Featured Article - February 2009

This month, the Enchanted Forest hosts its Just Deserts Eat
& Ski scheduled for February 23.

Coming Full Circle

Fairytale beauty awaits at a resort called—no kidding—Enchanted Forest. Located off northern New Mexico’s Enchanted Circle, this getaway promises tranquil cross-country skiing and snowshoeing. Go schlussing through the woods with Diana Del Mauro.

In Kansas, a tornado transported Dorothy and her faithful terrier Toto to the Land of Oz. In England, a magic wardrobe lured Lucy to the kingdom of Narnia. But where in New Mexico can you find a secret passage to another world? Near Red River, in the Enchanted Forest Cross Country Ski and Snowshoe Area.

My cousin Karen had never been on snowshoes (Colorado’s ski slopes were the extent of her winter sports experience) or to Red River, so I couldn’t wait to escort her to this northern New Mexico never-never land.

The timing couldn’t have been better. At 41, I had finally become a mother. At 39, Karen had stumbled on grandparenthood sooner than expected. Both of us were adjusting to our new roles in life, we had a lot of catching up to do, and an afternoon padding through snowdrifts is much better suited than a shopping trip to such activities.

During her spring break, Karen, a gifted-education teacher, desperately needed to be rejuvenated. “Make her laugh—she needs it,” her mother (my aunt) advised on the phone before Karen arrived. Slowing down doesn’t come easy for Karen. But in New Mexico, in the land of mañana, she would have no choice.
On the day of the trip, Karen joins me in my Santa Fe home before we and my three-month-old son, Rocco, make our way to the Enchanted Forest, southeast of Red River. As we zigzag along the low road to Taos, talk turns to the new beings in our lives: babies, another force in the universe that makes you slow down. And so, with Rocco tagging along, it’s no wonder that we arrive in Red River later than expected. We devour a late lunch at Onota Bakery & Coffee Haus (110 Pioneer Rd.), savoring this cozy nook in the heart of downtown. The owner, Niki Scott, abandoned her high-powered career as a sales representative for Hewlett-Packard to become a baker and ski-patrol member in Red River. Scott seems to have found her niche: Her café’s chicken-tortilla soup has a satisfying picante kick. And her Finnish almond coffee cake, luscious but not too sweet, is a time-tested recipe handed down from Scott’s grandmother in Michigan.

Our stomachs full, it’s onward to the Enchanted Forest.

I’ve forgotten how important it is to have a four-wheel-drive vehicle for the last leg of this trip.
By happy accident, I’m driving a Jeep. Without it, we’d have to park at a lot off N.M. 38 and trudge 200 yards up and down snowy hills to the trailhead—not something I want to do with a baby and a bunch of gear. Grateful, I shift into 4WD, smoothly negotiate the road leading to the forest, and park a few yards from the base lodge. Snow, sky, trees, and an outhouse comprise the stark but stunning landscape here at 9,800 feet above sea level.

Dressed in matching green jackets, Karen and I are tightening the straps of our snowshoes when we overhear a husband and wife calculating the extra miles they’ve just traveled in the forest. Thanks to a wrong turn, Doug and Linda Morris, of Dallas, have just snowshoed twice as far as they’d planned, yet are thrilled with the mountain views they’ve encountered and the photographs they’ve taken of creamy snowdrifts swirling around aspens and pines.

Doug enjoyed Red River as a child. Now he’s here for a family vacation with his wife, his daughter, and grandchildren. For a week, they’re all sharing a log cabin a few miles south of town, on Black Copper Road. A former motocross racer, Doug, 62, underwent a total knee replacement just three months ago. Though now ready for fresh air and exercise, he says he doesn’t want to risk downhill skiing; the Enchanted Forest fits the bill. So as the younger generation catch the ski lift each morning in Red River, Doug and Linda embark on other outings, touring the Enchanted Circle Scenic Byway, visiting the Vietnam Veterans Memorial State Park near Angel Fire, and eating home-style meals at Texas Red’s Steakhouse in Red River.

“We love them to death,” Doug says of his grandchildren. But sometimes, he admits, it feels good to take a break. Toward the week’s end, Doug and Linda say, the tranquility of snowshoeing had definite and growing appeal, so here they are in the Enchanted Forest.

I glance at my watch and give Karen a “we better get going” look. The Enchanted Forest closes at 4:30 p.m., and suiting up Rocco has taken longer than anticipated. Latched around my torso in a Baby Bjorn, my son impatiently wiggles his legs.

On this mild winter afternoon we enter the Carson National Forest, a map in hand of Big Foot, a three-kilometer loop trail. In the forest, long, slanted shadows cut hatch marks in the silken fields of snow. Old-man’s-beard clings to the dead limbs of ponderosa pine, casting a grayish-green hue around us. Once we catch on to the handwritten signposts marking Big Foot Trail, we find ourselves lulled by the rhythm of our poles and metal-framed snowshoes striking the path. Rocco falls asleep, his head bobbing gently against my chest.

National-champion showshoe-racer Laurie Lambert, of Red River and Austin, Texas, trains at the Enchanted Forest. Snowshoeing enthusiasts enjoy the area's 15-plus kilometers of showshoe-only trails.

Red River seems to cast a spell on children—and lure them back when they grow up. The Enchanted Forest’s creator, John Miller, grew up in Texas but spent summers in Red River, on land his father purchased in 1935. When he returned as an adult, he had big dreams for the former mining town.

Before he built Enchanted Forest at the top of Bobcat Pass, Miller taught cross-country skiing and led backcountry tours through the Carson National Forest. He pulled the first tracksetter, a crude device used to establish a trail, himself. He soon found himself in a turf war with snowmobiles, which destroyed the tracks he laid for his students, and was so vexed that he decided to teach one driver a lesson: To lure the snowmobile, Miller set up a “beautiful set of tracks” across a partially frozen beaver pond. It worked: The snowmobile sank in the pond, and the driver (who was unharmed) never followed Miller’s tracks again.
In a moment of clarity at a cross-country skiing convention, Miller saw the potential for a course through the Carson National Forest. Back home, he grabbed his compass and plotted the route, which overlapped with old logging roads. He knew he was on to something special when he reached a clearing where he could see Gold Hill and 13,161-foot Wheeler Peak, New Mexico’s highest. He immediately applied to the U.S. Forest Service for a permit.

Though not as monumental as the network of trails at California’s Royal Gorge, Miller’s creation became the largest cross-country ski region in New Mexico. With approval from the U.S. Forest Service, Enchanted Forest opened in November 1985. It now draws more than 3,000 visitors a season from every state and many foreign countries.
Snowshoeing is to cross-country skiing what snowboarding is to downhill skiing, Miller says today. That’s why, about seven years ago, he designated separate trails to accommodate the snowshoeing trend. He also earmarked a few trails people who want to bring along their dogs.

Miller taught all five of his grandchildren how to ski at Enchanted Forest. When they were nine months old, he’d strap them in a pulk, a Scandinavian sled with a windshield, and venture down the trail. “Thirty-five strides and they’d go to sleep,” he says. By the time they were two, his grandchildren were able to follow him on their own cross-country skis. Miller, 75, still skis every day to stay physically and mentally fit.

As Karen and I float down the turns in the trail in the Enchanted Forest, we ponder the twists of life. From marriage to motherhood and beyond, my “little cousin” has crossed most of life’s milestones much sooner than I. While I was still finding my bearings, Karen managed to write and publish a novel, earn a master’s degree and a specialized certification, and raise the daughter she and her husband adopted. We find ourselves getting philosophical.

“I don’t think I give God enough credit,” she confesses. I sympathize. As all mothers know, It’s hard to let go and not worry.

But as we keep our eyes fixed on the trail, our anxieties about our jobs and motherhood melt away. Soon, we hear only our breathing, and see only alpine meadows blanketed in snow. At one point, Karen can’t resist bursting out in a silly song—“The hills are alive with the sound of music”—followed by a cleansing dose of laughter. Now I know that, when I get home, I can call my aunt and say, “Mission accomplished.”

Raised in Missouri, Diana Del Mauro first learned about the Land of Enchantment from her grandparents, who were enthusiastic travelers, slide-show hosts, and New Mexi-fans. When her Enchanted Forest journey was over, she sensed she had come full circle, too.

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