The Ascent to Sandia Crest II

Where we left off, Albuquerque's boosters, together with the Forest Service, had completed construction of the Ellis Ranch Loop and a spur to the Sandia Crest. It was possible, even easy, to drive from Albuquerque east through Tijeras Pass, north to the present-day location of Sandia Park, and through the mountains to Placitas before reaching Bernalillo to return by the highway. The road provided access to the Ellis Ranch summer resort, now operated by the Cooper family and the First Presbyterian Church, and to the crest itself.

The road situation would remain much the same for decades to come, although not due to a lack of investment. One of the road-building trends of the 1920s and 1930s was the general maturation of the United States' formidable highway construction program. The Federal Aid Highway Act of 1921 established the pattern that much of western road building would follow: the federal government would split costs 50:50 to help western states build highways. This funding would bring about many of the US highways that we use today.

A share of the money, called the forest highway fund, was specifically set aside for highways that were in national forests or connected national forests to existing state highways. By 1926, the Federal Lands Transportation Program had taken its first form, a set of partnerships between the Bureau of Public Roads (later the Federal Highway Administration) and federal land management agencies to develop roads for economic and recreational use of federal land. For the Forest Service of the era, a forest without road access was of limited use. The following years saw a systematic survey of the national forests of New Mexico with an eye towards construction.

The Federal Aid Highway Act presaged the later interstate freeway program in several ways. First, the state-federal cost sharing model would become the norm for new highways and drive the politics of road construction to this day. Second, despite the nominal responsibility of the states for highways, the Act established the pattern of the federal government determining a map of "desirable" or "meritorious" road routes that states would be expected to follow. And finally, the Act enshrined the relationship between the military and road building. The first notional map of an integrated US highway system, developed mostly by the Army for the Bureau of Public Roads, was presented to Congress by esteemed General of the Armies John Pershing. This plan, the Pershing Map, is now over 100 years old but still resembles our contemporary freeway system.

The Great Depression did not generally drive construction, but roads would prove an exception. Roosevelt's New Deal, and the dryer language of the Emergency Relief Acts of the early 1930s, provided substantial federal funding for construction and improvement of highways. The impact on New Mexico was considerable. "Surveys, plans, and estimates of Navajo Canyon Section of State Highway No. 2 within the Carson National Forest, south of Canjilon, and survey, plans, and estimates on State Highway No. 12 between Reserve and Apache Creek on the Datil-Reserve Forest Highway route." The lists of highway projects in newspapers become difficult to track. The forest highway program's budget doubled, and doubled again. "The building of new Forest Highways in the National Forests of New Mexico will be rushed as rapidly as possible... to open up the National Forests to greater use and protection from fires."

The papers were optimistic. The Carlsbad Current-Argus ran a list of Forest Highway efforts in 1932; the headline read simply "Forest Service To Solve Unemployment."

The depression-era building campaign left the Ellis Ranch loop on the same route, but saw much of the route improved to a far higher standard than before. Graveling, oiling, and even paving stabilized the road surface while CCC crews built out embankments on the road's mountainside segments. By 1940, much of the loop had been incorporated into New Mexico Highway 44---a continuous route from Cedar Crest to Aztec.

Former NM 44 exemplifies changes to the loop's northern segment. Much of NM 44 is now known as NM 550, a busy highway from Bernalillo and alongside the far reaches of Los Lunas that eventually becomes one of the major routes in the state's northwest corner. The connection to Cedar Crest, though, is now difficult to fathom. The former route of NM 44 continued east of the freeway through Placitas and along NM 165, over the mountains to become NM 536 at Balsam Glade and then NM 14 at San Antonito. NM 14 is a major route as well, and NM 536 is at least paved---but as discussed in part I, NM 165 is now a rough unpaved road appealing mostly to OHV users and impassable in winter ¹.

Sections of NM 165 do seem to have been paved, mostly closer to Placitas, but maintenance as a main highway had ended at least by 1988 when the NM 44 designation was retired.

This is the major reason for my fascination with the Ellis Ranch Loop: today, it is hardly a loop---the whole loop is still there, and you can drive it at least in summer, but the segment of the highway in the north part of the Sandias, what is now 165, doesn't feel at all like a continuation of the same loop as NM 536. On the ground, when driving up 536, it's clear that the "main" route at Balsam Glade is to follow the curve west onto Sandia Crest Scenic Highway. And yet, the Scenic Highway was only a spur of the original loop.

This oddity of history is still reflected in the road designations and, as a result, modern maps. NM 536 and NM 165 are state highways. Sandia Crest Scenic Highway, despite the name, is not. As you zoom out, Google Maps hides the Scenic Highway entirely, depicting the former Ellis Ranch Loop as the main route. This is very different from what you will find if you actually drive it.

This halfway state of change, with NM 165 still designated as a highway but effectively abandoned and the more major Scenic Highway not designated, partly reflects the bureaucratic details of the 1930s. NM 165 was considered part of a proper inter-city route; the Scenic Highway deadends at the crest and thus never really "went anywhere." But there is more to the story: it also reflects the ambitions, errors, and shifting priorities of the mid-century.

The first formal ski area in the Sandia Mountains opened in 1936, developed by Robert Nordhaus's Albuquerque Ski Club. The ski area, then called La Madera for the canyon that tops out at the ski slopes, became a center of southwestern wintersports. In the following decades, the ski area would displace Ellis Ranch as the main destination in the mountains.

World War II disrupted skiing and recreation more broadly; progress on Sandia Mountain development stalled into the 1940s. The decline wouldn't last: WWII raised the possibility of ground combat in Northern Europe or even a need to defend the inland United States against invasion. Military planners considered Denver the best choice for an emergency relocation of the national capital in response to an Atlantic assault. While never a formal policy, the concept of Denver as "national redoubt" survived into the Cold War and directed military attention to the Rocky Mountains.

From 1939 into the 1940s, the National Ski Patrol lobbied for development of ski-mounted military units to the extent that it became a de facto auxiliary of the US Army. Ultimately only one Army "Mountain Division" would be established, but its members---recruited and trained by the Ski Patrol itself---went on to an instrumental role in securing the surrender of German forces in Austria.

While the Alpine Light Infantry were never a large part of the Army, they brought public attention to skiing and mountain recreation. Military support enabled expansion of the Ski Patrol's training programs, and returning soldiers had stories of skiing in the Alps. Much like aviation, skiing surged after the war, elevated from a fairly obscure extreme sport to one of the country's best known forms of recreation.

In 1946, the La Madera Ski Area installed what was then the longest T-bar lift in the country. It built by Ernst Constam, a Swiss engineer who invented the modern ski lift and became trapped in the United States when the war broke out during his business trip. Constam found himself an American by accident, but developed a fierce allegiance to his new home and soon worked for the Army. He participated in the training of the Mountain Division, contributed his understanding of European alpine combat to military intelligence, and even built the first military ski lift: a T-bar at Camp Hale in Colorado, now called Ski Cooper.

During the 1950s, the ski area underwent ownership changes and some financial difficulty. Nordhaus operated the area profitably, but needed cash to build the infrastructure for continued growth. That cash came in the form of Albuquerque businessman and real estate developer Ben Abruzzo, who is remembered first as a famous balloonist (responsible for much of Albuquerque's prominence in hot air ballooning) but was also an avid skier. Nordhaus and Abruzzo formed the Sandia Peak Ski Company and construction was soon underway.

You could access the base of the ski area from the Ellis Ranch Loop, but it was slow going, especially in winter. The trip from Albuquerque reportedly took hours. Ski area expansion required easier access. After negotiations related to the ski area permit expansion, the Forest Service paved the entirety of Ellis Loop from the base of the mountains to the ski area. This was the first time that a large section of the road in the mountains was fully paved, and it appears to be the Forest Service's decision to pave from the ski area southeast to San Antonito, rather than north to Placitas, that sealed the fate of NM 165. From that point on, the "main" way from Albuquerque to the Mountains was via Tijeras, not via Placitas.

The late 1950s were a busy time in the Sandias. The ski area was not the only growing tourism attraction; a post-war resurgence in travel and automobilism renewed the pro-tourism boosterism of the 1920s. Albuquerque business interests were back to lobbying the Forest Service for tourist facilities, and Abruzzo and Nordhaus's efforts at the ski area inspired confidence in a bright future for mountain recreation. All that was needed were better roads.

Sometime during the 1950s, the names "Ellis Ranch Loop" or "Ellis Loop" gave way to "Sandia Loop." Despite the new name, the road kept to its old history: the state and the Forest Service announced their intent to complete a project that, as far as they were concerned, had been in intermittent progress since the 1930s: paving and widening the entire route as a two-lane highway.

The project had never been completed in part because of the difficult conditions, but there were politics at play as well. Federal funding, critical to completing highway projects, was allocated based on the recommendations of committees at each level of government. The development of "secondary highways," a category that included NM 44, fell to county committees for prioritization. Despite the emphasis that Bernalillo County put on the Sandia Loop, Sandoval County was less motivated. Another nail in NM-165's coffin came in 1958 when the Sandoval County Road Committee definitively stated that their budget was quite limited and the Sandia Loop was not a priority. As far as I can tell, serious efforts to pave the existing road between Balsam Glade and Placitas ended at that meeting. A few years later, the state highway department announced that the project had been canceled.

Despite the fate of the loop's northern half, the rest of the Sandia mountain roads enjoyed constant attention. The southern portion of the loop was widened (by four feet, three inches) with new road base laid. The road to the crest itself, despite the involvement of the state highway department in the original construction, was decisively the problem of the Forest Service---at least, this was the point repeatedly made by the state highway department as Albuquerque interests campaigned for its improvement. Still, boosters did not have to wait for long. In 1958 the Forest Service let contracts for improvement of the Sandia Crest road as an "anti-recession project."

While many reports describe the late-1950s Sandia Crest project as widening and resurfacing, some changes to the alignment were made as well. The most severe of its many switchbacks, at the Nine Mile Picnic Area, was reworked for fewer curves. The original alignment is still in use for access to the picnic area.

In the mean time, crews contracted by the Forest Service completed yet another round of improvements to the north section of the loop road. This project spanned from a "preliminary engineering survey" in 1958 to the point where the gravel base was largely complete in 1959, but while paving of the entire route was planned it does not seem to have happened. The Albuquerque business community felt that there was good reason for the paving project: the Albuquerque Tribune reported in 1958 that "upwards of 100,000 cars annually use the Loop Road in making the punishing trip up to La Madera ski run and the Crest." At the same time, though, Albuquerque's once unified push for mountain access started to face political headwinds.

The 1960s were a different world, but some things stayed the same: Bob Cooper advertised cabins for lease at Ellis Ranch, and the business community wanted to see an improved, paved loop highway around the Sandias. The original completion of the Ellis Ranch Loop appeared in the Albuquerque Tribune's "30 Years Ago" feature in 1960, alongside coverage of the growing debate over placement of the city's two upcoming interstate freeways.

Despite efforts by the Chamber of Commerce, Highland Business Men's Association, and Downtown Business Men's Association to restart the Sandia Loop project, the state Highway Department remained silent on the subject. This was the peak era of freeway construction, and the department had many construction problems on the I-25 corridor especially. The Sandia Loop remained a popular facility, though, recommended by the Mobil travel guide starting in 1962. That same year, the La Madera ski area, now called Sandia Peak, opened the "Summit House" restaurant at the top. Summit House would later be known as High Finance before closing for replacement by today's Ten 3.

This might be confusing to today's Burqueños, as the main attraction at Sandia Peak would not begin construction until 1964. The "Spectacular Sandia Peak Chairlift Ride" described in 1962 newspaper advertisements is the ski area's Lift #1, a chairlift that is no longer in service and slated for replacement with a mixed chair/gondola system in coming years. And yet, the restaurant and lift were operated by the "Sandia Peak Ski and Aerial Tram Co." This somewhat contradicts the "official" history of the Sandia Peak Tramway, but one would think that Nordhaus and Abruzzo must have already had a bigger vision for access to the mountaintop.

The full story of the Sandia Peak Tramway could occupy its own article, and perhaps it will, but the short version is this: Bob Nordhaus visited Switzerland, where he learned that ski areas were being made more accessible by means of gondola lifts. He thought that the same scheme would work in Albuquerque, and together with Abruzzo, mounted a long campaign for permitting and funding. The plan was ambitious and more than just a bit quixotic, but Nordhaus and Abruzzo were both big personalities with extensive business connections. In 1966, they opened what was then, and for many decades after, the longest aerial tramway in the world. It runs from the northeast fringe of Albuquerque directly up the western slope of the Sandias, delivering passengers to the very top of the ski area. The 3,819 foot climb, over 2.7 miles and just two towers, takes about fifteen minutes. It is far faster, of course, than the drive around and up the east side. And yet, in the fashion of Albuquerque, one of its biggest impacts on our modern city is a road: Tramway Boulevard, or NM 556, roughly one quarter of what was originally planned as a beltway highway around the city.

While the tramway opened the steep western slope to tourism, attention to the east side was reinvigorated. The Albuquerque business community had continued to lobby the Forest Service for new and better roads, and as the tramway went in the road boosters found success. The Forest Service circulated a draft plan that delighted some and terrified others: a brand new loop¸ the Crest Loop, that would replace the road from Balsam Glade to the crest and extend it straight up the very spine of the mountain, allowing views down both sides, until coming down the northern ridge to meet the existing Sandia Loop Road near Placitas. It would be a first-class skyline road, 24' wide pavement over almost exactly the route of today's crest trail.

Previous efforts at radical Sandia mountain road construction were held off by weather, funding, and war. For the Crest Loop, there was a new enemy: bighorn sheep.

Rocky Mountain Bighorn Sheep don't appear to have ever been common in New Mexico, but a small population around the Rio Grande Valley was completely wiped out by human impacts in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Efforts to reintroduce bighorns started in the 1930s, with more translocated sheep in the 1940s and 1960s. These populations struggled severely, and despite the attempts there are no bighorn sheep in the Sandia Mountains today. Still, the population in the mid-'60s was likely the largest it would ever be, a hard-won victory that the state was inclined to protect.

Besides, Rachel Caron's Silent Spring was published in 1962, a landmark in the history of American environmentalism. The environmentalist movement wasn't as powerful as it would become, but it was certainly gaining momentum. Not only the state Game and Fish Department opposed, but community groups like the New Mexico Mountain Club stepped up to oppose development along the ridge.

On Monday, August 8th, 1966, the Forest Service called a public hearing to be held at the East Central Branch of Albuquerque National Bank. To an audience of businessmen and community groups, regional forester William D. Hurst presented the official plan for the Sandias. The existing road from Balsam Glade up to the crest, the Crest Scenic Highway, would be significantly reworked. The old alignment had over a dozen switchbacks, the new alignment only four. The wider, straighter road would offer access to a completely new ski area at about the location of today's Capulin snow play area.

The Crest Loop would not make it quite all the way to the crest, instead turning north a bit to the east (and below) the crest where a parking lot and turnout area formed the main attraction. The highway itself no longer followed the ridge, an admission to the Bighorn Sheep interests, but instead paralleled it about 1/4 mile to the east. About 2.5 miles north of the crest, the highway would switch back and start it a descent down the eastern face, through Las Huertas canyon, to meet the Sandia Loop before Placitas.

It was noted that, in the future, an additional road could be planned up the canyon above Sandia Cave for yet a third road all the way up the eastern side. At least you can't say they weren't ambitious.

The 1966 Crest Loop plan was presented by the Forest Service in a rather matter-of-fact way. Hurst told the press that he did not expect much objection, and apparently the presentation itself was well received. Still, Hurst's quip that the plan presented "the greatest good for the largest numbers of people" hinted that it was not uncontroversial, as did the fact that every newspaper article about the presentation made some reference to the "hubbub."

While the 1/4 mile shift away from the ridge had won the support of the state, it was not enough to please the New Mexico Wildlife and Conservation Association and gained only the most tacit support from the New Mexico Mountain Club, which described their position to the papers as "wait and see." They had time: the Forest Service expected the project to take as much as ten years, even with surveying work starting immediately.

The Crest Loop was only part of a broader plan for Sandia recreation, one that responded to Albuquerque's rapid mid-century population growth. There were more than twice as many people in Albuquerque then as there had been before the war, for example, and the Forest Service considered the nine picnic areas on the existing road to be overused. The new crest loop would enable 200 acres of new picnic grounds

For all of the promise of the new Crest Loop, there was a curious omission: the view from the crest. The road's alignment 1/4 mile off the crest meant that the highest point on the road, the turnout with bathrooms and facilities, was on the other side of the ridge from Albuquerque. It would have views to the north and northeast, but not at all to the west or southwest. In other words, you would no longer be able to drive up to the crest and then look down on the city---getting the same view offered by the old road would require a hike.

This is a fascinating decision and one that, if you will allow me to editorialize, seems to reflect the Forest Service's process-focused approach to planning. The original Crest Loop plan would have placed the road directly on the ridge, probably providing one of the finest roadside views in the nation. Well, in actuality, there was always disagreement over the aesthetic merits of the plan. The forest service had always denied any intent to clearcut trees to improve sightlines, so it was likely that even the original ridgetop alignment would have had trees blocking the view along much of the route. The Forest Service even conceded to environmental groups by promising to keep the road off of the large clear bluff just north of the crest, the spot with the very best potential for automobile sightseeing.

The final proposed alignment, downslope from the ridge, had the view completely blocked on the west... and it was away from the windswept, rocky western face, decidedly in the forest. Even to the east, where the terrain dropped away precipitously, you would be unlikely to see anything other than the forest right in front of you.

Proponents said the Crest Loop would be a natural attraction like no other, with a 360 degree perspective over the Rio Grande Valley and the High Plains. Opponents said it would be a "green tunnel," so densely forested on both sides that it might as well have been down in the valley for all the sightseeing it would afford. They seem to have been right: as ultimately proposed, the "skyline" Crest Loop actually offered less of a view than the existing route.

What it would offer is capacity. The road was designed for traffic, intended to support visitors to the new picnic areas, the expanding Sandia Peak Ski Area, and the new ski area yet to be named. The new ski area penciled out as 1,000 acres, larger than Sandia Peak. A new snow play area was expected to attract thousands of non-skiing visitors. And parking---parking was a problem, the Forest Service reported, with just 750 spaces at the bottom of the ski area. The Forest Service intended to provide 800 spaces at the new snow play area, and the bypassed switchbacks of the old crest road would themselves be repurposed as new parking areas.

As far as the Forest Service was concerned, the Crest Loop was a done deal. They had already committed $600,000 a year for the next several years to fund surveys and planning, and expected more federal funding to match state support. And yet, as always, progress was slow. 1967 passed with little mention of the road. In 1968 the Albuquerque Chamber of Commerce must have been getting nervous, as they passed a resolution in support of its completion, for no reason in particular.

In 1969, an interesting new proposal for the Crest Scenic Highway put it back into the papers: a race. Albuquerque advertising firm Eicher and Associates proposed to one-up the Pikes Peak by hosting a Labor Day hill climb. The state Highway Commission approved the plan, but the race stalled when a State Police captain pointed out that state law forbid racing on public roads---and the Attorney General issued an opinion that the Highway Commission had no authority to grant an exception. Nothing ultimately came of the Sandia Peak Climb, or at least, nothing other than a series of headlines and another round of objections to planned improvements.

Central to the opponent's arguments was a disagreement over the nature of forest recreation. The New Mexico Wildlife and Conservation Association advocated for the establishment of wilderness areas covering much of the Sandias, precluding further development. Their proposal actually accommodated the Crest Loop by putting it just off of the edge of the wilderness area covering the western face, but Cibola National Forest Supervisor George Proctor was still hesitant: "Proctor made clear he did not rule out wilderness use for the land, but only wanted time to weigh the proposals against possible other needs---as for future additional tramways or recreation areas." Perhaps one tramway and two highways was not enough; we can't know what the future will hold.

The conservationists said exactly what you would expect:

It would be nice to have complete access for large volumes of people---since so many have seen nothing like the top of the Sandias---said [NMCWA director] McDonald, but when large volumes come, then the beauty of the area often ceases to exist. ²

While the Forest Service had been quiet, it had not been entirely idle. Surveying for the route was nearly complete, and the Forest Service contracted the first phase of the work: clearing trees for the new route, starting in the immediate area of the crest. A bit over three miles of right of way were clearcut, mostly along the "top" of the road a quarter mile from the crest. The new upper alignment of the existing road was cleared as well, wider switchbacks well to the north and south of the current road.

Almost immediately after the clearing, Forest Service funding for the project unexpectedly dried up. Work was discontinued until new funding for the project could be secured, a delay that was not expected to last long but that fell at the worst possible time.

The Crest Loop had been abstract, seen only in the form of Forest Service presentations and hand-drawn newspaper illustrations. In that form, it had attracted considerable support from the business community and only muted objections from conservationists. But then the trees fell. Acres of clearcut forest, so close to the ridge and so visible from the road, turned the highway plan into an eyesore. As they sat, unchanged, month after month, an eyesore turned into a scandal.

By the summer of 1970, the Wildlife and Conservation Association, the New Mexico Conservation Coordination, and the National Wildlife Federation sent letters opposing the project. State legislators became involved. There were accusations of treachery, with Forest Service employees allegedly lobbying business leaders to support the project while on the clock, and the district forester holding secret meetings with state officials to coordinate.

Over the following year, opposition stacked up. US Rep. Manuel Lujan, a prominent New Mexico politician, wrote to the director of the Forest Service with his objections. NM Attorney General David Norvell joined with a press release asking the Forest Service to reconsider the plan. These objections were actually rather weak: Lujan, in particular, mostly just thought the proposed road was too expensive, a waste of money considering that there was already a highway connecting the same places. Even environmental groups tempered their criticism, with at least two clarifying that they objected only to the highway along the ridge, and not to improvements to the road between Balsam Glade and the crest.

The Forest Service's motivations can be difficult to understand. The whole Crest Loop plan had reportedly begun with a presidential directive to identify opportunities for new recreational facilities, and it had certainly had the strong support of the business community in the 1960s. At the turn of the 1970s, the situation had noticeably changed. Most press coverage of the project focused on the opposition, and Albuquerque's business clubs had fallen silent, perhaps averse to the controversy. There's not much to say for the Forest Service's lobbying effort beyond inertia: as far as they were concerned, they had committed to the plan in 1966 and were now simply executing on an old decision.

The federal government, once it gets into motion, does not easily change directions. For Forest Service staff, careers, or at least plans to climb the corporate ladder, must have been staked on the success of the Crest Loop. Even as the budget escalated from $3 million to $3.5, then as high as $5 million, the Forest Service remained committed to finishing what it had started. "[Opponents] claim the Forest Service won't heed their cries of distress," the Albuquerque Journal summarized. "The Forest Service says the decision to build the road was made a long time ago."

In May of 1971, the controversy broke out into demonstrations. This was no Vietnam war; anti-Crest Loop protests had a more whimsical quality. On Sunday the 16th, around two hundred demonstrators went up the Crest Scenic Highway and gathered in the cleared path of the future road. The plan, originally, had been to replant the clearing with new trees, a slow way of walking back the road's likewise slow advance. This threat of minor vandalism was met by a threat of minor reprisal when the Forest Service informed the press that unauthorized planting of trees in a National Forest could be charged as a misdemeanor.

The result, a mountaintop clash between Albuquerque's most motivated environmentalists and the force majeure of the Forest Service, must be one of the stranger moments in Albuquerque's environmental history.

One group---lead by Dr. Gerald Bordin---advocated "peaceful protest." Another, lead partly by Jesse Cole, planted three symbolic trees. Finally, two individuals---Florencio Baca and Marvin Price---began a private discussion that turned into a simulated panel discussion on the negative aspects of the proposed road....

Few persons started the planned three-mile walk down the graded Ellis Loop in the 10,000-foot altitude. Several protesters, disillusioned for the lack of trees to plant, began to leave by noon.

Bordin produced a cardboard replica of a pine tree, dissected by a highway, and placed it on the proposed road. "This type of planting is legal," he said; and another protester, watching two others dig a hole for a tree a few yards away, asked Bordin "Where's your tree, man?" ³

On the first day of 1970, president Richard Nixon signed the National Environmental Policy Act. Nixon was famously a mixed bag on environmental issues; his creation of the Environmental Protection Agency is one of the largest single steps forward in the history of US conservation, but he also pinched pennies to a degree that smothered many environmental programs. As it would turn out, the fate of the Crest Loop hinged on the interplay of these two sides of Nixon.

To satisfy its obligations under NEPA, the Forest Service completed an environmental impact assessment of the proposed Crest Road in 1973. It was now almost five years since the clearing of part of the right of way, but the only progress made had been on paper. Unsurprisingly, the impact assessment found the road to be feasible. "The highway is completely on the east slope and won't even be able to be seen from Albuquerque," the forest supervisor explained.

The environmental analysis spurred another series of exchanges between the Forest Service and environmental interests. The state Environmental Planning Commission filed comment, suggesting that the Crest Loop would better be replaced by a system of two one-way roads at different altitudes. One thing the EPC did agree on was the necessity that something be done. Like the groups who had assured their support for improving the road to the crest in the years before, the EPC recommended against taking no action. The existing crest road was unsustainable, they found, and needed to be improved in some way.

During the plant-in, one organizer suggested letters to the editor. Perhaps he was heard, as letters in opposition stacked up during 1973. Frank Marquart wrote that the highway would be good for General Motors and no one else. A letter from L. Graham got the simple headline "Crest Road Not Necessary." Among the growing public protest, the gears of government were turning: the Bernalillo County Commission made a resolution asking the Forest Service to stop.

Joe Whiton attended a hearing on the matter in Tijeras, leaving a Journal reporter with a memorable quote:

The Crest Road is a juggernaut already aimed, the switch is on and it is going to be fired no matter what we say. I have a feeling it is going to happen anyway and I don't think it should. ⁴

Despite the Forest Service's momentum, two significant roadblocks had arisen in the Crest Loop plan: first, the Forest Service was having a hard time getting to a final environmental impact statement on the project. Several drafts had been circulated, and from what I can tell one was even published as final, although it only covered a portion of the work rather than the entirety. The National Environmental Policy Act has many problems and often fails to achieve its aims, but it does have its virtues: while NEPA does not necessarily require agencies to listen to public feedback, it does require them to solicit it, and the hearings and comment periods that make up federal environmental policy gave the Crest Loop's opponents a platform on which to organize.

Second, there was President Nixon. Nixon had generally supported the Federal Lands Highway Program, under which the Crest Loop now fell, but his efforts to reduce federal spending through impoundment quickly became controversial. A fight with Congress over changes to the federal highway funding model in 1972 lead to a lapse in highway funding, a situation that became even more chaotic as Nixon specifically refused funding for a long list of highway grants. The funding situation probably didn't kill the Crest Loop, but it delayed further progress during the 1970s, contributing to both the sense of scandal over the lack of progress and to the opposition's developing power.

In 1973, the Forest Service produced new draft environmental documents covering four variant plans, which other than the no action alternative all involved some form of new highway. This was, as it turns out, the last gasp of the Crest Loop: in 1975, over a decade after planning first started, the Forest Service released a new environmental impact statement covering the entire Sandia mountain recreational plan. Its alternatives included new picnic grounds, bathrooms, and campgrounds. It included various improvements to the Crest Scenic Highway. But more important is what it did not include: any mention of the Crest Loop.

In the following years, the Forest Service would release further environmental and planning documents on the remaining scope of work, which was only the improvement of the road between Balsam Glade and the Crest. A 1976 impact statement covered three alternatives: the first would use the area already cleared for realignment, the second would keep the old alignment, and the third would finish realignment of the entire route, as included in the original Crest Loop plan. Based on the Albuquerque Tribune's count of public comments, Burqueños overwhelmingly favored the second option---keeping the existing route. While the road has been widened and resurfaced over the years, it remains on its original, winding route.

In 1927, roads reached Sandia Crest. Today, just shy of one hundred years later, the drive to the crest is essentially the same as this original route. It's all paved now, it's wider, and the curves has softened. It is still, by our modern standards, a rough road. The biggest change from the long-ago Ellis Ranch Loop to today's forest highways is actually a loss: the reduction of NM 165 to a minor, unpaved road. One might say, then, that progress since 1927 has been backwards. We are less ambitious than we once were.

On the flip side, the ambitions of the mid-century are so difficult to square with our modern sense of environmental preservation. The Forest Service dreamed, at times, of thousands of parking spaces, of cabins, a resort. We now value conservation over improvement, wilderness over access. It almost seems like it has always been that way---but it hasn't. This is a modern idea in land management, an innovation of the post-war era and the American environmental movement.

The old tensions between tourist promotion and wilderness preservation have never gone away. In 2023, Mountain Capital Partners signed a joint venture with the Sandia Peak Ski Company. The Sandia Peak Ski Area has barely opened for the last five years; climate change has shortened the season so severely that the Sandias can go all winter without enough snow to ski. Mountain Capital Partners how hopes, through artificial snowmaking, to bring the ski area back to life. Still, it's clear that snow will never be enough: ski areas are, in general, facing tough times.

Sandia Peak Ski Company has developed an ambitious plan for a "four season" recreational destination. It called for a mountain roller coaster, mountainbike trails, a complete replacement of Lift #1. The mountain coaster has already been abandoned, having attracted more environmental controversy than the Forest Service was prepared to handle.

In aerial images, you can still clearly see the path of the Crest Loop, at least to the first switchback where 1968 clearing work ended. Some of the modern trails follow the unused highway rights of way. They are incongruously described by in some Forest Service documents as firebreaks, a function that they do serve but were never intended for. I get the impression that even some of the Forest Service staff have forgotten the entire Crest Loop story. Well, it's one of many things about the Sandias that have been forgotten.

Ellis Ranch is now hardly remembered, up a canyon from a picnic area. It is once again difficult to access, past the part of the former Ellis Loop that is still paved. The Crest Loop was canceled in its early stages, the notional second highway was never even planned.

But Ellis Ranch Loop Road is still there. Millions of people drive up it every year. They look down on the city, and marvel at the view. I wonder how many realize---that the climb started so long ago, and that it has still never been finished. I think that it's better this way. A summit should always be an achievement, so easy to see, but so hard to reach. We get used to living in the shadows of mountains.