Going under it meant dropping down twenty feet with no obvious way to get back up. Going over it meant trying to get up twenty feet. And going across it meant a steep slope with loose dirt where slipping meant a twenty foot slide into trees and rocks. I pride myself on being safe. I turned around.

Every trail of my childhood. We didn't turn around.

On the way back, I followed that as best I could, but it wasn't nearly as worn as the other trails were.

In the Jemez there were several "trails" that were effectively "follow the river until you see the funny-shaped rock on the horizon and then scrabble to it as best you can." Speaking of...

I encountered a talus field. It was like walking on the rocks under railroad tracks. Everything was loose.

Story checks out. In summer you need to watch out for rattlesnakes. The little ones like to live in there. Lots of these to eat:

I scared up a couple... I don't know, beavers maybe? I'd say groundhogs, but they apparently aren't in New Mexico.

Marmots.

In Silverton once we heard a couple Texans asking their waitress about all the "pygmy bears" they saw everywhere. "Seen any pygmy bears?" in an excessive drawl became our touchstone for Texan off-roaders.

However, I wasn't terribly impressed with the bits of Santa Fe and Albuquerque I saw. Endless beige dirt is depressing.

Word.

The Pecos Wilderness loses a lot of its charm when there's no escape.

You get used to the elevation. The brown will drive you slowly mad.