Hiking wonders

I've written a lot about the people we've encountered here in the desert, but I've said very little about the landscape (or at least, not enough). Today is the best day for me to do so.
Two other volunteers (Tom and Danielle) and I went for a patrol on the edge of the Cerro Colorado mountains today, setting out for what was going to be a 5.4-mile hike in horizontal distance (putting it at much more once elevation changes are factored in).
To jump to the juicy bits, we came across a rattlesnake and another awesome large red snake, and then we got caught in a monsoon storm. The rains drenched us to the bone in no time, just as our hike was getting to the steep inclines, washes, and nasty drops. For 3+ miles we hiked through monsoon rains with booming thunder and lightning, up and down ridges and through raging washes. We probably did everything we were not supposed to do, but we did it safely! We stayed away from peaks and moved quickly across ridges when we had to, and we held hands and braced one another when we had to cross the larger, more powerful washes (there were at least 30 running washes that we crossed, probably ten that were large...a running wash is akin to a small river, if that terminology confuses you).
The power of the weather and the land was unbelievable today, and we enjoyed our time right in the thick of it to no end. The three of us made the ultimate extreme patrol today, and I am even more in awe of the desert's power now than I was before. It's sunsets and stars are easy to love, and the scenery as we drive through valleys and across ridges is obviously beautiful. What we witnessed today, however, is in an entirely different category.
I will be sad to leave this place.
Shalom.
Added two days later:
What we hiked through was enjoyable because we knew we had a (fairly) dry truck waiting for us at the end, once we found the end. At the same time that we were hiking through the storm, hundreds of migrants were doing the same (or hiding in the non-existent hiding places along the way), with no hope of having time to rest, a nice meal, or a place to dry off afterwards. As we hiked, though we could not see far at all, we still tried to find migrants along the way who were surely in need to help because of the weather. We found no one, but that by no means says that people weren't affected. A thought to keep in mind (white privilege, eh?)
A happier note: if you can imagine us hiking through the monsoon rains yelling, "We're volunteers of the church, and we have water!" you might taste a bit of the hilarity that made the hike so enjoyable.
Less than a week before we leave...