Pinos Altos Range
Monday, April 22nd, 2024: Hikes, Pinos Altos Range, Southwest New Mexico.
After last Sunday’s bushwhack in Arizona, I needed a hike that was both nearer and in better condition. But since I was still trying to rebuild capacity, I chose the mostly boring hike, twenty minutes from home, that totals 18 miles out-and-back, with over 3,000 feet of elevation gain.
A short drive meant an early start, giving me plenty of time to move slowly and mitigate the impact on my joints, which hadn’t faced anything this long since last September. But the proximity to town and the easy start on a road up a spectacular canyon means this is a popular trail, and within the first quarter mile I encountered an older couple with a dog that looked like a wolf.
It was chilly in the canyon, but I expected a high in the 70s in the afternoon. I made good time climbing the steep section through the dark forest, out of the canyon to the five-way trail junction at 8,000 feet – the four-mile point. Just past that, on the forested traverse across the next watershed, I stepped aside for a thirty-something trail runner, a guy who’d gone up to the peak with his dog and was returning – a pretty good run at twelve miles and almost 3,000 feet of elevation.
Just below the peak I encountered a forty-something woman wearing a t-shirt from some statewide environmental group. She was perky and immediately asked me where I was coming from, but as I answered it was clear she wasn’t familiar with the area, and she seemed uptight and anxious to move on. She said she’d driven up the road to the crest and was just doing a short hike down this trail.
I’d been avoiding this trail because just past the peak there’s a segment that holds deep snow late into the spring, and I’d brought my gaiters just in case. Sure enough, I needed them – patches were up to eighteen inches deep, and soft enough to sink in.
I was feeling okay, but began to doubt the wisdom of going all the way to the pine park at nine miles. I figured I would pay attention to my body and turn back whenever it seemed right. But it never seemed right. A quarter mile before the pine park I encountered a chubby guy in his 40s or 50s, also with a dog, and it turned out he was the same mountain biker I’d run into last September, using a chain saw to clear logs off the trail so he could ride it. He’d picked the same day as me to return seven months later – how likely is that?
At the park, I stretched out on pine needles to rest, but was quickly swarmed by ants, so I moved to the grassy meadow in the middle, which seemed ant-free. I wasn’t feeling too bad after the first nine miles, but was a little concerned about how I’d feel another nine miles later, after a 3,000 foot descent on knees that had been punished last Sunday.
I recalled the story about the blind men and the elephant. All the people I’d run into on this hike had only seen part of it – as usual, I was the only one who’d covered it all.
And I’d been suffering from allergy all day – surprising because pollen is mostly settled this late in the season. But coming down from the peak I noticed a big alligator juniper completely blanketed in pollen. Apparently our long winter delayed the blooming.
I ended up going slower and slower as my joints began to complain, and in the end, the eighteen miles took me ten hours, including the stops. I ran into yet another hiker with dog shortly before the end. The guy was tall and skinny, but his dog was tiny, and I thought what a tasty morsel it would make for a native predator. This canyon is popular with bears.
Four parties out of five had dogs, and a few days earlier I’d noticed an article in the national media titled “Too Many People Are Getting Dogs”. Something I’ve been saying for years. Most pet owners are irresponsible, and the few who are only encourage others to get them, calling themselves “animal lovers” as our planet becomes more and more domesticated and wild animals and plants suffer and go extinct.
Monday, May 20th, 2024: Hikes, Pinos Altos Range, Southwest New Mexico.
I hadn’t hiked in two weeks, since my epic hike in the desert did some sort of damage to my right knee. Despite daily icing, it was recovering very slowly, and I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. So I decided to try it out on a nearby trail with moderate distance and elevation.
This is a ridge trail that climbs the east end and follows the ridge west for 6-1/4 miles to an abandoned stock pond, at an average elevation of 8,400 feet. Much of the forest had burned in June 2020, and I’d hiked the full length afterward, in September of that year. But by the following September, regrowth of annuals and shrubs had made the trail virtually impassable.
Because it’s close to town, I figured it would be a high priority for the new trail crews, and I was right. It had been cleared last October, but since it traverses the steep north slope, it accumulates and holds deep snow, and the lack of tracks showed that I was the first hiker on this trail since the snow finally melted a month ago. A bear had preceded me, probably late yesterday.
The temperature started out in the 60s and climbed into the 80s by afternoon. The flowers and pollinators were outstanding, and I was surrounded by birdsong the whole way, but could seldom find the singers. I did spot a brown creeper but it was moving too fast to photograph.
I didn’t really expect to make it all the way. My knee seemed to be doing okay but as usual there were too many steep sections. There’s a rock outcrop with a nice view about a mile from the pond, and that’s where I turned around, strapping on my knee brace for the return.
With my knee stiffened by the brace it was much harder to walk, and the pressure of the brace meant I couldn’t tell how my knee was doing. I found out when I got back to the vehicle – not well. I’ve been lucky with my knees in the past, but those days are probably over.
Sunday, March 23rd, 2025: Hikes, Nature, Pinos Altos Range, Southwest New Mexico, Wildfire.
After a week’s hiatus, here’s a short Dispatch from a short hike (still rehabbing knee).
Pics are dull under a cloudy sky, but after the hike I added up all the wildfire scars seen today and realized it’s actually kinda interesting.
The hike begins at 7,200 feet elevation, at the eastern foot of a long east-west ridge, in the narrow, pine-forested canyon of a seasonal creek. It traverses through pleasant, open ponderosa forest thinned by a 2020 fire that started at the west end of the ridge and mainly burned on the crest and the north slope – but surprisingly sneaked around to burn at low intensity at the southeast end.
The trail climbs the east end of the ridge toward an isolated outcrop of striking, bulbous white rock, where you next enter a gentle, exposed slope lined with ferns, locust, and scrub oak that is the small scar of a much older high-intensity wildfire that killed all the pines in this spot. That wildfire opened up dramatic views to east and south.
Climbing to the north side of a rocky peak, the trail briefly re-enters intact forest, which is where I turned back today, at a little over 8,100 feet elevation. But through the trees, I could see west toward the high-intensity burn scar of the 2020 fire. Temps were in the 60s today, but I found patches of snow in shaded spots from 7,000 feet upwards.
Turning back and emerging from the forest, I could see south across the canyon toward the apocalyptic moonscape left by a 2014 fire, and west to the Black Range, devastated by high-intensity mega-wildfires in 2013 and 2022. I’ve hiked all these burn scars extensively.
Sunday, March 30th, 2025: Hikes, Pinos Altos Range, Southwest New Mexico.
Continuing my knee rehab, I’m looking for 2-mile hikes with increasing elevation gain. And this weekend, I realized there’s a nearby 8,000 foot mountain that I’ve always avoided because the hike to the top and back is only two miles. It’s our most iconic mountain because its profile suggests a bear.
Since it’s only a 2-mile hike, I hadn’t really studied the topo map, and it wasn’t until I started climbing that I realized this is by far the steepest hike in my repertoire – an average 22% grade from bottom to top. So not so smart for my knee.
It’s just tall enough to host an island of ponderosa pines at the top, so one of the highlights of the climb was the final transition from pinyon-juniper-oak to ponderosa forest.
And of course there was a decent view, to northeast, northwest, and southwest.
When hiking downhill with patellar tendinitis, it seems the important thing is your gait. You need to use your whole foot, landing on the heel and rolling forward to grip with your toes. So I tried that on the entire 1,054 foot descent. It was still hard on my knee, but hopefully not as hard as if I’d descended mindlessly.
