Monday mornings at work consistently contained the sharing of our weekend nature stories. Zoe told of off-roading in her Jeep to find a trail for her dog Otis and herself to take. Kaitlyn spoke of hardcore backpacking—ten or fifteen miles hike in the woods, setting up camp, and staying the night under the stars. And I contributed stories of where Tucker and I found forests of non-varying elevation in this vast desert landscape.

With the show winding down and only a few weeks left before we parted ways, Zoe planned for the ladies of Longmire accounting to get together with their canine companions at Fenton Lake in Jemez. More of a walkabout than a hike, as the only trail was a few miles long, we met up at the country store last weekend for one adventure all together.

​Kaitlyn arrived first with her Corgi-Chihuahua Belle, who boasted a sixteen mile hike the weekend before. Zoe arrived with her Rottweiler mix Otis, who sniffed the air from the back of the open Jeep. Elizabeth and Addaline were the last to arrive. Although they had never hiked, this little Cairn Terrier mix had the most amount of consistent exercise. Elizabeth got up every morning to make a three mile round trip journey to the Plaza for coffee. I never thought to do such a thing, as for me the coffee would only be needed due to the early morning rising.
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The dogs all met; Tucker being the most excited since he’s been without much social engagement for the past couple of months. Otis and Tucker were well-matched. We had gone to visit Zoe and Otis in Albuquerque a few weekends before, but Tucker spent the hour-long play session staring at cats he couldn’t get at inside rather than visiting with the dog I had brought him to hang out with. Despite all the dogs’ size difference, they all got along well and were ready for whatever adventure was in store.

​Two big boys, two little girls, and four thirty-something (okay, one was just under the mark by a year) women got into their cars and caravanned up the mountain to Fenton Lake.
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The lake itself was teeming with people: mostly families and friends around picnics, individuals fishing in the lake and a few trucks parked up near campsites.

​We walked along the lake, Tucker balking at the leash trying to take it all in at once, overexcited to not just be hiking, but be sharing the experience with some of his own kind. I always wonder how Tucker experiences a hike. Obviously he and I see the same things, but he takes in so much more in scents, and observes so much more that he can’t express to me. Finally, he could hear or smell something and have someone to turn to and say, “Did you catch that?”

​As we walked along the path which followed a stream and then passed through a meadow, we humans talked about our dogs. 

​Despite their physical differences, they had one thing in common: they had all done time. Or rather, all but one had done some stint in the shelter system. Addaline was the only one who had been spared that experience. Elizabeth had been walking along Venice Beach one day about five years ago when she saw a man selling puppies out of a box. The puppies were loud and playful—all except one who cowered inside the man’s dufflebag too terrified to move. She feared that the man would not sell her and she’d end up in the shelter. Elizabeth paid the man for the pup with the intention of fostering her, building her confidence, and finding her a home. Elizabeth was true to word: she found Addaline a home—with her. Falling in love always takes you by surprise: that’s why it’s calling “falling.” If we saw it coming, we’d probably step around it.

​Expert hiker Belle was found by Kaitlyn at the local shelter less than a year ago. The day Kaitlyn took her home, Belle trembled in fear at everything. It’s hard to imagine this little Corgi-Chi not being confident. Upon meeting Tucker, she gave him a growl to set him straight, and he respected her wishes. She lives in a house of big dogs, so she tells them like it is, holds her own, and expects to be treated no differently (except for the obvious perks of weighing less than twenty pounds.)

​Otis only joined Zoe about a year ago as well. Zoe had seen Otis’ profile and knew this was her dog. Her first dog of her adulthood, she chose a loving, loyal companion who wants nothing more than to please her. 

​I was hoping that since Otis lived with cats, he could convince Tucker that cats aren’t so bad. But just as with children’s influence on each other, we don’t get to choose what habits our dogs pick up from their friends. Tucker saw the value in Otis’s digging holes in dirt to lie in them and Otis really liked the way Tucker kicked his feet after taking a shit. So now our dogs’ worst habits have been passed on.

​While the dogs psychically chatted, we humans used our limited senses to enjoy the views. 

The trail ended where the edge of Fenton Lake’s state property did, but a small fence that was easily walked around led to the Santa Fe National Forest. Not wanting our walk to end, we entered federal lands.
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Not too far in, we discovered what appeared to be an old camp—equipped with fire pit, mess hall (which was disappointingly locked), restrooms (also locked) and platforms for tents. 

​This far off from civilization, the dogs were released from their leashes—all but Tucker. As we tried recall games, it was evident why: Tucker was too busy experiencing the location to be bothered by what I wanted to do. I put him on his long 50 foot lead and allowed him to explore (or just lie in the hole Otis dug) which kept me from fearing he’d run off into the woods and never come back.

​Although it took many tries and four women coordinating four dogs, we got their photo together.

Looking at these dogs, in their diversity and their similarities, I noted that an old adage needed an update. The phrase: “Behind every great man is a great woman” no longer applies. No great woman I know would ever stand behind anyone else; she takes center stage. But we don’t always stand alone. So I offer this:

​No one knows what these four canines went through before they entered our lives. Otis had mange, was weak and skinny from living on the streets. Belle was terrified. Tucker was probably still trying to understand how things had gone wrong and hopefully never knew how close he came to losing his life at the shelter. And here they are today: four confident, joyful, loyal pups who stand beside their women in all situations: whether it be in the face of adversity or the beginning of an adventure. Love and Nature, one in the same, have extraordinary healing powers.

​It’s not where you go in life; it’s who you’re with that makes the difference. For us, we struck life’s jackpot: each with a four-legged loyal companion to stand, walk, and run beside us no matter what the terrain and how bad the weather gets. And even luckier to have met one another and walked a little on this road together for even just a short time. 

​For now we take our own trails, but hope that one day we’ll meet again on the forest’s edge and walk a few miles together. If that never comes to pass, we still have the knowledge that when we tread earth miles from civilization and look out across the vista, that there are others like us out there, standing with our loyal partners looking out at the horizon, lone wolves shouting out a psychic howl in the distance assured they will always be heard.

​In order to get to the next forest on my list, I needed to go through a very cliched desert.

The all day excursion was simple and packed with places to visit: drive south to Albuquerque, then north to Jemez where I’d check out the Gilman Tunnels. From there, go to McCauley Springs (4 miles hike), then Spence Springs (1.2 miles), then Jemez Falls (1.4 miles), and then drive back home from the north, making a giant loop.
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My errand in Albuquerque took longer than I anticipated so we got off to a late start. The landscape, however, had not changed during our delay. Outside the Jemez Visitor Center, the earth was iron-red.

There I learned that the Gilman Tunnels were still closed, so that knocked one thing off our list. The man at the counter said he always sent visitors to McCauley Springs. I worried this meant there would be way too many unprepared tourists. However, the reviews on line stated that the trail was hard to find. I hoped this weeded out many visitors.

The trail began at Battleship Rock, so the campground was easy to find. The trail wasn’t terribly difficult to find either. I simply looked for the post marked “TRAIL.” It seems other people followed ribbons to campsites. Or perhaps there were more confusing offshoots a couple miles into the trail itself.
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Tucker took a quick dip into the stream that ran through the campground, rated the taste and texture of the water, and then we were off.

Not far along, a family of over a dozen people came down the trail toward us.

The young blond woman wearing sunglasses said, slightly out of breath, “Have you been up to the springs?”

Her tone made me respond with, ‘No, why? Is it terrible?”

She laughed. “Oh, I don’t know. We didn’t get up there. Just wondering how long of a hike it is.”

I told them it should be 2 miles each way with a 900 foot elevation gain. A man with a child on his shoulders attempted a shrug. “That’s not too bad.”

“How far did you get?” I asked.

“Not far,” the woman said. “We have ten kids with us.”

Understood. Four adults, ten children… probably not up for a steep, hot hike. I commended her attempt.

“We’re just going to play around in the stream instead.”

I told her of Spence Springs which is much shorter and easier and she said they might give that one a try later.

The family really hadn’t gotten far at all. Shortly after parting ways, I came upon a sign, that although on the ground, clearly stated “MCCAULEY SPRINGS 2 MILES —>”
Tucker and I climbed up the path and at the first intersection, I checked alltrails, and correctly chose the right way.
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The views gave us the illusion that we were miles from civilization.

Battleship Rock rose up from the forest as if the treetops were waves of the ocean.

Even mountains in the distance were beautiful from up here.

The climb was steep, but it shouldn’t be a long climb, so we kept going. The views were worth every step.

Further up the trail, we came across two young women drenched in sweat sitting beneath a Pinon bush. The shade was growing more sparse the higher we rose.

“On your way up or down?” I asked.

“Up,” one replied in a breath.

I didn’t think it was all that bad. But the lack of shade was worrying me. Tucker’s tongue hung long out of his mouth and he hurried ahead as if trying to seek cooler earth to walk on. I finally stopped him, only a short distance from the girls.

“Okay, let’s go back. It’s only going to get hotter.”

Tucker is stubborn. He will never turn around on a trail until we have reached our pre-determined destination (although I've never sorted out how he knows what that is.)

But not this time.
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“Okay,” he seemed to say with a quick turn and headed downhill. He stopped at the first unoccupied patch of shade and sat down.

There was no way we could have made it to the springs.

On our descent, we took the other half of the loop to get closer to Battleship Rock and in the hopes of finding more tree cover.

Still, by the time we reached the stream, it was, according to Tucker, too late.
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Tucker walked right into the river without a missing a step and lied down, almost dragging me down with him.

After sufficiently cooling off, we headed back to the truck and made our way to the next Springs.

It’s amazing what a little bit of elevation and difference in landscape can make in the weather.

Spence Spring was only a couple miles uphill. There was a small parking lot right at the trailhead.

Having never been to a natural springs before, I was thrown off by the posted warnings of not getting water in your nose because it could contain protozoa and bacteria dangerous to humans.

But don’t people sit in it? They lounge around in it, right? How safe is this?

Tucker and I walked by the sign as I contemplated whether or not to let Tucker into the waters at all. He’d be sure to want to taste it, and if it’s dangerous in your nose, I don’t imagine having it in your mouth and digestive system is all that good of an idea.
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The trail was much more manicured than McCauley Springs.

​It even had a well-placed bridge that complemented Nature’s design splendidly.

The walk uphill was relatively easy; the only really steep part was the final climb to the springs.
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The upper springs was occupied by a family so Tucker and I stayed down below, where only one person sat on the opposite side, taking in the sunshine and views.

​Of course Tucker wanted to drink the water. The amount of algae and green things floating in the water was disturbing. Are hot springs really good for you?

Despite telling Tucker not to, ​he did get a few laps of water in, and I had to hope his lepto vaccine was working and anything else would be harmless or at least out of his system within a day.

I enjoyed the serenity of the location. It was silent (except for the family chatting on the upper spring.) There was something magical about the place.

Dragonflies danced in the air--so large and at ease, they could even be captured on film.

​Tucker just wanted to stand and look out at the wild.

​We sat on the edge of the springs for a while, just taking it all in. 

​Tucker took a quick dip, and I asked him to get out, still not really believing that hot springs are good for you.

​I decided to skip Jemez Falls this time. Tucker was enjoying the moment here, as was I. We had found what we had come for; there was no need to continue searching. Peace, nature, a trail well-hiked and sun on our faces, surrounded by mountains: Mother Nature’s loving embrace.

Perusing a “Hikes in New Mexico” book I had picked up at REI, I came across Rio en Medio (literally, “river in the middle.”) I cross-checked it with alltrails and discovered that dogs were welcome. Since it wasn’t in the top ten of “dog friendly hikes,” I hoped I could find peace and solace there.

Another “neighborhood trail,” like Bishop’s Lodge, we drove down residential dirt roads until one came to an abrupt end at a small area for cars and an entrance to the trail.
There were a few people milling about, and it appeared the three groups of people were together. We spoke, negotiating a way to place our cars so they all fit and no one was blocked in. While we played Tetris with automobiles, I noticed a woman holding the collar of an Australian Shepherd puppy standing next to the trail. I hoped she was holding the collar because someone else was looking for the leash in the car. Probably not.

Tucker wanted to greet the young pup, and the woman held onto the dog’s collar. Luckily the cacophony of smells emanating from the trail made Tucker abandon his quest for friendship and pull me hard onto the path. The group with the shepherd had three kids, a dog and a few adults. It would take them some time to get coordinated and start on the hike.

As is normal for Tucker when he’s excited, not far along the path he had to stop and take a dump. (What can I say? The boy holds his emotions in his intestines.)

These few moments is all it took for the large group to catch up. I saw the shepherd leading the way, and since there was barbed wire on one side of the trail, I hauled Tucker up with the side of the mountain on the other side of the trail to let them pass. They did call their pup back and he responded, but I politely told them they should go ahead. I didn’t want to be rushed.
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There were a few awkward minutes of Tucker balking at the leash to meet up with the pup, but once we stopped for a long enough time, they were far enough ahead that the present smells of nature were far more interesting than a dog up the path.
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We were finally alone on the trail—just the way I like it.

It was indeed shady, with a few moments of the woods opening up to see the mountains surrounding us.

In order to get to the waterfall, the main feature of the river in the middle, one had to actually climb through the river itself. No pictures were taken as it took both hands to hold on and not fall in. Tucker and I went slowly on this natural obstacle course. The group with the shepherd wasn’t too far ahead anymore, and I listened closely as the patriarch suggested footholds for his daughters and offered them a hand to steady themselves.
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Although most likely easier to do with a dog off leash, I still kept Tucker tethered to me. The river was really a deep gorge in a canyon, and we couldn’t see around the bend.
Nature provided quite a climax. The canyon walls suddenly opened up and there before us was a waterfall.

Getting photos was difficult since children always take the lead and I didn’t want photos of Tucker with children splashing around. And then there was the shepherd. Now on leash, he was as far into the waterfall room as possible. A jack russell was immediately picked up and held when Tucker and I got there.
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Tucker kindly let me take a picture of him, but it was difficult to get his attention when he just wanted to be friends with the Aussie (who is obviously off to my left.)

Tucker and I cooled off for a brief spell in the spray of water, and then retreated since it seemed to be more of a family affair in the waters.
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Tucker pretended to be king of the waterfall, overlooking the scene and then fantasy completed, we returned to the trail.

Rio de Medio renewed my faith in my ability to find hikes Tucker and I could do. Our repertoire was rather small, given our lack of acclimation to the elevation, the mostly steep and quick elevation gains on hikes, and the vast desert landscape. On the trail, a woman picked up her little dog and while passing commented on what a good, well-behaved dog Tucker was. I thanked her for the compliment and realized that I am often too hard on the kid. But he’s a pit bull. He needs to be 110% well-behaved. No errors. No mistakes. No rash decisions.

The woman warned me of an off leash dog up ahead, and I thanked her.

I’d like to believe that the number of responsible owners is far greater than the number of people who let their dogs run off leash with no regard for laws or for the safety of others. At least I hope that’s the case when it comes to hiking. After all, this is my sanctuary and my church. I imagine it is the same for others. It deserves respect and reverence. Yes, it is a place to play and have fun. But it’s also a place of peace and solace. It can be both simultaneously.
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Remember that when you start down a trail, you have entered a sacred place for many. There are trails where your dogs are free to run and pounce. If that’s the kind of experience that is sacred to you, please go to those trails. For those of us on on-leash trails, we’re here for that experience, for that sanctuary. There are more churches in nature than there are religions in the world. Find yours, visit yours, and if you visit someone else’s, please be mindful and respect their traditions.