Southwest New Mexico
Alcoves, Rock Outcrops, Nooks, and Crannies
Sunday, September 7th, 2025: Black Range, Hikes, North Star, Southwest New Mexico.
Our weather’s getting cooler – at least for now – but it still wasn’t cool enough for low elevation hiking. And since my knee is still (hopefully) recovering, I needed a level hike – which are hard to find at cooler elevations. But to narrow my choices even more, I wanted a decent lunch spot somewhere along the way. I’d already done the northwestern option last Sunday, and the northeastern option offered a couple of untried lunch spots that didn’t excite me at all.
But looking at the map again, I realized the northeast route offered the possibility of a shady canyon hike at over 7,000 feet, accessed via one of our most iconic backcountry roads. The map shows a trail running less than a mile down the canyon, but I figured I could keep walking to get my mile in. The Forest Service has a web page for that trail mentioning “alcoves, rock outcrops, nooks, and crannies”, but all I was interested in was the elevation and shade.
Not a cloud in the sky as far as the eye could see. But I was encouraged to find the river running – and actually in moderate flood. Amazing that in town we can still be in severe drought, while only thirty miles east they’re having a sustained wet monsoon.
Leaving the highway and climbing to the mesa, I found abundant wildflowers and lush grassy slopes all around, and actually began to get excited about the coming hike, despite the boring sky. This road starts out well-graded gravel, but as it dips into canyons it gets rockier – and it’s popular, so you gotta watch those blind curves and be ready for big pickups going too fast and tourists going too slow.
I parked in the tiny campground in the dark, narrow canyon that had seen a lot of debris after past wildfires. I saw a couple other vehicles back in the trees, but no people. The campground track had once crossed the now-dry creek, but floods had made it undrivable. There was no trailhead so I just followed what was left of the vehicle track until it ended and I found a trail sign.
Taking flower photos slowed me down a lot. I came to a spot where the creek held a little water in bedrock, then reached a cairn where the trail began climbing. I checked my map and found this should be the spot where the canyon trail branches off. But there was no tread through the new growth of annuals, so I just started finding my way down the banks of the creek.
Within a hundred yards or so I found the barest vestige of a trail – maybe just a game trail. It soon petered out, but short stretches would reappear at random. No worries, I’m pretty good at find the best route, and I couldn’t go wrong in this narrow canyon.
I saw some rock bluffs along the dry creek, and a formation on a slope above, but after a half hour I still hadn’t reached the “alcoves” etc.
Finally I saw something off through the trees that might be an alcove. And from there on, the slopes on both sides of the canyon became rockier and rockier, until I came to a narrows with an overhanging rock wall.
This is where the party began! I laughed, remembering how I had disregarded the name “Rocky Canyon”, thinking it would just offer mild temps. Little did I know it would turn out to be one of the most spectacular short hikes in our entire region.
Of course, the rocks were still mostly hidden behind trees, and up slopes that were a struggle in my knee brace. But even the canyon bottom was a beautiful, magical place.
No trail in this narrow, rock-walled stretch of canyon – I mostly stepped precariously from boulder to boulder in the creekbed, protecting my knee as best I could.
I’d spent more than an hour so far, on what was intended to be a one-mile out-hike, but I had to keep going until I ran out of rocks. In the end, it took me an hour and a half, and when I checked the map I found I’d hiked almost two miles and dropped over 400 vertical feet. No matter, I was in heaven – and the weather was perfect. I even had a breeze.
With less stops for photos, it only took me an hour to get back to the campground. Looking up, I spotted a few clouds through gaps in the canopy. The last remaining camper was just leaving, but others were arriving in a huge pickup.
Monsoon clouds were beginning to fill the sky as I drove up onto the mesa and headed back toward the highway. I had a late lunch at the less boring of the two untried spots – I was the only customer, not a good sign. But the huevos rancheros were actually pretty good, so I’ll be back.
Sunday, September 28th, 2025: Hikes, Little Dry, Mogollon Mountains, Nature, Plants, Southwest New Mexico.
Since I injured my knee in May 2024, I’ve been looking for hikes that don’t require me to climb very much. But one of the reasons I moved here is that we’re in the mountains.
Before the injury, elevation gain was my main goal, and the hikes I did most often went from canyon bottoms to the crest, with elevation gains ranging from 3,000 to 5,000 feet. So I’ve avoided all those familiar hikes for more than a year.
I’m currently trying to limit myself to roughly four miles out and back, and while reviewing options yesterday, I realized one of those hikes actually has minimal elevation change during the first three miles. Past the two-mile point it involves a lot of bushwhacking and rock-hopping, and the farthest I’ve ever been able to go is seven miles, with 4,200 feet of elevation gain.
The last time I’d done it was January 2024, when I was stopped by deep snow on a high saddle at the four-mile point. I was curious to learn how much rain that watershed had seen during this weak monsoon.
It turned out that the long gravel road to the trailhead had been washed out or buried under recent debris flows in dozens of places. It was barely passable in my 2wd pickup truck (the Sidekick needs a new engine).
Eventually the road climbs to the ridge. Considering the remoteness and the condition of the road, I was surprised to find another vehicle at the trailhead. I hoped to run into the other hiker(s) to find out how far they’d gone and what they’d seen in some of my favorite habitats.
The weather was perfect – in the low to mid seventies, with drifting cloud shadows. The trail starts out following the remains of an old road servicing long-abandoned mines. It doesn’t enter the wilderness until about a mile in, and I’ve run into cattle on that lower stretch. As I got closer to the creek I could hear it rustling over the rocks.
Past the first crossing, I remembered the lower part of this trail had been destroyed by a flash flood a few years ago, and finally rebuilt in late 2023. In this steep, narrow canyon a trail is virtually unmaintainable, and much of the upper trail consists of picking your way through debris flows and over logs.
I used to call this canyon “the jungle”, and it didn’t disappoint. My first landmark would be the old cabin, but I missed it in the dense vegetation. I was looking for the point where the canyon makes a 60 degree turn east – that would be my two-mile point. But with the dense riparian forest and overhanging cliffs, I actually missed the turn and went beyond it, to the major side canyon. I couldn’t remember whether this was before or after the turn in the main canyon, and my national forest map wasn’t detailed enough, but it had taken me an hour and a half to get there, so I figured I’d gone far enough.
The knee brace masks any pain, and I felt like going farther, but knew I shouldn’t. Returning was easier, and finding the cabin, I was surprised to see how much it had deteriorated inside in only a few years. Nothing has been removed, it’s just messier.
Past the first creek crossing, the old road climbs, and I got some nice views. I was sorry not to see the other hiker(s), and wondered if they were backpacking. I sure miss getting back into that wilderness, one of the wildest in the world.
On the road out, I passed two youngish women in a side-by-side – probably from the small group I’d seen camping near the highway. Americans are far, far too affluent – the hot thing among blue collar families now is to own a huge pickup truck, a massive fifth-wheel “camping” trailer, and a side-by-side or rock bouncer – almost as expensive as your house, all bought on credit. You drive the whole setup just off the highway and live in it while exploring the back country in the little utility vehicle.
I also got a better view of the mature ponderosa pines in the lower canyon, which have all died recently. I’m guessing a series of debris flows have suffocated their roots – I’ve seen that happen elsewhere in the aftermath of big wildfires.
Monday, October 27th, 2025: Hikes, Holt, Mogollon Mountains, Southwest New Mexico.
Despite its apparent failure, I was still following our local doc’s treatment plan for my knee: gradually increasing the difficulty of my hikes, in two-week increments. Since the injury/condition didn’t seem to be healing, I just wanted to restore as much cardio capacity and lower-body strength as possible.
After almost two months of this I felt ready to try over a thousand feet of elevation gain, and the hike I’d been saving for this starts on the trail that first introduced me to our vast wilderness area. As such, that trail is more special to me than any other. It first enabled me to reach the crest of our high mountains and penetrate deep into the heart of the range.
The main trail starts at 6,400 feet, climbs through foothills, descends to the canyon bottom at 6,500 feet, follows the creek north for about three miles, then climbs steeply to the crest at 9,600 feet. Today’s hike would follow the creek for less than a mile, then take a branch trail that climbs over the right-hand wall of the canyon into the next canyon to the east, one of the biggest canyons in the range, which doesn’t have its own trail. Climbing to the saddle between canyons would give me a spectacular view and 1,500 feet of accumulated elevation gain in six miles out-and-back.
On the highway north, the first thing I noticed was the absence of southbound snowbird RVs and big pickups hauling UTVs – so thankfully, that phenomenon is seasonal. But our weather is still unseasonably warm, and the forecast today was for a high of 70, with thin clouds over the mountains.
I found a late-model city SUV and a big, generic pickup at the trailhead – fairly typical, although I often find it empty.
It had been a year and a half since I’d hiked this trail – all the way to the crest, where I’d found snow and a young German had joined me most of the way. It really did feel like coming home to the wilderness, especially after crossing the boundary a half mile in. My knee had been pain-free for a few days so I started without the brace – my constant companion for almost five months.
Since I’ve hiked this trail more than any other, everything was immediately familiar: the emerging views, the late-season annuals on the trail, the steep and rocky stretches, the fall colors. Past the wilderness sign I encountered two friendly guys in their 20s in camouflage outfits, wearing packs and carrying tripods.
“Scouting?” I asked, stepping off the trail to let them pass.
“Yeah, looking for deer. We’ll start hunting in a couple weeks.”
“Seen any?”
“We found some south of here, but nothing today.” They asked me if I hike here often, and see deer myself. I said yes, often see deer, whitetails, but not so many bucks.
We wished each other a good day. Shortly afterwards, beginning the descent into the canyon, I spotted a bright red stand of sumac far below.
In the canyon bottom, the combination of late-season rain, warm days and the first cold nights had resulted in a magical mixture of flowers, berries and colorful foliage. The initial stretch is burn scar, but after entering intact riparian forest I was watching for the maples – and although there aren’t many, I wasn’t disappointed.
My knee was less comfortable by the time I reached the branch trail, so I strapped on the brace for the climb.
I’ve only hiked the branch to the next canyon a couple of times – it drops 1,500 feet on the other side, dead-ending at an old miner’s cabin. I reached the canyon bottom once but was blocked by a riparian jungle before reaching the cabin.
The climb to the saddle involves many switchbacks, with great views northwest to the rocky walls of the canyon hiding the main trail. It was perfect hiking weather for my long pants and long-sleeve shirt.
From the saddle, treetops block the view into the big eastern canyon, so as usual, I continued about a quarter mile to the high point of the trail on a mostly exposed slope. The trail to the saddle had been overgrown but with good tread; past here it was almost invisible.
I gratefully realized I hadn’t seen cowshit anywhere on this trail, which up till a few years ago had provided cattle a direct route to the heart of the wilderness. Since then, the Forest Service had hired shooters to kill feral cattle from helicopters. Ranchers had stopped that eventually, but maybe it had some effect.
Meanwhile, I enjoyed identifying spots across the canyon that I had reached on past hikes.
Since my return took place in mid-afternoon, those remaining flowers were hosting swarms of late-season butterflies – mostly too small and skittish to photograph. The brace masked any pain in my knee, and this turned out to be the most enjoyable hike I’d had since being immobilized at the end of May.
In the coming week I would see a sports medicine specialist in Tucson for a second opinion…
