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.
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…
Monday, November 10th, 2025: Hikes, Mogollon Mountains, Rain, Southwest New Mexico.
The new knee doc, three hours away in Tucson, says my local doc was mistaken/misguided, and the brace that made my life hell for the past five months has actually delayed my recovery.
I’m scheduled to get PT – starting in Tucson – but meanwhile I can hike, wearing something hilariously simple called a Cho-Pat strap. I can make this myself using a cheap athletic tape called “pre-wrap”, only available at Walmart. What a wonderful world, what a wonderful healthcare system that makes simple solutions so incredibly hard to find.
So on Sunday I returned to my old favorite trail on the west side of our high mountains, for the first time in almost two years. This is the trail that descends 400 vertical feet into a canyon, climbs a thousand vertical feet to the southwest end of a rolling plateau, crosses the plateau northeastward, descends 1,200 vertical feet into a second canyon, and from there branches either upstream or over another ridge into a third canyon. The hike into and out of the second canyon is brutal but rewarding, and for some reason this trail has featured more crazy weather than any other – blizzards, hailstorms up to 3/4 inch.
Today I only hoped to make it to the edge of the plateau, where I would face a dauntingly steep climb on loose rock up 350 vertical feet. Unseasonable warm weather was finally over. Here in the second week of November, this was our first true fall day, with a forecast high of 61 in town.
On my last visit I’d found a new restroom at the trailhead, constructed on public land by a private club of recreational aviators to service a nearby dirt airstrip. Their thing is to fly in and out, adding this landing to their competitive life list – just like birders, peakbaggers, and through hikers. Today, at the end of the 15-mile, mostly unmaintained dirt ranch road that accesses the typically lonely trailhead, I found three vehicles, a tent, a big pickup with a huge fifth-wheel trailer, and a newly graveled camping and picnic site with permanent concrete picnic tables – all installed by the private club on public land.
A young woman was sitting outside the trailer, reading, surrounded by expensive gear. First time I’d seen anyone under 60 with a setup like that, so I spent the next hour or so struggling to imagine what she was doing there alone with that huge, expensive rig. As I shouldered my pack, she gave me a half-hearted wave and turned back to her book.
Traversing down into the first canyon, the first thing I noticed was that virtually all the pinyon pines had died in the past year. I’ve been seeing and remarking on tree mortality recently, but this was beyond anything I’d seen yet. I estimated it was over 90 percent, and I’m sure it will get worse.
The next thing I noticed was the gnats, swarming my face. Why now, on our first cool day, weeks after the last rain? I could see the creek flowing over bedrock in the bend below the trailhead, where it leaves the mountains, but at the crossing in the canyon bottom, which usually requires waterproof boots, it was barely a trickle.
Climbing the opposite wall, on a series of long switchbacks, was a great workout to recover my cardio capacity. I had to stop repeatedly to catch my breath, but I still did better than expected.
At the top of the switchbacks the trail cuts back into a shallow valley, past looming rock formations, finally climbing to a saddle below the low peak at the southwest edge of the plateau. But today was my mother’s 99th birthday and I’d planned to visit her after the hike. The gnats became so bad that I finally had to stop and pull on my head net. By the time I reached the saddle I was out of time, so I immediately turned back.
The knee strap is designed to reduce tension on the inflamed tendon, and on the steep descent it seemed to be doing its job. More than halfway down I was approached from behind by a young man wearing a medium-sized pack and carrying what looked like a tripod. When I asked him if he was scouting for deer, he replied, “Hunting!”
“Get anything?”
“A buck! My partner’s behind me with the meat.” The young man was taller than me and as I stood aside to let him pass I saw the head and a modest rack of antlers sticking out of his pack.
“Whitetail?”
“Yep. No mule deer left around here.”
“Plenty in town,” I replied.
At the creek crossing, I met him again, sitting at the foot of the little cliff on the west side. He asked me if I was a hunter and we fell into a conversation. I asked him where he was from – he named a tiny village two hours north – and that led to him asking me if I’d hiked up around Willow Creek, on the other side of the mountains.
I said yes, two or three times. Then I remembered that more than four years ago, hiking the next canyon north of here, I’d met a tall young man who’d hiked 40 miles over the mountains from Willow Creek. Here’s the passage from Dispatches describing that encounter:
About midway up the canyon I surprised a young man with a dog. He was in his early-to-mid 20s and was carrying a pack smaller than mine, but he said he’d backpacked over from the opposite side of the mountains – a journey of close to 40 miles. I wanted to ask him how he’d made it so far, carrying supplies for himself and the dog in such a small pack. But he was anxious to discourage me from going farther – he’d had to climb over the deadfall I’ve encountered in the past up on the crest. I think he assumed I was backpacking and I didn’t get a chance to correct him. We wished each other well and parted ways.
I described that encounter to the hunter, and he admitted it was likely him. What are the chances?
I continued up the steep trail, and at the trailhead, as I was unloading my pack, the young hunter appeared and walked to the lone pickup truck that wasn’t surrounded by camping gear. That answered part of my curiosity – he wasn’t the partner of the girl in the fifth wheel trailer, who was now nowhere to be seen.
