The Natural Arch via Old Mitchell Trail is rated as moderate. It’s only 1.8 miles, and from the reviews on AllTrails, it seemed like an easy trail, only 584 foot elevation gain and just a mild “scramble to the top.” Upon getting to this area of “scrambling,” I came to the conclusion that this hike must have been rated by Canadians. Their version of “easy” involves only one rope climb wherein you have to strap your dog to your back. “Moderate” is reserved for more difficult chutes and ladders to get to your destination.
But it didn’t start out so Canadian moderate. In fact, it was rather American easy, but with a Canadian flair: snow.
I awoke in the morning to flurries. In May. In New Mexico. It seemed that the storm was passing through, so I waited an hour before starting our journey to Los Alamos in the hopes that we’d get there as the snow died down.
Driving through the mountains with the windshield wipers on, I pondered if I had made the right decision. I sometimes overestimate my New England girl self. But it was only a little bit of snow… in comparison to Canada.
But it didn’t start out so Canadian moderate. In fact, it was rather American easy, but with a Canadian flair: snow.
I awoke in the morning to flurries. In May. In New Mexico. It seemed that the storm was passing through, so I waited an hour before starting our journey to Los Alamos in the hopes that we’d get there as the snow died down.
Driving through the mountains with the windshield wipers on, I pondered if I had made the right decision. I sometimes overestimate my New England girl self. But it was only a little bit of snow… in comparison to Canada.
When we arrived at the trailhead which was located in what I consider suburbia, the snow flurries had calmed and all that was left was a few mounds of the white stuff on colder areas of the earth and manmade structures.
Tucker wore his rain jacket for about five minutes. I realized that giving him the extra leeway on the harness was more practical and more fun for him than staying dry.
It didn’t matter anyway: within a few minutes, the clouds ceased their release, and we walked under (and through) overcast skies.
I was grateful for the cloud cover and 46 degree weather. Due to the forest fire years ago, there would have been no shade at all if had been a sunny day. As I looked over across the canyons, I wondered how lush and green this place once was, and what an entirely different experience this hike must have been before the fire.
We reached an intersection of the trail rather quickly, one that was not indicated on my map. I followed the sign in reality rather than the two dimensional line on my phone, and continued on the Mitchell Trail.
It wound up onto the hill overlooking the town and gave us sweeping views of the surrounding mountains.
It wound up onto the hill overlooking the town and gave us sweeping views of the surrounding mountains.
Every time I checked in on the GPS to see how far we were from the right hand turn that would bring us to Natural Arch, I noticed that we were well off the red-marked line my technology was supposed to be guiding us on. I chalked it up to poor GPS locators due to cloudy skies and kept on walking, assuming eventually we’d hit the crossroads. Looking off to the canyon to my right, I didn’t see where this rocky structure might be, nor how the trail we were on would eventually hook up with the little dirt lines I could see from afar.
We started to curve down into the canyon itself, and I still hoped that meant that we would reach the trail we needed to be on. The fallen trees offered Tucker some agility practice, so we played a bit in the gravel and ash-laden canyon floor, hopping over the charred remains of trees and climbing over boulders.
We had been walking for over an hour—far longer than it should take for a simple 1.8 mile hike (and that would include the way back as well.) It was hard to discern where the trail was as we got deeper into the canyon, and my fear of a flash flood coming through made me rethink my choice. We obviously had taken a different trail than what we should have. (There is no “wrong turn” in nature—just a different journey to a different destination than you originally planned.) So I retraced our steps, went back up onto the hill and decided to take the turn I hadn’t the first time—the one that led away from Mitchell Trail.
Even if we never found the Natural Arch (I still could not fathom where it was despite the sweeping vista we had from what I can only presume is “New Mitchell Trail’), it was still a decent jaunt through nature with some expansive views.
We had already clocked in two or three miles of wandering, and when we arrived back at the crossroads, I opted to try our luck on the other path rather than just call it a day. The cool air made for excellent hiking weather, and we weren’t the least bit tired.
The path through the canyon was easy enough, and off the path was a natural agility course of fallen trees. I kept Tucker on track and on the lookout for the trail to take us up to the rocks. This time, looking at my GPS, I saw that we were right on the red trail. So there had been no problem with the GPS after all.
The path through the canyon was easy enough, and off the path was a natural agility course of fallen trees. I kept Tucker on track and on the lookout for the trail to take us up to the rocks. This time, looking at my GPS, I saw that we were right on the red trail. So there had been no problem with the GPS after all.
I came across a subtly marked trail whose metal sign appeared to have been broken off, and decided to give it a try.
It was a definite ascent, but not too terrible to begin with. Reviews had advised to be on the lookout for cairns because you could easily lose the trail in the wide open spaces.
There wasn’t so much wide open spaces, as there was just the same color everywhere.
There wasn’t so much wide open spaces, as there was just the same color everywhere.
There were some precarious spots in which I worried that Tucker and I could fall off the edge of the cliffs. I was feeling light-headed from the elevation and felt that little bit of vertigo that sometimes hits me when I’m up high on the edge of something.
Then we came to the “scramble” area. I had pictured in my head just a few boulders right near the entrance to the arch. I hadn’t foreseen half an hour of using my brain to find the path of least resistance and using my braun (the little I have), to heft my 60 pound companion up onto boulders and rock formations then figuring out my own way.
The agility course Tucker had on the canyon floor was child’s play. This was the real deal. One false move and we’d both come tumbling down. However, I wasn’t thinking about that. I took each obstacle as its own. I only looked at the immediate next few steps, not the ones beyond that. I did espy cairns which helped a little, but even with those, sometimes the best path for a four-footed hiker was a different way.
The agility course Tucker had on the canyon floor was child’s play. This was the real deal. One false move and we’d both come tumbling down. However, I wasn’t thinking about that. I took each obstacle as its own. I only looked at the immediate next few steps, not the ones beyond that. I did espy cairns which helped a little, but even with those, sometimes the best path for a four-footed hiker was a different way.
Our strength-based climb was rewarded much later than I thought it would be—to a small clearing with the namesake of the trail at the end of the meadow.
I still could not see where this was from the canyon floor or the rise we had walked on. It was almost as if it only existed if you were wise and strong enough to reach it yourself.
By this point, the sun was poking out between clouds, and the heat of the day was starting to rise. Standing in the middle of the arch, a lovely breeze washed away the warmth.
This little secret glen with its sweeping views was worth the climb.
We were alone, as we often are. I can’t imagine trying to negotiate and navigate the rocks and boulders if other hikers were around—especially other hikers with dogs.
Tucker and I enjoyed the view and the success of reaching our goal for a brief time. I saw storm clouds rolling in, and again visions of a flash food urged me to get back down off the hill as quickly as possible.
Tucker and I enjoyed the view and the success of reaching our goal for a brief time. I saw storm clouds rolling in, and again visions of a flash food urged me to get back down off the hill as quickly as possible.
Getting down was just as hard as getting up. Tucker’s harness proved invaluable as I helped guide him down and to stop him from continuing his descent over the cliff’s edge.
I was grateful and thankful for his trust. Not only did I experience the beauty of the land, but the beauty of the bond Tucker and I have: this incredible trust we have in each other. We seldom need to use it, but knowing it’s there made me acknowledge just how deep our relationship is.
Tucker took in the scents on the way down, stopping every now and again to catch something on the breeze. I don’t claim to know what he experiences on our hikes, but I have a feeling it goes well beyond our human experience of sights and sounds.
The snow was completely gone when we arrived back in suburbia. Our New Canadian adventure was yet another example of this Land of Enchantment casting its spells. You’d never know this little glen and window to the world was there if you didn’t know the way and didn’t have the heart to really desire its existence. Whether its the magic of a nook of hidden beauty in the landscape, or the magic of two souls of different species connecting in trust and love, it’s something that exists whether or not you know it; but you’ll only truly experience it once you believe in it.
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