Black Canyon, Aldo Leopold Wilderness, March 13-16, 2012

Sunrise, Black Canyon above Falls Canyon, March 15, 2012.

Leaving the car, we briefly walked along a wooded slope before descending downhill; crossing underneath an old stock fence wire, then came to the base of the hill, meeting up with the south bank of the creek.  The creek flows steadily eastward, with short, steep banks and filled with small round boulders.  A few hundred yards to the north stood a homestead on an open, grassy slope, a red structure, with smaller outbuildings and a stable, also painted red.  The path continued along the south side of the creek, coming to a small gate, open, with a USFS sign on the far side, indicating that one was crossing onto private land coming from the other direction.

After crossing through the gate, we continued along the path.  We were warm, with the sun out, and the end of winter.  In the shade of the north-facing slopes there were sections of trail still covered in ice.  On the slope above the homestead, a dog begins barking.  Shortly after, we see the dog, which is bounding down the slope towards the open flat flood plain of the creek.  The flood plain changes between grass-covered areas and stands of cottonwood, still without their leaves.  Behind him, a woman in a fluorescent green pullover follows him towards us.

Black Canyon Ranch homestead, NM.

She raises her arm and calls out to us, but I can’t understand her.  I wave back and move off the trail and stop by the fence.  I tell Alex to hold up.

Trail’s closed.

I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. Say again?

Trail’s closed.

The woman continues to walk across the thick, dead grass, lying flat in a random pattern, only weeks before covered under the weight of the snow, which now fills the creek as it continues on its path towards the East Fork of the Gila River, several miles to the west.  She continues to walk with the dog, but their direction of travel turns slightly east, and it becomes evident she has no intention on meeting me face to face.

The trail is closed.

Can you tell us the right way to go?

Trail’s closed.

I do not know what to do.  I did not know the history of this place, and how I came to find myself in this situation.  I did not know that once the woman approached me I was not on her property, but in fact on federal land.  I did not know that between crossing beneath the wire and passing through the small gate south of the creek I was on private property.  Confused by the circumstances, we returned to the private property side of the gate, failing to realize that we could have simply continued on the path and ignored the woman; however, her approach had the desired effect.  25 miles from Highway 35 along Route 150, a dirt road that travels north to south over 50 miles through the deep ravines and across the ridgelines of the forest spanning the gap between the Gila and Aldo Leopold Wilderness areas, and another mile off of Route 150 we found ourselves near one of the few remaining private landholdings in the entire forest.  In the moment, it made more sense to show ourselves differential to her rather than continue the confrontation.

Behind the gate, a steep route between the rocks leads up the hillside to the south of the creek.  We could follow this over and continue along the hillside, past the eastern end of the homestead and stock fence and rejoin the trail and continue our movement.  In the distance to the northeast, I could make out the depression between mountains, where Diamond Bar Creek met with Black Canyon.  As we moved closer to the junction of the two streams, we would begin our descent towards the river bottom.

Loaded down with gear and stepping through patches of ice, the climb up the hillside was slow.  Uncertainty about the situation was evident in my voice, identified by Alex, who begins to indicate her insecurity.  Once at the top of the steep chute, we traverse an ice-covered section of a game trail we are attempting to follow to higher ground.  The hillside is steep enough that it is difficult to find a place to set my rucksack without it tumbling to the creek bottom.  With Alex across the ice, she is visibility shaken by complexity of the completed task, and sits down to collect herself.  I move further up the hillside, and continue to search for a reliable game trail that will allow us to traverse to the far side of the mountain and re-connect with the trail.  I find a well-defined game trail, with ice-covered sections, then return to find Alex.

Alex, tense and looking at me as if she was waiting for me to provide her reassurance that our plans were not completely in jeopardy, and if the next four days would be like the last thirty minutes, put on her pack and prepared for what was next.  The hillside, covered with small ponderosa, was dispersed with cat claw, which tore at our arms and legs as we worked our way to the west.  The game trail initially presented some challenges, Alex and I having to cross several more iced-over segments, slowing our progress.  We reach a level clearing that is free of snow and ice, and looking across the flood plain, I realize we are directly south of the Diamond Bar Canyon confluence, and begin descending the hillside.  Two hours after leaving our car, Alex and I find the original trail, relieved, and continue up Black Canyon.

The encounter leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.  The detour, covering only a mile of our original route, takes two hours to complete.  That afternoon we complete six miles, crossing the stream twelve times.  We come across a deep pool in the creek and see several large trout swimming back and forth, dammed by rocks twenty five feet apart.  We set up camp here, in a dry area a few feet from the north-facing slope, covered in snow.  Two hours earlier, as we break on a fallen log next to the trail, three cow elk slowly make their way west along the creek, each one taking turns on watch while the other two lower their heads to drink water.  After ten minutes, the elk close the distance between us and one takes notice of us, then the three turn west and gallop up the north hillside.  The camp, like most areas along the stream, is riddled with deep elk tracks, muddied by the melting snow.

After setting up the tent, we dig a fire pit and collect rocks for the ring.  Not much wind and the area, like most we pass through the following three days, is a combination of burn areas, fallen trees, and snow, along with large and small ponderosa, then Douglas fir and spruce as we gain elevation.  Alex and I collect fire wood, eat dinner and start a fire.  The fires become a novelty in the evening and a necessity in the mornings.  Mornings were cold, well below freezing, and without sun until seven-thirty.  We spend nearly as much time in the tent each evening as we do outside throughout the week.  Alex alternates between her river shoes and hiking shoes each day, while I continue to wear my wet shoes.  The following morning, with my socks frozen and boots frozen, I leave myself no choice but to force my bare feet into my frozen shoes.  I start the morning fire and lay my socks on the adjacent stones, along with socks of Alex, before I make her put them back on.  We make breakfast and proceed to breaking camp.  Today we must cover at least eight and a half miles if we intend to reach the summit of Reeds Peak and spend the night in the abandoned lookout cabin.  Three days later we meet a gentleman who claims to have manned the lookout in the summer of 1958.

Alex is shaken by the morning cold, wearing wet socks and crossing the stream repeatedly though it has not warmed up outside above forty degrees.  Eventually the sun covers the route, and we warm up enough to withstand the snow melt water.  My camelbak hose frozen, I resort to long stretches of the walk without water and drink during breaks.  After multiple stream crossings we reach a wider area of the creek bottom, believing it the saddle above Black Canyon Box, a narrow portion of Black Canyon with high stone walls and a series of pools and cascades.  With no trail juncture in sight a mile following the false saddle, we begin ascending a hillside north of the creek and come to the actual saddle, capped with large boulders and offering a review of the mountains bordering the canyon, but no sign of Reeds Peak, our trajectory blocked by a lower mountaintop, void of live trees, only burned trees, and a snow-covered slope.  Beyond the saddle we continue downhill and rejoin the stream, continuing on to the trail juncture, but never reaching it.  At three o’clock I begin quietly scouting potential camps, considering our elevation is much, much lower than Reeds Peak, making it unconscionable to believe we will make the lookout cabin in time before sunset.  Finally we identify a weathered trail sign, split horizontally with letters barely legible. 

Diamond Peak 8

Reeds Peak 4

(arrow the direction we traveled from) Black Canyon Trail No. 72

What happened? We certainly walked more than six miles, where we expected to reach our intersection to turn southeast and begin the steeper climb the remaining distance to Reeds Peak.  After re-examining the map, we assessed we were in the vicinity of Reeds Meadow, and were possibly at the intersection of trail no. 72 and the Continental Divide Trail.  We traveled several miles beyond our intended turn, though it was not visible to us.  Now three-thirty, the sound of uncertainty returned to my voice and body language, and was quickly identified by Alex, who became shaken by the prospect of more walking.  I explained to her the circumstances, and then re-explained a portion after she assumed I meant we would backtrack over twelve miles the next day.  Instead, we would attempt to walk past the previous night’s camp, so on day four we had only a short distance to complete and focus on negotiating the homestead issue if necessary. 

Alex at the junction with the Continental Divide Trail, March 14, 2012.

We left our packs momentarily and walked over to the large, open meadow we assumed was Reeds Meadow, but rather a meadow further west, which was the source of the creek in Black Canyon, traveling nearly forty miles before converging with the East Fork of the Gila River, but here only an open meadow with the late snow seeping into its bog, creating a series of small pools and slow-moving arteries that would several hundred yards later become a moving stream, and later a canyon river supporting Gila Trout and a multitude of small and large game indigenous to the area, and the large flora, including the cottonwoods, ponderosas, Douglas firs, and spruce amongst others.  Here is where it all begins, much like every large western river, whose volume is contingent upon the winter snowfall, which melts away at winters end and the beginning of spring and moves down the mountainsides through the high mountain canyons, traveling out into the high desert before reaching the large desert valleys with their farming communities and acequias to water cotton, chiles, fruit trees, pecan forests and other means of subsistence throughout the region, closely managed by their communities in a centuries-old system inherited from the old world thousands of miles to the east.

I relayed to Alex that the goals for our tour were changing, and that Reeds Peak would wait for another day.  We could extend our stay an additional day but have no way to relay home the change in plans.  To continue the next day would leave us one half day to cover over nineteen miles of a thirty-four mile circuit and I assessed Alex good for a hard six to eight miles daily carrying a pack.  We descended down to the last known camp location I scouted on our ingress, which sat only one hundred yards pack from the zenith of our route.  We encountered several deep snowdrifts the past few miles, leaving postholes and slowing our progress to a near standstill, and expected much more of this if we continued on to Reeds Peak, inevitably leading to a less than savory overnight situation, likely short of our objective.  The camp was pleasant, a level area beneath the trees covered with needles rather than the thick grasses flattened by snow and pocked by game tracks we encountered in most areas alongside the creek, fifty feet from the fledging beginnings of a stream, no more than three inches deep and filled with aspen leaves and algae, with no shortage of firewood, and kindling readily available with simply sweeping your hand across the forest floor, along with dried grass and a plant with likeness to babies breath, which made for an easy fire.  We made at setting up camp, starting a fire before dinner, it being much colder at a higher elevation than the first evening. Drying my shoes and socks was priority, so I remained barefoot most of the evening, leading to tree sap on my feet along with everything that would stick to it.  After dinner we packed up all of our food and supplies and pulled the rucksack up a tree adjacent to our camp with our bear rope.  I routed out all large fallen tree branches with smaller branches and built a large obstruction beneath the bag to prevent bears and other animals from attempting to climb the tree.  Rather than remove only the food items from my rucksack and hoist in a smaller bag, I chose to raise the entire load, making it difficult to get the bag more than six feet off the ground.  After completing the obstacle around the tree, I went to work collecting more wood to build a fence around the tent to create more stand-off between our small tent and any passing wildlife, not expecting to encounter anything of significance but rather as a precaution.  Another night without incident, with Alex falling asleep after an hour of nervous anticipation of the unknown.

Ted at camp, morning, March 15, 2012.

A much colder morning followed, after another long evening of battling the cold which comes with lying still for very long and moving every two hours or so to accommodate my back pain by switching positions, getting plenty of sleep but not in the long, unbroken periods more common at home.  I start the fire and begin collecting more wood and decide a larger fire is necessary for both of us to prepare for the long day awaiting us, walking eight miles or more before scouting out our final camp.  Slow to leave camp because of the dark mornings and cold temperatures better they be warmer before crossing the snow-fed stream and walking with wet feet, we depart at ten o’clock, continue down Black Canyon for thirty minutes until I realize I left the bear rope hoisted in the tree; we decide whether or not leave it behind or continue, and decide to return back to the camp to retrieve, leaving our packs by the trail.  Alex and I walk for fifteen minutes and I realize this is demoralizing for her, to walk over the same ground a fourth time since yesterday, and believing we are not far, decide to let her rest while I run the remaining distance to the rope, returning in eight minutes, eight minutes too long for a young person to feel secure by themselves, and I find her walking up the trail to meet me, upset by the situation, and I apologize for leaving the rope and leaving her behind to get the rope, and we continue back to our packs.  She is excited about returning to the saddle, where I agree to have lunch and spend some time climbing around on the rocks.  An hour and a half later we arrive at the saddle, eat lunch, and explore the rock outcroppings before continuing on.  We push hard along the trail, but our progress is slow because of the multiple stream crossings, and eventually we pass our camp from two nights before, continuing to walk with the goal of reaching the Aspen Canyon junction, no more than four miles from the beginning of our circuit.

We come down over a hill to an open floodplain and see the trail sign and cairns for Aspen Canyon, across the floodplain in the shadows are two bull elk who see us at the same time, then turn and quickly run across the stream and up the hillside to the south.   We continue into Aspen Canyon to find a camp, and continue for several minutes, only to cross Aspen Canyon Creek, then Black Canyon Creek, and selecting a site at the bottom of the hill we crossed twenty minutes earlier, with Alex slipping and falling in the creek during our last crossing, so we unpack my bag and she changes into a dry set of clothing.  Alex is tired, hiking over eight miles, a personal record for her, and we forgo a cooked meal and eat the rest of our lunch, the best meal we have eaten the entire trip, according to her.  No fire that evening so we can expedite our move back to the car the following morning, and I proceed to prepare my bag for the bear rope and continue through the same routine as the previous evening, building a fence around the bear bag tree and tent.

The next morning, the final morning, we begin early, two hours earlier than the two previous mornings, and it is cold, very cold, and we keep most of our night clothing on, including our winter caps, for the duration of the trek out.  With the cold, I want to avoid getting wet in stream crossings, and spend a considerable amount of time bypassing the stream until we find a location we can cross without getting wet, successful the first four times but eventually surrendering to the reality that at some point it will become unavoidable, so I carry Alex over the remaining crossings, as she is down to her last set of clothing and socks, and I want her to be comfortable during the four hour return trip to El Paso later that day.  We reach the part of the trail we bypassed, and continue forward on the correct trail, only to find it takes us to the same location of our confrontation the first day, and we move quickly and quietly, avoiding the loud crunching of the ice and bypassing in the grass, but eventually the dog takes notice and begins barking, so we begin running until we are around the corner and begin the climb up the final hill, back under the wire to the car.  On the old stock fence are two new private property signs, then at the end of the old two lane road a wire is across, with several pink ribbons and another private property sign, all not there the first day.  The “Forest Trail” sign and supporting pole are missing, and a note is under my wiper blade, written with a black marker in neat female handwriting.

You went thru private property.

Signs are up and pretty clear.

Please take note and do not tresspass again

thanks

Black Canyon Ranch

 I realize that I am probably lucky that something worse did not occur, maybe the towing of my car, which would be a major undertaking considering the proximity to the nearest service station and cost that would be incurred by the property owner, though I was not parked on private property.  Instead of changing clothes by the car, we drive out to Route 150 and enter Lower Black Canyon Campground, where I change and attempt to clean up before continuing our drive home.  Once on Highway 35, we stop at the Wilderness District Ranger Station, where I explain to the woman behind the desk my confrontation with the person from the ranch.  She takes notes, and proceeds to call someone who is familiar with the trails in the district, and would be able to listen to my concerns, a man named John, who I later identify as John Kramer, who manages the trails and wilderness in the district, and who informs me he is sitting with Bill Cunningham and Polly Burke, who authored both Hiking New Mexico’s Aldo Leopold Wilderness and Hiking New Mexico’s Gila Wilderness (Falcon Guides) and asks me to critique the trail guides.  I explain to John the private property issue, and with infinite knowledge explains the situation in detail, relaying that the Black Canyon Ranch has a long history of stand-offs with the U.S. Forest Service and outdoorsmen, leading to endangerment of federal employees and once forcing the hand of the government to the point where agents rode into the area and rounded up and remove all the cattle belonging to the ranch.  The ownership has changed hands twice since then, most recently a week ago, where the previous and current owners pledged to honor the free passage of public employees and hikers along the two hundred yard portion of the trail on the southern edge of the property.  The woman we encountered is the caretaker, and John believes she was misinformed about the agreement, and that he would attempt to rectify the situation.  We talked about the condition of the trail, and about the issue of the dilapidated state of the junction signs along the route.  While on the phone, an older gentleman entered the station requesting firewood permits, and overheard me speaking about Reed’s Peak, stopping me outside by his vehicle to explain to me he used to work the lookout on Reeds Peak in 1958.  Wearing a Stihl ball cap and looking to be in his seventies, we spoke for a few minutes about the area, where he had lived his whole life in the upper Mimbres valley, save the early years in a town that no longer existed.

Alex and I completed a total distance of 25 miles over four days and three nights.  We did not see another person for four days.

The following is a quote from Theodore Roosevelt, referenced in a book I only finished reading today, which exemplifies the experiences we seek when traveling in the wilderness, where we spend the majority of the time challenging ourselves and the other spare moments admiring the beauty and reflecting upon our existence.

There are no words that can tell the hidden spirit of the wilderness, that can reveal its mystery, its melancholy, and its charm.

Alex by a morning campfire.