June 2, 1996: Hiking at Dog Canyon
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If you haven't already looked at the page for yesterday, you should do that now, for the story on this page continues from that one.

Getting Fred Fixed Up

The next morning, Fred's eye was no better- perhaps even worse. I got on the phone and called the same clinics I'd called the night before, and luckily was able to find one that said they could squeeze Fred in right away. We got cleaned up and then went over there. We had to wait just a short while before a Dr. Yang (female) could examine Fred.

As it turned out, the cactus he ran into yesterday had scratched his cornea. Fred wasn't as upset as I was, because that had happened to him before. When the doctor said that it wasn't serious and would heal quickly, I was a lot less concerned. She put in some lubricant, patched his eye (with instructions to leave the patch on until that night) and gave him a prescription for drops to prevent infection. We got that filled, had some breakfast, and then sat down to plan out what we would do next.

Hiking was out; the patch on the eye wouldn't react well to getting hot and sweaty, and the tape didn't stick so well anyway, and Fred would be without depth perception and peripheral vision. There were some things we could have done inside in Alamagordo, but in the end we decided to just cut the trip short and head on home.

Getting To Hermleigh, Texas

After we got the prescription filled and were all squared away, we headed north out of Alamogordo.

We left Alamagordo about 11, and headed east on US Highway 82 through Cloudcroft, New Mexico.

Since we have plenty of time today, we thought that we would eschew going down to I-20 and a good deal out of our way just so we would have an expressway home. The roads out here in West Texas, even though they may only be two-lane in most places, are fairly empty, and we were able to make very good time.

The drive through the mountains on Highway 82 to Cloudcroft is very pretty, and just before Cloudcroft there is a tunnel. Just before this tunnel into the interior valley, there was a photo op.

Looking Towards Cloudcroft

(Picture at left) At this point, Fred didn't mind stopping and taking some time, as his eye was already beginning to feel better, particularly since he wasn't trying to use it. This view looks ahead towards Cloudcroft.       (Picture at right) This view looks back towards Alamogordo, NM, from the tunnel to Cloudcroft.

Looking Toward Alamogordo

Then we headed through the tunnel and, beyond it, drove through the picturesque mountain town of Cloudcroft. Cloudcroft is a village in Otero County, New Mexico, and is within the Lincoln National Forest. The population was about 500 at the 1990 census. Despite being located in an otherwise arid region, its extremely high elevation (8,600 feet; one of the highest in the U.S.) allows for a relatively mild summer that makes it a popular tourist attraction in West Texas and New Mexico. Tourism remains the primary economic driver of the village.

Leaving Cloudcroft, we continued on US Highway 82 through Artesia, crossing our path of yesterday. We continued east, stopping at a roadside picnic area for lunch. We then, on the advice of the picnic area attendant (that's all I can call him; why he was there in his little office was a mystery to both Fred and myself), we took New Mexico Highway 529 south to connect to US Highway 62 in to Hobbs. There, we went to a new Baskin-Robbins for me. Then it was east again on US Highway 180 to Seminole, Lamesa, and finally, Snyder, Texas.

In the Town Square at Snyder, Texas

It was actually a nice drive to Snyder; the weather was good and the traffic was minimal, and so we made good time, getting to Snyder about three-thirty in the afternoon.

Historical Marker for J. Wright Mooar in Snyder

When we got into Snyder, I told Fred the story of my trip across country after college to visit Peter Guerrant in Pasadena. For some reason, probably because I-20 wasn't finished in 1964, I went through Snyder and stayed overnight. That evening was my first encounter with a Texas thunderstorm- some of the heaviest rain and highest winds I had ever seen. The wind was forcing rainwater to bubble under the door of my motel room, but it only soaked the carpet for a few inches inside before it let up.

In the town square, Fred (that's his eye patch, not a film defect) had us stop at a monument to the white buffalo. Actually, as we found out, the monument was not to the buffalo but to an historical figure named J. Wright Mooar. The sign next to the buffalo tells all about him, and if you would like to read it, just click on it.

The monument turns out to be to a famous buffalo hunter and successful rancher. One dubious achievement was that he personally shot about 22,000 buffalo which, at the rate of one each and every day, is about 65 years worth. Personally, I don't think it's an achievement, for it led to the virtual extinction of not only the buffalo herds, but the Indians that depended on them, and that wasn't fair at all. His other claim to fame is that he apparently killed an albino, or white buffalo. White buffalo, of course, are the stuff of legend, and Fred is very interested in them.

Before we left the town square, I took another picture of the buffalo, and you can have a look at it here.

At the Promised Land Ranch

After stopping at the town square, Fred and I stopped for gas just east of Snyder so he could try to track down his friends, the McQuirks, who lived in Hermleigh. Fred couldn't reach them by phone, but was able to leave a message. I thought that we should just drive down the main highway and see if we could find their ranch. Fred knew its name, and thought it was on the main highway somewhere, so I thought we should take the time, since we were here to find it.

Fred and Brent McQuirk and the Ostriches

As luck would have it, we found the ranch without too much trouble, and both the McQuirks were at home. They are both very nice people, and Fred has known them for some time.

Mr. McQuirk is a retired executive, and raising ostriches is their second career. We sat and talked in their home for a while, and they and Fred caught up on the latest news, and then Mr. McQuirk took us on a tour of the operation. In one area, the baby ostriches are segregated by age; only birds of the same size are kept together. Apparently, larger birds can prey on the smaller ones- not to eat them, I don't think, but they get roughed up sometimes. Those in the picture at left are are some of the youngest, only weeks old.

The young birds were interesting. If you hold out your had to them, I guess they think you have something for them to eat, and they will nip at your hand like ducks do. It's an odd feeling. The only trick is that you don't want to extend something that would fit conveniently inside their mouths- like a single finger. If you do, the nips are apt to be rough enough to break the skin. That's why Mr. McQuirk has his index finger bent around, so it doesn't present a convenient target. I don't really think the ostriches are out to cause any damage; they seem more curious than anything else.

I was trying to catch an ostrich in the moment of its nipping at Fred's hand, but this is as close as I got. I don't think Fred is sure he likes this! Every time the ostrich tried to nip at Fred's hand, he'd pull it back real quick. I tried it, and they didn't seem to be trying to hurt you when they do nip. Mr. McQuirk did say, though, that a group of adults, if they got really agitated, could do some damage to a single person, but these birds aren't old enough for that.

In my picture at right you can see some of the birds, up close and personal. They look, for all the world, like old men who have taken their dentures out. I think these two are so cute they're funny. Fortunately, this one didn't try to go for my camera.

In a covered area (like an open-air barn) we came across some of the youngest ostriches; these were only a week or two old:

Shortly, LouWayne McQuirk joined us, and we went out to one of the outside pens where they keep adult ostriches that they are trying to breed. I was never sure what the end product of all this was supposed to be; I don't know of any grocery store that sells ostrich meat or anything made from them. I found myself wondering whether the only folks that make money at this are the ones who sell ostriches to new entrants into the business.

We took a couple more pictures of the ostrich operation this afternoon; these are below:

Out in this area, there are four or five separate enclosures, each containing a breeding pair. The males are much more aggressive than the females. Mrs. McQuirk says the female will stand for some petting, but not the male.

Here is one of the McQuirk's male breeding ostriches doing a "mating dance". The male does this elaborate gesturing both to try to scare off intruders and also to indicate his dominance of the female he is with. Also, the proficiency with which the male does this gyration indicates to the female how good a mate he is likely to be.

The McQuirks were nice enough to feed us dinner. Needless to say, the meat entree was ostrich, which Mrs. McQuirk had made into a meatloaf, if my memory serves. I really couldn't tell the difference between hers and a typical one. We had a very good visit with the McQuirks, and left the ranch about six-thirty.

We drove down US Highway 84 to connect up with Interstate 20, and headed back to Fort Worth. We reached Fort Worth about ten, had dinner at IHOP, and got back here in time to be in bed at midnight. Fred's eye was feeling somewhat better, and he was happy to get the patch off. Of all the hiking trips we've taken, this one was the worst. But even with all that happened, it is still always interesting to see that part of the country. The American Southwest is, I think, unique, and a source of endless interest, and I don't think that one chain of bad experiences will keep us away from it for too long.

You can use the links below to continue to another photo album page.

	June 2, 1996: Hiking at Sitting Bull Falls
	Return to the Index for Our New Mexico Trip