It is autumn 1919, in a wild and scenic area of New Mexico's Gila Forest. A young assistant district forester named Aldo Leopold is on horseback, trying to imagine what his surroundings will be like if a proposed road system goes through, a "civilizing" influence becoming all too familiar in other forests of the Southwest. Not here, he resolves. Something must be done to save it so future generations will be able to enjoy the purity and beauty of this back country.

Hot springs in the Gila vary in their accessibility. A trip to the Middle Fork hot springs, for example, only requires a half hour walk and a couple of river crossings, while others are a full day's hike and an overnight stay away. But whether you're feeling adventurous or mellow, you can always find a chance for a relaxing soak in a beautiful outdoor setting. With a little exploration, visitors can discover quiet, remote springs.

The road heads north, from the pass of El Paso to the cross of Las Cruces and farther to the spot where you turn west and leave the Rio Grande's fertile sides. As you travel towards Hillsboro, the road rolls and twists, breaking the straightness and monotony of the Interstate. Now it's time to pay attention; driving becomes work and fun, a test of your attentive ability. It takes effort to escape; the efforts can test your reactions and the fitness of your vehicle. Small trees start to appear. The feeling of going upward gradually becomes obvious.

The Smallmouth Bass may well be our finest freshwater gamefish; I think he is. Clearly, he is superior to his bass cousins. The White Bass is a small, staid, tasteless fish compared to the Smallmouth, a school fish given to running, en masse, in man-made lakes. The White Bass is a common fish. The Largemouth Bass has too large a following to be as easily dismissed as the White Bass. It is likely that the Largemouth is the single most sought after species in North America. I think this is because the Largemouth is ubiquitous, at least in the nation's lakes and reservoirs, strikes viciously on artificials, and is a great leaper. The Largemouth is a better eating fish than the White Bass and, all said, is a very good fish; but not even the Largemouth tournament winners and aficionados will claim their fish has the speed, élan or strength per pound of the Smallmouth.

Cliff dwellings. What an unremarkable phrase for such a remarkable feat. An entire village carved out of solid rock. Carved not with the bulldozers and explosives that we so casually use today to gouge mortal wounds into Mother Earth, but with primitive tools and back-breaking labor. Carved not to pillage or destroy but to settle into Earth's protective bosom as children settle into their mothers' laps.

You sit around enough campfires or barrooms with enough fisherman and you realize that every one of us is pleased to argue for our favorite fish, favorite fishing spot, and favorite method of pursuing fish. Like the endless debates over guns, game animals, and calibers, these are arguments that won't go away, and that outdoor writers will forever milk for copy.

I took a trail the other day that wound its way far above the Gila River. After a mile or so, I left the trail and dropped off the ridge into a deep bowl covered with tall, old ponderosa pines. One pine, at the center, towered high above its neighbors like a matriarch.

One very large value of life here - one I had not fully anticipated - is the overwhelming abundance of opportunities for hiking in the Gila Wilderness. With the good fortune of meeting some avid hikers and their invitation to join them, I now passionately look forward to frequent hikes as my recreation, my spiritual development and my therapy. There are several I would like to recommend to others planning a visit or a relocation here.

"Another glorious day, the air as delicious to the lungs as nectar to the tongue." John Muir wrote this in another time, another place, but his words beautifully describe New Mexico's Gila Forest country in September.

When you visit Southern New Mexico's Gila Wilderness, you'll discover stunning vistas, deep canyons, and high peaks. Stop at a scenic overlook and you're sure to feel the urge to pull out your camera and snap a few shots so you can show friends and family the impressive terrain. But all too often, when you get the film back from the developers, those exciting photos seem flat and uninteresting. They just don't capture the depth and beauty of the scene before you.

More than eight centuries ago, long before this country was discovered by the white man, a Native American people known as the Mogollon lived in southwestern New Mexico. They hunted, gathered and prospered. Around 1300 AD, they disappeared. Their land became inhabited by the Apache. They, too, hunted, gathered, and prospered, led by chiefs whose names have become synonymous with the area: Victorio, Nana, Geronimo. Then in 1875, a U.S. Calvary sergeant by the name of James Cooney discovered yet another reason for gathering and prospering in this area: Some of the richest gold and silver veins in the world were here.

By It has been written that behind every great personal fortune lies a crime, and there is probably no better illustration of that adage than the cattle empires of the Old West. New Mexico's territorial days offer a number of such illustrations, but perhaps none better than the story of the Lyons and Campbell Ranch and Cattle Company of the Gila River country and beyond. Angus Campbell, a Scotsman, came to New Mexico from California after gold-rushing with his parents. He discovered what became the Gosette Mine on Lone Mountain in the late 1870s, established a foundry in Silver City, and went into business with Thomas Lyons, an Englishman who had recently arrived in the Territory from Wisconsin. The partnership prospered, but the two decided that the future was in cattle and in 1880 sold their mine and foundry and began to acquire land and cattle. The "LC," as the company was popularly known, began its climb from modest ranch to cattle empire, and its holdings at the turn of the century stretched from Silver City west to Arizona and from Mule Creek south to Animas - more, it was said, than five hundred thousand acres.

At Jordan Hot Springs, in the Gila Wilderness of southwestern New Mexico, I lie full-length in the warm water. Ringed by ferns and lush vegetation, this deep pool is sheltered against a massive rock covered with spongy moss. The water temperature is about a hundred degrees. Tiny yellow wildflowers bloom at the pool's edge. I look up at a sky patterned in racing clouds and sycamore branches. A swallowtail butterfly circles the stalk of a purple bull thistle. Somewhere, anxiously, a brown towhee trills. A blue jay scoffs. I sink and slide and dream deeper. If I listen closely - in this dreamy state - I can hear the wilderness whispering around me. Up and down the Gila River comes the murmur of secret lives: caddisflies, dragonflies, damselflies, trout, suckers, tadpoles, toads, lizards, snakes, mice, muskrats, foxes, badgers, bobcats, peccaries. The rare coatimundi drowses in the trees. Further up the canyon, mountain lions and black bears live discreetly. At twilight, after supper, we will surely see deer or a herd of elk.