The Rainbow at the End of the Swimming Hole
Monday, September 19th, 2022: Hikes, Mogollon Mountains, Rain, Southwest New Mexico.
I wasn’t looking for a swimming hole. And I certainly wasn’t looking for a rainbow. I wasn’t even that excited about going for a hike, although I knew it would be good for me.
The night before, I’d pretty much decided to do my old favorite nearby trail, but it’d been less than two months since I’d last hiked it, hence my lack of enthusiasm.
The day was supposed to be partly cloudy, with rain possible in the evening, and there would be creek crossings. So I had to wear my waterproof boots again, and pack my rain gear – as with every damn hike since late June.
It was cool enough in the morning that I had to wear a jacket, but I stopped halfway through the one-hour drive to take it off.
This is the hike that drops into the first canyon, crosses the creek, climbs 1,400′ on switchbacks to cross a rolling plateau, and finally drops 1,200′ into the second canyon. And although I think of it as my favorite nearby hike, it’s one of the hardest on my list, because of the several very steep, rocky sections that are especially brutal now with my reduced lung capacity.
Recent hikes had been fly-free, but they reappeared with a vengeance in the first canyon bottom, and kept swarming me all day, so I had to view everything through my head net. Fine, it in no way obstructs my vision, but it does get sweaty, and this was another sweaty day.
Unusually, there was another vehicle at the trailhead, a bashed-in Kia Soul from Wyoming all plastered with outdoorsy stickers. But the only tracks on the switchbacks out of the first canyon were from horses – the Wyoming visitor(s) had gone up the abandoned canyon trail.
The horses had been here some time ago, and I knew it had to be my nemeses, the shrub-and-tree-hacking Backcountry Horsemen.
One alternative I’ve long considered here is to bushwhack up the high ridge between the two canyons, instead of dropping into the second canyon. The ridge is steep and punctuated by dramatic rock formations and talus slopes, so it’s probably extremely challenging.
Crossing the plateau, I kept eyeing that ridge. It would give me great views, and a return hike that would be all downhill, as opposed to the brutal climb out of the second canyon.
But when I reached the decision point on the saddle overlooking the second canyon, I chose to go down. A guaranteed dip in the creek seemed a decent trade-off for the harder return.
The horsemen had gone crazy on the trail down into the second canyon. This trail had been clear of brush to begin with, so they’d widened it into a 10′-15′ clear-cut corridor. But there was nothing they could do about the loose rocks and 30% grade. Despite all the effort they’re putting into it, it appears to me that the only people using this trail are the equestrian trail crew and me.
The hike to the canyon bottom isn’t long enough for me, but the continuation up the other side is too long for a day hike, so by the time I reached the creek, I’d decided to give the old, abandoned trail up the canyon another try. Last summer, on a much hotter day, I’d gone about a half mile up and found a tiny, debris-filled swimming hole.
Today, I discovered the horsemen had hacked their way to that same place, then given up. So I used my bushwhacking skills to trace the old creek trail farther up, helped by occasional cairns and pink ribbons.
On the way, keeping track of the creek in gaps between trees, I noticed a possible swimming hole. And when the trail finally ended in a debris flow, I headed back there.
I’ve been to some great swimming holes, but this one has to make the all-time list. There isn’t a pool big enough to actually swim in, but it has bathing completely covered.
For over a hundred feet, the creek flows over bedrock – the ubiquitous white volcanic conglomerate – and over time, it has carved tublike hollows on its way down a gentle grade. The upper stretch is flat, then it pours over a little falls into the first pool, which leads into the second, which is bathtub-shaped and about 4-1/2′ deep. The overflow goes over another flat stretch and into a larger pool that’s at least 6′ deep.
When I stopped downstream in July, the water was barely cool, but now it’s actually cold! Too cold to stay in – probably in the mid-to-low 40s. This amazed me, since our night-time temps in town haven’t dipped below the high 50s yet. But the source of this creek is all above 9,000′.
After my first dip in the bathtub pool, I noticed there were fish in there. When spooked, they would spill over the flat stretch into the downstream pool, then shimmy their way back up.
I only stayed long enough to rinse my sweaty clothes and take a couple of icy dips, but when I started to dress I discovered my Raynaud’s syndrome had kicked in for the first time since last winter, and my fingers were yellowish-white, numb, and tingling, barely functional. And it was getting cooler in the canyon – the high fishscale clouds of morning had been underlaid by thunderstorm clouds which were spreading and casting occasional shade.
The one-mile climb out of the canyon was as bad as expected, and took an hour. Most of the way up, there was a voice in my head whispering “Just give up. Just lie down and die. This is not worth it.” This is the price you pay for the dip in a wilderness swimming hole. My fingers didn’t get back to normal until after I’d gone most of the way back up.
My right knee had been complaining on downhill stretches, so after re-crossing the plateau I strapped on my knee brace for the descent into the first canyon.
With my stop at the swimming hole, and especially with having to go slow on the steep sections, it’d ended up taking me 9-1/2 hours to go 14 miles, with 4,100′ of accumulated elevation gain. And there were more delays on the drive home.
I’d no sooner started driving the badly eroded ranch road down the mesa – with the sun lowering behind distant cloud layers toward Arizona – than I noticed a partial rainbow over the mountains to the south.
I could see rain obscuring the far south, where I was headed, and as I continued down the mesa, the partial rainbow acquired a faint double.
Where the road drops down off the mesa there’s a good spot for a scenic view of the river valley and the south end of the wilderness, so I pulled over and got out. And saw the whole rainbow, arching over the valley!
From then on, it was a show of clouds and light, even after dark, and I drove home through scattered showers. I got home way later than usual, for dinner and a shower, but it was worth it.
