Mogollon Mountains
Sunday, April 6th, 2025: Hikes, Mogollon, Mogollon Mountains, Southwest New Mexico.
It had snowed yesterday – just flurries in town, but I was looking forward to driving northwest for a view of fresh snow on our high mountains. Out of curiosity, I checked my photos of Aprils past. In 2012 it snowed here on April 14, in 2017 it snowed on April 1, and in 2021 it snowed on April 29. So not that unusual.
When I left the house it was freezing outside and I had to scrape frost off the windshield. I was planning to hike the first mile or so of one of my favorite wilderness trails, and on the drive north I could see snow on the slopes down to 7,000 feet. But most of the crest was obscured by a layer of clouds.
Along the highway, I passed hunting hawks of different species. Turning east off the highway, I followed the paved road up the edge of the broad floodplain of our famous river, then climbed the rough dirt road to the mesa at just over 5,000 feet. Eleven miles north I turned east again on a ranch road which drops into the valley of a big creek – now dry outside the mountains.
The creekside ranch apparently has a new owner, who has posted “Beware of Dog” signs every hundred yards for the two-mile stretch of ranch frontage. Must be quite a dog!
With its long approach on rough back roads, this trail doesn’t get much use – last entry on the trailhead log was more than two months ago, and the only tracks I found were from cattle.
Towering white clouds were forming and growing above as I hiked the rolling terrain, crisscrossed by shallow washes and crowded with Emory oaks and alligator junipers.
After traversing the maze of washes, the trail climbs gradually to a high bench before hitting the first slope of the mountains. My destination was a sheer rock outcrop that forms a natural dam across a steep canyon. It was really farther than I should’ve hiked at this stage of my knee recovery, but it provides a great view over the mesa.
And with the towering white clouds against the deep blue sky, and glimpses of fresh snow on the crest, this was the most glorious day for a hike I’d seen in a long time!
The sky just got better and better on the way back, with cloud shadows drifting across the slopes and occasional rays of sunlight glistening like diamonds on far-off patches of snow.
I grew up in the rural Midwest – a place whose wild, native history was totally erased long ago. Then, I spent most of my adult life in huge metropolitan areas – Chicago, the San Francisco Bay Area, and Los Angeles – participating in a series of cultural and technological revolutions that defined historical eras in our colonial society.
And now, I’m blessed to have found a refuge far from the colonial capitals and urban sprawl, far from the centers of imperial wealth and power, at the edge of this vast mountain wilderness.
Monday, September 1st, 2025: Hikes, Mineral, Nature, Rocks, Southwest New Mexico.
I invited my neighbor along for this short hike in one of our most spectacular canyons. We seem to be entering another active phase of our Southwest monsoon, and impressive clouds were spreading over the high mountains as we drove north. But the creek, normally running, was mostly dry.
I only went about a mile up canyon, and by the time I was halfway back the sky was pretty threatening. We both welcomed the rain, but this narrow stretch of canyon wouldn’t offer many escape routes during a flash flood.
The rain hit as we walked from the vehicle to the cafe for lunch, and continued steady all the way home – one of our best rains this season.
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.
