Horseback Riding the White Mountain Trail System The Springs and Old Hatchery Trails © June 2021, by Allanna Lea Jackson

On Cinnamon!s 19th birthday, I trailered both of my to the Springs Trailhead. After unloading them I brushed the road dust off and saddled Cinnamon while Velvet stood tied to the trailer, gawking around at a place she had been to one time about 18 years ago. I was putting a hoof boot on Cinnamon!s right front foot when she suddenly tensed and took her foot away. I spoke reassuringly to both horses and looked to see what had put them both on full alert. They were watching a bicyclist coming up Sky-Hi Road al- most as fast as a car. He crossed the parking lot in a sweeping arc that took him well wide of us and briefy disappeared from sight behind the kiosk and trees. A few mo- ments later I saw him going clockwise down the trail moving only slightly slower than he had been on the pavement and still cranking hard. I wondered how he got through the gate so fast.

While I was doing my fnal check, a truck pulled into the parking lot with a bicycle hanging over the tail gate. The driver got out and began preparing for his ride as I start- ed down the trail riding Cinnamon and leading Velvet.

As we rounded the kiosk, I saw the gate was completely off its frame and leaning against the fence. I wondered if the frst bicyclist had jumped his bike across the cross- bar. My horses stepped across it with a couple of hooves clanging against the metal pipe and we walked counterclockwise down the trail toward the creek.

We had only rode a quarter mile when I heard bells tinkling that reminded me of the bi- cycle bells of my childhood. I looked behind me to fnd that it was the bicyclist, who had arrived by truck, politely asking if he could pass the horses. There happened to be a good spot right where we were so I moved the horses off the trail to let him by. He thanked me as he pedaled slowly down the trail.

When we arrived at the creek Cinnamon lowered her head to assess the water crossing while Velvet scanned the scenery. Cinnamon crossed carefully. Velvet also inspected the water before bumbling and splashing across. The trail winds its way up and across a hill, then returns to the creek with a very narrow passage between trees. I always watch out for my knees when riding a in this section.

We found the most recent bicyclist turning around at the second creek crossing. He saw us and apologetically explained, "This trail is rockier then I expected. The trail guide rat- ed it as easy.” "I guess that depends on your perspective.” I commented. "You might fnd the Country Club trail across the road more to your liking.” He thanked me for the sug- gestion and pedaled back toward the trailhead. The horses and I continued walking along the trail, across the creek and up into the Forest which has been thinned several times since Velvet last saw it. Cinnamon had been on it recently enough to recognize it in its current condition. When we reached the Old Hatchery Trail, we took it. Thompson Spring was dry but the grass was still green. I dismounted and led the horses through the gate, then mounted again and rode to the second gate where I again dismounted and led the horses through. There was a little of water in the canyon below Pinetop Spring but nowhere near enough to raise trout, though you can see concrete remnants of dams and weirs blocking the creek bed.

I was surprised to see a brand new shiny barbed wire fence with a gate across the in- formal parking area beside Hill Drive. At the bridge the horses were wary of a very nar- row gap between the frst deck plank and the ground, as if expecting a Troll to be lurking in that dark strip. The trail from the wooden bridge across the creek and up to the Ari- zona Game and Fish offce is designated hiking only so we didn!t ride there. The aban- doned concrete raceways of the old fsh hatchery can be seen on the slope beside the trail, now growing more roses than fsh.

We backtracked to The Springs trail and continued our loop. Just past the junction we found an area of stacked rock art left by anonymous artists. The creek bed upstream from Thompson Spring was as dry as the spring. Cinnamon clip-clopped across the wooden bridges anyway. Velvet went off trail as wide around the frst bridge as her rope would allow, then fell in line behind Cinnamon to walk across the second bridge.

Another half mile down the trail we saw a third bicyclist coming toward us at a moderate pace. This cyclist didn!t seem to notice us so we moved well off the trail and stopped before he got close. He pedaled by without a word and seemed oblivious to the horses. We had the trail to ourselves the rest of the way back to the trailhead. The horses care- fully picked their way down and across the canyon bottom and back up the other side, then strolled back to the gate.

The trailhead parking lot was deserted when we returned and I unsaddled and groomed the horses. While I was preparing them for travel a vehicle pulled into the parking lot. Two men and two dogs got out. The dogs were leashed. One of them was a puppy who woofed at the horses when he noticed them. The owner gently scolded the puppy for barking at us and explained it was going to a dog trainer the next week. I complimented him for his training efforts. We wished each other a good day as they walked toward the gate. I loaded my horses into their trailer and took them home.