South Fork Palomas Creek - Aldo Leopold Wilderness, Gila National Forest

  IMPORTANT UPDATE (June, 2022): The Black Fire has burned through this valley. It is most likely significantly altered from what is seen here.

Places like this in the Gila, especially in the Black Range are the essence of the ineffable for me.  Still, I try to find the words, and I diligently take the photographs that I know will never transmit the feeling that I have when I am at the bottom of this deep lonely canyon with the obviously majestic thousand foot cliffs crowned with a myriad of rock formations rising above, while beneath my feet moss growing thickly on the gray bedrock gives way to a plush quilt of fallen bigtooth maple leaves in tan, yellow and red on the banks.

  I hear what turns out to be a deer stumbling on the rock glacier, in answer to my own stumbling. I think this is place so rugged that even the deer have difficulty now and then. I think, I don't belong here, and yet I am here and that creates a giddy sort of dissonance.
This spot came on to my radar because of my friend, that most intrepid of New Mexico explorers; Doug Scott. We were  supposed come up here together to look for waterfalls about a year and half ago. Doug ended up going that spring and if you want to see the waterfalls he found look here: http://www.dougscottart.com/hobbies/waterfalls/Palomas.htm .   I would have to wait until last Saturday(10/23/17). I decided a while ago that I would visit in the fall, because of the canyon of bigtooth maples that Doug and Nate Bartnick had discovered. I am a total sucker for the magic of maple trees in October, so off I went hoping to find them at peak color.
 I had been in South Palomas once before when we had been camping at either Circle Seven or Morgan Creek  quite a few years ago. We only hiked on the trail along the creek briefly before heading off into Marshall Creek to find the springs to cool off our overheated dogs on a warm September morning.

 It's a long drive to get there for a day hike: 2 hours and 47 minutes. The last mile or so on some tracks barely visible in dry grass only increased my anxiety about the feasibility of the whole enterprise. But the morning was pleasantly warm and the skies devoid of clouds as I started hiking out past the old lower corral. In a short distance the good trail I was following headed up Marshall Creek, while the remnants of the Palomas trail became invisible in the tall grass along the creek. I experienced some low grade panic, wondering if I was on the right track, until I found the upper corral of wire and wood and I knew now it was all good.

Somewhere early in this trip I left my aluminum hiking pole on the ground as I took photos of oaks and boxelders in full turn. I picked up several sticks along the way that served well as substitutes. I never did retrieve the pole which I've been trying to lose for some time  and now had finally succeeded. I kept a good pace, knowing my time was limited.




 
 An owl flew from its perch and turkeys trotted up the trail in front me. As I walked on and as the canyon narrowed I caught a glimpse through the trees of a patch of blue at the base of a rock tower. It was a natural arch formation which would have been so easy to miss had I not looked up at just the right moment.

Puddles lingered in scoured out pools in the bedrock as the creek bed became the clearest avenue of travel. Immense cliffs towered above the north side of the creek strikingly similar to those seen over in the gorge of North Percha, but these were even higher.

I finally arrived a the mouth of the canyon with the bigtooth maples that Doug and Nate had named (you guessed it) Maple Canyon. To my disappointment the leaves on the first tree I encountered were entirely green. Color was found as I continued up the canyon, which at least for some of the way had lovely open channel with a smooth bedrock bottom that would have contained many small falls cascading toward the confluence with South Palomas had water been flowing, as it was, water lingered in the discreet pools surrounded by spongy green moss and sprinkled with pale, fallen maple leaves.

The many theories I have on the fickle nature of fall colors, and perhaps a few new ones began to dance in my brain, as I  made my way clumsily upstream, still hoping there would be a more spectacular display onward. There never was. A few pretty patches and a couple nice little trees would have to do for today.

 I finally stopped to rest. I had forgotten my phone and watch, which had had me hiking at a blistering pace as a kind of insurance in case my estimate of 4.5 hours for the round trip hike was way off.
 I drank another bottle of water. Took a photo of myself nestled in the glen, and then headed upstream just bit farther to where the canyon got extremely narrow, very thick with willows and a few walnut trees, and the maples ended.



I turned around and for the first time, really took it all in as I gazed down  Maple Canyon to the nearly 1000 foot cliffs on South Palomas  crowned with towers and spires.

 It was the only place for me to be in the world at that time, on that day. I slowed down as I made my legs and feet carry me back to South Palomas heading little bit farther west before turning back. I glimpsed a second deer. Disturbed the same owl. Saw the turkeys again too. Touched the biggest ponderosa pine I have ever touched, and contemplated the upright cones of a true fir for the first time it seemed.
 I did my best to follow the the bits and pieces of trail, but didn't really to do any better than on my way in. Where the valley widened, I waded through the high grass and felt a sadness to be leaving. I took a couple  more photos with the yellow tops of narrow leaf cottonwoods along the creek and the shadow of Lake Mountain in the distance. Back at the car I realized I had overshot my time by a little more than hour. I thought about returning some day, camping nearby, getting an early start and doing it all over again, but just a bit more slowly.

Broad Canyon Wilderness, Sierra de las Uvas- Organ Mountains Desert Peaks National Monument

There's a few reasons why I am not always so specific with my directions with these "walkabout" hikes I do in the Sierra de las Uvas. The first is it's little challenging to give directions like" the third side canyon in from the west, on the south  side once you leave the parking area after about a half mile of walking," and really expect people to understand and find whatever it is I'm talking about.
 Now I could use maps, GPS coordinates or Google Earth images, but I'm never going to do that.
To me that's not what this blog is about.
 The second reason is that there are an abundance of archaeological and cultural sites in the Uvas, and it would go against promises I've made to just lead people  by the nose right into these areas.
 Last, I feel like it's always better to find some little gem of a place, if you feel you've been led there by your own wits and not at someone else's urging.
That all being said, I was out again on a Sunday morning with friends David and Nancy Soules exploring canyons and mountain tops in the Uvas, just trying to see what we could see.  We started out from Valles Canyon Road near Tailholt Mountain and our return trip retraced a part of hike I had made back in July. It was a beautiful day, if a bit warm for mid- October, and we pleasantly spent five hours trekking through the yellowed grass,pink rock, windswept green junipers,  brittle scrub oaks  and dodging the prickly pear. There are worse ways to spend half an autumn day.

Bull Trap Canyon, Silver Creek- Gila National Forest

 This hike ended up being a fulfillment of  the hike I had planned and only partially executed back in July, plus a wonderful surprise.  In the summer I had planned to hike down to the Gallinas-Silver Creek confluence then up Silver Creek to Bull Trap Canyon. I would've then continued up Bull Trap and back over the ridge to the now closed Lower Gallinas Campgroud. Well I only made it down to Silver Creek that July day and with storm clouds threatening, thought it best to come back the way I came.
 So now I was back at Lower Gallinas a little over a week ago on a perfect October day. I walked down the old road, now almost completely concealed  by tall grass. Finding the trail that goes up a side canyon on the south,  I started up through pines and lichen covered boulders. All was going well. This was definitely a human created trail, and was in pretty good shape for not being maintained or used much (by humans) in many years. Unfortunately, at a crucial juncture, there was washout with abundant debris that concealed that the trail headed off to the left. I stayed straight, and now made my way very, very steeply up a gully and then  began weaving my way through trees up to the top of the ridge. It was so steep  that I was resting about every tenth step to catch my breath. When I got to the crest of the ridge, I was not surprised in the least to see that I was much higher up  than I had planned to be. In fact it was the exact mistake I was trying to avoid when  I was researching on my maps and Google Earth.

Well, I got over to the drift fence up there and started taking myself down towards Bull Trap. I found a pretty good trail on the other side for part of the way and then continued in the creek bed southwest until I was in the main canyon.
 Bull Trap was big and wide with tall ponderosas and no sign of fire damage whatsoever. Water trickled from puddle to puddle. I had to climb around a well constructed  rock dam, and sunk into a bit of quicksand when I got back down to the stream. Luckily I had already planted my lead foot on solid ground so I was able to pull out quickly before sinking in too far in the deceptive mix of gravel, sand and water.



 Further down, past the cliffs on the south side Bull Trap gets very narrow. There are small waterfalls, boulders and stretches of bedrock. One of the falls which pulses through a chute  in the bedrock about as big around as baseball bat, I decided to name Peashooter Falls.

A few ash trees,  five leaf ivy vines and walnut trees provided a bit of fall color. Willows and locusts crowded the stream. Just as things were opening up a bit I realized I was coming to the confluence with the Silver Creek.

Silver had a lot more water than Bull Trap, and I thought if Bull Trap had some small falls, maybe Silver Creek would have some bigger ones. I began marching upstream, with the anticipation providing the extra energy my legs needed.
 Soon I was in a bare rock little box confronting the steepest of several water slides. I put down my gear and went scrambling up, encountering more slides punctuated by small falls. At the very back of the box was waterfall of  at least 40 feet in three tiers. The different drops were at angles to each other, so it was impossible to get all three in the same photo, It was even hard to get bottom two in the same shot, even as I climbed up the rock face to do so.

 

This was another of those magical spots in the Black Range that, though not far from NM 152 as the crow flies, is magnificently remote, unknown and unspoiled.

 On the return I flushed out the same spotted owl from his perch that I had disturbed on my way in. I saw what I'm pretty sure was badger down by the rock dam as he headed back up hill after getting a drink.  Earlier on in the hike I had seen tracks with claw impressions in the sand at this same spot, and  assumed  they belonged to a small bear. Now it made more sense that they belonged to this seldom seen forest carnivore.
  I found the trail leading up to the saddle easily where there was actual gate in the fence. I then followed the real trail all the way back down, placing a cairn in the spot where I had gone astray on the way up.
 I ate my snacks at old picnic table under one of the many giant alligator junipers found in the abandoned campground, and then I was on my way with my spirit changed for the better, as almost always, by spending a day in the Gila.