Parched. Burnt. Wild. in Little Dry

With the age of 33 approaching the next day, spending half the day in a new corner of the Gila Wilderness seemed like the best thing to do. Still dealing with the letdown of my performance at the Colossal/Vail 50 mile race, simply hiking instead of running felt like the correct method of contemplation. After getting a tip from a local photographer, I narrowed my focus in on West Baldy in the upper reaches of Little Dry Creek.

Arriving at twilight, my timing was perfect to begin the day without the use of a headlamp. Life in winter is generally a drag to me in the southwest. Fewer daylight hours, morning runs spent with additional mounting minutes of darkness each day, and little snow tend to get me a little down for a couple of months. What I'm discovering in my 2nd winter in Silver City however is that at the very least the quality of light is consistently excellent. The low southern sun and general clarity of sky makes getting up in the mountains more enjoyable to photograph. Add in wispy clouds, and there seems to be more to look at than in the peak of summer. Yin and yang and increased appreciation.

The hiking up to Windy Gap was fun with frequent hops across Little Dry Creek. The trail frequently clung steeply to the hillsides to climb behind cliffs that pinch the canyon tight. About a year ago I did this exact same hike, but the terrain above Windy Gap would be terra incognita.

Part of the beauty of spending time in the Gila Wilderness is that there is essentially zero up to date trail information online. Hell, there really aren't very many trip reports from the past decade at all, aside from the common trips up the forks of the Gila River and Whitewater Creek. Picking a trail like upper Little Dry Creek and looking at burn intensity maps from the Whitewater-Baldy Fire nearly ensures a little bit of doubt and adventure. This is exactly what I sought and found in spades. The trails were good enough, though would likely be deemed "poor" by anyone used to trails in more frequently used areas. Plenty of burnt trees presented themselves, but I was surprised to see some in tact evergreens and aspens as well. Nearing the ridge that led to West Baldy, I spooked a few massive bull elk that charged downhill, through catclaw, tangle, and all.

Although the route out to West Baldy is half of a mile without an official trail, I was happy to find pieces of a game trail to follow. This trail petered out in places, especially when intensely thick stands of catclaw were encountered.

Wind was beginning to pick up and I made the mistake of trying to hike the ridge wearing my beloved Patagonia Houdini wind jacket. Pretty quickly thorns started to poke into the jacket and potentially shred my Ultimate Direction SJ running vest. Every time I get out into the wilderness I think that I may need burlier fabrics, and the thorns encountered on this trip reinforced that opinion. A custom dyneema Sub-60 pack design may find it's way under the sewing machine in the near future as a result. All of the catclaw cursing was worth it, and the view from West Baldy is probably the best I've seen in the Gila yet. A fully bald summit, talus and all, at the end of a ridge with massive views into AZ to the west, Big Dry Canyon and the ridges of the Wilderness to the North, and Cooke's Peak peeking through to the East. Learning the lay of the land from this vantage is part of the reason for getting out. Finally seeing Rain Creek Mesa, Sacaton Creek, Sacaton Mtn, Big Dry, and the San Francisco River in the flesh instead of as topo lines was rewarding. The views of King and Queens Crown inspired the desire to create a route up Dog Canyon and follow the ridge to the top. Next time, always next time.

How many people make it up here? So so worth it.

After sitting and gawking for 30 minutes I began the dreaded trip back along the ridge. Slightly more intelligent from experience, I decided to drop low off the ridge and contour along the slope to avoid the worst of the catclaw. It wasn't that much easier though due to the steep nature of the terrain and numerous blowdowns underfoot. At least I learned something on this trip, and that along with the big views made this all worthwhile.

Back on the trail again and descending quickly, I became disgusted with how brown and dead the whole drainage seemed. This hadn't bothered me so much on the way up, and instead I had been awed by how intense the burn damage was. Now I felt that the land was ugly and dead and found myself comparing it to the lush high country of Colorado. Moving to southern New Mexico has had it's shares of ups and downs, and I find myself often comparing it to Colorado. This is wildly unfair due to differences of latitude and ecology. While we prefer the flora of the Chihuahua desert, we want it to be greener. We prefer the solitude out here, but want less burn damage. Now I found myself afraid that I would never view the Gila the same again, and that I'd never really desire to come back. All of the beauty I'd felt before was gone, and now was replaced with disgust. Looking out down the canyon, I knew that the hillsides should be fairly green from pines and scattered with the white trunks of dormant aspen. Instead, only the brown dirt below could be seen. Gratefully, 4 miles later I was back at the bottom of Little Dry Creek and blessing the lush grass and remaining leaves.

Little Dry Creek is a special place, and walking slowly, quietly downstream enhanced that feeling. Just as phenomenal as Mineral Creek but tighter and more lush, the canyon begs to be returned to over and over and over again.

vast.

Crouching in the scant shade of a mesquite tree last weekend, I didn't think that I would really ever want to run again. Images of bikepacking along the border in the bootheel of NM or bushwacking along Cherry Creek came to mind instead. What I experienced along the 50 miles of the Colossal Vail course almost brought me to tears twice, tears from beauty and not pain. Seeing the woman who must have been in last place, 18 miles from the finish and darkness quick approaching raised intense emotions and an empathy for her experience. Was she hurting, stressed about making the cutoffs, and frustrated to be in last place? Elated to simply be lucky enough to run in the desert? The dark skies and solitude in the Rincon Valley must have been incredible for her. Again, with 2 miles to go, I passed a runner dressed in a goofy hat he'd picked up at the final aid station. I was at this point running really hard, and his encouraging words as I passed seemed deeply authentic and real. Shivers sent down my spine and a smile on my face. The saguaros were turning pink as I flew into the finish, stronger than I'd ever finished an ultra before. That race rubbed me to the core in a way that I often seek yet seldom find. To have all thoughts stripped away, infinite inspired energy, emotions rubbed raw, and viewing life anew through eyes as a primate on the earth is what I had found in spades. Masochism granted.

Seven days later I was shuffling along the Tadpole Ridge Trail for the first time. All week I'd been daydreaming of a long day trip into the Gila Wilderness, but ultimately knew that I shouldn't be away from home for so long. Still needing to feel the draw of new terrain, it was gratifying when the idea of traversing Tadpole Ridge came to mind.

I'd always assumed that this trail would be hidden away in the trees, with nary a long view. Coming from last weekends trip in the wide-open Sonoran Desert, being surrounded by thick trees with no views seemed like a fair trade-off. What I hadn't expected were fairly constant views into the thick of the Gila along incredible tread. Footsteps in pine needles and crushed dry leaves. Fingers numb from the cold, fumbling with camera settings

It was so quiet out there that I noticed my tinnitus for the first time in a very long time. Incredibly still with very few birds. This is what we come to the Gila for.

The trail contours along the north side of the ridge, often on top of it at the saddles between peaks. I'm excited to return in the winter when snow should linger for a while on these north slopes, simultaneously giving deep views into the whiter Gila to the north. In a way it was sad to see that this trail was of such high caliber, knowing that it couldn't be used in the 50 mile race route I'd designed earlier this year. However if the USFS gods decide to open up the trails surrounding the Signal Peak burnzone, the Tadpole Ridge Trail will be a memorable middle section on the loop.

Torched and Washed Away

One of these days I'll convert to a true Southern New Mexican, whereby I'll assume that I'll actually do less mileage than I plan.   A year and a few odd-days after moving down here, I still find myself looking at maps like the Colorado version of myself, visualising trails that are smooth, heavily marked, and well-trodden.  In the Gila proper where recent flooding, burns, and abandoned trail are the norm, that old mindset isn't dying quickly enough.

The more this landscaped gets ravaged, the wilder it becomes.

 A few non-chronological photos and words from a month-old trip into Mineral Creek, Log Canyon, Deloche Creek, and then bailing 1000 feet above Whitewater Creek.  Humbled but amazed, I cut the trip short by 15 miles.

 For anyone considering a trip up Mineral Creek.  Go!   This place is something special with hues typical of the Gila, and reminiscent of better-known Utah.  The first few miles to Cooney Camp are easy to follow.  After that, the trail devolves into what you'd expect inside the Gila.  Years of high water have eroded the benches away that once held trail.  Plenty of blowdowns to hop over duck under.  More than enough old mining debris to keep you guessing.  Supposedly there was once incredible trout fishing, but you'd have to keep going way upstream to find any sort of pool that could support tiny Gila trout.  I saw nothing...

Although unmarked at its confluence with Mineral Creek, the Log Canyon trail is in incredible shape.  Spared from the burn and flooding of last year, this trail is steep and fast and fun.  Connecting to Bursum Rd is no problem, and judging by the trail register Bursum, less than 10 people have used it in the past year.

 Turning up Deloche Canyon just as it was getting dark was not the best decision.  With 32 miles planned in less than 30 hrs, I figured I'd be night hiking if the conditions got rough.  Get rough they did.  I averaged less than half a mile an hour for 2 hrs under headlamp following the bottom of Deloche's drainage.  This canyon flooded in a serious way last summer, and the trail was nowhere to be found.  Where it could be found, it dead-ended in 20 foot eroded drop offs to the bottom of the creekbed.  I managed to make it to the saddle at the top of the drainage for a bivy under clear skies and big stars.

Sign of the burn were in full effect dropping down into Whitewater Creek, and fully green from regrowth.  The regrowth was so thick that the trail has fully disappeared on the saddle, and in patches below.  Soon, the going got far too sketchy and I had to turn around.  I could only manage so many of those horribly eroded side channels before i found one I was unwilling to do solo.  Bailing is always a low point for me, and I carried this one with me for half of the day.

Although I was bummed to have bailed, this trip was a great reminder of what it's like to travel in proper wilderness.  Part of the appeal of rugged conditions are the surprises encountered, and I'm happy to have found this in spades amongst an environment in such a ragged state.  

Green is relative

A few weeks back, I finished my first big sewing project.  This pack .  

  I'd been itching to take the pack out for a proper test-drive and last weekend the time finally presented itself.  Initially hoping to do some recon for the Grand Enchantment Trail outside of the washed out and flooded town of Mogollon, I deferred to the closer Gila River for more time spent on the trail than in the car.

The route was simple but had enough unknowns to make things interesting.  Park at the Nature Conservancy Parcel at the confluence of Mogollon Creek and the Gila River.  Follow the river upstream to Turkey Creek, pick up the trail for 2 miles along Turkey Creek, then go off-trail for .5 miles to the hot springs.  Overdose on the hot springs, pruny, smiling from relaxation then continue off-trail up to the confluence with Sycamore Canyon.  Pick up trail to go up and over Skeleton Ridge and back down to the Turkey Creek trail below the hot springs.  Back downstream along the river to the car and coffee at home.   22ish miles with plenty of off-trail river floodplain cursing.  Gratefully, this already solid route got even more interesting at the trailhead.

As a woman was stepping into her car, she was quick to inform me that I wasn't starting at the typical location to access the hot springs.  After she became confident that I knew what I was doing on the route, she shared a hint of a rough trail that would hop a ridge, and cut a few miles off of the river-walk.  Since I was already running late and determined to make it to the hot springs before dark, I took her advice.  Although there is a trail occassionally marked, the flooding last season really trashed the entire valley and tons of debris and washed out trail made the going frustratingly slow right out of the gate.  It was beginning to seem like I should have just followed the river all the way.  After an intuitive bushwack through a heinous, thorny wall of mesquite, I followed a subtle ridge which led to solid trail uphill.  From this point on, there was solid trail to dump me out on the river.  Shaded, wet, and green was how I was greeted by the river, reminding me of this environment of contrasts that we live in.  For the moment I preferred this green world on river's bottom than the brown, dry, exposed ridge I was just on.

 

 Smiling, giddy, and occasionally cursing meant that I had found good hiking along the river.  Constantly navigating to find the least-worst path through the flood debris, river cobbles, and awkward thigh-deep entrances/exits from the banks of the river reminded me how fun it is to hike off trail in wilderness.  

Looking at a topo map, it became apparent that I could bushwack up out of the river to get on Turkey Creek Rd to run a bit further upstream.  Time was getting tight and the views would be huge.  This was a good decision.

Barely finding the trail-less turnoff up Turkey Creek before nightfall, it was nice to see rocks and logs creating pools to catch the hot water.  Not a soul around, I soaked for 2 hours as the moon lit the canyon walls.  No shelter in my pack, I picked a sandy spot along the creek to call my cowboy camping home for the night.

 The season is coming for dorky floppy hats...

Rex Johnson hit it dead-on in "Fly Fishing in Southern New Mexico" when he said that lower Turkey Creek gives no indication of how incredible the upper part of the drainage is.  Sadly, I didn't see any trout to give me the excuse to extend my tenkara rod aside from in one unbelievable pool.  One day I'd love to hike this creek all the way up to its headwaters some 15 miles upstream to get to know it better.

At Sycamore Creek there was again trail, while things simultaneously getting hot as it climbed Skeleton Ridge.  Now on runnable trail, it was really fun to see what it's like to run with overnight gear.  In general, this trip was an excellent reminder of the limits that can be blurred with fastpacking gear.  35 mile days are now completely reasonable into the backcountry, also opening up access to remote fishing holes, all the while not being away from home for too obscenely long.

Back down on Turkey Creek, the world was again green with trail less rocky.

Once back on the Gila River, the area has been thrashed by local ATVers.  2-tracks split everywhere, making navigation slightly more difficult than it really should be.

Back on Turkey Creek Rd, I was elated to find the Sawyer Mini water filter that had found a way out of my hipbelt pocket the previous afternoon.  Sadly, the only truck to drive to the TH that morning managed to run over it.  The filter didn't look to be in that bad of shape really, but still leaked like a sieve when I tried to filter water.  The rest of the way, I'd be drinking unfiltered Gila River water.  I'm sure that I've drank worse water before, but being downstream of the cattle ranching on the East Fork didn't make me all that confident in the "dip and sip" route this time.

Back on the Gila, my navigation was totally on point and I was constantly picking the correct side of the river to be on and keeping a solid pace.  Marginal fighting with overgrowth, and minimal fording, the hiking was absolutely fantastic and engaging.  Although no trails are marked on maps for this section of the river, I'd assumed that there would be social trails heading west out of Turkey Creek.  Bare minimum, game trails.  Those assumptions were totally wrong, and the game trail shown above was the best I'd find along that stretch.

The highlight of this trip was probably seeing how extensive the damage caused by a flood can be.  The entire bottom of the valley showed signs of previous flooding, and there were often intense walls of debris to negotiate.  Stinging and slightly bloody, my legs afterward showed how awkward climbing through this stuff was.  Unstable piles of branches, bushes, leaves, and hidden gaps of air often made walls so long that I couldn't be bothered to find a route around so went above and through.  Seeing all of this damage further ingrained the idea of trying to safely chase a flash flood this next monsoon season.

 This trip, route, and pack design were all raging successes.  Now it's time for some inevitable map browsing for the next fastpacking route.