different story, maybe I’ll tell it to you sometime.). After the usual greetings and ‘How’s it been going’s’ the little kids (and Joni) were put to bed and the real party began. Several Tequila shots and half a bottle of V.O. later the rest of the troupe retired with high expectations for the morrow.

Saturday morning was a typical Guadelupe Mountains morning, the sun hitting the Canyon floor well after it had cleared the West Texas horizon and bringing with it the promise of a beautiful day for 4-Wheeling.

Once we were able to drag Mark Taylor out of bed and polished off most of the breakfast burritos Susan had made, Mark Taylor in “The Beast”, Randall in “Babe” and Mark Scott in his as yet unchristened Toyota Four Runner headed out for the days planned runs.

The first leg of our trip would be the portion of forest road #201 from the southern most end to the Dark Canyon Lookout. This portion of 201 was new to all of us but other than a view of the mountains we had never seen before the trek was uneventful.

The second half of the trip would be by no means ‘uneventful’. The second half of the day’s trip would begin at the Dark Canyon Lookout and terminate at the dreaded and well respected “HILL”. Very few topographical features can be described as having their own personalities but talk to anyone who has traveled this corner of the Guadelupe Mountains and you will hear the “HILL” refered to as being moody and temperamental. In the last few years I have heard the “HILL” called many different names but I’ve always known exactly what was being talked about. Some of the tags the “HILL” has earned are ; “Lunchbox Hill”, “Eat Your Lunch Hill”, “Dinner Hill”, “Red Hill”, “Grandpa Hill”, “Big Hill” and, well, you get the idea.

My own personal meetings with the “HILL” began several years ago when I climbed the “HILL” in a 86 Chevrolet Suburban. That climb cost me several hundred dollars worth of body damage. Since that time I had assaulted the “HILL” four times in two different Ford Bronchos with the latest attempt costing a rear axle.

Mark Taylor had had similar experiences in his relationship with the “HILL”.

Knowing all of this, you can imagine our reservations in making one more attack on the “HILL”. You might query, ‘Why do it at all if it is that bad?’. Well, all I can say, and I speak only for myself, is that there is something that can only be described as a ‘High’ that is felt once you pilot a vehicle over an obstacle that has been declared “Impassable” by the rest of the world.

We headed for the “HILL” mulling all of the aforementioned over and planning our stategy in the approximately five miles and one hour that separated the Dark Canyon Lookout from the “HILL”. Once at our destination Mark Taylor lined “The Beast” up for the downhill trip that would precede the actual assault on the “HILL”. I followed in “Babe” once “The Beast” had reached the turnaround at the bottom. Mark Scott decided, wisely I think, to decline in an attempt on the “HILL”.

At the bottom, Mark Taylor and myself busied ourselves checking over our vehicles for anything that would hinder our chances of success. Not much was said until Mark said simply “You want to go first?”. I answered a terse “Sure” and strapped myself into the driver’s seat of “Babe”.

The actual climb starts when the roads turns into what looks like the leftovers from a rock fight between two armies of giants. Boulders, for lack of a better word, are strewn over the trail by the forces of Mother Nature in what should be a random pattern but seem to always be where one mistake will drive one into a quarter panel or skid plate with bone jarring force.

Once this field of boulders is successfully negotiated, the real fun begins. A ledge about two feet tall, that is constantly being eroded by the torrents resulting from the cloudbursts that this area is known for, presents the most formidable obstacle to the succesful assault on the “HILL”. The “ledge” has a way of taking control of your vehicle and slamming it into the housesized rock that lives just off of the left side of the trail. The only way to avoid this rocker panel killing fate is to place the right front tire as far right on the “ledge” as possible and hope that the combination of locker and correct throttle action will keep the left rear tire, which at this point is the only other one in contact with terra firma, moving in an uphill direction.

If the driver is successsful in this attempt he can expect to encounter another rock with the left front tire that does not like to be mounted and will throw off every advance and leave the hapless tire spinning helplessly against it. The best way to breach this defense is to slowly spin the steering wheel from left to right until the tire catches the rock off gaurd and the conquest succeeds. Once this array of obstacles is defeated the rest of the trip up the “HILL” is rather anticlimactic but by this time the adrenalin levels are high enough to cloud the brain and the rush is way intense.

“The Beast” and “Babe” both were succesful in their attempts on the “HILL” and with high spirits we headed back to the “Gaurdian” for a well deserved meal and a good nights rest.

Dinner that night started with “White Russian” appetizers followed by steaks and pork chops grilled over an open flame ( a few seasoned with some good old Dark Canyon soil when the cook got well into his fifth “White Russian”.) and potatoes baked in the coals of the everpresent campfire. (You’ll have to excuse me, I’m drooling on the keys as I type this------------------)

After Dinner while we were sitting around the campfire telling lies and getting well and proper plastered, who should come barreling into the “Gaurdian” but Brucee Baby (Bruce Benham for those of you not familar). Bruce arrived in his trusty “Sewing Machine” sucking on a Corona and singing along to the latest Latino hit single?????? After his jovial “HEY HOW THE HELL ARE YA’LL DOING” and a few insults for the women he sat down and we drank and spun the days events into tall tales that would rival the adventures of “Pecos Bill” and “Paul Bunyan”.

Sunday morning broke and was a near perfect carbon copy of the previous dawn. We dined that morning on a pot luck of breakfast burritos, scrambled eggs, bacon(turkey for Bruce) and orange juice. After discussing the days plans until well after 10:00 AM we drug Mark Taylor out of bed (again) and headed out for the “Soldier Springs” trail. At the head of the trail we stopped and paid our respects to the “Captain” (Captain Shadduck and two female companions are buried on the northen slope of Dark Canyon with a most impressive and peaceful view).

The run for today was a rather easy trail with some difficulty added by bailing off into the dry creek bed and battling washouts and boulders until stopped by a sheer waterfall or a tangle of washed down trees and brush. With no mishaps, other than Mark Scoot hanging his “Toy” on a rock with his gas tank, we proceeded to the end of the trail and back to camp.

That night those of us that were left fired up the CD player in Mark Scott “Toy” and blasted the night with a combination of tunes that ranged from “Fourunner” and “The Tractors” to “Sting” and “ZZTop”.