A Hike Too Far
Monday, June 8th, 2026: Black Range, Hikes, Hillsboro, Southwest New Mexico.
At 6,000 feet, we’re finally getting typical pre-monsoon weather – highs in the low 90s – so this Sunday I was looking for something higher and cooler. And after last Sunday’s short-and-steep, today I wanted something longer and gentler.
The crest hike in our eastern mountains is the only thing that would fit and still deliver interesting landscape and/or views. And it would be a shorter drive than what I’ve been choosing lately.
The eastern sky was almost completely clear, but I knew cumulus clouds would develop later.
I hadn’t hiked this trail in two years – since June 2024, the month after my knee injury, which turned out to be a mistake. The hike to the 10,020 foot peak is a little over ten miles out-and-back, with 2,000 feet of accumulated elevation gain. When I’m at my target of fitness, the peak is just the beginning of the complete hike, which continues another four miles north along the crest, for a total of 19 miles and 4,550 accumulated vertical feet.
But like most hikes, this one unfolds in a series of segments, and to maintain gradual recovery of my foot and knee, I was planning to turn back after the third segment, for a total of 8 miles and about 1,500 feet of elevation gain.
It’s the most popular mountain trail within an hour of home – seeing mostly urban hikers from the cities east of here – which is one reason I’ve been avoiding it. And today, on the first segment – the climb from the 8,200-foot pass on the highway, to the wilderness area boundary at just over 9,000 feet – I met a young backpacker returning from his ever-popular “night on the peak”.
The climb to the wilderness boundary is about two miles, and as usual, took me an hour. It’s actually the most scenic segment, passing back and forth across the crest, between dramatic rock outcrops, for seemingly endless views to both east and west. Despite a dry winter, we’d had several storms in recent months, and mountain crests typically get the most precip, so the flowers were about what I expected for early June.
The next segment spends about another mile traversing a sort of high cove on the east side of the crest, below a 9,600 peak and across converging drainages of a canyon below. The entire crest burned intensely in 2013 and 2022, and this segment passes through dense thickets of regrowth – primarily New Mexico locust and Gambel oak. But since the trail is the primary access to a famous fire lookout on the peak, it’s regularly cleared.
The third segment switches back to the west side of the crest and climbs to another saddle, a long, narrow, and windy rock outcrop favored by hedgehog cacti. This is where I planned to turn back.
But I was feeling great! Why not go a little farther? The point where the trail switches back to the east side is only another half mile farther and less than 400 vertical feet higher. It was a no brainer.
Of course, once I’d made that fateful decision, I was pretty much committed to climbing to the peak, because that’s where the habitat changes most dramatically, to alpine meadows and fir forest.
I was still feeling great when I finally reached the junction with the peak trail at just below 10,000 feet. I avoid the actual peak because I have no interest in the fire lookout. But normally I continue a quarter mile or so to the first beautiful meadow – and today I felt like I’d pushed my luck already. I hadn’t hiked this far since July 2024, and I knew it was a mistake – neither my foot or knee was ready, and I would pay tomorrow at home.
So reaching that unspectacular junction in the forest was both anti-climactic and regretful.
Returning down the highest segment of the trail should theoretically offer the best views to north and east. But all the standing snags mostly prevent that. Fortunately the naked eye can pick out peaks dozens of miles away that the camera can’t reveal. I always enjoy glimpses of the 10,200 foot summit of the range, twelve miles north, which I’ve also hiked, along with the crest in between.
I’d started the hike on pain meds, after waking with bad shoulder pain. At this point, bending my elbow to take pictures was painful. And by the time I reached that rocky saddle, my right shoulder was burning and I was struggling to protect my left foot.
The next segment, traversing the watershed of the east-side canyon, involves a gentle decline and was easier on my foot. I’d taken a second pain pill before reaching the peak, but it seemed to be wearing off. The peak above blocked the west wind, the dense shrubs maintained humidity without blocking the high-altitude sun, and that traverse felt like a hot day on the streets of New Orleans.
The final segment was hell. My packstraps were killing both shoulders, the right shoulder and arm were on fire, and my whole lower body was aching. You’re not supposed to drive on pain meds, it takes 45 minutes before you feel the effects, and the drive home is an hour. So I finished the hike and started the drive in considerable pain. Have I learned my lesson? Fat chance…
