Dream Mesa
Sunday, July 13th, 2025: 2025 Trips, Gila, Nature, Regions, Road Trips, Wildfire.
So far, our monsoon has brought more lightning than rain – starting new fires, including a big one at the north edge of the wilderness.
I wanted to explore the little-known mountain range, a couple hours north, that I’ve become obsessed with. But the smoke from the fire, blowing west, monopolized my attention on the way up.
By the time I’d finished lunch in the village, the northern sky was darkened by a storm cloud.
At the turnoff in the high pass, I checked my tire pressure and found that warm weather had added ten pounds, so I deflated them to 18 psi for the drive up the rocky road to the forested crest. That made the ride much more pleasant.
At the crest, there’s a fork leading west across the mesa. Since it’s forested, I’d never been able to visualize the landscape, which ranges between 8,200 and 8,700 feet elevation. The topo map showed something called “Dave Lee Lake” just off the road, less than a half mile from the junction. But I’d checked the satellite view at home, and the “lake” appeared to be a typically-dry stock pond.
The storm clouds alternating with patches of blue sky turned this forested mesa into a dreamlike landscape. The high was forecast to reach 90 at 6,000 feet, but here, almost 3,000 feet higher, it was in the 70s. And as on previous visits, I had this small mountain range all to myself.
The road began to climb, as I kept watching for the lake to my left. There appeared to be an opening in the trees down there, so I turned back and followed a meandering track through the forest, past several empty campsites, until a broad meadow appeared ahead, blocked by a fallen tree trunk. The lake turned out to be a natural alpine meadow – one of many on the crest of this range – which would’ve originally featured a vernal pool, but had been dammed at some point to create a stock pond.
Despite the low dam and dry pond lined with cracked mud, it was a magical place, especially under those brooding clouds. I couldn’t believe I had it to myself on a weekend afternoon, only a couple miles off the highway.
I could’ve hung out there, but I’d only scratched the surface of this mesa and wanted to follow the road farther west. Many of the trees bore red blazes or ribbons, apparently part of a Forest Service survey, but other than that, I saw no traces of other visitors. The farther I went, the more tracks I found branching off into the forest. The north slope was dark and dense with Douglas fir. I followed what seemed to be the main track for a couple miles, driving down, up, and around, glimpsing what appeared to be a vast canyon off to the west. I still couldn’t get a sense of the landscape, but these branching, meandering forest tracks could become really confusing. The tracks became rougher and rougher, with deep pools of muddy water I preferred to bypass, and eventually I turned back.
On the north slope among the firs, I’d passed a turnoff to what I assumed was more empty campsites. But when I returned and tried it, I found another track, overgrown and seemingly abandoned, leading steeply down through the forest. I drove down it, and eventually came out in a saddle. From there, the road climbed steeply up onto a ridge, but there were big boulders embedded in the slope, so I stopped and got out to lurch up there in my knee brace and scout the way forward. The track clearly continued out the ridge, but my time was running out. I decided to return to the turnoff and hang out there in the shade.
I strung my hammock between a couple of firs and laid there listening to the wind in the trees – the only sound up here on this mesa, 45 minutes from the nearest human settlement, an hour from the nearest town, four hours from the nearest city. The wind pushes into the forest, the trees dance with the wind.
It took me more than fifteen years to discover this place, two hours from my home. Despite the old dam, I’d seen no sign of cattle anywhere on the mesa. Old topo maps show that despite the maze of forest tracks, most of the mesa is roadless, including the entire western half leading down to the river. There are no hiking trails, but in the parklike forest, devoid of undergrowth, you could hike all over without running into any sign of human life.
Along the forest road and backcountry tracks, there are dozens of beautiful, secluded campsites with fire rings, informal and unmarked. But in a half dozen trips over the past few years, I’ve never seen anyone camping here. It’s like a dream come true, but there are dangers – trees often fall across these forest roads and tracks, so it’s possible to get blocked or even trapped.
From the drive back, I could see it was raining over our high mountains, and presumably over the big wildfire. But I only got a few drops along the way.
