tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69094802156756255242024-03-13T01:23:06.253-07:00 wildsouthlandHiking and backpacking stories from the wildsouthlandMadison Christianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476494056610217659noreply@blogger.comBlogger95125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6909480215675625524.post-71015496749009607962024-01-05T18:59:00.000-08:002024-01-06T08:13:57.669-08:00The True Way to Burnt Peak<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr7m9ksSu6afm5cCSRCbzlpyEsZe9p4OJDe450-3KN6MTwIJnCaQzWuhl_Rt2x3mjLOG7oKJDdKR8MLwOdPocgRsP4GB7AYFJ2w6TBkk_0dk5MMUydH79GaJsjj5mr7tJeMVtYqZF0ermOEDp-ZdXjaLOvCz7p46R4TqccgAr_lm_rofswVeASwYYWJsA/s771/The%20True%20Way%20Exerpt.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="682" data-original-width="771" height="566" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr7m9ksSu6afm5cCSRCbzlpyEsZe9p4OJDe450-3KN6MTwIJnCaQzWuhl_Rt2x3mjLOG7oKJDdKR8MLwOdPocgRsP4GB7AYFJ2w6TBkk_0dk5MMUydH79GaJsjj5mr7tJeMVtYqZF0ermOEDp-ZdXjaLOvCz7p46R4TqccgAr_lm_rofswVeASwYYWJsA/w640-h566/The%20True%20Way%20Exerpt.png" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Excerpt from The True Way by Lizzie Miller (p. 213)</i></p><p>Lizzie E. Miller was a 19th century evangelist who traversed the country sharing the good word with anyone who would listen to it. In 1889, her travels brought her to Southern California where she had occasion to visit historic Switzer’s Camp in the San Gabriel Mountains and proselytize to patrons of that wooded establishment. Lizzie’s course to Switzer took her up the Arroyo Seco from Pasadena, over Burnt Peak, across the “Backbone,” around the foot of Mt. Washburn with its view of dramatic Rose Peak, and then down into the upper stretches of the shaded Arroyo. Her route to Switzer’s and her evangelizing sojourn are memorialized in a book that she self-published in 1895 titled <a href="https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=uc2.ark:/13960/t4qj7c042&seq=1" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">“The True Way.”</span></a> </p><p>Despite some confusing narrative about the location of Burnt Peak, my friend and fellow adventurer Sean “Cucamonga Man” Green was convinced that Peak 3,221, a point that sits just south of Mt. Washburn sandwiched between Long Canyon and the Arroyo Seco, was Lizzie’s Burnt Peak. So early on New Year’s Day, we, joined by our compatriot JeffH, set out for Peak 3,221 to see if we could confirm Sean’s suspicions. Expecting to encounter a sea of unruly manzanita and buckthorn, we came prepared for battle armed with loppers, clippers, silky saws, and booze. </p><p>We started the day at the popular Lower Switzer parking area which was comfortably empty when we arrived. The hung-over hordes of celebrants from the previous night would arrive later in the morning when the sun finally broke through, snapping up the remaining spots and generally creating a traffic snafu. But for the time being it was quiet and we had the cool canyon bottom to ourselves as we rock-hopped back-and-forth across the Arroyo which held decent flow for this time of year. At the site of Commodore Switzer’s celebrated camp which sits at the precipice of the upper falls, we stopped briefly to admire and test a finely constructed outdoor sofa and coffee table that some creative soul had assembled from fallen tree branches. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ0fuwy6HVVNg3t_gakNCpgRkpjMppb4en1F9c48yogm8DlKeLr46TxiILSOjyZcX71yNZI0r2jGMMBiEeI3mIEoLmjo42whNIbf3QS3_9uq0EnLiBzKsBJiyBJPR-EE1UqEIW_uC5gAxGNjstSi86wcQDIS7aA6c6rLz0HciFHWN_5ztuK-7RTiNc9LY/s4000/20240101_082054%5B1%5D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ0fuwy6HVVNg3t_gakNCpgRkpjMppb4en1F9c48yogm8DlKeLr46TxiILSOjyZcX71yNZI0r2jGMMBiEeI3mIEoLmjo42whNIbf3QS3_9uq0EnLiBzKsBJiyBJPR-EE1UqEIW_uC5gAxGNjstSi86wcQDIS7aA6c6rLz0HciFHWN_5ztuK-7RTiNc9LY/w640-h480/20240101_082054%5B1%5D.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1qXWTdROfbDa4TCWkiHwCZ4L-FONENoisss61sD963R58fTzoONfsyX8AQhIDAz7YlHlRNNwSI-hBWf8LEINJtwDX7oyE9EG6jkav9nRbhs-8DrmYvuy28amreDm3gC58bchhLi4WM3oQhOWXAVSSv_Z0vhnYBoyM0uyNg_Ckd5W8Nb1D-mgvFE2jlmc/s4000/20240101_083629%5B1%5D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1qXWTdROfbDa4TCWkiHwCZ4L-FONENoisss61sD963R58fTzoONfsyX8AQhIDAz7YlHlRNNwSI-hBWf8LEINJtwDX7oyE9EG6jkav9nRbhs-8DrmYvuy28amreDm3gC58bchhLi4WM3oQhOWXAVSSv_Z0vhnYBoyM0uyNg_Ckd5W8Nb1D-mgvFE2jlmc/w640-h480/20240101_083629%5B1%5D.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>From here, we climbed out of the canyon and onto the east flank for Mt. Washburn, following the well-worn and defined Gabrieleno Trail to its junction with 12W08 which dips back into the Arroyo and continues up Bear Canyon. We stayed high and continued along the Gabrieleno which affords sublime looks into Bear Canyon, neighboring Little Bear Canyon, and the rugged recesses of the Royal Gorge. Identifiable peaks abound from this stretch of trail including Rose Peak, Mt. Markham, Mt. Lowe, and Brown Mountain (named for notorious abolitionist John Brown).</p><p>A short distance later we arrived at the southern toe of Mt. Washburn. Here, the Gabrieleno doubles back in a north-westerly direction as it drops into adjacent Long Canyon. Wahsburn’s ridgeline continues in a southwesterly orientation across the trail, over a bump, and then out to what we surmised was Burnt Peak. We stopped briefly to retrieve machetes and other tools and to put on armor in preparation for the anticipated brush battle ahead. Then we dove into the head-high chaparral, loppers at the ready. But about ten yards in, we were surprised to discover that a path had already been carved through the dense brush all the way to our objective. So we happily sheathed our tools and ambled easily along the ridgeline that Lizzie called the “backbone” until we reached the top of the first bump where the track suddenly petered out. Something wasn’t right. We could see the path continuing all the way to Burnt Peak below us, but the terrain was crumbly and steep on all sides and there didn’t seem to be an obvious way to connect where we were to where we wanted to be. Going directly over the front lip looked like the least dangerous option so that is the option we took, slipping and sliding and cutting and trimming unruly Sumac and Chamis as we went. After a brief yet exhilarating down-climb, we arrived at a shallow saddle where we were able to rejoin the existing use path. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpBU9t4S8DrvEIYrnIRuMfMbkduuyfcEFmPL02-_Uk2XXdbQvQHHwdpQjb7s_MiPDNpm9jhPODNimHEB2GweXCkf7n1LUVoGILP5Q9J83WZ0yUVm6LcGZbfWF1dmWkiIPbiKv9xTl6D8B_GV9D9AdEEcetFYeJb2f5XwbsS0_b2JprU3qBEhtwFG9k3Rg/s4000/20240101_083817%5B1%5D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpBU9t4S8DrvEIYrnIRuMfMbkduuyfcEFmPL02-_Uk2XXdbQvQHHwdpQjb7s_MiPDNpm9jhPODNimHEB2GweXCkf7n1LUVoGILP5Q9J83WZ0yUVm6LcGZbfWF1dmWkiIPbiKv9xTl6D8B_GV9D9AdEEcetFYeJb2f5XwbsS0_b2JprU3qBEhtwFG9k3Rg/w640-h480/20240101_083817%5B1%5D.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeDS5eoEdBWzUmn_LtpVB3reEFawjpB8ujs3O6zJHZSugclv0w3mOAE5HxDCpuytuMaJWs6C_YV0e0wULSw-qmkGlu2QcGbkRG7y_oj7684z0JsRGQ3q4gkKaA8M8_tv6RrQTS3rGMn4RwP4hnS9ey5yd7epoM8lm7ypfe3ZM2LRrA6-tOfX7HFmX8xTA/s4000/20240101_084612%5B1%5D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeDS5eoEdBWzUmn_LtpVB3reEFawjpB8ujs3O6zJHZSugclv0w3mOAE5HxDCpuytuMaJWs6C_YV0e0wULSw-qmkGlu2QcGbkRG7y_oj7684z0JsRGQ3q4gkKaA8M8_tv6RrQTS3rGMn4RwP4hnS9ey5yd7epoM8lm7ypfe3ZM2LRrA6-tOfX7HFmX8xTA/w640-h480/20240101_084612%5B1%5D.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>From this point, it was a relatively short jaunt to the summit. The path held, but was slightly overgrown in places so we manicured as we went. Along the way we found some old wires, cables, and an anchor suggesting that at one time telephone poles may have run along the ridgeline. Atop Burnt, there was a clearing of sorts with two different rock piles. There was no register and no discernable benchmark. We identified the slightly higher of two rock piles and then cleared the area to make it more accommodating. That’s when the booze came out. It was a New Years hike after all. I had carried a bottle of Pennsylvania Dutch Eggnog in my pack and Sean brought individual cans of Screwball, a dangerous cocktail of peanut butter flavored whiskey.</p><p>Containers open, we sat in the shade getting “tight” as Ernest Hemingway or F. Scott Fitzgerald might say, shooting the shit, and trying to imagine what this place was like back in Lizzie Miller’s time. Ironically, the area may be more remote now than it was back in Lizzie’s day when the route to Switzer’s from Devil’s Gate apparently traversed this ridgeline. </p><p>Eventually the ethanol ran dry and the three of us, now slightly inebriated, started our way back. When we arrived at the low saddle between Burnt Peak and the first bump, we discovered that the use path that we followed in actually circumvented the hillock to the west. So we stayed the course of lesser resistance which ultimately deposited us just north of the bump’s top. The “junction” here was over-grown and not immediately evident which explains how we missed it on the way in. To prevent that mistake by others, we trimmed the “entrance” to make it more discernable, at least until the fast-growing chaparral conceals it from view once again. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwqlDG5vNr2JYXuRbKhizWNy2W9d6I1VHL8vqPmi4Q7n2CcsvX0mX3oQZq0hff9f0_MjppsWNhlocGO18EUqZ2PsyVIBjUgtuGwN9RuoxtUmB3Ld9u6JdP0bFVAD1yFAcZggwQD-njpefFuuZ2s1ErSlYc97SuwdBTkNOKDWLjfn5F39TdoUjQjS1T9IE/s4000/20240101_091320%5B1%5D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwqlDG5vNr2JYXuRbKhizWNy2W9d6I1VHL8vqPmi4Q7n2CcsvX0mX3oQZq0hff9f0_MjppsWNhlocGO18EUqZ2PsyVIBjUgtuGwN9RuoxtUmB3Ld9u6JdP0bFVAD1yFAcZggwQD-njpefFuuZ2s1ErSlYc97SuwdBTkNOKDWLjfn5F39TdoUjQjS1T9IE/w640-h480/20240101_091320%5B1%5D.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrYXG87YmQyJmuj55L0phqyjmtriahxSJRl_Nibarr47cXJguxyfyEsd8XZdokOzla7uHis8fQ81EzMYgeaX949_Jw_ptFJ8fBKX6yTeTPXESP-_Wfh7XiR7Qsjt4HIsIy9rvBNGRKo4_3-kF6I7lrEYwjGXzO_8dMOstehQzbVMHXQrRfKs50YNJ-z4g/s4000/20240101_093316%5B1%5D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrYXG87YmQyJmuj55L0phqyjmtriahxSJRl_Nibarr47cXJguxyfyEsd8XZdokOzla7uHis8fQ81EzMYgeaX949_Jw_ptFJ8fBKX6yTeTPXESP-_Wfh7XiR7Qsjt4HIsIy9rvBNGRKo4_3-kF6I7lrEYwjGXzO_8dMOstehQzbVMHXQrRfKs50YNJ-z4g/w640-h480/20240101_093316%5B1%5D.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1GgIRkqeYP4r5DOO5FUDTe4lwg_wWp-ftbrqBS4h9IOUd6ffunopfDdl0V3eiiL14PHWS4XcKdGpo9vbTnsdrA5NT4aTabtLgUBVTQ99poSs1sOIdRYwpkp82sF4WadWhL8x83o2dy4mAfBtfcgmGxZvymNkxjBLpBnk8jxbsIsDoWen2Sab0_CKSe_g/s4000/20240101_114326%5B1%5D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1GgIRkqeYP4r5DOO5FUDTe4lwg_wWp-ftbrqBS4h9IOUd6ffunopfDdl0V3eiiL14PHWS4XcKdGpo9vbTnsdrA5NT4aTabtLgUBVTQ99poSs1sOIdRYwpkp82sF4WadWhL8x83o2dy4mAfBtfcgmGxZvymNkxjBLpBnk8jxbsIsDoWen2Sab0_CKSe_g/w640-h480/20240101_114326%5B1%5D.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>Back at the Gabrieleno’s junction with 12W08, Sean and Jeff dropped into the Arroyo to see the falls. Having done that a couple of times previously, I continued back to the original Switzer’s camp location and climbed to the promontory above the gorge where the chapel once stood. Religious fervor is a powerful motivator and the planning, labor, and tenacity it must have taken to construct the chapel is quite impressive to think about, particularly given the mechanical and technological limitations of the time. Not much remains of the original structure which was destroyed by the Forest Service in 1943 because it was deemed unsafe. I was able to find some of the foundation and floor, but none of the arch remnants that have probably been swallowed up by brush and time.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE8BRfwLIcGQsg5-I963PuXqgSUfedEgc8XFWX_-Ek8xwcIBKQvHMcdGA2h3Vd7XNY2vj8Z5k_1-ITe6m6xoEy2H4N6lWL6U2UWYtBrJj1P9ySqKRhezPqXUIHl37B0SuOHh0Dn9zYo9hyphenhyphen2Pk37bhfsZx6MSUzkfwyXsWfCoVivuMp1EfLLU5jRVPpSgM/s804/Switzer%20Camp%20Chapel_Pasadena%20Historical%20Society.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="804" data-original-width="512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE8BRfwLIcGQsg5-I963PuXqgSUfedEgc8XFWX_-Ek8xwcIBKQvHMcdGA2h3Vd7XNY2vj8Z5k_1-ITe6m6xoEy2H4N6lWL6U2UWYtBrJj1P9ySqKRhezPqXUIHl37B0SuOHh0Dn9zYo9hyphenhyphen2Pk37bhfsZx6MSUzkfwyXsWfCoVivuMp1EfLLU5jRVPpSgM/w408-h640/Switzer%20Camp%20Chapel_Pasadena%20Historical%20Society.png" width="408" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Image from the Pasadena Historical Society</i></div><p>About an hour later I reconnected with Sean and Jeff and we walked out. On the way, a B-2 Stealth Bomber flew overhead on its way to or back from a fly-over of the Rose Parade. It was apropos as there was also a parade of sort happening along the Gabrieleno as throngs of people and dogs now clambered and clamored down the draw. A short distance from the picnic area, a natural spring emerges from a pipe at the base of a rocky embankment and flows across the trail. A nearby Forest Service sign warns “Water Unsafe For Drinking.” Not one to be told what to do by faceless, government functionaries, Jeff retrieved a water bottle from the depths of his pack, defiantly filled it to the brim, and then took a deep, long pull as passer-bys eyed him with bemusement. Jeff is a seasoned backpacker who has sampled unfiltered water many times over years of tramping the trails, so I’m certain that he was fine. At the same time, I have neither seen nor heard from him since so who knows? But if he is now no longer with us, at least he proudly left with his middle finger stuck high in the air. Lizzie Miller would probably not approve. But it is the true way to go out.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6PcCtXrdMD038dlwu8_DwAEzxzu7jFZDX3PPofTIglRzA6CznMkZQvW-A1gfhmwNgCDJuot1tiL4ku8s5rjYTtGF8aK36fWpvAthb3HDeYWS8z7pVL1mIv1dtShqp9CSnXxM_G2XzbwhH4CvhL11i1MUYHmSVmtKBAIHzgL0P82McHvHsNIgKHQht6pM/s4000/20240101_122842%5B1%5D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6PcCtXrdMD038dlwu8_DwAEzxzu7jFZDX3PPofTIglRzA6CznMkZQvW-A1gfhmwNgCDJuot1tiL4ku8s5rjYTtGF8aK36fWpvAthb3HDeYWS8z7pVL1mIv1dtShqp9CSnXxM_G2XzbwhH4CvhL11i1MUYHmSVmtKBAIHzgL0P82McHvHsNIgKHQht6pM/w640-h480/20240101_122842%5B1%5D.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLVpP1Gkfwk84ZRJhhdzuxPEAFIM2Be2c3-mOOBMFxMHc-FwcKAyLNJjTtxAyN575VSgAQyeNoeOCcBDoWAodfsxGw7nb8uU-zNquGiwKQm6alpDktUie5qTbhHPapmHfmUQBeV8JzaV8nVqI6q1ZtDxfGqVitRxVP5SpjEmkK3Mx_FVkRc3SV6Szp2tY/s4000/20240101_141125%5B1%5D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLVpP1Gkfwk84ZRJhhdzuxPEAFIM2Be2c3-mOOBMFxMHc-FwcKAyLNJjTtxAyN575VSgAQyeNoeOCcBDoWAodfsxGw7nb8uU-zNquGiwKQm6alpDktUie5qTbhHPapmHfmUQBeV8JzaV8nVqI6q1ZtDxfGqVitRxVP5SpjEmkK3Mx_FVkRc3SV6Szp2tY/w640-h480/20240101_141125%5B1%5D.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Madison Christianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476494056610217659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6909480215675625524.post-3905774460417541462023-06-29T07:43:00.006-07:002023-06-30T13:31:29.229-07:00Copter Ridge Lateral - Bitterroot Point<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgSUEELPLoJASI_XImCeQI8MWaFuGeHuYsFsV_08E_903NiskHC0ebQ77M-5q6RsehNiT--kUtrR6MjUtD1PCfDf0z65-eGGIGAbG-baEcwfApf4v6QbtIQjDUMow6yKE34yAgOwWps-ZKmsGDXVI59HKTmPFZAPuSlXwApuadplAgxsANjXeZWDJKRRsQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img data-original-height="847" data-original-width="1487" height="364" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgSUEELPLoJASI_XImCeQI8MWaFuGeHuYsFsV_08E_903NiskHC0ebQ77M-5q6RsehNiT--kUtrR6MjUtD1PCfDf0z65-eGGIGAbG-baEcwfApf4v6QbtIQjDUMow6yKE34yAgOwWps-ZKmsGDXVI59HKTmPFZAPuSlXwApuadplAgxsANjXeZWDJKRRsQ=w640-h364" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>Another outing with Sean "Cucamonga Man" Green and DavidR to an obscure point in the San Gabriel Range. This time, the goal was Pt. 7,296 at the terminal end of a lateral finger coming off the southeast side of Mt. Hawkins. The USGS topographic maps reference this point simply by its elevation. It apparently has not been formally christened. Because we found Bitterroot growing along the ridgeline, I'm calling the finger Bitterroot Ridge and its related fingernail Bitterroot Point.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqR44B4ftw9n4650-4LZPW7FipdKJRHkVr_Ung7ZrDtgnpC3knnZkBuyqOzO2JUhq2NZ-C0l-icT2_-h4BGQofzPmZ80A3MpVxptxztIiM5mlv3IAtZUDIhs0mlSOyM4J2DW6l1SK8z2tjgBeS1lXL7krNBHzc-ReY-Q5sIeF_tfVTHwqaoEfzpHJW5_E/s1600/IMG_20230626_102228.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqR44B4ftw9n4650-4LZPW7FipdKJRHkVr_Ung7ZrDtgnpC3knnZkBuyqOzO2JUhq2NZ-C0l-icT2_-h4BGQofzPmZ80A3MpVxptxztIiM5mlv3IAtZUDIhs0mlSOyM4J2DW6l1SK8z2tjgBeS1lXL7krNBHzc-ReY-Q5sIeF_tfVTHwqaoEfzpHJW5_E/w640-h480/IMG_20230626_102228.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Photo courtesy of Sean "Cucamonga Man" Green</i></div><p>The day started at the Windy Gap trailhead in Crystal Lake Recreation Area. A shorter route is possible from Dawson saddle, but with the Angeles Crest Highway closure, this was the only realistic option. I pulled into the spacious parking area at 7 a.m. and was fortunate to get a spot. The lot was crammed full as was the surrounding campground. I've never seen the forests like this. There's people everywhere. And with them has come trash and graffiti and vandalism and break-ins. Every sign post, bathroom, rock, and tree trunk has either been defaced or destroyed. My car has been broken into twice. You can say what you want about increased access, and sling all the insults like "elitist" or "gate-keeper" you want, but objectively the democratization of the outdoors has not been a net positive overall. </p><p>Fortunately, the blue morning was clear and beautiful and as we made the gentle climb away from the huddled masses, we were treated with stunning looks into the Crystal Lake basin. The tread here is in decent shape except a couple of spots that have been washed out by this season's heavy snow melt. About 2.5 miles and 1,800' later, we topped out at the notch where it was refreshingly breezy. They don't call it Windy Gap for nothing.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwWJO7Qf0VpSMZFe4ww1jKkprZgtTsyGv5BmJjQPsPwoeIYnMvRqd7Z4MGd0OYoYDtXMbdsi26cK21o1AafH3fnWHJ8JgehgpNsdc3pOl_XNx1azV6TtccXe6REZjgjXvco_CUZKWp0oOOqOMJQqSYdS2OF4P1FHRo7ch2g1z5RJCPhyVq6TctfiM5QUw/s4000/20230625_083557.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwWJO7Qf0VpSMZFe4ww1jKkprZgtTsyGv5BmJjQPsPwoeIYnMvRqd7Z4MGd0OYoYDtXMbdsi26cK21o1AafH3fnWHJ8JgehgpNsdc3pOl_XNx1azV6TtccXe6REZjgjXvco_CUZKWp0oOOqOMJQqSYdS2OF4P1FHRo7ch2g1z5RJCPhyVq6TctfiM5QUw/w640-h480/20230625_083557.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhORNs8SmyBgzdSiqXrdMsyTVgwNYvc2D2upJrhw4sf75nZjowY0g56YfP--ePjdiWr1zNY58qZO55NN5TNZbYMCdGOSEzZSOX1Z_-Z1XIFHEFKAL8bKJKO4c4q_nN15QdKrHUXAI_CQRgMJFkJ8SDJIK4ipavHf5uKvR5pIpnW5Gz7YMc6nJJ3WxC8a_A/s4000/20230625_084720.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhORNs8SmyBgzdSiqXrdMsyTVgwNYvc2D2upJrhw4sf75nZjowY0g56YfP--ePjdiWr1zNY58qZO55NN5TNZbYMCdGOSEzZSOX1Z_-Z1XIFHEFKAL8bKJKO4c4q_nN15QdKrHUXAI_CQRgMJFkJ8SDJIK4ipavHf5uKvR5pIpnW5Gz7YMc6nJJ3WxC8a_A/w640-h480/20230625_084720.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBQbliWdbFRPCYpQg1TNHq8hHDGnY6kjC5Y3yT-ut83V3TH9Bc3lkUsSV0OOWDYjqEuzg4N1hjg2a45z9CHeJzImCUzRviPyNgaxhZEU2WHbXY-mLqCg2iTRAe8N0qzaHqdPykUTC06J_MUO9e0ITxJJmcW_gKhtGeBgVdrUBJbKxya8NqWFMpFqF0dOY/s4000/20230625_090106.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBQbliWdbFRPCYpQg1TNHq8hHDGnY6kjC5Y3yT-ut83V3TH9Bc3lkUsSV0OOWDYjqEuzg4N1hjg2a45z9CHeJzImCUzRviPyNgaxhZEU2WHbXY-mLqCg2iTRAe8N0qzaHqdPykUTC06J_MUO9e0ITxJJmcW_gKhtGeBgVdrUBJbKxya8NqWFMpFqF0dOY/w640-h480/20230625_090106.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>The path here intersects the Pacific Crest Trail as it traverses the San Gabriel range in an east-west orientation. Just west of this point, the PCT passes by reliable Little Jimmy spring and trail camp before descending to Islip Saddle. This is the route north-bound PCTers follow. We tacked east and followed the PCT against the grain for approximately 2 additional miles to the summit of Mt. Hawkins at 8,850'. Along the way, we encountered a couple of late season snow patches as well as a few downed trees blocking the way, but nothing that wasn't easily navigable. This is classic high-country territory dominated by conifers and sublime views of the Hawkins Ridge and the high desert to the north. The absence of distant road noise from the closed ACH was an extra-added bonus.</p><p>At Hawkins, we took a break, fueled up, and prepared ourselves for the drop down Copter Ridge and then into the unexplored. From the summit of Hawkins, the views are quite good and we spent a few moments identifying familiar landmarks like the Hawkins Ridge, the Islip Ridge, Mt. Waterman, the Twin Peaks, Triplets, Mt. Lawlor, Mt. Deception, Mt. Disappointment, San Gabriel Peak, Mt. Markham, Occidental Peak, Mt. Wilson, and the Ivy League Peaks (Harvard and Yale). We then cached some water and started down Copter Ridge which is now dotted with cairns and scarred by a not so faint use trail.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrcVeItv4u1L6ohwuqidNsJGKcv774d4rtqf_l6CbPpCZS__yUYrJWayCj4BewyDKoIrdIDGRv4i_h7QxuHHKwGsHmhH1P4o-hchgIPdQx88828X2WkCkfJPSJSy9F7NlNylW7okpEnwiQ7zIIySB_a2gx2cbOywMlAdPn7LiyRo29I05RgZx_ltv_NNI/s4000/20230625_094124.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrcVeItv4u1L6ohwuqidNsJGKcv774d4rtqf_l6CbPpCZS__yUYrJWayCj4BewyDKoIrdIDGRv4i_h7QxuHHKwGsHmhH1P4o-hchgIPdQx88828X2WkCkfJPSJSy9F7NlNylW7okpEnwiQ7zIIySB_a2gx2cbOywMlAdPn7LiyRo29I05RgZx_ltv_NNI/w640-h480/20230625_094124.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkg_Auh0q2bVCRw376MPc6VjZOJ9B0vnCtBroI-UabQ5Htmfvpp0LRfWS3wFT-sfkM1k75B_nMf78qcARI6UGF1T_OIZNE4_A09sJvPn48pG5Xu6BU1eVAnk5kaEKQ2HpraLdVMuUmtNPYRV9lSdMyfGSMczEh-zKpWVoyLM8yWHAcZSa3YGa2X8bGjjw/s4000/20230625_101556.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkg_Auh0q2bVCRw376MPc6VjZOJ9B0vnCtBroI-UabQ5Htmfvpp0LRfWS3wFT-sfkM1k75B_nMf78qcARI6UGF1T_OIZNE4_A09sJvPn48pG5Xu6BU1eVAnk5kaEKQ2HpraLdVMuUmtNPYRV9lSdMyfGSMczEh-zKpWVoyLM8yWHAcZSa3YGa2X8bGjjw/w640-h480/20230625_101556.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>The standard route to Copter Ridge takes you straight south down the ridgeline to its terminus as Pt. 7,499. Around the 8,200' contour, we abandoned that trajectory and branched left (southeast) to follow the subsidiary ridge leading to Bitterroot Point. This is the point of no return. This is where you need to decide whether you have the juice to climb back out or not. Because if you commit, there is no easy way out. From this point, it's an additional 1,000' of elevation loss that is quite steep in places. Fortunately, the terrain is hospitable and open which makes travel less difficult than it might otherwise be. As you make your way toward the point, the Ross ridge looms in the immediate foreground while Pine Mountain, Dawson Peak, and the north side of Mt. Baldy sit sentinel in the rear-ground. </p><p>The ridge bottoms out at a grassy depression before a rocky outcropping that sits atop a small rise. This is Pt. 7,296 aka Bitterroot Point. Although the point is obvious and distinct, the ridge continues gently downward past this point into the depths of the Iron Fork. We paused here for a spell to enjoy the accomplishment, take in some food and water, and place a register. Then reluctantly started to retrace our steps back up the ridge.</p><p>Similar to upside-down hikes like Ross Mountain and Copter Ridge, the crux of this route is on the return trip. From Bitterroot Point, it's 1,000' of gain back to Copter Ridge and then another 600' back to Hawkins. The climb is mellow to start but then steepens significantly as you continue upward. The steepest section is immediately before you reclaim Copter Ridge. DavidR charged up the ridge like a big horn sheep, but I found myself having to stop every 25-50 yards to gain my breath and let the lactic acid in my legs dissipate. Back on Copter Ridge, the terrain moderates some, but I found that the last 600' of gain getting back to Hawkins to be the most physically demanding portion of the day. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO6BSGUlGoz4OhdDwP3KudW8fkg32dZg27lgcGCkkWzPZ5sHVfx_xvoVz2eoEQbicfa49trqIHRmIvCVs0n6xvyfeo6k1ZyBcuE3LSgsePQooYug3J1sl5pp5y6kpw7wXOtgVhn-jU9YyHA7pyFdNgn5UG3hv9hUmoJvqXcXAboojD7qLEhu4mz8QfK6Q/s4000/20230625_110206.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO6BSGUlGoz4OhdDwP3KudW8fkg32dZg27lgcGCkkWzPZ5sHVfx_xvoVz2eoEQbicfa49trqIHRmIvCVs0n6xvyfeo6k1ZyBcuE3LSgsePQooYug3J1sl5pp5y6kpw7wXOtgVhn-jU9YyHA7pyFdNgn5UG3hv9hUmoJvqXcXAboojD7qLEhu4mz8QfK6Q/w640-h480/20230625_110206.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilBCAWGczH_VhYCru5iE4T1YA975aaJ2rXN5hbIwkrIeKK0BHf1astaJ4mNEtS5LI6TIijtTmciCOyv52puMwK1_DoLVsC0unNsiS-sGphmMlm63whxjNMM-hdBlhLPXsGrBy24z-Quh8uygA-b75Wj0mspAb5OKaI2ouJkhOCG0brc9iJVjolI34SMjo/s4000/20230625_124634.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilBCAWGczH_VhYCru5iE4T1YA975aaJ2rXN5hbIwkrIeKK0BHf1astaJ4mNEtS5LI6TIijtTmciCOyv52puMwK1_DoLVsC0unNsiS-sGphmMlm63whxjNMM-hdBlhLPXsGrBy24z-Quh8uygA-b75Wj0mspAb5OKaI2ouJkhOCG0brc9iJVjolI34SMjo/w640-h480/20230625_124634.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzRc6ikK1eJffzNZZr3Qj7UXFXePVHN60bv0lkxWBUU7tM5GKaJxEOgR9TSizWys2ayxfX7ScnYL10Wkg6XZVluuwdBK8lHii7fawEsIUeXzBgeDMlBlZfzLtPPAnLw_kRKt_PY2YfPKb2PqcLsA23NdaP_LzxFTWk57t9Vl7z1Eg3HTpswZC4xUkJ4JA/s4000/20230625_124642.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzRc6ikK1eJffzNZZr3Qj7UXFXePVHN60bv0lkxWBUU7tM5GKaJxEOgR9TSizWys2ayxfX7ScnYL10Wkg6XZVluuwdBK8lHii7fawEsIUeXzBgeDMlBlZfzLtPPAnLw_kRKt_PY2YfPKb2PqcLsA23NdaP_LzxFTWk57t9Vl7z1Eg3HTpswZC4xUkJ4JA/w640-h480/20230625_124642.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmpiPFBHCYMXWPEkOSP-Ztc_zoCuOj8QCisxKsOKWOgeqIaG5_vFeU5qJxfIe-TuCVZ5iMn94knjrLFBS4PcHCHJzTEGZDIr-wVvhU5_MTZPJTUIpbvonBPshWgKICfjS6qBUPWZVrzUFTuhCSC3rr2yKVfw3PjF6kZ-Zyrelceqj4TK-_NOKXKZohTZE/s4000/20230625_140320.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmpiPFBHCYMXWPEkOSP-Ztc_zoCuOj8QCisxKsOKWOgeqIaG5_vFeU5qJxfIe-TuCVZ5iMn94knjrLFBS4PcHCHJzTEGZDIr-wVvhU5_MTZPJTUIpbvonBPshWgKICfjS6qBUPWZVrzUFTuhCSC3rr2yKVfw3PjF6kZ-Zyrelceqj4TK-_NOKXKZohTZE/w640-h480/20230625_140320.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>Back on top Hawkins, we reclaimed our cached water and lounged in the brilliant high country sunlight. When we were good and ready, we took the "shortcut" off the summit and rejoined the PCT for an easy, yet long stroll back to the trailhead. To finish the day, we stopped at the Crystal Lake Café to drink carbonated beverages laced with caffeine and sugar in the shade, shoot the shit, and exaggerate the details about the day's exploits. </p><p>Stats for the day: ~13 miles, 4,600'</p><p><br /></p>Madison Christianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476494056610217659noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6909480215675625524.post-54102451858501111752023-06-11T09:58:00.004-07:002023-06-11T17:43:27.918-07:00In Search of Black Jack<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoWAinscJ4yqA7JIZezgNYnZvMIIZxta0exf-GwTeFTxXjkHd-IJaD8k42a_gol1MRHas6OUFP06N2MqpHoGIcv_IaAl7L44aVDqULzYBf3xEsZr22i0SlXvo04LdZYQo2j25jqoM5ekKzstu1Z6lySwqDGO944ZDWIy2gQMgTBC5lVBX7KHVmfg_s/s532/Black%20Jack%20Peak%20search%20area.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="507" data-original-width="532" height="610" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoWAinscJ4yqA7JIZezgNYnZvMIIZxta0exf-GwTeFTxXjkHd-IJaD8k42a_gol1MRHas6OUFP06N2MqpHoGIcv_IaAl7L44aVDqULzYBf3xEsZr22i0SlXvo04LdZYQo2j25jqoM5ekKzstu1Z6lySwqDGO944ZDWIy2gQMgTBC5lVBX7KHVmfg_s/w640-h610/Black%20Jack%20Peak%20search%20area.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>In 1887, Owen and Jason Brown, the sons of famed abolitionist John Brown, climbed an unnamed peak in the front country of the San Gabriel Mountains which they christened Black Jack Peak. The appellation simultaneously referenced the black porphyritic rock of which the peak was composed as well as the 1856 Battle of Black Jack during which John Brown attacked the camp of pro-slavery forces led by Henry C. Pate near Baldwin City, Kansas. The Battle of Black Jack is considered by many to be the first unofficial battle of the Civil War. </p><p>Historian Hiram Reid described Black Jack Peak as a "spur" from Strawberry Peak with a sharp, distinct pinnacle that is composed of "black spar." Beyond that general description, he does not identify the specific peak to which reference is being made.</p><p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaAlTFHt_4icGo0n9sg6MC5Kf5NFG4_Oiu4kL0hMFtL9U6aB1AQGaNjNvDJ9GUQs88nhRgmFRhH7aOmy3xi1xeHx07mYLQBM3zXIF5GvQO4R4SIz7RpWEb83BZzV12tdRwlGasWKR_ZznQgLITYznUtQjNsLat1UGdFASPomOiIzQrTBJFzzasIQW2/s707/Hiram%20Reid's%20description%20of%20Black%20Jack%20Peak.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="327" data-original-width="707" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaAlTFHt_4icGo0n9sg6MC5Kf5NFG4_Oiu4kL0hMFtL9U6aB1AQGaNjNvDJ9GUQs88nhRgmFRhH7aOmy3xi1xeHx07mYLQBM3zXIF5GvQO4R4SIz7RpWEb83BZzV12tdRwlGasWKR_ZznQgLITYznUtQjNsLat1UGdFASPomOiIzQrTBJFzzasIQW2/w640-h296/Hiram%20Reid's%20description%20of%20Black%20Jack%20Peak.jpg" width="640" /></a></p>The Hundred Peaks Section of the Sierra Club claims that nearby Mt. Lawlor is Black Jack. According to them, what is now known as Mt. Lawlor was originally named Black Jack, but the name never stuck because of its negative associations with John Brown's bloody Kansas raid. So in 1958, the U.S. Forest Service, at the suggestion of Lloyd Austin of Switzer's Camp, renamed the peak Mt. Lawlor to honor prominent Los Angeles attorney Oscar Lawlor. <div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgnV6NVgBDA-VWYa2sKAVO8pdd7asE-DPXNzjBZFgI5UwuecUV3fUbCU-4JX8RsnBUBsWmo3vrxVtXIyjQ01BC6K23IBE-oF0IWVEG7vXz7hM7CwGl2rgeHfoa_rd9kEpkG8utvaID4Mi7dqMNljmdtQptMEqOBWiRTMOggWNLYuLJxb46tbgoW_tbk" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img data-original-height="845" data-original-width="2349" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgnV6NVgBDA-VWYa2sKAVO8pdd7asE-DPXNzjBZFgI5UwuecUV3fUbCU-4JX8RsnBUBsWmo3vrxVtXIyjQ01BC6K23IBE-oF0IWVEG7vXz7hM7CwGl2rgeHfoa_rd9kEpkG8utvaID4Mi7dqMNljmdtQptMEqOBWiRTMOggWNLYuLJxb46tbgoW_tbk=w640-h230" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div>The problem with the Sierra Club's conclusion that Lawlor and Black Jack are one and the same is that aside from the black rock, the former doesn't match Hiram Reid's description. Lawlor has a flat, table-top summit whereas Black Jack has a "distinct pinnacle of its own, very steep, rugged and sharp." Depending upon vantage point, it's also somewhat of a stretch to call Lawlor a mere "spur" of Strawberry. Regardless, the Sierra Club view (which echoes that of famed historian John Robinson) has managed to carry the day and is now the commonly-accepted truth.</div><div><br /></div><div>Unless you're an adventurous and intellectually-curious fellow named Sean "Cucamonga Man" Green. If you're that guy, you're suspicious. You've scoured the topographic maps and looked through the historical record (such as it is) and you think that John Robinson and the Sierra Club may have gotten it wrong. Instead, you think it possible the sub-peak 5,521 on the south face of Strawberry is in actuality Black Jack. Unlike Lawlor, it can rightfully be characterized as a spur of Strawberry given its location and proximity. It also more closely hues to Reid's description of the peak as a sharp pinnacle, especially if viewed from the Colby Canyon side. The only question is whether 5,521 is composed of black, porphyritic rock. So you organize an exploratory outing to 5,521 to find out and invite a bunch of your old pals to tag along.<br /><br /><div>We met at Red Box at 6:00 a.m. and started up the Strawberry Peak trail. The group of seven was led by Sean, and included Nate, JeffH, the <a href="https://ironhiker.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Iron Hiker</span></a>, Guy, and Scoops (who sported a bow-tie around his neck in a nod to the hardy hikers of old who trod these trails in wool sport coats and top hats). We followed the Strawberry Peak Trail past the Lawlor saddle to roughly the 5,400' contour where we then left the beaten path and started cross country. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioYngDc2lGZa_1BA4wSJq9fRBNk-d-HLyjDVKxXQKidFWgnVNv3hGx5gZS2KerwP9OTJcVJZywli28gY9ZH6Z__M0w7YJmb8pCl3RHS55gfmUVB1fZb9NDrGzDEEeCFxsSxtq4Vysysp6F1t0pb24G5OtveSwJ8pY2bxuT0aLJ3yhNA4RZydFJvYSL/s4000/20230610_072551.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Peak 5521 from Strawberry Peak Trail" border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioYngDc2lGZa_1BA4wSJq9fRBNk-d-HLyjDVKxXQKidFWgnVNv3hGx5gZS2KerwP9OTJcVJZywli28gY9ZH6Z__M0w7YJmb8pCl3RHS55gfmUVB1fZb9NDrGzDEEeCFxsSxtq4Vysysp6F1t0pb24G5OtveSwJ8pY2bxuT0aLJ3yhNA4RZydFJvYSL/w640-h480/20230610_072551.jpg" title="Peak 5521 from Strawberry Peak Trail" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhexP-cijUI8IArKANi60RWKhiPZ-eIWTHHK3C4P_dS3kY52lIAA18EgdDYspteqYBY5aJnQNSr0D0EnC9TdoWBLkz5tTBXVk6QS_j7bGf9yKUMG7EkT_PcD_ODM-JZYMUUyfhGaxysU2lETj0-IPDvk09mpFrE3wFVJPrsmhj9rTlaD5gSPBpgiMJk/s4000/20230610_081105.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Bush Whacking" border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhexP-cijUI8IArKANi60RWKhiPZ-eIWTHHK3C4P_dS3kY52lIAA18EgdDYspteqYBY5aJnQNSr0D0EnC9TdoWBLkz5tTBXVk6QS_j7bGf9yKUMG7EkT_PcD_ODM-JZYMUUyfhGaxysU2lETj0-IPDvk09mpFrE3wFVJPrsmhj9rTlaD5gSPBpgiMJk/w640-h480/20230610_081105.jpg" title="Bush Whacking" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqQPCnp_ek2DmRLbeKD7YT0k8qGDcdaFjU9bdHNcTsjxi2L6hIDEzQNJ6eC8oZy0Kgho8MTuYxGA6uqZq_hChjVmhp-ehQelfaNhhZOEgTeVED3XdPoIj7NfmUIK9exzQHozIYZB4360CqXkPIc2HhgmGNJKThmhmO-XOYoWHqj0b-k5Ehj-1ExCPA/s4000/20230610_090051.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Black Jack Peak" border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqQPCnp_ek2DmRLbeKD7YT0k8qGDcdaFjU9bdHNcTsjxi2L6hIDEzQNJ6eC8oZy0Kgho8MTuYxGA6uqZq_hChjVmhp-ehQelfaNhhZOEgTeVED3XdPoIj7NfmUIK9exzQHozIYZB4360CqXkPIc2HhgmGNJKThmhmO-XOYoWHqj0b-k5Ehj-1ExCPA/w640-h480/20230610_090051.jpg" title="Black Jack Peak" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div>This is where things got a bit spicey. There is no path proper to peak 5,521. Between us and our objective stood a sea of thorny ceanothus, woody manzanita, deadfall from the 2009 Station Fire, and other spikey shrubbery. This is tough and inhospitable country, a place John Muir appropriately described as "<a href="https://vault.sierraclub.org/john_muir_exhibit/writings/steep_trails/chapter_11.aspx" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">most ruggedly, thornily savage.</span></a>" The only way forward was to create a way forward. So we donned body armor, pulled out the loppers and machetes, and started hacking and clawing our way through the dense overgrowth. As the crow flies, it was only about one-half mile to the summit of 5,521, but the going was slow and sometime painful as we stumbled and were repeatedly stabbed by <a href="https://www.calflora.org/app/taxon?crn=9995" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">chaparral yucca</span></a> that proliferate here. </div><div><p>Ultimately we reached a minor spur ridge beneath Strawberry where the brush subsided and the way forward became a bit easier. We gratefully sheathed the machetes and then followed some faint game trails all the way to the narrow summit. There Nate informed us that perhaps one-third of the rock was porphyritic, but most of it wasn't overtly black. The views, however, were quite good, especially of Strawberry that loomed over us to the immediate north. </p><p>So is 5,521 the peak the Brown boys named Black Jack? It still isn't clear. The peak matches Hiram Reid's description in many respects, but it is clearly not "composed entirely of a porphyritic rock called 'black spar.'" But Lawlor isn't a perfect match either. Although its level summit does have a significant amount of black rock, it typically wouldn't be described as a sharp pinnacle. Confirmation therefore must await further research and/or new information.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiINsizDRx-huc-fnkQLRSqIveCb-KFBCkOK1AjUcJMwiZVipTRFKoxqcb8Tb9WzUZtENYcAphbfk9tb6IYBx-YGMb9uknr8owmV3YuH2sV4SkQZf58v_K6TfeX67O0jLW_AQOiILoqtp69tT4VSCmhNRle91JRnU002OR1RLq_i5XlyDGgvcucKmEJ/s4000/20230610_091947.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Josephine Peak from Black Jack Ridge" border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiINsizDRx-huc-fnkQLRSqIveCb-KFBCkOK1AjUcJMwiZVipTRFKoxqcb8Tb9WzUZtENYcAphbfk9tb6IYBx-YGMb9uknr8owmV3YuH2sV4SkQZf58v_K6TfeX67O0jLW_AQOiILoqtp69tT4VSCmhNRle91JRnU002OR1RLq_i5XlyDGgvcucKmEJ/w640-h480/20230610_091947.jpg" title="Josephine Peak from Black Jack Ridge" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4cbt4szB112NdMdAjtCWXKwjMATGiHT66vNfZ5D6lPOU0oaN681cdi_CYCzSsxmA-RbMKMzeEIOiq4IpKqA6U0yzGp89W2PuN_kCbe_6g66GogTxBa5ifZ-603yd-LxNNyTJkArWLs8tqiQccjCgyjb0_E4uD-ciA4LVDxxAAJZDVdqHU1FKOjtzp/s4000/20230610_094203.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Strawberry Peak's South Face" border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4cbt4szB112NdMdAjtCWXKwjMATGiHT66vNfZ5D6lPOU0oaN681cdi_CYCzSsxmA-RbMKMzeEIOiq4IpKqA6U0yzGp89W2PuN_kCbe_6g66GogTxBa5ifZ-603yd-LxNNyTJkArWLs8tqiQccjCgyjb0_E4uD-ciA4LVDxxAAJZDVdqHU1FKOjtzp/w640-h480/20230610_094203.jpg" title="Strawberry Peak's South Face" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigQL97P8Dr4AB9xKjlAhgENXPMy4P5hhI1duyh3SA7pz6jSRi6YAdDBvUg5L7wjYbnLq6Fca9k8y1c682ny7S1RSaJd_XxExJEkfO89IUb4UT6wLy0kZYljMHZY92XbKXyfkHeHDWF_oqQ2f4pXcDYwQywIgXgUc8aZ91xSHcUPknIi3CzraYDhMt_/s4000/20230610_094233.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="View from Black Jack Peak" border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigQL97P8Dr4AB9xKjlAhgENXPMy4P5hhI1duyh3SA7pz6jSRi6YAdDBvUg5L7wjYbnLq6Fca9k8y1c682ny7S1RSaJd_XxExJEkfO89IUb4UT6wLy0kZYljMHZY92XbKXyfkHeHDWF_oqQ2f4pXcDYwQywIgXgUc8aZ91xSHcUPknIi3CzraYDhMt_/w640-h480/20230610_094233.jpg" title="View from Black Jack Peak" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>Despite the residual uncertainly, we christened 5,521 "Black Jack Peak" anyway. If it is the original Black Jack, then its rightful name has been restored. If it isn't the original Black Jack, then it is Black Jack now. Sean came prepared with a jar and register that we all signed and left on the summit for other intrepid explorers. Meanwhile, the path the we hacked through the thick brush is already being reclaimed by mother nature and will shortly be lost to time like much of the history of Black Jack. </p></div></div>Madison Christianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476494056610217659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6909480215675625524.post-34318031445781799192023-03-16T06:27:00.011-07:002023-03-17T12:52:14.543-07:00Snow Day L.A.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4JBN9la5p0EpUr-750Lh2cVC0MMeGaScn09drgxQAWVGHBn98xifUjNaTMoljzTrs6PMCJuLXbEpoVpHbKnq9YjvpbI48RQnUHC6UttaybCTHtmp7JiQOlUspQrewfC4xlCgRdMhZn6tZG8SdvZpFZM5hne2Dv62YaJnlgNNjBakMBqqB3pE1Pcp4/s4032/20230226_130814%5B1%5D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Pt. 4,003 - Fernando 2" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4JBN9la5p0EpUr-750Lh2cVC0MMeGaScn09drgxQAWVGHBn98xifUjNaTMoljzTrs6PMCJuLXbEpoVpHbKnq9YjvpbI48RQnUHC6UttaybCTHtmp7JiQOlUspQrewfC4xlCgRdMhZn6tZG8SdvZpFZM5hne2Dv62YaJnlgNNjBakMBqqB3pE1Pcp4/w640-h480/20230226_130814%5B1%5D.jpg" title="Pt. 4,003 (Fernando 2) from May Peak" width="640" /></a></div><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><i>With
luck, it might even snow for us.</i></b></p><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>~Haruki
Murakami, After Dark<br /></i></b><i> <br /></i><b><i>The
snow doesn’t give a soft white damn whom it touches.<br /></i><i><span face=""Calibri","sans-serif"" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">~e
e Cummings</span></i></b></div><p>Folks around these parts are fond of saying that L.A. is a desert. It’s a misconception that gets perpetuated through the inertia of perpetuation. Although the climate here is generally warm and dry, Los Angeles is more accurately characterized as a coastal sage and chaparral environment with a Mediterranean climate. In practical terms, that normally means hot, dry summers, and cool, rainy winters. But regardless of whether L.A. can be accurately described as a desert or by some other descriptor, the one constant is that snow in the local hills is a rarity. I’m not talking about the high country peaks of the San Gabriels like Baldy, Ontario, Cucamonga, and Baden-Powell. Those summits frequently see some level of snow every winter. I’m talking about the low elevation, front-country peaks like Rocky Peak, Oat Mountain, Mission Peak, Los Pinetos, Mendenhall, Sister Elsie, and the Verdugos. Although they may get an occasional dusting, significant snow accumulation on these afterthought peaks is quite unusual. </p><p>We’re only two-plus months in, and 2023 has turned out to be an anomaly, at least as far as the weather is concerned. Back in the fall, when the hillsides were scorched brown and the skies were barren, the weather gods were predicting a triple-dip La Niña. In common-speak, that meant a third year of below-average rainfall and continuing drought for thirsty Southern California. As often happens when it comes to the meteorological sciences, however, all that prognosticating was just that: prognostication. The triple-dip never really materialized. Instead, since early January, California has been pummeled by a series of “atmospheric rivers” (the new vernacular for what was once known as the “pineapple express”) that have blanketed the Sierra in an unfathomable amount of snow and showered the state with record rainfall. </p><p>Low-lying areas have not been spared nature’s climatological wrath. A flurry of recent storms left snow falling in the San Fernando Valley, the Inland Empire, and the hills above Ventura and Santa Barbara. It even snowed at the Unhappiest Place on Earth. We’re not talking hail or graupel or whatever glorified else that typically gets hyped for the white stuff when it “snows” in Southern California. This was the real deal. Fluffy white snow that fell from the sky like manna from Heaven and then stuck.</p><p>The day after one of these recent storms, I figured I needed to get out for a romp in the hills. It had been raining for days and I was beginning to feel caged. The plan, to the extent I had one, was to make my way to the Santa Monica range where I figured the trails would be more passable. As I was filling my gas tank, however, I glanced east and could see snow capping the Santa Susanas. Right then and there, I decided to abandon my prior plans and make my way into the San Fernando Valley instead. I didn’t really have an identifiable objective yet. I’d figure that out as I went. I just knew that this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that I would later regret passing up if I didn’t take advantage of it.</p><p>As I rode the 118 east I could see that the entire range encircling the Valley was blanketed white. In the distance, San Gabriel, Markham, Lowe, and Wilson were all covered. I really wasn’t outfitted for snow – shorts, a base-layer, a light mid-layer, and a hiking stick - so I figured it best to avoid these higher elevations where temps were likely to be low and the snow deep. Mission Peak was a possibility but it struck me as somewhat dull. I could see that Los Pinetos and May Peaks both had some coverage so I made my way to Veteran’s Park in Sylmar where I figured I could get to the snow by way of May Canyon Road (3N54).</p><p>Someone once told me that the hike out of Veteran’s Park was the North Valley’s equivalent of Runyon Canyon. Other than the absence fit, beautiful people in tight neon garments, I found that to be a fairly accurate description. As I started up the paved fire road, I was joined by throngs of folks making the same pilgrimage that I was making. And most of them looked to be as ill-prepared for the foul weather as me. </p><p>The walk up May Canyon Road to the saddle at the crest is a 5 mile road walk on deteriorating asphalt that sees almost 2,000 feet of gain. As hikes go, it isn’t terribly exciting even though the surrounding terrain is quite nice and the view exceptional. Fortunately or unfortunately depending upon your perspective, there is a more direct alternative. Just beyond where the road leaves Veteran’s Park, a steep firebreak follows a ridgeline north all the way to May Peak. Strangely, the vast majority of folks on the trail this day took this more challenging route even though it appeared to be a significant physical struggle for most of them. As I climbed the very steep break, I was joined by dog-walkers, young children in Sketchers, little old <i>abuelas</i>, macho guys in smooth-soled engineer boots, and large, extended families. The most direct and challenging route did not discriminate against hikers on the basis of sex, age, race, ethnicity, sexual preference, fecundity, experience, preparedness, or ability. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_N78OgIq5h1X__ZOeRgSgp2GYkez2QuKuejWxAuf_BbMlGeX1HmnGeUonmIhRISaOh_Pn7FJY3eLQ3gNv0FbgWGDwC345saXdPvenhE3TlbI4aQU6cSh-QwlXHlqeM9MNjTeb5-mCuGkjK7Jtby2rS1MRTwSnJlCRVlLOnJIFcuUokt3_u2z4TpA3/s4032/20230226_114038.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Lower May Canyon Ridge Route" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_N78OgIq5h1X__ZOeRgSgp2GYkez2QuKuejWxAuf_BbMlGeX1HmnGeUonmIhRISaOh_Pn7FJY3eLQ3gNv0FbgWGDwC345saXdPvenhE3TlbI4aQU6cSh-QwlXHlqeM9MNjTeb5-mCuGkjK7Jtby2rS1MRTwSnJlCRVlLOnJIFcuUokt3_u2z4TpA3/w640-h480/20230226_114038.jpg" title="Start of the Steep Firebreak" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwhQBuFm2I_yuiwVuI1iPRrb8IR9sIvZxuqqowa6LeT_l8ocJYjkxqhquO5VGRQuov3BmcNiIwq_CqL2mac-pTjqWqnFYkqgmsqGTKNSSuZ2ugoB3BqW_cXXLaP1lv2NPR-F31rO02Ciokf61GGPZhmurqo5l3iEQ4z0gMWubMg2oqxDKZjInvcWsE/s4032/20230226_114640.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="May Canyon Ridge" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwhQBuFm2I_yuiwVuI1iPRrb8IR9sIvZxuqqowa6LeT_l8ocJYjkxqhquO5VGRQuov3BmcNiIwq_CqL2mac-pTjqWqnFYkqgmsqGTKNSSuZ2ugoB3BqW_cXXLaP1lv2NPR-F31rO02Ciokf61GGPZhmurqo5l3iEQ4z0gMWubMg2oqxDKZjInvcWsE/w640-h480/20230226_114640.jpg" title="View South from May Canyon Ridge" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqkPjSg6rFOJ7PjDGBoVuraLTSAnw8IcydXHP0IKlqg6V0jfCf0sDCSqDWmSLiA8zfwBrvvmZt-qqnehaNKQQHv2zHImZbMMjQGkXc1kK2CQeMi9bhV1s-42eVrKJ0DkpgpvJbapgxpuCSQ7y6TDRx5PYS3RLq8APkTSRKhw5A4Bu6NFJtti9WCu_U/s4032/20230226_120717.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Santa Clara Ridge with Snow" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqkPjSg6rFOJ7PjDGBoVuraLTSAnw8IcydXHP0IKlqg6V0jfCf0sDCSqDWmSLiA8zfwBrvvmZt-qqnehaNKQQHv2zHImZbMMjQGkXc1kK2CQeMi9bhV1s-42eVrKJ0DkpgpvJbapgxpuCSQ7y6TDRx5PYS3RLq8APkTSRKhw5A4Bu6NFJtti9WCu_U/w640-h480/20230226_120717.jpg" title="Fernando 2 and Contract Point Blanketed in Snow" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>A short distance up, the ridge crossed May Canyon Road at a nice vista point. A good portion of the crowd dropped off here. I crossed the road and continued along the ridge route that is comprised of a series of very sharp climbs interrupted by short level sections. As I continued upward, patches of slush began to dot the ground making the path wet and sloppy. That slush then became a thin sheet of snow that covered the ground. </p><p>At the base of a steep section of the ridge, I contemplated how much farther I should go. I was in shorts, didn’t have spikes, and really wasn’t prepared for serious winter travel. But from this vantage point, it felt as if I this was the last climb before the route finally topped out. I could see that a few other hearty souls had made their way up before me, so I determined to carry on despite the fact that the slope angle was high and the footing questionable. </p><p>At the crest of the climb where things leveled off a bit, I discovered that my figuring was all wrong. Ahead, the firebreak continued up yet another steep climb. And the depth of the snow on the ground had increased to about 10-12.” Going forward would involve plowing through this shin-deep snow in shorts. Going back would require a sketchy descent down a steep, slick slope. Deciding that hypothermia was probably better than serious injury, I continued upward, making sure to step in the virgin snow along the edges instead walking the slippery footsteps of those that came before me. </p><p>When I reached the top, I finally found myself at the top which was adorned with a shredded American flag fluttering in the icy wind. The pure white landscape was ethereal and surreal and aesthetic. I sat down briefly on a bare rock to absorb both the unique scene and the can of beer stowed in my pack, but found sitting idle to be uncomfortably cold. So I threw on the only additional warmth I had and picked my way through the knee-deep snow and driving wind to the May Canyon Saddle where 3N54 tops out and intersects with Santa Clara Road (3N17.0).</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyI9MxXC_eCwj_fY-vEpSLqCIrHspoOPP71yLmvmwsq9VIpYk-wK6GoyqwCCgMAbhoE1b149yShxOkM6px59tpM0aW698AwpP0reynHNFshUKOClDrWcbear42yNkIC91BGFflCVtyHeH7emiOQ7olsLV0lHUZ45m_PBRpMGS_Ed3WjWK885YSsjpJ/s4032/20230226_123053.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Upper May Canyon Firebreak with snow" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyI9MxXC_eCwj_fY-vEpSLqCIrHspoOPP71yLmvmwsq9VIpYk-wK6GoyqwCCgMAbhoE1b149yShxOkM6px59tpM0aW698AwpP0reynHNFshUKOClDrWcbear42yNkIC91BGFflCVtyHeH7emiOQ7olsLV0lHUZ45m_PBRpMGS_Ed3WjWK885YSsjpJ/w640-h480/20230226_123053.jpg" title="Upper May Canyon Ridge Route with Snow" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQr1Mi4RZJn5pjp37TQ0B5wH3tawDa5fqQ6a8BdX8hF_7mYkx_XwtpEhJNaIIZ3T1Vnp4TJTVbHyCdCuL-auZ4f1ZV5Ls8d-P-oPvkuQgqx-FFfqoewXUwIOe5jsem2Jkpdl3yuJtlRTWS0uY74zBULCZ3PbGIzuo3ukvwInMj0R4SFV3dVtuC7kFL/s4032/20230226_125823.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="May Canyon Ridge Flagpole" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQr1Mi4RZJn5pjp37TQ0B5wH3tawDa5fqQ6a8BdX8hF_7mYkx_XwtpEhJNaIIZ3T1Vnp4TJTVbHyCdCuL-auZ4f1ZV5Ls8d-P-oPvkuQgqx-FFfqoewXUwIOe5jsem2Jkpdl3yuJtlRTWS0uY74zBULCZ3PbGIzuo3ukvwInMj0R4SFV3dVtuC7kFL/w640-h480/20230226_125823.jpg" title="May Canyon Ridge Flagpole" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIbtjw0EnBvCuUuaMeGCFrP5plO9d6gGa93h9kMZ6_aXNeMlVqzy8mhbu3HIBwK4-SpjF3U91_PB5WBTmpEPegqePx8OMdeHjj3Gh6kKQh0csPiu6htq7JzbNY6vbntNKFrNaJ3Mj9oeOos2LkRhMqWyCUwn7K8iO4eWi97VxRDtu7O82E5iH7nAod/s4032/20230226_130532.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="View East from May Peak" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIbtjw0EnBvCuUuaMeGCFrP5plO9d6gGa93h9kMZ6_aXNeMlVqzy8mhbu3HIBwK4-SpjF3U91_PB5WBTmpEPegqePx8OMdeHjj3Gh6kKQh0csPiu6htq7JzbNY6vbntNKFrNaJ3Mj9oeOos2LkRhMqWyCUwn7K8iO4eWi97VxRDtu7O82E5iH7nAod/w640-h480/20230226_130532.jpg" title="Trail Crest from May Peak" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>I again momentarily thought about stopping at the saddle for a snack and a drink, but by this point, my feet were wet and my fingers numb. I needed to get off the breezy ridgeline and gain warmth by losing some elevation. Since returning the way I came wasn’t a realistic option given my state of ill-preparedness, that left a 5 mile walk down slushy May Canyon Road. </p><p>Somewhat surprisingly, the snow clung to the ground quite tenaciously as I descended. I found that escaping it, even on this south-facing slope, took longer than I expected. It wasn’t until I reached roughly the 3,000’ contour that the road was finally snow-free and things began to warm up some. At that stage, I pulled the can of Sierra Nevada Celebration Ale that I had brought out of my pack and walked along with my open container predictably provoking the side-eye from a number of people that I passed. </p><p>After what seemed an interminable amount of time, I was back at the vista point where the ridge route first crosses the road. Here, I retraced my steps down the steep fire break to Veteran’s Park. As is typically the case, the descent on tired legs and old knees was much more difficult than the climb up. That reality reinforced for me that the decision I had made earlier in the day to continue up the ridge when I first encountered snow was the correct one. </p><p>Anyway, it was a rare and beautiful snow day in Los Angeles. Regardless of how you choose to describe the climate and ecosystem here, the snow this season has brought us is anything but ordinary for this glitzy, mid-latitude metropolis that folks are fond of calling a desert.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwIjG31IgrWSv0Qpp1NKyB29KiUNeibs2ccHTpZ6a81rXrNrDWN_w8cp0sy7QAE1Q3YPSCkwuXZOK7hl9Pyx9kFhVS3-_wffgjko8xbL9FJDeYVEuyS1T0JcXRk7xpjg4U92YUjXOTUmKPGKRQ_FXS-Ck56ORnxHIoWct53y633ffYR2JAtq8a22c8/s4032/20230226_135658.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="May Canyon Fire Road (3N54)" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwIjG31IgrWSv0Qpp1NKyB29KiUNeibs2ccHTpZ6a81rXrNrDWN_w8cp0sy7QAE1Q3YPSCkwuXZOK7hl9Pyx9kFhVS3-_wffgjko8xbL9FJDeYVEuyS1T0JcXRk7xpjg4U92YUjXOTUmKPGKRQ_FXS-Ck56ORnxHIoWct53y633ffYR2JAtq8a22c8/w640-h480/20230226_135658.jpg" title="May Canyon Fire Road (3N54)" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIFy587rUNTs2zxIKh6i9H4CPzcHM7lYOIfv1KvLE3hVlIKs96tQtPggw-wVpGFkS_VUQeRPLH3kr45i_wvWt-PjWdRa03xCD4IDaU4cwy0QUfj6IXbQB9nkZzqEgc6O5Gtlf-1kv0xVUGO7cM7p_9PB0I7TxqBB3h_IOt3zcibZptiv0pRX4cArys/s4032/20230226_135704.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="North San Fernando Valley from May Canyon Fire Road" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIFy587rUNTs2zxIKh6i9H4CPzcHM7lYOIfv1KvLE3hVlIKs96tQtPggw-wVpGFkS_VUQeRPLH3kr45i_wvWt-PjWdRa03xCD4IDaU4cwy0QUfj6IXbQB9nkZzqEgc6O5Gtlf-1kv0xVUGO7cM7p_9PB0I7TxqBB3h_IOt3zcibZptiv0pRX4cArys/w640-h480/20230226_135704.jpg" title="North San Fernando Valley from May Canyon Fire Road" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Madison Christianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476494056610217659noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6909480215675625524.post-39881279537841107842023-02-15T14:38:00.006-08:002023-02-22T19:54:19.379-08:00The Pursuit of Awe<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnmG6HEHu-mgkSzqvXJApDwLN8K6bdcY5p-ieW5A1ECr2YsnYQoDpzNWTuOmewrgkTtPU6JyVrfE6gLWsvqwIFLUI6C4NJl2qTzD-QIs0P_BPAElQolAUt0SA3qWR44uFanqzHRFqLQu0Uczi-CUWGmEU1x5QuQ9vcODT_dBNcIKy1rzUAROMASCTh/s4032/PSX_20230206_170854%5B1%5D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnmG6HEHu-mgkSzqvXJApDwLN8K6bdcY5p-ieW5A1ECr2YsnYQoDpzNWTuOmewrgkTtPU6JyVrfE6gLWsvqwIFLUI6C4NJl2qTzD-QIs0P_BPAElQolAUt0SA3qWR44uFanqzHRFqLQu0Uczi-CUWGmEU1x5QuQ9vcODT_dBNcIKy1rzUAROMASCTh/w640-h480/PSX_20230206_170854%5B1%5D.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>Just beyond the creek crossing, the Old Cabin Trail folds back onto itself like a protein molecule and begins climbing out of the cool green of Upper Sycamore Canyon. It’s a gorgeous winter morning so the trail is crowded, but the overwhelming majority of the hikers don’t make this hairpin turn. They don’t have much interest in what’s up the hill. They’re only here for the ephemeral waterfall that feeds the creek. A curiosity in this hyper-arid landscape to be certain. I’ve seen it myself. So the conga line continues in a straight trajectory toward the base of the falls just up canyon. I make the hard right and start ascending. Immediately the hordes fall away and I’m alone on the trail. As I prefer. </p><p>I realize that might sound anti-social. I’m also aware of the potential danger of a solitary outing. I’m following in the footsteps of 22 year-old Zachary Zernick whose story is fresh on my mind. Zachary walked this exact same trail the week prior and never returned home. Search and Rescue found his body at the base of cliff where he is believed to have accidentally fallen to his death. It’s obviously sad and tragic that this kid was struck down before his life really even began. But I’d like to believe that Zachary knew and understood the risks of going it alone before he ever went out. Hopefully I’m not wrong about that, but most folks who have spent any appreciable amount of time hiking solo do. That doesn’t mean they have a death wish. Or that they are presumptively negligent. They simply accept, even if society doesn’t, that inherent risk of death or injury is the price of admission for a bit of solitude.</p><p>The trail is wonderfully damp and cool as I climb. A slight coastal breeze blows up canyon. That is not the typical experience. This is sharp and inhospitable country. For a good portion of the year, these hillsides are a tangle of thorny, skeletal chaparral. When the heat is up, the plant life here falls into a quiet dormancy. Leaves curl up, flower petals wither, and seeds drop to the ground in anticipation of the wet season to hopefully come. Muted olive, sandstone, slate, and rust, the favored palette of homeowners' associations everywhere, predominate. But when the winter months arrive with rain, the landscape transforms into something very different. The thirsty flora suddenly explodes in what John Muir called a “shaggy exuberance.” Soft green California Sage and its aromatic Black cousin spring to life. Orangey California poppies start popping. Chaparral Bush Mallow blooms a gorgeous pink and peach. Giant Coresopsis, which looks like a meth-addled minx ten months out of the year, unexpectedly becomes a beautiful and seductive temptress. It’s a super-bloom of visual and olfactory magnificence.</p><p>I pass a few pairs of hikers on their way down and nod to them as we file past each other. I do this instinctively and robotically because they’re just background noise. I see them, I am aware of their presence, but I filter them out. I’m too mesmerized by my natural surroundings to be concerned with social engagement and pleasantries. I have that every day. I’m here for escape from that. And escape I shall. </p><p>A short distance further, the trail levels out and splits. The left branch descends to the old Danielson cabin site and memorial. The right fork continues to climb to the junction with the Old Boney Trail. Most folks that come this way turn left. I tack right and keep climbing through tunnels of California lilac that are humming with ravenous hornets and honey bees. I’ve arrived at a détente of sorts with these buzzing arthropods. I don’t interfere with their day-drinking of nectar and they don’t sting the shit out of me. It’s a fair accommodation that works reasonably well for both of us. One day, I hope to arrive at a similar understanding with ticks.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglcQXhQWvYdq_3YcyR0lX7JZgPvI_vQU6BT3XL71lffKddj2tCpsxaPEXzhxL1hpY4fOy1KeZ-6rTs2hQSd4Oe_F7iBvIem9Bf2QfYkZcWS8H8aeDGmFBwwwfM72ShPEiHHNeZgvWWsYzNd9C_dWNhBljCQ5-yd5Xi0VPYvYuQp9Kji_qaCkc5Ipwh/s4032/20230205_122856%5B1%5D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglcQXhQWvYdq_3YcyR0lX7JZgPvI_vQU6BT3XL71lffKddj2tCpsxaPEXzhxL1hpY4fOy1KeZ-6rTs2hQSd4Oe_F7iBvIem9Bf2QfYkZcWS8H8aeDGmFBwwwfM72ShPEiHHNeZgvWWsYzNd9C_dWNhBljCQ5-yd5Xi0VPYvYuQp9Kji_qaCkc5Ipwh/w640-h480/20230205_122856%5B1%5D.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJrPx-PFC7klXC6lSWJdvSx6Xr_xXZjgVX7fCC5YULwnBWN0gX_ftCAvNb6O9E5Fvqfm2_p8i2w8Jze0glOh4CCi3BHPAH3OTENa7Z7rjB081s-2kyTt_A0HPJQoRb9Qdvcf7PKdnne4H3gMi2KZ0n6wCbJj2dK-8m3MyOjlb8ysy4Uj-SnnhMihhD/s4032/20230205_125118%5B1%5D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJrPx-PFC7klXC6lSWJdvSx6Xr_xXZjgVX7fCC5YULwnBWN0gX_ftCAvNb6O9E5Fvqfm2_p8i2w8Jze0glOh4CCi3BHPAH3OTENa7Z7rjB081s-2kyTt_A0HPJQoRb9Qdvcf7PKdnne4H3gMi2KZ0n6wCbJj2dK-8m3MyOjlb8ysy4Uj-SnnhMihhD/w640-h480/20230205_125118%5B1%5D.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-GaQi6Ypf0LZcPb25g7UNC2BlYnQ5PF8OGSfbWbO0hqk5kkYfcgzfgK_BlRVtyilRNL_Liy1vMbNThzQolhRON1TkvXVs-viJDg-iLVHVfTpthdX2F5UXUOeywGgoYiEBMdFD07FOVjZsouiGvOkI7khAq9pY1LrIk8CsLzKVMSJTi3fbSZFRdx97/s4032/20230205_130528%5B1%5D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-GaQi6Ypf0LZcPb25g7UNC2BlYnQ5PF8OGSfbWbO0hqk5kkYfcgzfgK_BlRVtyilRNL_Liy1vMbNThzQolhRON1TkvXVs-viJDg-iLVHVfTpthdX2F5UXUOeywGgoYiEBMdFD07FOVjZsouiGvOkI7khAq9pY1LrIk8CsLzKVMSJTi3fbSZFRdx97/w640-h480/20230205_130528%5B1%5D.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>A half mile later, I hit the crest just below Pt. 1,918 where the path levels briefly. A short use trail here puts you on the high-point before continuing as the Western Ridge Trail to the summit of Tri-Peaks. The news reports don’t say, but my suspicion is that this was Zachary Zernik’s chosen path. I’ve been to Pt. 1,918 several times previously so don’t feel compelled to do it again. Instead, I commit to explore the Old Boney Trail as it descends the southern flanks of Sycamore Canyon.</p><p>The climbing is done for now and as I continue west, I begin to give back some of the elevation I just gained. That means the walking is easy here and I’m able to move quickly as I descend to the junction with the Fossil Trail. Along the way, I get really nice looks at Sycamore Canyon, Mugu Peak, and the Oxnard Plain. I even get a peek-a-boo view of the Channel Islands. I pass a couple along this stretch and catch another, older couple where the Old Boney and the Fossil Trails intersect.</p><p>By its evocative name, the Fossil Trail sounds like a compelling and exciting romp. One immediately imagines coming upon the fossilized remains of all sorts of prehistoric creatures large and small. The reality is something significantly more mundane. The namesake fossils comprise a handful of shells embedded in a short rocky section in the middle of the trail. It’s cool. It’s just not spectacular by any measure. The promise is over-sold. </p><p>I’ve never been beyond this point on the Old Boney Trail so ask the couple whether they are familiar with what lies ahead. They eye me suspiciously, grunt that they are taking the Fossil Trail, and then turn away to filter me out. I suppose I deserve it. They’re apparently not here for social engagement and pleasantries either. </p><p>So I take the plunge and continue west to see what there is to see. The “plunge” metaphor here is appropriate in that the trail is somewhat overgrown and I find myself pushing through a bit of brush. This stretch of Old Boney clearly doesn’t see the same traffic as other sections of the trail and the native flora is taking advantage. But the brush begins to cede ground again when the trail tops out on a low ridge that begins a mellow descent to the Backbone Trail. From this point forward, it’s a pleasant downhill stroll.</p><p>Now the land feels wild and remote. I can no longer see Sycamore Canyon. It isn’t that far away, but it’s out of view, behind a larger ridge to the north. It may as well be a million miles away. To the immediate south is the sandstone escarpment of Boney Mountain and the Tri Peaks. And I’m alone on the trail. The only sound is the crunch of my feet on the path. There is no other noise to filter. Silence and solitude sit heavy on the landscape.</p><p>So does the thrum. That enigmatic and palpable trembling of the universe that rings in your ears and vibrates your soul. A subtle reminder that ultimate reality is very different than you imagine. I can’t hear the hum today, but I can feel it. Lurking beneath the silence in quivering anticipation. I embrace the rhythm and allow my personal waves to align with those around me. In the world of physics, they call that constructive interference and it results in wave amplification. I ride the amplified waves all the way to the junction with the Backbone Trail where California Poppies are starting to bloom. It’s such a stunningly beautiful sight that I prostrate myself on the trail for a bug’s compound-eye view. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5uZxF__n7L-OKVrHBkSG7xRqO5ZyBaP83hbkMjYk7MGrlRwunYeDvLH32hqVSwtJuZzKQSf1MjASP2OXbJxh2FAGSF2Ivm7v0x59fxLscAL4orEdzuCE9kk2W-xAga4YQdouKhAOK8qQvkz7tY9OdlWNzHvmeEbKu0SFHnEn4w_Z6yX1kQaBhS9_J/s4032/20230205_131537%5B1%5D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5uZxF__n7L-OKVrHBkSG7xRqO5ZyBaP83hbkMjYk7MGrlRwunYeDvLH32hqVSwtJuZzKQSf1MjASP2OXbJxh2FAGSF2Ivm7v0x59fxLscAL4orEdzuCE9kk2W-xAga4YQdouKhAOK8qQvkz7tY9OdlWNzHvmeEbKu0SFHnEn4w_Z6yX1kQaBhS9_J/w640-h480/20230205_131537%5B1%5D.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeTjBbmbBXprfMHxcyZtvpkgD401TTeClo5Wy100D5op1YVBnONO-RLDvfJ5O1d744vmqQ8lw7uQ29jARdpwY8wNO-44Na3LRxJbu6qndyM4b8CbxHsn612voG91CafY3feLHkLauwwENWJr3yr4ry1huNyIbJmB8b-jBEI134AqrlT-TBuUqWTOm1/s4032/20230205_133226%5B1%5D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeTjBbmbBXprfMHxcyZtvpkgD401TTeClo5Wy100D5op1YVBnONO-RLDvfJ5O1d744vmqQ8lw7uQ29jARdpwY8wNO-44Na3LRxJbu6qndyM4b8CbxHsn612voG91CafY3feLHkLauwwENWJr3yr4ry1huNyIbJmB8b-jBEI134AqrlT-TBuUqWTOm1/w640-h480/20230205_133226%5B1%5D.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifrMbtmgispEyJPDjlOIN3WZ4ffBxMxUG49l5jmLG9twr0OI0dNdSm2pH3A8JJ9RvfGi5Ka5AOP8CsH33slzAoKOKz1oyL-rb1rsr7t5Y2QpH42bl_XzYMXUbrO-o6gFpFRTYLNXO0U6a91uVQUIT_yFsTwx43gTa36kxcVQPt5INGD6ulc0qpgwwS/s4032/20230205_134025%5B1%5D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifrMbtmgispEyJPDjlOIN3WZ4ffBxMxUG49l5jmLG9twr0OI0dNdSm2pH3A8JJ9RvfGi5Ka5AOP8CsH33slzAoKOKz1oyL-rb1rsr7t5Y2QpH42bl_XzYMXUbrO-o6gFpFRTYLNXO0U6a91uVQUIT_yFsTwx43gTa36kxcVQPt5INGD6ulc0qpgwwS/w640-h480/20230205_134025%5B1%5D.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>It hasn’t rained for weeks, but remarkably the water is still flowing down the unnamed drainage leading to the Danielson Group Camp. In all the years I’ve walked these hills, I never recall seeing conditions like this. But as I continue down the canyon, the reason becomes evident. The placid little stream that is currently making things so enjoyable must have been an angry torrent just weeks prior. The bottomlands are clogged with flood debris and large swaths of the trail have been obliterated. Route-finding isn’t terribly difficult, but I suspect it will be some time before he trail proper is restored to its former self.</p><p>At Danielson I sit at one of the many empty picnic tables to gear up for the long walk up the ribbon of asphalt that is colloquially known as the Black Bitch. A boisterous flock of feral Nanday Parakeets keeps me company. It sounds exotic I know. And it is if you’re using the term “exotic” as a pejorative. These bright-green birds don’t belong here. They’re invaders who have escaped captivity and are now procreating with the zeal of fecund Catholic couples who believe that birth control is sinful. As a result, these pretty birds from the interior jungles of South America are a noisy thing in the Mediterranean environment of the Santa Monica Mountains. </p><p>I’m back with people as I begin my walk out. The thrum has gone mute. Or maybe it has just been forcibly drowned out by the white noise of hikers, bikers, and the occasional park ranger pick-up truck. Either way, no amount of filtering can change that dynamic. I accept that. Even welcome it. Because if the quivering of the universe was commonplace, it would be neither mysterious nor magical. Solitary treks to seldomly-visited places in search of it wouldn’t be so lustrous. I’m a selfish bastard that wants to hold onto that. So here, in the designated white noise zone, I’m quite accepting of the heterogeneous mixture of chatter, commotion, and hubbub. As long as the contagion doesn’t spread to become a white noise pandemic that murders the <i>élan vitale</i>, I can still trod these trails in the pursuit of awe.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzTDlt_IT3ISUgSVDgVX_qZrS4IMos8vHqyciFOWQfCutU1jVyU0EAHOgOg9OUpn0Nr7H2Cj1Ls8UYyzFKCpdixOve1dVqwQTO8WgG0yqg4dXTWFceP64wnCUHkMz_rtg0njGdQ0hEioCDwE06-eZla1nLyI5ZWwzFFQ_C9KiTR6iK3UZsd7aRp0HP/s4032/20230205_135534%5B1%5D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzTDlt_IT3ISUgSVDgVX_qZrS4IMos8vHqyciFOWQfCutU1jVyU0EAHOgOg9OUpn0Nr7H2Cj1Ls8UYyzFKCpdixOve1dVqwQTO8WgG0yqg4dXTWFceP64wnCUHkMz_rtg0njGdQ0hEioCDwE06-eZla1nLyI5ZWwzFFQ_C9KiTR6iK3UZsd7aRp0HP/w640-h480/20230205_135534%5B1%5D.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUjDkubJNe2qkJS_S6rCTHVXU9RQb9eqqrkf-2-L9vMrxgsQiOxy1_OV9SJB9lyFrUT6hsxzJzTx_5YAjvmtI1PXwilgrzFTS6kXqfdVd0kuMLsnnPVT1Js9gkWamuj5OaNHbuf-DxZ2qQs8GbF-vgKSO9qFH_1qCVxd6s5bvK61ZKAuMPFMgjW37a/s4032/20230205_140304%5B1%5D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUjDkubJNe2qkJS_S6rCTHVXU9RQb9eqqrkf-2-L9vMrxgsQiOxy1_OV9SJB9lyFrUT6hsxzJzTx_5YAjvmtI1PXwilgrzFTS6kXqfdVd0kuMLsnnPVT1Js9gkWamuj5OaNHbuf-DxZ2qQs8GbF-vgKSO9qFH_1qCVxd6s5bvK61ZKAuMPFMgjW37a/w640-h480/20230205_140304%5B1%5D.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM-F2kPq0-1m2jpVJiuZAc9t6Ve1Ub9Pa_ImaJpPLHpE6gAFpv7haNGhllN3ZwNd3Ua_Y7t3Z-dg5xXqwAmQRlLZ5-aa6Dx-p0yVfEgSJF9dupSF7LZCjzvQJ3u2laBlNTMewAR1MsxTZA1U7ly5gNYlNjCASGDFR-IfHKyLoAG8zEiE7v833Pl4v6/s4032/20230205_143621%5B1%5D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM-F2kPq0-1m2jpVJiuZAc9t6Ve1Ub9Pa_ImaJpPLHpE6gAFpv7haNGhllN3ZwNd3Ua_Y7t3Z-dg5xXqwAmQRlLZ5-aa6Dx-p0yVfEgSJF9dupSF7LZCjzvQJ3u2laBlNTMewAR1MsxTZA1U7ly5gNYlNjCASGDFR-IfHKyLoAG8zEiE7v833Pl4v6/w480-h640/20230205_143621%5B1%5D.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Madison Christianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476494056610217659noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6909480215675625524.post-25474007343136557122023-01-09T18:53:00.005-08:002023-01-11T16:51:45.694-08:00The Agony of Defeat<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiew9DIJsz1heS214xkc_it-62Ko0uIZ2NIfeTiColCe1Jvyd2_NiOnDaZ3UltL-hf0pzyqfr9poivyUQnQdBrdkb5uHhnsXmFgoyFwmIHUv1hobJID6IDWd9glehZu7UYG7fzou3WKAFHy0-5YnZg9ofmIiak5o9v7uLCVeoqQa6djx-R0NNzTi9k-/s4032/20230107_142645.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Arlington Peak" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiew9DIJsz1heS214xkc_it-62Ko0uIZ2NIfeTiColCe1Jvyd2_NiOnDaZ3UltL-hf0pzyqfr9poivyUQnQdBrdkb5uHhnsXmFgoyFwmIHUv1hobJID6IDWd9glehZu7UYG7fzou3WKAFHy0-5YnZg9ofmIiak5o9v7uLCVeoqQa6djx-R0NNzTi9k-/w640-h480/20230107_142645.jpg" title="Arlington Peak" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><i>Soy
un perdedor<br /></i><i>I’m
a loser baby, so why don’t you kill me?<br /></i><i>(Double-barrel
buckshot)<br /></i><i>Soy
un perdedor<br /></i><i>I’m
a loser baby, so why don’t you kill me?<br /></i><i><span face=""Calibri","sans-serif"" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">~Loser,
Beck</span></i></div><p>In the foothills overlooking what is sometime hyped as the American Riviera, there’s a pyramidal-shaped sandstone peak that dares you to climb it. Back in the olden days, the locals apparently referred this peak as Cathedral Peak and its loftier neighbor to the northwest Cathedral Rock. Then, the U.S. Board of Geological Names <a href="https://www.summitpost.org/arlington-peak/667399" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">rechristened Cathedral Peak as Arlington Peak</span></a> and Cathedral Rock became the new Cathedral Peak. The “Arlington” nomenclature purportedly originated from staff at the luxurious Arlington Hotel who called the various peaks in the vicinity <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arlington_Peak_(California)#:~:text=The%20name%20of%20the%20peak,States%20Board%20on%20Geographic%20Names." target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">the Arlington Crags</span></a>. </p><p>A few years ago, I took up the gauntlet that Arlington had dismissively hurled at my feet and made an attempt at its summit. I failed. I took the standard route up the southeast ridge by way of Mission Canyon, veering right on a faint use path immediately after crossing the creek and then clawing my way up to gain the ridge. Once there, I followed the route along the ridgeline as it wound its way around, over, under, and through the blocky sandstone for which Arlington is known. It was a warm winter day and I eventually bonked somewhere around the 2,500’ contour. Frustrated and tired, I sat on a gigantic boulder and salved my wounded ego with a warm beer. The magnificent views to Santa Barbara and the Channel Islands ended up being my participation trophy (which, in the grand scheme of things, really isn’t a bad participation trophy). </p><p>That failed attempt has been an itch in need of scratching ever since. That itchiness flared up again this past weekend as I was thinking about options for getting out into the hills before the next round of drenching started. The weather was perfect for another attempt, so I decided that I’d drive to Santa Barbara to take care of some unfinished mountaineering business. </p><p>Although I arrived late morning, cars were lining the street for almost a mile from the trailhead proper. I continued driving in hopes of scoring a spot closer up to avoid adding dreary road mileage to my day. I must have been living right that morning because as I approached road’s end without promise, someone pulled out leaving a spot for me right in the front row. I quickly took advantage, pulled on my boots, and started up the Tunnel Trail which initially is a deteriorating asphalt road. As I began to climb, I was astonished at the number of people I encountered both coming out and on their way in. Flowing water from the recent rains was bound to be big draw, but the Covid/Instagram-fueled assault on the outdoors continues unabated. </p><p>A short distance up the road, the path splits and the asphalt turns to dirt. The right fork follows the Tunnel Trail to the Mission Crags and the Rock Garden; the left fork parallels Mission Creek to the junction with the trail leading to Inspiration Point. I followed the left branch into the canyon where I rock-hopped the creek which held a nice flow. On the adjacent side of the creek, I tacked hard right following an informal, yet well-beaten use path that climbs to Arlington’s southeast ridge. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcu43We1oUyTGZ2swHwuYFVU41piZ43feIy2Vd_TkfgUTtbGOJZeH-64fY4nzXeO649c7brRC4gIWJxKmIz7cKbjJ0AV0HK_FhDuYqx2Rey13LJMulgEYRMNFZKvz8gME6IdRHy0S6siNHJX29puE1eGEUvn6gtr3q-2UzVOwajXn8ozlKkDnIgClZ/s4032/20230107_113121.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Arlington Peak's Southeast Ridge" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcu43We1oUyTGZ2swHwuYFVU41piZ43feIy2Vd_TkfgUTtbGOJZeH-64fY4nzXeO649c7brRC4gIWJxKmIz7cKbjJ0AV0HK_FhDuYqx2Rey13LJMulgEYRMNFZKvz8gME6IdRHy0S6siNHJX29puE1eGEUvn6gtr3q-2UzVOwajXn8ozlKkDnIgClZ/w640-h480/20230107_113121.jpg" title="Arlington Peak's Southeast Ridge" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaznx33WBgSdBR8yix8eW3MZx76RnTH3m9f7FbcvwLd0icj0fPZhDOoVa_Rkv_c3-XTabD2VTeHCLBUJUGgDBMLWShkeK022QaubJh0cGgaQgAPSsSKpYMh2iqDNWGFGoAp764qZnGtuj1dENLnDB2-KDa-DkIAnFMsTySBbCeVN6CwE9GrrdIxOy0/s4032/20230107_114500.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Mission Creek" border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaznx33WBgSdBR8yix8eW3MZx76RnTH3m9f7FbcvwLd0icj0fPZhDOoVa_Rkv_c3-XTabD2VTeHCLBUJUGgDBMLWShkeK022QaubJh0cGgaQgAPSsSKpYMh2iqDNWGFGoAp764qZnGtuj1dENLnDB2-KDa-DkIAnFMsTySBbCeVN6CwE9GrrdIxOy0/w480-h640/20230107_114500.jpg" title="Mission Creek" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm0UceQ8nLvpPpK8QoH7Nf6m4OHmnMWAARjgj1_mBFFfhu-sYTIJrVMpOmfLZsRY3TXugNc0wpt8DrY1Sd6B31_ajzSRXF8k5G7KPhtOFRub7cULTClbquBglBR33n8tqfRdVKIWtImDwmdWnaRrFxkN91gXoeW5SnNkp3oQcwrgEnipPw1HPjgQUd/s4032/20230107_120238.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm0UceQ8nLvpPpK8QoH7Nf6m4OHmnMWAARjgj1_mBFFfhu-sYTIJrVMpOmfLZsRY3TXugNc0wpt8DrY1Sd6B31_ajzSRXF8k5G7KPhtOFRub7cULTClbquBglBR33n8tqfRdVKIWtImDwmdWnaRrFxkN91gXoeW5SnNkp3oQcwrgEnipPw1HPjgQUd/w480-h640/20230107_120238.jpg" title="The Route Up" width="480" /></a></div><p>This is where the work really starts. The climb to the ridge is steep and physically demanding. It has also become deeply eroded and braided as a consequence of intense use. The various route options seemingly all get you to the same spot on the ridge, but as you’re ascending, you can never be quite certain that you’re on the “right” braid. To assist with navigation, someone has painted a series of white dots on the sandstone that is common here. Sometimes you see them, sometimes you lose them. Those damned dots are both a blessing and a curse. </p><p>On the ridge, things level off for a bit and the views to the coast really open up nicely. Here you get to do a fair amount of scrambling over sandstone features as the path switches back and forth between the north and south side of the ridge. It’s a fun and entertaining alternative to ordinary hiking, but I wished that I had brought a pair of gloves along. The sandstone is unsurprisingly like, well sandpaper, and by the end of the day my hands were raw from the constant contact. </p><p>I was making decent progress for an old guy until right around the 2,800’ level where the pitch steepens before the final summit push. As the route switched over again to the south side, there was a white dot painted on a rock just above a white arrow pointing to the left. From the looks of things, folks had been going left at this spot so I followed suit. Not long after that, I found myself at the base of a rocky wall in a steep chute with no white dots. The only way forward was up the rock face which was probably 20 feet high with a couple of class 3 moves. I felt fairly confident about my ability to scamper up, but getting back down was another matter altogether. Being solo, I didn’t think it wise to give it a go, so I back-tracked to the arrow to see if I had missed something. There I saw the last white dot but no real alternative to the route I had already followed.</p><p>Frustrated once again, but recognizing that discretion is the better part of summiting, I decided to turn back. If the price for achieving Arlington was notoriety for being the dumb ass that had to be rescued, I wanted no part of that. I’ve made enough poor decision in my life. I don’t need to compound that at this stage. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIDBGl3mDwHh-KGnI63xoy5Xzgtaq0NgDkuOZmnnGq8UQ9Tw8L1czv5NKGxzTbVUu2RygUFiRAsjw_JBDT1eW5ST7xjBoFM-BiwGxFV5CzosYrPI6nSoEMEkvsaQlgf1dP8uhfudwJsmD9NAT6odvBTMekO31-QPJnP2HAs9wAa7kYGrr9YLGq-Nib/s4032/20230107_122038.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Mission Canyon Falls" border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIDBGl3mDwHh-KGnI63xoy5Xzgtaq0NgDkuOZmnnGq8UQ9Tw8L1czv5NKGxzTbVUu2RygUFiRAsjw_JBDT1eW5ST7xjBoFM-BiwGxFV5CzosYrPI6nSoEMEkvsaQlgf1dP8uhfudwJsmD9NAT6odvBTMekO31-QPJnP2HAs9wAa7kYGrr9YLGq-Nib/w480-h640/20230107_122038.jpg" title="Mission Canyon Falls" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq8WryAW9xJ9F10us8iI1LICE7AG5p6PTU3nyHJ6MAMjAGn1rtvq8rFGCjzH9uhNDh9jGb9NApzA0opCMP_iO6CnoBdTd1zwAag6V0esXrrVPxOikxGCSMHKJx8RE-FAQD_C_ji40NrY83vLwFlpasey5xnh__txAuVtK_Qd0I6EXZHBzAlCp9zKko/s4032/20230107_124408.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq8WryAW9xJ9F10us8iI1LICE7AG5p6PTU3nyHJ6MAMjAGn1rtvq8rFGCjzH9uhNDh9jGb9NApzA0opCMP_iO6CnoBdTd1zwAag6V0esXrrVPxOikxGCSMHKJx8RE-FAQD_C_ji40NrY83vLwFlpasey5xnh__txAuVtK_Qd0I6EXZHBzAlCp9zKko/w480-h640/20230107_124408.jpg" title="Manzanita in Bloom" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgegXztdLSSghUokl5XkIxsEqdFh-w_XuZKNZoiGTPjmriU5KbDISASbV2aIbuEj4zyXsdnDoM_rQq2oCoG3rrfGvFoYcd2T4EQyYv-QDnG8E7Al6Q5d_WWDpSr-ROaxwmAjb3E9yrjDgmYxv7aOKnuEb0ZtRbMc1v706uzWYlAwXWoSRfpMiywjcM0/s4032/20230107_142639.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Santa Barbara" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgegXztdLSSghUokl5XkIxsEqdFh-w_XuZKNZoiGTPjmriU5KbDISASbV2aIbuEj4zyXsdnDoM_rQq2oCoG3rrfGvFoYcd2T4EQyYv-QDnG8E7Al6Q5d_WWDpSr-ROaxwmAjb3E9yrjDgmYxv7aOKnuEb0ZtRbMc1v706uzWYlAwXWoSRfpMiywjcM0/w640-h480/20230107_142639.jpg" title="Santa Barbara from the Ridge" width="640" /></a></div><p>On the way down, my dogs were barking so I stopped for a snack and a cold malt and grain beverage I had stowed in my pack for just such an emergency. As I sat on a rocky outcrop enjoying the panoramic sight of the Santa Barbara coastline, I almost forgot what a loser I was. But I was quickly reminded of that as soon as I started moving again when I missed a white dot and ended up sliding down a steep, overgrown drainage. After descending that drainage further than was really advisable, and realizing the potential peril of continuing, I crab-crawled back up to the ridge where I relocated the track marked by multiple and obvious white dots that mocked my embarrassing lack of awareness. </p><p>On the ride home, I assessed the situation. I’ve attempted Arlington two times now and both times I’ve failed. I don’t need to experience strike three to know when I’ve been vanquished. Some things are just not meant to be. And for under-achievers like me, summiting Arlington by the southeast ridge is apparently just one of those things. If I ever get there, it’s going to have to be top down by way of La Cumbre Peak. </p><p>I know, I know. Soy un perdedor. <a href="https://youtu.be/YgSPaXgAdzE" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">I’m a loser baby</span></a>, so why don’t you kill me?</p>Madison Christianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476494056610217659noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6909480215675625524.post-43948669295539510582023-01-05T07:15:00.001-08:002023-01-05T14:09:28.466-08:00Scorpions and Potatoes - East Santa Cruz Island<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg--jjr5o8gfZE6wx8MhZ0UyJmS4j-KGnTkN4kDhQTk_1IsuqSnMwSl_TkAqeU8n_9GQ3Iq6kDEKtSvxyp6-nPFej5CTYhU3dFlUfvNsT3YWDHZeGr0xAqGzvtSM9KyWHpwxwHxTtXgPS1WrVlFc1WGK2NlRwU9B45KvPE8WoTrnau35ghjbHLzNbXx/s4032/20221228_141732.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg--jjr5o8gfZE6wx8MhZ0UyJmS4j-KGnTkN4kDhQTk_1IsuqSnMwSl_TkAqeU8n_9GQ3Iq6kDEKtSvxyp6-nPFej5CTYhU3dFlUfvNsT3YWDHZeGr0xAqGzvtSM9KyWHpwxwHxTtXgPS1WrVlFc1WGK2NlRwU9B45KvPE8WoTrnau35ghjbHLzNbXx/w640-h480/20221228_141732.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />The Captain announced that the seas would be choppy that day as we crossed the channel from the mainland to Santa Cruz Island, a place 25 miles off the coast that the native Chumash called <a href="https://www.nps.gov/places/000/santa-cruz-island-limuw.htm" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Limuw</span></a>. If you were prone to sea-sickness, the crew advised that the rear deck of the boat was the most stable place to be. Locking yourself in the only bathroom on board was not only ineffective, but it would make things worse as there was no sight-line to the horizon. Plus it was rude to your fellow passengers. Don’t do it. Barf bags would be provided to anyone who found themselves in significant gastric distress. <p></p><p>Out of the harbor just past the breakwater, the northwest swells hit and passengers squealed as the boat chugged to the crest of one swell and then dropped into the trough of the next. Those standing starboard or on the bow were forced to retreat into the cabin to avoid being subjected to continuous spritzing while those on the upper deck maintained watch for dolphins and migrating cetaceans. As the seaworthy vessel tossed and rolled in the turbulent ocean currents, I thought of the grit and courage of the Chumash who once rowed across these same cold waters in <a href="https://www.nps.gov/chis/learn/historyculture/tomolcrossing.htm" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">tomols</span></a> hewed by hand from redwood and pine. </p><p>For about an hour or so we plied the continuous surge until the pier at Scorpion anchorage came into view. Here, the sea faded from a deep midnight blue to a translucent turquois dotted by the dark green kelp forests that proliferate in these protected waters. It was a kaleidoscopic orgy for the eyes. I was feeling a bit oogy from the trip as the engines died and we moored against the newly-renovated pier, so appreciated getting my landlubber’s feet back onto terra firma. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqbrY5-ECgo3I1xoko0QHaO0b5GJqJkGO0uT9ZGmvkk1uVviGentzxa8bzmT3IGuUErR6OGOty1DEASjePT4PtfcWHhzuUoHSv-WUZHsdQq063klRR1SlfalXWgcKE2AflyG7EGGxlU600EWsACAvUGHdEhQjkVVVbBimAONUSfuxfLT7pFWdrLdkc/s4032/20221228_141554.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqbrY5-ECgo3I1xoko0QHaO0b5GJqJkGO0uT9ZGmvkk1uVviGentzxa8bzmT3IGuUErR6OGOty1DEASjePT4PtfcWHhzuUoHSv-WUZHsdQq063klRR1SlfalXWgcKE2AflyG7EGGxlU600EWsACAvUGHdEhQjkVVVbBimAONUSfuxfLT7pFWdrLdkc/w640-h480/20221228_141554.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrqfeKRlzJ3_Xmd7JJ9ywm28A1qD024lrFp9WeV0D5LB-vnXCBzTH4kWZTZ9gHjtB3ovgcuheuWLrJSvVByd0I2ecVbnPAadxC6VyU7mH1ze3_dlExbYQ6SL62Zcseg0nctWb7ABd19l812lXja3IngzKrVf3h411zgtI74_CDP4tQD29tIw_4yPqa/s4032/20221228_111530.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrqfeKRlzJ3_Xmd7JJ9ywm28A1qD024lrFp9WeV0D5LB-vnXCBzTH4kWZTZ9gHjtB3ovgcuheuWLrJSvVByd0I2ecVbnPAadxC6VyU7mH1ze3_dlExbYQ6SL62Zcseg0nctWb7ABd19l812lXja3IngzKrVf3h411zgtI74_CDP4tQD29tIw_4yPqa/w640-h480/20221228_111530.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj29KQPbJEu0_CvTWwIcbHj8plUbEpa1MJ7Vh53h79orVFJ8Z-gBnaYRVSXnLXqrr4zPEEnyXNc3CLC1Axj6og-w2eegIXR5mRlnMOIP6GTL-Cciza8dktqtDD1dhG3MPMYpDuib_eIerXJ3wcc64KjZDXOfWvzzx_exzk7flGN2EGd0AcdLzUebJtg/s4032/20221228_112919.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj29KQPbJEu0_CvTWwIcbHj8plUbEpa1MJ7Vh53h79orVFJ8Z-gBnaYRVSXnLXqrr4zPEEnyXNc3CLC1Axj6og-w2eegIXR5mRlnMOIP6GTL-Cciza8dktqtDD1dhG3MPMYpDuib_eIerXJ3wcc64KjZDXOfWvzzx_exzk7flGN2EGd0AcdLzUebJtg/w640-h480/20221228_112919.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>It isn’t quite clear how or why the anchorage and the historic ranch here were named “Scorpion.” The National Park Service speculates that the designation could refer to either the shape of the valley or the fact that small scorpions are present. Either way, the name certainly isn’t native. Long before Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo arrived in 1542, the Chumash called this place <a href="https://www.nps.gov/places/000/swaxil.htm" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Swaxil</span></a>. It was the largest of 10 Chumash villages scattered around the island that was home to approximately 1,200 native people. <a href="https://www.nps.gov/places/000/xaxas-chumash-village-site.htm" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Xaxas</span></a> (pronounced “hä’ häs”), located at what is now known as Prisoners Harbor, was the second largest village on the island. In total, there are an estimated 3,000 prehistoric native sites on the island ranging from small ephemeral camps to formal villages. But that is all that remains of the original inhabitants. The last of the Chumash islanders were either killed by disease or forced from their ancestral lands by European colonization.</p><p>A trip to this island used to be a family tradition. When the kids were young, we’d make the journey with them every New Year’s Day while the rest of the world slept off its hangover. Now visits are more sporadic although there really is no objectively good reason for that. Maybe it’s because from the coast, the islands only exist in a distant, dream-like haze. You can see them sitting on the horizon, but you never quite know whether they’re real or just apparitions. So they end up as nothing but familiar backdrop to the vast blue oceanscape, easy to look past when you’re immersed in everyday living. </p><p>Off the boat and on the pier, we were all corralled by a Park Service docent for a mandatory briefing. One lady tried to sneak by without stopping to receive instructions, but the ever-vigilant docent barked her back into place. Most of what we were forced to listen to was common sense stuff that we’d heard multiple times previously. Don’t trample the native vegetation. Stay on the established trails. It’s a federal crime to take anything from or disturb midden sites. There’s potable water on the island, but not food. Carry out your trash. You’d think folks wouldn’t need to be told any of this, but there’s always that one guy who was either raised by animals or who just doesn’t give a shit. So the obvious needs to be repeated out loud to <i><b>everyone</b></i> just to make sure that this one dumb asshole hears it even though he still won’t abide.</p><p>When the lecture was finished, everyone scattered like fifth graders freed from school for the summer. We got out in front of the mad rush and started up the easy service road leading to Cavern Point. We typically go the other direction toward Montañon Ridge and Smuggler’s Cove, but opted for the north-side views this trip. About half-mile up the road, near the intersection with the North Bluff Trail, things started to get sloppy due to the recent rains. We looked at the path leading to Cavern Point, but declined the invitation. The footpath leading to the point was a muddy, mucky mess. </p><p>Instead, we headed west along with North Bluff Trail, a relatively level path that parallels the escarpment for a couple of miles out to Potato Harbor. It was a blue bird day and the views north and west were satisfying. If you’re a plant nerd, the flora on the bluff was also quite interesting. We noticed Giant Coreopsis (aka Truffula Trees) on the cliff edges that had emerged from summer dormancy to show off its finest spring greenery. We also saw plump Live-Forevers (Dudleya), Lemonade Berry, and a few other native and non-natives that all looked quite robust and healthy. We kept eyes out for the endemic Island Jay and Island Fox, but got skunked. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAFzku0n9sQoX9FOkFIM_rxJCupHwZYlhINI8cOBsFHDeMHHJPTSpuq5f-iyeWp0_FMQ2-s4MrVwo2TE1rX2GPaRBO28QxgqYXyGGEgUfILATzR08euoleVqxhbTWowgw7L-HhVlSirVv_QVHQaCeg8t7uJp6iRa8KueD9YcFtFTwXxbHr1TGOrsUx/s4032/20221228_114021.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAFzku0n9sQoX9FOkFIM_rxJCupHwZYlhINI8cOBsFHDeMHHJPTSpuq5f-iyeWp0_FMQ2-s4MrVwo2TE1rX2GPaRBO28QxgqYXyGGEgUfILATzR08euoleVqxhbTWowgw7L-HhVlSirVv_QVHQaCeg8t7uJp6iRa8KueD9YcFtFTwXxbHr1TGOrsUx/w640-h480/20221228_114021.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJBqL5QJbq4xDfYSNoz3EiyVx3BgT5LCM1gmVrh9Me0LVmqhXKTPDwC6SVsfctAVAgwVO7veRplyWU8BPAgyUIrKQ4QSIp-FiHqnIzvm-uKBvBkIUrEN2BSE0FtluibOdzEifKWUHFqhyo2ZsKCu_Cbg6_xFcyJOdymFHiZ3IGJwppb8v9bvZ2jgPw/s4032/20221228_114445.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJBqL5QJbq4xDfYSNoz3EiyVx3BgT5LCM1gmVrh9Me0LVmqhXKTPDwC6SVsfctAVAgwVO7veRplyWU8BPAgyUIrKQ4QSIp-FiHqnIzvm-uKBvBkIUrEN2BSE0FtluibOdzEifKWUHFqhyo2ZsKCu_Cbg6_xFcyJOdymFHiZ3IGJwppb8v9bvZ2jgPw/w640-h480/20221228_114445.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyxpoXBExN6cmLxz197G6Dg6rZXite3m9F_ymZPgwMpz5NMn7WKAL002K8-GvMwzEk3KhZXmvhpqUMHO6YYJebCS2NWiZ3QIElStgpZ3yoC9MiQxbX8twjGPEAHASGNR95mnKzeUteJQ-nELi8uENzOnUofAq7l87vL50_opq7G7FMXuBe8JJjzg7p/s4032/20221228_121137.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyxpoXBExN6cmLxz197G6Dg6rZXite3m9F_ymZPgwMpz5NMn7WKAL002K8-GvMwzEk3KhZXmvhpqUMHO6YYJebCS2NWiZ3QIElStgpZ3yoC9MiQxbX8twjGPEAHASGNR95mnKzeUteJQ-nELi8uENzOnUofAq7l87vL50_opq7G7FMXuBe8JJjzg7p/w640-h480/20221228_121137.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>The closer we got to Potato Harbor, the sloppier the path (now a road) became. To avoid the slippery mud, folks were walking the edges and trampling the vegetation. This is how paths widen and erode. We refused to play that game and defiantly trudged along right in the middle of the road, allowing the gooey, sticky mud to accumulate on the soles of our shoes like heavy pancakes. Unsurprisingly, no one else followed our lead. If they understood the point we were trying to make, they didn’t’ care. Principle must always take a back seat to clean shoes, especially when hiking. </p><p>A good deal of mud later, we arrived at the overlook for Potato Harbor, so named for its tuber-like shape. Over the cliffs here, you look right down into the aquamarine waters of the isolated harbor. You can also see a good portion of the western side of the island which is owned by the Nature Conservancy and thus off-limits to us commoners. Given the destructive and exploitative history of the place, that’s probably not a bad thing ultimately.</p><p>There are several bare patches of diatomaceous soil near the overlook. <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diatomaceous_earth" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Diatomaceous earth</span></a> is bright-white, chalky, sedimentary rock derived from single cell organisms made of silica called diatoms. When dissolved in water and recrystallized, diatomaceous earth forms a hard glass-like substance called chert. The native Chumash mined chert to make arrowheads, drill bits, and scraping tools. They also used it to bore holes in Olivella snail shells to create beads for trade. The abundance of chert on eastern Santa Cruz Island explains the several sites that archeologists have described as Chumash “bead factories.”</p><p>We grabbed a seat in the cherty dirt and had a snack while listening to the ocean raging against the island’s north shore. Several other folks were doing the same. When we were finished, we started back to Scorpion anchorage along the same route we used coming out, but dropped down to the campground by way of the trail adjacent to the service road. The campground was very nice and smelled of cool menthol from the grove of non-native Blue Gum Eucalyptus that was planted here as a windbreak back during the ranching era. Then it was a short stroll to the pebbly beach where we lounged around waiting for the boat ride back across the channel. </p><p>Back on the boat, the crew opened up the snack bar and I contemplated a can of beer to smooth out the ride back, but decided against it. I didn’t feel like getting gouged for a can of weak, shitty beer only to be left more sleepy than I was already. When we pulled into Ventura Harbor, I noticed that the boat had a single tap handle from none other than <a href="http://www.islandbrewingcompany.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Island Brewing Company</span></a> and I immediately regretted my prior decision. Beer from Island Brewing is always worth the price you pay both in dollars and effect. So I guess I’ll just have to make another trip across the channel in the near future to have an Islands beer on my way back from the islands.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD-0U_N2KabOKK_lk9yjVFB_XmrFNxTjENIQ42Sp4o_WOich38Gssvw0cQ_nY48JVwKOvlSn5unQwxTfAnnZLi_fIU6tfn_Yr-Y_jhBnjxVhJHqPD_3fof4O1UaOencValyXO6CstIKJmkWMYkiqiCF7TqGs-sJXTg-76ngkciUs6LUmHRDH5llxQf/s4032/20221228_121947.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD-0U_N2KabOKK_lk9yjVFB_XmrFNxTjENIQ42Sp4o_WOich38Gssvw0cQ_nY48JVwKOvlSn5unQwxTfAnnZLi_fIU6tfn_Yr-Y_jhBnjxVhJHqPD_3fof4O1UaOencValyXO6CstIKJmkWMYkiqiCF7TqGs-sJXTg-76ngkciUs6LUmHRDH5llxQf/w640-h480/20221228_121947.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRGcXni2W89bpijBVt13iHCcuF6BU9Bb0Ml_Mb_0KKdudxPWfoRQ-xBTiU1ZaCRuqp3xV-b7xK1Dwr2xrcKWqVyfJfJg1Si-u5i-3BvgZpEj2HzdzFy65oUEzCWYNEL-8xedi4SOSw7ct6zqNj4tcgL2_AEZpb5TgoiwMB-IWkbt9vmT3gfgpOseJi/s4032/20221228_130826.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRGcXni2W89bpijBVt13iHCcuF6BU9Bb0Ml_Mb_0KKdudxPWfoRQ-xBTiU1ZaCRuqp3xV-b7xK1Dwr2xrcKWqVyfJfJg1Si-u5i-3BvgZpEj2HzdzFy65oUEzCWYNEL-8xedi4SOSw7ct6zqNj4tcgL2_AEZpb5TgoiwMB-IWkbt9vmT3gfgpOseJi/w640-h480/20221228_130826.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG2GpKMPOFt8nMuJIZKA9O-pI6-Io6LTWYAp9bPae_qhrC_1G-VU8FGThYLEJULMuqq_qpbGvAFnwrxujvPyqjYS_3ZDf0lk1e3mTziGOYIbylXXRDZ-f5oiNjc8aZBhIh1Z65IONnM1aS0Huwom1JlEhmosd6tjL2W3fh9Vp9myCPs4K2V5GJS-iP/s4032/20221228_131728.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG2GpKMPOFt8nMuJIZKA9O-pI6-Io6LTWYAp9bPae_qhrC_1G-VU8FGThYLEJULMuqq_qpbGvAFnwrxujvPyqjYS_3ZDf0lk1e3mTziGOYIbylXXRDZ-f5oiNjc8aZBhIh1Z65IONnM1aS0Huwom1JlEhmosd6tjL2W3fh9Vp9myCPs4K2V5GJS-iP/w640-h480/20221228_131728.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div><br /></div>Madison Christianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476494056610217659noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6909480215675625524.post-79465914108793744472022-10-14T06:57:00.002-07:002022-10-14T08:40:51.222-07:00Gentiles on the Rim: a Goosefest Post-Mortem<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigDoHJBQoCwdSqGug8p3lC0EIsw53obKGpdB110HQ0oBHE8ElFHQmoqK9_CXiyILRuJ4xk4H5z60qf25lz1LbqzbiQ9MAmAYDNR6zezeM7CI3VINPW93Jo-owASNibT6rkJe8EITbJfa2bVeig6Dm9eJVy6LjksH7-CFCZCtfCV92JM6c-dtdxwmf_/s5184/IMG_7030.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigDoHJBQoCwdSqGug8p3lC0EIsw53obKGpdB110HQ0oBHE8ElFHQmoqK9_CXiyILRuJ4xk4H5z60qf25lz1LbqzbiQ9MAmAYDNR6zezeM7CI3VINPW93Jo-owASNibT6rkJe8EITbJfa2bVeig6Dm9eJVy6LjksH7-CFCZCtfCV92JM6c-dtdxwmf_/w640-h426/IMG_7030.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"> <b><i>The Negroes in the forest brightly feathered</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>They are saying "forget the night<br />Live with us in forests of azure<br />Out here on the perimeter there are no stars<br />Out here we is stoned, immaculate.<br />~The WASP, Jim Morrison</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>We were desert mystics, my friends and I,<br />the kind who read maps as others read their holy books.<br />~How it Was, Edward Abbey</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div style="text-align: left;">We camped on the rim of the mesa high above the hamlet of Apple Valley and the road east. On the near horizon, Smithsonian Butte rose abruptly from the desert floor like Babel's famed tower. To the north, the spectacular sandstone walls of Zion stood sentinel over the muddy Virgin River as it wends its way south to the confluence with the once-mighty Colorado. In 1869, where these waters meet, Maj. John Wesely Powell and his men emerged from a treacherous float trip through the uncharted chasm of the Grand Canyon. Back then, this was the land of the Shivwits band of the Paiute tribe. Now it is Promised Land where the saints gather. What the Mormons call New Canaan. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Here we gathered too, although we could never be mistaken for saints. In fact most of us might be appropriately branded by the local faithful as "gentiles." I wasn't always a gentile. Through baptism, and perhaps descent, I was once, according to LDS lore, a member in good standing of one of the 12 tribes of Israel. I no longer recall which tribe specifically, but when I was a child, I received a patriarchal blessing from a holy man that revealed that important piece of genealogical trivia. Over time, however, through both choice and apostasy, I became <i>persona non grata</i> in the house of Israel. So I can no longer remember that critical piece of soul-preserving information. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We were in the midst of what is euphemistically known as an Indian Summer. A periodic phenomenon when summer clings to power and refuses to cede authority to the fall. As night approached, and the heavens began to darken, a full moon replaced the warm sun that was dipping below the distant line where earth and sky merge. This particular lunar event is what they call the Hunter's Moon, a nod to both the season of slaughter and the impending winter. But it wasn't cold yet. It was quite pleasant. And there was fire anyway. There is always fire on these outings. There is something familiar and ancient and mystical about it. Even necessary. Something embedded in the intra-cellular sequences of adenine, thymine, guanine, and cytosine that conjures another time and reminds you that you were here 1000 years ago, staring into the flames with your tribesmen. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The dogs had been here at some stage in the past too. It was programmed into their DNA. These weren't animals that you'd typically see dressed in matching sweaters and being carted around the grocery store in a purse. But they weren't seasoned outdoor dogs either. These canines were accustomed to a relative soft and comfortable life on the sofa. And yet, out here on the mesa, surrounded by pinyon and juniper and the howling of their coyote brethren, they instinctively settled into the natural rhythm of the place. They answered the call of the wild. The desert does that to a soul regardless of genus or species.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdedNjyY2v3wPpg9fFNKJXYqjkzGombPxS5JDKojA7twp16zdI6gfFdI9IlhokXgEuBQS3t2_f2n-QZg_TQV2SLva3cBFIPNnTmL8eZwHN9yxCGfEi8aVYbLnVTQCR-7iVzXBEHvjRV6dSyftmiqMnDecmFE7EmHBk6gAII9CfG0qs8570h3fkf2iZ/s4032/20221008_195852.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdedNjyY2v3wPpg9fFNKJXYqjkzGombPxS5JDKojA7twp16zdI6gfFdI9IlhokXgEuBQS3t2_f2n-QZg_TQV2SLva3cBFIPNnTmL8eZwHN9yxCGfEi8aVYbLnVTQCR-7iVzXBEHvjRV6dSyftmiqMnDecmFE7EmHBk6gAII9CfG0qs8570h3fkf2iZ/w640-h480/20221008_195852.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8oljEoBof1W2YVDHCwQKiuHXOoBRqPrSjfnmq22LKc1fL_9OEANmJ9ea11Ki-mqFo1cybpxwu0JyHhhYCLzoXndS_GuBTgG3RgSj0WRXlYkDpQ6TL1THIFgJi0sw59o5O7pG8dFk2WcQewVKRm1gvJkdV5aP5OOpaqejiqwW28HpjlWC98WLyCoNH/s5184/IMG_7083.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8oljEoBof1W2YVDHCwQKiuHXOoBRqPrSjfnmq22LKc1fL_9OEANmJ9ea11Ki-mqFo1cybpxwu0JyHhhYCLzoXndS_GuBTgG3RgSj0WRXlYkDpQ6TL1THIFgJi0sw59o5O7pG8dFk2WcQewVKRm1gvJkdV5aP5OOpaqejiqwW28HpjlWC98WLyCoNH/w640-h426/IMG_7083.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUjl9G32DYDE52OwBS4UzsjpSemBrOL-ttIkeDrNoyO9ACegRuXQC8uwXR6HP95oFV2N7O40fn2SUIF9O9AazCNnVOr94rqhHa-9CpzCcx3KLh2TurlW2QnCFmbH6duB1ctpz_QiQr7BANDmctjxpA0dt3StWxM18j4LbTUx3bKY68ZKbWG9LvYSKD/s5184/IMG_7086.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUjl9G32DYDE52OwBS4UzsjpSemBrOL-ttIkeDrNoyO9ACegRuXQC8uwXR6HP95oFV2N7O40fn2SUIF9O9AazCNnVOr94rqhHa-9CpzCcx3KLh2TurlW2QnCFmbH6duB1ctpz_QiQr7BANDmctjxpA0dt3StWxM18j4LbTUx3bKY68ZKbWG9LvYSKD/w640-h426/IMG_7086.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">When the fire was nothing but bright orange embers and the conversation finally waned, we retreated to the camp spots we had each claimed as our own. I had selected a perfectly flat spot near the rim with unencumbered views to infinity and beyond. My compatriots sheltered in tents in the interstitial spaces between the ancient junipers. I too considered a tent. I even brought one along on the assumption that it would be used. But a tent only affords protection against rain, bugs, and an over-active imagination. The few millimeters of nylon that separates you from the outside won't help much if wild creatures decide to pay a visit. Even if you psychologically believe otherwise. And of course a tent impedes your ability to view the brilliant white moon, the glittering constellations, the dazzling array of visible celestial bodies, and the ethereal Milky Way. It also prevents you from seeing any nocturnal visitors whose aim is to maul you. I like to see the heavens when I camp. And I want to stare into the eyes of what is about to have me for dinner. The knowing is preferable to the not knowing. Even if the end result is the same. So I abandoned the tent in favor of a simple mat in the open and lay beneath Orion the Hunter while hoping to avoid his tragic, Scorpius-induced fate. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The next couple of days and nights were perfect and gorgeous. We explored, hiked, biked, ate, drank, laughed, cursed like foul-mouthed sailors, bullshitted each other, recalled fallen compatriots, and generally relived our glory days. When it was over, I was sad it was done. As you might surmise, Goosefest isn't really about white-knuckled adventure. Even if we were still capable of that sort of thing. Instead, it's more about reconnecting with old friends, sharing stories, enjoying meals cooked out of doors, and communing with nature. Of course I like adventure as much as the next guy, but I'm already looking toward the fourth installment of this now semi-annual desert outing.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG1JBmlvxa5Jucd9D3vfc8GI8fydlTl9kpXg3LH26axdMoTBXpaulYAGlaLXtbPkpy36gVwNJxRubUX8HqUgAkJGVyw4ENV8C1eB7toBTslAlTtuTUibk0WUWO6W1WD2MPuSDi_qAnpFgam9bbmjCW6840TSS2ajnBxkg2wwEwFxLB0rujWk1rWiUJ/s5184/IMG_7102.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG1JBmlvxa5Jucd9D3vfc8GI8fydlTl9kpXg3LH26axdMoTBXpaulYAGlaLXtbPkpy36gVwNJxRubUX8HqUgAkJGVyw4ENV8C1eB7toBTslAlTtuTUibk0WUWO6W1WD2MPuSDi_qAnpFgam9bbmjCW6840TSS2ajnBxkg2wwEwFxLB0rujWk1rWiUJ/w640-h426/IMG_7102.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMaO4_-7JlOandWFTYZN9dHCsYhNdyH7EdJQzlfAUOdhXn3sZBuwlNUR6VUQlskrLCBcXUE7ZeA14aYO_TyNIK03Vvd6_gr91mC9dxJyMpM-q0G2admoU6-lyYIXAAFKnT3i1R1-mrWiO2wZKiUuyBg74mFytVqtCx95G_RIridmhYULpBnFMWlQkX/s4032/20221008_190953.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMaO4_-7JlOandWFTYZN9dHCsYhNdyH7EdJQzlfAUOdhXn3sZBuwlNUR6VUQlskrLCBcXUE7ZeA14aYO_TyNIK03Vvd6_gr91mC9dxJyMpM-q0G2admoU6-lyYIXAAFKnT3i1R1-mrWiO2wZKiUuyBg74mFytVqtCx95G_RIridmhYULpBnFMWlQkX/w640-h480/20221008_190953.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipmGnZYspK7vf9pUtmsRoQKNf_iGVSMcu63H0MiHvGhsNTiqlK7axDdqHxaK5t8drhJm-3aX-OyGzeVPwTDRjO6-vaQ6esIN4PQJ8uEFmDfEzOpWYx0kjT_E13n04IquzylP15Zf24p5QtpaUq3wZrFAs3HQdd6A25vn_aWRgEVFZUwI1857O4P_Gh/s5184/IMG_7077.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipmGnZYspK7vf9pUtmsRoQKNf_iGVSMcu63H0MiHvGhsNTiqlK7axDdqHxaK5t8drhJm-3aX-OyGzeVPwTDRjO6-vaQ6esIN4PQJ8uEFmDfEzOpWYx0kjT_E13n04IquzylP15Zf24p5QtpaUq3wZrFAs3HQdd6A25vn_aWRgEVFZUwI1857O4P_Gh/w640-h426/IMG_7077.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Madison Christianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476494056610217659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6909480215675625524.post-43250065688013074502022-09-30T11:07:00.015-07:002022-11-21T06:41:53.552-08:00Coffee and Kearsarge<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgB-44CnT8-B0lqFWq9uzKhGEaJnLRGhl8-Mx57bpIDNK3mVcG4TVt6K6ksqOHcrSVeE7KzkNLGtNr4CBocAIRtvDHGIqBHDnILdaP56k0CH_1igMHBzDagC01N8Une9gWRyQSCTBpIPvdEdKQSQBi-0ZfzgejusL0y_e-7aTjY8Qix0Kc0AeyTaE0/s4032/20220924_140309.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="View West from Kearsarge Pass" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgB-44CnT8-B0lqFWq9uzKhGEaJnLRGhl8-Mx57bpIDNK3mVcG4TVt6K6ksqOHcrSVeE7KzkNLGtNr4CBocAIRtvDHGIqBHDnILdaP56k0CH_1igMHBzDagC01N8Une9gWRyQSCTBpIPvdEdKQSQBi-0ZfzgejusL0y_e-7aTjY8Qix0Kc0AeyTaE0/w640-h480/20220924_140309.jpg" title="Kearsarge Pinnacles and Kearsarge Lakes" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i> Live, travel, adventure, bless, and don't be sorry.</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>~Jack Kerouac</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>It is the experiences, the great triumphant joy of living to the fullest extent</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i> in which real meaning is found. God it's great to be alive!</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>~Alexander Supertramp aka Christopher McCandless</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I tended to the campfire as the sun dipped behind Owens Peak and the shadows moved cat-like across the valley floor. The only fragments of day were the pink and purple that stained the Inyo Mountains to the east. It really wasn't quite campfire weather yet. The night was warm and the hour still early, but fire is obligatory on outings like this. The radiating warmth, the alluring scent of burning pine, the snap-crackle-pop of combustion, the hypnotizing dance of the flame. There's something primal and ancient and ritualistic about it all. A vestigial connection to ancestors and the past. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Late September is high season in the Sierra so we'd driven up earlier in the day to ensure that we'd have a decent camp spot. Up the El Camino Sierra and across the high desert, through Pearsonville, Coso, Dunmovin, Grant, Olancha, Cartago, and all the other bleak little outposts littered with sun-bleached single-wides, dilapidated buildings, and junky automobiles slowly disintegrating in the scorching heat. This is the land of stolen water and murdered dreams. What <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marc_Reisner" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Marc Reisner</span></a> called the "<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/en/book/show/56140.Cadillac_Desert" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Cadillac Desert</span></a>."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Our weekend objective was Kearsarge Pass out of Onion Valley. If we were feeling frisky, we might give Mt. Gould a go once at the pass. <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kearsarge_Pass#:~:text=The%20pass%20was%20named%20after,Kearsarge%20Pass%20was%20in%201864." target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Kearsarge Pass</span></a> and its namesake peak were named after the Union battleship USS Kearsarge. In June of 1864, the <a href="http://www.owensvalleyhistory.com/sierra_names1/page63.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Kearsarge destroyed the CSS Alabama</span></a>, a Confederate cruiser that sunk 64 American merchant ships in the Atlantic. The nearby Alabama Hills were named by Confederate sympathizers after the Alabama. Local Unionists then named the pass and peak after the Kearsarge as a kind of "fuck you!" in response. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPAj-njONcGbu8mBUjxot-6VKjt_ECLFZSAcUr9eSC1-tv-TOQXbmnywyc5b9v4ek52q7hxEbTfSlwhKg18W1jTmXm2gSWuMAjt1LXqWYMHACkWb--UoYqYukFXJSeRrfwOn1YY7-V-cH7_hqXMYRKSxbs6jjvj4iSt393c1hdGR76IuswMKmxfKOD/s4032/20220923_191307.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPAj-njONcGbu8mBUjxot-6VKjt_ECLFZSAcUr9eSC1-tv-TOQXbmnywyc5b9v4ek52q7hxEbTfSlwhKg18W1jTmXm2gSWuMAjt1LXqWYMHACkWb--UoYqYukFXJSeRrfwOn1YY7-V-cH7_hqXMYRKSxbs6jjvj4iSt393c1hdGR76IuswMKmxfKOD/w640-h480/20220923_191307.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggDCUohHiH7za4fZP_A6trl8VubhDxlqDqChkfylq_Oqrfc2tqGxf1XIbEL_2Cw7D1tROpKeb8G9m2dolceCOEgbXx-auy8svLMbmKhTWr3ppWZcS7c8wo-FeOO_7rPbmSv820_bwzuWp3DizeYVwFlCHG1RA_NZT4ZuW31XsBVJ6e0YIQ6D0M7tW9/s4032/20220924_064134.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Owens Valley" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggDCUohHiH7za4fZP_A6trl8VubhDxlqDqChkfylq_Oqrfc2tqGxf1XIbEL_2Cw7D1tROpKeb8G9m2dolceCOEgbXx-auy8svLMbmKhTWr3ppWZcS7c8wo-FeOO_7rPbmSv820_bwzuWp3DizeYVwFlCHG1RA_NZT4ZuW31XsBVJ6e0YIQ6D0M7tW9/w640-h480/20220924_064134.jpg" title="Owens Valley Morning" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJYCrfwCdtu82h2_IJytmF7T4eyFh4hlPWmYN9MTp_ledFsILFRmSFr9JAZQxzW7Agyz0m8b0XhMakSH0QnpJsQPZteZUPT-IWHbd-vHu7yEDLBVxRPStRxQCAxULW_q6N-SZi2dH7wmRccVdVXIg2Rnib5-Fl8ZpNOCtlBX4k_mIrjgFaPj_rvEOp/s4032/20220924_065311.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Sierra Alpenglow" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJYCrfwCdtu82h2_IJytmF7T4eyFh4hlPWmYN9MTp_ledFsILFRmSFr9JAZQxzW7Agyz0m8b0XhMakSH0QnpJsQPZteZUPT-IWHbd-vHu7yEDLBVxRPStRxQCAxULW_q6N-SZi2dH7wmRccVdVXIg2Rnib5-Fl8ZpNOCtlBX4k_mIrjgFaPj_rvEOp/w640-h480/20220924_065311.jpg" title="Morning in the Alabama Hills" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We got a bit of a late start Saturday morning because we lollygagged around camp too long. The start then got delayed further when we made a mandatory stop for caffeine. Lone Pine has a cute independent coffee house called the Lone Star Bistro, but we didn't go there. The last time I visited, the older guy behind the counter (who I surmise was the owner) was kind of a surly wiener. When he asked me what I wanted, I jokingly told him in my worst Anglo-Spanish that I wanted coffee - enormous, gigante, grande! He got triggered by the word "grande" and barked back at me "this isn't Starbucks!" before begrudgingly getting me a "large." So on this trip we went to McDonald's where the dick factor is much lower and the coffee better. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's a curious thing. Lone Pine is a small, rural place. It really isn't self-sustaining. It relies on "big city" tourists for survival. Or at least to bolster the local economy. And yet, several establishments there appear to revile the tourist hand that feeds them. Jake's Saloon is such a place. Right next to the Lone Star Bistro, Jake's recently had a sign posted over the bar warning "No Hipsters! Don't be coming in here with your hairy faces, your vegan diet, your tiny feet & your sawdust bedding." Maybe they were kidding. Maybe they weren't. I don't really care. I don't patronize Jake's. Not because I consider myself a hipster. At my age, literally no one would make that mistake. I don't patronize Jake's because the last time I went there it was unbearably hot and the bartender reminded me of the pawn shop keeper in Pulp Fiction. And then there was the large Confederate flag hanging prominently over the bar. 150 plus years and counting and the scourge of the Confederacy is still with us. So, local rednecks only at Jake's I guess. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Leaving Lone Pine, we drove north to Independence where the road to Onion Valley leads west following a gash in the mountains where Independence Creek spills out onto the arid plain. Along the way, we passed the <a href="https://www.nps.gov/manz/index.htm" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Manzanar National Historic Site</span></a> where the United States forcibly relocated and then detained Japanese-Americans during World War II. With the stunning backdrop of the Sierra crest, Manzanar is austere and starkly beautiful. We could have done Americans of Japanese descent worse. But it is a prison nonetheless. The old guard towers sitting along 395 attest to that. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Onion Valley Road, which begins in Independence as Market Street, is an impressive bit of engineering and road-building. As you climb away from town and begin to gain elevation, you can't help but wonder who it was that first ascended the canyon and established the route that thousands now follow. That same thought pops into my mind whenever I drive up to Horseshoe Meadows, the Whitney Portal, Glacier Lodge, and all the other roads that breach the mountainous bulwark that protects the inner sanctum of the range. In the case of Kearsarge, the first ascent up Independence Creek was probably by natives following game trails. But apparently the first documented crossing of Kearsarge Pass was accomplished in <a href="http://www.yosemite.ca.us/library/place_names_of_the_high_sierra/k.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">1864 by eleven prospectors</span></a> looking to strike it rich. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE0LtaWF-L_XHqWrEkAsDM4mpmi0VCIMGN1tbGc_715pYReQU99nRMsJYzAh1y1IEJ82jhEb5hXYOo8wyG9sNPJeCZ6R6i4cq5whveIqLUqBsJuNCPT1iRZ4ohpF6TMeJAqyUuhqZuKVzvqaJQCev80Gbm9QWNNGjHCQPDBn67rhMZC5O8pR8o1_pR/s4032/20220924_112946.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Kearsarge Pass Trail" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE0LtaWF-L_XHqWrEkAsDM4mpmi0VCIMGN1tbGc_715pYReQU99nRMsJYzAh1y1IEJ82jhEb5hXYOo8wyG9sNPJeCZ6R6i4cq5whveIqLUqBsJuNCPT1iRZ4ohpF6TMeJAqyUuhqZuKVzvqaJQCev80Gbm9QWNNGjHCQPDBn67rhMZC5O8pR8o1_pR/w640-h480/20220924_112946.jpg" title="Kearsarge Pass Trail" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlypHkRosThOv7bXDdvUIche1rPjbM6R1VgHHOrK02N9oM9JyZT7rfhzi2NaKk7yfjA_pgMSLiRtonK_H99pDtQy1QfPftPD8tRoz8gcJQQriHWpB18e1nzN0gDN_aIibNwUVgtagklmMmRW3YPhtYPBT1AnhKeuAFloz_0tFflRgn_i5UUh0I-MSi/s4032/20220924_115247.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Flower Lake" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlypHkRosThOv7bXDdvUIche1rPjbM6R1VgHHOrK02N9oM9JyZT7rfhzi2NaKk7yfjA_pgMSLiRtonK_H99pDtQy1QfPftPD8tRoz8gcJQQriHWpB18e1nzN0gDN_aIibNwUVgtagklmMmRW3YPhtYPBT1AnhKeuAFloz_0tFflRgn_i5UUh0I-MSi/w640-h480/20220924_115247.jpg" title="Flower Lake" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_e5NS4Y3flFJMF5KtYwVwpGpjYZEVI4M8jTcUErZCv5Xq9w1lUMjXDh-JBWm6e8NPW_Rmm3E65mXXN_0rlkHYqSt7dkLM-KOUUSjb4iyE8werplJAH52LGoYbT4aTYx-JLumCJWajNddyd-BcHjsZoytG6M-nDV96l38nrJRETqZ6WyoSj5_-mZaX/s4032/20220924_124047.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Kearsarge Pass Trail" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_e5NS4Y3flFJMF5KtYwVwpGpjYZEVI4M8jTcUErZCv5Xq9w1lUMjXDh-JBWm6e8NPW_Rmm3E65mXXN_0rlkHYqSt7dkLM-KOUUSjb4iyE8werplJAH52LGoYbT4aTYx-JLumCJWajNddyd-BcHjsZoytG6M-nDV96l38nrJRETqZ6WyoSj5_-mZaX/w640-h480/20220924_124047.jpg" title="Kearsarge Pass Trail" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">At the trailhead, we found the parking lot jammed to capacity. The Kearsarge Pass Trail has always been a popular route, but not <i><b>this</b></i> popular. A sign of the times I suppose. So we parked along the road and started up, following a conga-line of about 18 hikers on a group outing. Over the course of the day, we would play leap-frog with this group as we passed them and then they passed us until we all finally arrived at the pass 5 miles later at about the same time. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's been a dry few years in the Sierra, but Independence Creek was coursing, presumably still being fed by what remains of the glacier that sits beneath impressive University Peak. That glacier, along with snow-melt, also nourishes the chain of stunning lakes that stud the basin. The trail climbs right out of the parking lot to the first of these lakes, Little Pothole, where you get a very brief respite before the climb resumes. Comparatively speaking, Little Pothole is the ugly step-sister of the other lakes. It is diminutive and decidedly unpretentious. But it is also infused with minerals from glacial melt that makes it gleam a brilliant aquamarine. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Further up trail, after a number of switch-backs and past the rock garden, is pretty Gilbert Lake. There's a big, flat granite boulder on the west side of the lake immediately trailside that I'm pretty certain is a mandatory stop for everyone hiking the trail. The boulder sits above blue Gilbert and affords a perfect Instagramable photo-op. Being the social media influencers that we are (or at least, imagine ourselves to be), we stopped briefly for some pictures that would instantly make everyone covet our perfect, adventurous life and hate there own. Then it was a short stroll to languid Flower Lake where nice campsites dot the eastern shore. This is the jumping off point if you plan on visiting the Matlock Lakes to the south. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We, of course, continued up the main trail that proceeds to climb to tree-line with additional urgency. Along the way, we passed sapphire-hued Heart Lake and Big Pothole Lake, both of which sit well below the trail at this point. Despite that, both of these lakes are reachable. And I spied a couple of perfect tent sites on Heart's eastern shore. Further reconnaissance required. Big Pothole on the other hand, sits in a barren, exposed depression surrounded by nothing but boulders and scree. Pitching a tent here really doesn't look feasible or enjoyable.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy0Wt9eAFHrV37iGos334rnpbYxnVYytjB6sJilXQF1CYAoZ76RzLMNrdPY5rFkfDA9c7Ojn__uiNYHOCGB56sImTUrjfzcTkKsYfs3XP0bCOWKGFJ7W2zv1mqYQgG2i-3FoKzwV-MZK_FmM7gy3j3yQuxULoR1wn-wqjh5qJS5560XbTCvUKNgzey/s4032/20220924_124828.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Heart Lake" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy0Wt9eAFHrV37iGos334rnpbYxnVYytjB6sJilXQF1CYAoZ76RzLMNrdPY5rFkfDA9c7Ojn__uiNYHOCGB56sImTUrjfzcTkKsYfs3XP0bCOWKGFJ7W2zv1mqYQgG2i-3FoKzwV-MZK_FmM7gy3j3yQuxULoR1wn-wqjh5qJS5560XbTCvUKNgzey/w640-h480/20220924_124828.jpg" title="Heart Lake Tent Sites" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNh7lF1HVTukupNDrnk4shqQTxtOkWJ4XImAtVrrYV0KbQzOQlgXjDLMgkEm-n95N0a99pnOURMr9irJ8ioMdGH4ydfVW7gizz8Irm7peDsIPaBcCdToabZlGLMFtwb2Ef2xoZg9J6zKkZzjTBuKjD6wL--nCjyiEK74fdutGf8Jy22EKl22W1KU_V/s4032/20220924_125615.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Kearsarge Lakes Basin" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNh7lF1HVTukupNDrnk4shqQTxtOkWJ4XImAtVrrYV0KbQzOQlgXjDLMgkEm-n95N0a99pnOURMr9irJ8ioMdGH4ydfVW7gizz8Irm7peDsIPaBcCdToabZlGLMFtwb2Ef2xoZg9J6zKkZzjTBuKjD6wL--nCjyiEK74fdutGf8Jy22EKl22W1KU_V/w640-h480/20220924_125615.jpg" title="Owens Valley View" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn9UMu6g8vwJaARp_tH_U09JKeHfOewhNqivbAz3gvswjLlUGu9j7KIafya0MIDXzEIhPQOU4qYgbTZTa81lJ7W0Jy42nYkqpBCY2w4vKlbqHCWs3NSBIMkBWXrp3lMMLVbn48YJY0B7bMdyPupuxLpOuHVl_ggULsZYinTYyZjfE85huhedDGp-06/s4032/20220924_132440.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Approaching Kearsarge Pass" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn9UMu6g8vwJaARp_tH_U09JKeHfOewhNqivbAz3gvswjLlUGu9j7KIafya0MIDXzEIhPQOU4qYgbTZTa81lJ7W0Jy42nYkqpBCY2w4vKlbqHCWs3NSBIMkBWXrp3lMMLVbn48YJY0B7bMdyPupuxLpOuHVl_ggULsZYinTYyZjfE85huhedDGp-06/w640-h480/20220924_132440.jpg" title="Approaching Kearsarge Pass" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">We were in the home stretch now. Right at tree-line. 11,200 feet. We could now plainly see the pass ahead, but stopped briefly on a big old slab of granite for water and snacks before the final push. It's easy to forget to eat at altitude. At least it is for me. I have no appetite when I'm up high. Even foods that I normally love are unappealing. So I too often don't eat enough while I'm in the Sierra. Same with hydration. With all the lakes, gurgling streams, trees, and peaks, it's easy to get lulled into the false sense that you're not actually traipsing through what amounts to a humongous food dehydrator. The environment here is harsh. If you don't take in enough water, the intense aridity, solar radiation, and wind will punish you without remorse.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Moving again, we followed the final segment of trail as it made a couple of big, lazy switchbacks across the scree slope of Mt. Gould's south face before topping out at the pass at 11,760 feet. From this aerie, you have panoramic views of the ragged Kearsarge Pinnacles and the cerulean Kearsarge Lakes, both of which sit in Kings Canyon National Park.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We found an available spot on a rocky prominence that afforded grand views of both sides of the divide and sat amongst the crowd to take it all in. In any other circumstance, I'd probably be annoyed. I'm a bit of a misanthrope and don't appreciate other impinging on "my" space and solitude. I come to the mountains to get away from folks, not to be with them. But the mountains change people. It infects them with what <a href="https://www.kimstanleyrobinson.info/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Kim Stanley Robinson</span></a> described in a recent <a href="https://www.backpacker.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Backpacker Magazine</span></a> article as "crazy love." It's the mystical feeling of pure freedom and boundless joy one has when in the mountains or on the trail. Anyone who hasn't experienced it probably won't understand, but it's almost religious in nature. I realize that sounds hyperbolic, but you see it manifest in people you encounter on the trail. Everyone you come across is happy, friendly, engaging, and helpful. Like you, they are all elated to be out. Nature has unbridled them. It has stripped away the heavy encumbrances put upon them by the rules, regulations, expectations, and responsibilities of the culture. So you get to see folks in their pure, original, blissful state. You can't get that at the local shopping mall.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqBwTRl-6LtCBoQBP3om_8mPhoC_ulToe48lE8KPLPOUZXlN5EpjNLwmAFyRuZWXhPUKR4ZinZixZaFGMe6Iisw7gLMP_1SYi_h-dJivVQ_Bumlz2YJLeXvyv0oWxA4nNsJN5X2kqPjAk-cuqLLuNEweSSuAZZTETq_NZaKg-fg4gtNeLGsCwHAFCO/s4032/20220924_140309.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="View West from Kearsarge Pass" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqBwTRl-6LtCBoQBP3om_8mPhoC_ulToe48lE8KPLPOUZXlN5EpjNLwmAFyRuZWXhPUKR4ZinZixZaFGMe6Iisw7gLMP_1SYi_h-dJivVQ_Bumlz2YJLeXvyv0oWxA4nNsJN5X2kqPjAk-cuqLLuNEweSSuAZZTETq_NZaKg-fg4gtNeLGsCwHAFCO/w640-h480/20220924_140309.jpg" title="View West from the Pass" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjocG-MUA5aRexlJCiKjuXdEXdYJ_8ydINmo4xZ3l0CFGOtr-cke6CPdDGkxgfGHLzQlUY_wQWgdEMZ0DHk_odi5-X4XTNQM9zITolUG2CjN3mVas8F19DQioo062yNHSlem5_7Z8W9G5JhVyV8xr5J5_2Vxxu-aGEHpMHslsEjinaHIKP4Q9M-2vit/s4032/20220924_140326.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Big Pothole Lake" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjocG-MUA5aRexlJCiKjuXdEXdYJ_8ydINmo4xZ3l0CFGOtr-cke6CPdDGkxgfGHLzQlUY_wQWgdEMZ0DHk_odi5-X4XTNQM9zITolUG2CjN3mVas8F19DQioo062yNHSlem5_7Z8W9G5JhVyV8xr5J5_2Vxxu-aGEHpMHslsEjinaHIKP4Q9M-2vit/w640-h480/20220924_140326.jpg" title="Big Pothole Lake" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwHX6b6PERuWYJI8EWuVVHwrqWGvo9jYsugZyHbz1V84Pv3YC8jS2zUhMbMGS2hy_rBJwEuy4qUNt_0Au7XAw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">From the pass, the route to Mt. Gould takes you immediately north up a steep Class 2 scree field to the summit. We briefly considered making an attempt, but decided against it as the hour was later than we had anticipated. So we retraced our steps to Onion Valley where the madding crowds in the parking area had dissipated somewhat. It was then a relatively quick drive back to our camp in the Alabama Hills for one more precious night of crackling fire, black skies, and brilliant stars.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAvpMHCxrL4DLo7dxTEr5-PTHYIjgoqCrybTRCxD_qSDc1JM7AWU48kEImxYCd0Pvm_YwDjYWDIE9hQ7_0aL2-sGw8QYhzGETtpu1VVep0WurkjVs82_kVtn0R93Pru-LA9Ql4Aptqr6B3lSSOx6e1wJJCvr-iZ7ZDOCWbqDcDdy3wm9qkpbjYUJCi/s4032/20220924_153951.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Gilbert Lake" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAvpMHCxrL4DLo7dxTEr5-PTHYIjgoqCrybTRCxD_qSDc1JM7AWU48kEImxYCd0Pvm_YwDjYWDIE9hQ7_0aL2-sGw8QYhzGETtpu1VVep0WurkjVs82_kVtn0R93Pru-LA9Ql4Aptqr6B3lSSOx6e1wJJCvr-iZ7ZDOCWbqDcDdy3wm9qkpbjYUJCi/w640-h480/20220924_153951.jpg" title="Gilbert Lake" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWO41Kw2MvkcRTXhbWtogfTFNTK63JNwRm9Vq5oX5AHWWXY-Y4WANGCadOTYmOnXuzaOj3MdNvaE3IEPJpogI94zpQfMAle5nsrNPaT-zSUCLLcSDmC8NmorIAtsCIx7cnQNiUCjTyx9yBrrV2UY94L8PgeeNgDYWNzyALAWgsr7SzOZuHapEJRfI-/s4032/20220924_164246.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Kearsarge Pass Trail" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWO41Kw2MvkcRTXhbWtogfTFNTK63JNwRm9Vq5oX5AHWWXY-Y4WANGCadOTYmOnXuzaOj3MdNvaE3IEPJpogI94zpQfMAle5nsrNPaT-zSUCLLcSDmC8NmorIAtsCIx7cnQNiUCjTyx9yBrrV2UY94L8PgeeNgDYWNzyALAWgsr7SzOZuHapEJRfI-/w640-h480/20220924_164246.jpg" title="Descending Kearsarge Pass Trail" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbQo12juwGDr8HOcYMZoqRPbownrRUQn9iA6AXY_58xN55fpm9qfiIqKDZJBaCaFMbIMo8N6bo8_ZERiQyjT7H11G_PxSz-PlfdxheQECdNZ-kHR_owCnJ-tbdE7biHqnjDr7EHh2ICh7xYI_F10MkliF16F7xcaFdBVBSh4O8RmecpS6KGHrKq8_c/s4032/20220924_191332.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Alabama Hills Camp" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbQo12juwGDr8HOcYMZoqRPbownrRUQn9iA6AXY_58xN55fpm9qfiIqKDZJBaCaFMbIMo8N6bo8_ZERiQyjT7H11G_PxSz-PlfdxheQECdNZ-kHR_owCnJ-tbdE7biHqnjDr7EHh2ICh7xYI_F10MkliF16F7xcaFdBVBSh4O8RmecpS6KGHrKq8_c/w640-h480/20220924_191332.jpg" title="Alabama Hills Camp" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p>Madison Christianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476494056610217659noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6909480215675625524.post-44581560760530864902022-09-17T08:31:00.007-07:002022-10-16T10:14:00.793-07:00Prologue: Goosefest and the Prophet of Stoke<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUe3zjhwK_5jZ-DxGSpy95c8OkDV9O8Vb8NHGVF_i3fGwTSnEw_gu6QeQCYRQ4spMoiZdXVjItF_xyCmUVqJb7Nk7yAS5TzqBI2M4mMtGfRkS7Dou5IrpRXJJIJoqT32d4N17Qz5O-8hKJqPAb-jvLlPtawCcZ4ZTcID4eDTLAFD42MAUJM_olMGM_/s4032/20220423_154411.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUe3zjhwK_5jZ-DxGSpy95c8OkDV9O8Vb8NHGVF_i3fGwTSnEw_gu6QeQCYRQ4spMoiZdXVjItF_xyCmUVqJb7Nk7yAS5TzqBI2M4mMtGfRkS7Dou5IrpRXJJIJoqT32d4N17Qz5O-8hKJqPAb-jvLlPtawCcZ4ZTcID4eDTLAFD42MAUJM_olMGM_/w640-h480/20220423_154411.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>It's better to burn out than it is to rust.</b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>~My, my, hey, hey (Into the Black), Neil Young</b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave,</b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>find your eternity in each moment.</b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>Fools stand on their island of opportunities</b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>and look toward another land.</b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>There is no other land; there is no other life than this.</b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>~Henry David Thoreau</b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>"What day is it?" asked Pooh.</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>"It's today," squeaked Piglet.</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>"My favorite day," said Pooh.</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>Winnie the Pooh, A.A. Milne</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><h2 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><u>Preface to the Prologue - A Goose is Born</u></i></span></h2><div>In the southwest corner of southern Utah, just east of the town of Hurricane, there's a sandstone plateau sandwiched between Utah State Route 9 and Utah State Route 59. The former parallels the Virgin River and takes you to the entrance to Zion National Park at Springdale. The latter tracks southeast and routes you through the polygamist enclaves of Hildale and Colorado City on the Arizona border. The island-in-the-sky sitting in the middle, which bears the moniker Gooseberry Mesa, occupies land managed by the Bureau of Land Management, and has become a mecca of sorts for the mountain-biking set. The famed Red Bull Rampage is held on the north side of the mesa annually.</div><div><br /></div><div>In early 2021, when Covid was having its own rampage, my old pal Buzz and I decided to connect for a bit of camping under the stars. We figured even with the unending doom and gloom of the pandemic, we could pretty much stave off the rona if we were outdoors. Since my friend is in Salt Lake City and I'm in Southern California, we settled on Gooseberry Mesa as a sort of mid-point. But geography wasn't the sole determining factor. Amenities, or the lack thereof, was also important. And "The Goose" has (or doesn't have as the case may be) what we were looking for: no hassles, no authoritarian rangers, no fees, rudimentary yet acceptable bathroom facilities, grand views, big skies, good weather, campfires, and lots of open space for recreating. Perfecto!</div><div><br /></div><div>So in April, we joined up on the mesa for a few days and nights of fraternity, outdoor indulgence, and general degeneracy. You know, all the standard stuff: biking, exploring, corn-holing, drinking, playing with fire, shooting the shit, and stuffing ourselves with epicurean delights. My daughter and a couple of our other old buddies from the past joined us and we all had a swell old time. When there was a lull in the action, Buzz kept us entertained with his humorous anecdotes, folksy mannerisms, and impersonations of famous rock-n-roll guitarists. Once the final day of the trip arrived, we had such a good time we committed to do it again the following spring. And thus, Goosefest was birthed. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSCCi3A-7Iyuz4XDoop-8pIyUsj_pCXd8cJuGU_pxUl8OzGd23kBUYmUBeooyH-QEPbRz2EUKJLqs9Amxhp6hGP_BpY6YpNeg3tqxByLbHZUGN4CswHZleas7bYOvdAu_dti-HSXVkwJpp0Ybvgd7ZqYwgfd6CmXICtJbnzxcGYasG0J4IZ7-Yt3bv/s4032/PSX_20210427_164545.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSCCi3A-7Iyuz4XDoop-8pIyUsj_pCXd8cJuGU_pxUl8OzGd23kBUYmUBeooyH-QEPbRz2EUKJLqs9Amxhp6hGP_BpY6YpNeg3tqxByLbHZUGN4CswHZleas7bYOvdAu_dti-HSXVkwJpp0Ybvgd7ZqYwgfd6CmXICtJbnzxcGYasG0J4IZ7-Yt3bv/w640-h480/PSX_20210427_164545.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>A Gathering of the Tribe</i></b></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDDXokj2WqWbblpYfQOMCriTmNF1G1TE_yCjaOHxT_jX0Uf9mVsK0aMy9m3RwJEv9fMKVNSfH8YTr8-Wws0YvG2BMDIC87RFe3P2wrdahy6EUaR7guMbJ-2RTTd91jbPEEaWNrBQu4BEd2gFl-ddEzrZETqvZS6O4amfb_VAnP0zO7hWTqTLzr2vfQ/s4032/20210422_204247.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDDXokj2WqWbblpYfQOMCriTmNF1G1TE_yCjaOHxT_jX0Uf9mVsK0aMy9m3RwJEv9fMKVNSfH8YTr8-Wws0YvG2BMDIC87RFe3P2wrdahy6EUaR7guMbJ-2RTTd91jbPEEaWNrBQu4BEd2gFl-ddEzrZETqvZS6O4amfb_VAnP0zO7hWTqTLzr2vfQ/w640-h480/20210422_204247.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>Wildsouthland and Progeny</i></b></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-jM7RO8AKWaJZrfyh7Ep1qji4b0PxVXIW7iPg6-7-fPlNRNvN6l_Gh05FqTpE6ERiWArxXiR1rvJaSh1FXm6ORv0qT4mXdXmA7i3NRL1JRb_bDWt8El4m9wh_6WUKsSmFMDm8S8sCY5pbbmO4IrnEySI5L8dQIbAnTlwEUgMgO5_UY7QGSUHqGPqj/s1600/IMG_5537.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-jM7RO8AKWaJZrfyh7Ep1qji4b0PxVXIW7iPg6-7-fPlNRNvN6l_Gh05FqTpE6ERiWArxXiR1rvJaSh1FXm6ORv0qT4mXdXmA7i3NRL1JRb_bDWt8El4m9wh_6WUKsSmFMDm8S8sCY5pbbmO4IrnEySI5L8dQIbAnTlwEUgMgO5_UY7QGSUHqGPqj/w640-h480/IMG_5537.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>Gray Hairs</i></b></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZD59hP8ImcnByKFG3S_bxfCpm-nDO0EE2ZNfVSvxqw6qTkycrqQx4jLlEibNJ8JMdfZmi5zHk8d2vL0Vy4ZYo2iOt902qviEZNyk3RCtUfrrmqZWEWyfVLXsnK4pmHnUx-RnXizDOc1pAPbWRk0fy7BVUl-tdKmrhha_ypSJApYSkNsfkgfSbVYS0/s1600/IMG_2269.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZD59hP8ImcnByKFG3S_bxfCpm-nDO0EE2ZNfVSvxqw6qTkycrqQx4jLlEibNJ8JMdfZmi5zHk8d2vL0Vy4ZYo2iOt902qviEZNyk3RCtUfrrmqZWEWyfVLXsnK4pmHnUx-RnXizDOc1pAPbWRk0fy7BVUl-tdKmrhha_ypSJApYSkNsfkgfSbVYS0/w640-h480/IMG_2269.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Corn-holing on the Mesa with Dan-o</i></b></div><h2 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><u>The Prophet of Stoke</u></i></span></h2><div>Buzzard and I go back four-plus decades. We were both skiers in high school. Later in college we worked together at the Sports Stocker in Trolley Square tuning and waxing other people's skis. I never knew Buzz by any name other than Buzz and was convinced that is what his parents christened him. My wife called bullshit on that a couple of years ago and directly asked him his real name to which he replied "Brett." Then she gave me the knowing look. I was both stunned and deflated. I had never asked him the question before mainly because I had no reason to question what I otherwise knew to be true. And it never dawned on me that his name could be anything else. For 40 years I held fast to the belief that the name on his birth certificate, baptismal certificate, high school diploma, passport, and driver's license was "Buzz." And contradictory evidence aside, I'm not about abandon that fervent belief now. I'm digging in. Old fantasies die hard I suppose. </div><div><br /></div><div>The endearing thing about Buzzard is his sunny, gushing enthusiasm. He gets stoked about everything. Especially if it involves outdoor activities. Camping? Oh, fuck yeah! Biking? Let's get it! Skiing? Hells yeah Dude! New propane stove? Woohoo, score!!! Stone IPA in a 19.2 oz. can? Totally stoked! His reservoir of enthusiasm is deep. It's refreshing and infectious. It's not in my nature, but I find myself getting totally amped about rather ordinary things when I'm hanging out with the Prophet of Stoke.</div><div><br /></div><div>He's also a well of wisdom. On our most recent Goosefest, we were sitting around the campfire talking about age because Buzz's birthday was right around the corner. The big 6-0. Entrance to the Golden Years. Buzz told us that every time he turns another year older, he let's go of some baggage that he's been carrying around with him. Just let's it go. Figures as he ages, he doesn't need that shit dragging him down any longer. I'd really never thought of that. I don't tend to hold onto the past. Or at least I don't think I do. From my perspective, the past is dead. No need to continually re-live it. As Tom Petty crooned, <a href="https://youtu.be/pDPq1QbGAAk" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">"it's time to move on, it's time to get going."</span></a> I don't want or need dead grass not growing under my feet. Still, I've taken the teachings of Buzz to heart and now consciously try to let things just wash over me and then disappear down the drain. I don't always succeed, but I'm trying.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu-uvWQZZ6SZcq0-mwRnPA9zF_6p7uqLE2tyNfrP76lqjcOEo68smsdo9qlEBFIIQVjKDgCobsiH-LFWzHGPZmh5Y-YI9d-usc0wvUqNhVX94bTEw82pJEqdsq376efPGTjdcU89ZA8MRmKci35btZM9Acry6xGqoG5I8YOYSeOppwSUSuPbshrBjm/s4032/20210424_115318.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu-uvWQZZ6SZcq0-mwRnPA9zF_6p7uqLE2tyNfrP76lqjcOEo68smsdo9qlEBFIIQVjKDgCobsiH-LFWzHGPZmh5Y-YI9d-usc0wvUqNhVX94bTEw82pJEqdsq376efPGTjdcU89ZA8MRmKci35btZM9Acry6xGqoG5I8YOYSeOppwSUSuPbshrBjm/w640-h480/20210424_115318.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>Church Services - Buzzard at the Pulpit</i></b></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHjcre6yQtnUZ7sUsFo4qUAuPeqCCs1VZjYLaV01TznihWPSHI-E0nbOY9mf0MCAeEF0lnhVnMNzCIqDIvwySWs-Mcu4NVW3ZgqzXqecQ2R-STHZaqeN2xsXoosUp6B7YQSJXqOn7LaC0aFijeC_i_RtlmQG7m5NCEWAlUAL07hC1gvjDwo7OuyYg2/s4032/20220423_132806.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHjcre6yQtnUZ7sUsFo4qUAuPeqCCs1VZjYLaV01TznihWPSHI-E0nbOY9mf0MCAeEF0lnhVnMNzCIqDIvwySWs-Mcu4NVW3ZgqzXqecQ2R-STHZaqeN2xsXoosUp6B7YQSJXqOn7LaC0aFijeC_i_RtlmQG7m5NCEWAlUAL07hC1gvjDwo7OuyYg2/w480-h640/20220423_132806.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>The Prophet Dispensing Advice to his Disciples</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><h2 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><u>Goosefest 2 - Snow and Tequila</u></i></span></h2><div>A year after the inaugural Goosefest, we returned to the scene of the crime. Some of the prior participants dropped off for this one, but we picked up the O.G. aka Super Dave to fill the gap. Buzz went down the night before we arrived to secure a site as the mesa has become quite popular and finding a good place to camp can be a challenge, even in early season. Fortunately, as Buzz was out scouring the area the following morning, he crossed paths with a group that was moving out of a very spacious site right on the rim. So as they moved out, Buzzard moved in and we were set for the weekend.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sitting right on the rim has its advantages. The most obvious is the sublime views you get from the plateau's edge. Staring out over southern Utah's tablelands from on high really is the <i>locus classicus</i> of redrock desert camping. But the mesa's edge also has the breeze. That's great if your a raptor that likes to soar on thermals. It's also great when its warm as that breeze takes the hot edge off. But when its cool, the wind doesn't do anything but just makes it colder. </div><div><br /></div><div>And on this trip, unlike our first outing, it was cool and the weather unsettled. The desert can be fickle this time of year so I suppose it's to be expected even though we didn't expect it. But we were reminded of this the first afternoon when it snowed. Or maybe it was hail. Or sleet, whatever that is. To be honest, it was hard to tell exactly because what fell from the dark sky was kind of a mongrel form of precipitation. But regardless of its meteorological definition, we weren't prepared for it. So when the frozen pellets began dropping from the sky, we all dashed to our cars to take refuge while the storm pelted our camp. When it was finally over and safe to come outside to play again, we found the ground littered with white stuff. The snow/hail/sleet wasn't particularly wet and it didn't last long, but the warmth really never returned. It was chilly the rest of the time. </div><div><br /></div><div>But if the worst that can be said about your camp outing is that was it was a tad cool, how bad can it really be? So despite the less than optimal temps and occasional downpour, we still busied ourselves with riding and hiking and exploring and all manner of the typical camping whatnot. The task was made easier (or maybe harder) by the bottle of tequila that D brought along to lubricate our activities and sedate our souls. Later on while sitting around the fire, we sampled peach cobbler that Buzz cobbled together in a dutch oven. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCbut8F1qZCjYHdGwZWkE6So_L7dNkSbGNGpAtcXD4j8xBXqbrzRy41hybgGiOUFQ8leGHtcOe6vBbM7NsqZdImeE4TancAJCeUB4_lL42X_y7R4avNMt0Yvf5_rlJglvEUGvm6zw2rnBpXVIAN8blcIUCO_V8muleLrWIb_bdwyeQVQaf_MyKC3Wo/s4032/20220422_112238.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCbut8F1qZCjYHdGwZWkE6So_L7dNkSbGNGpAtcXD4j8xBXqbrzRy41hybgGiOUFQ8leGHtcOe6vBbM7NsqZdImeE4TancAJCeUB4_lL42X_y7R4avNMt0Yvf5_rlJglvEUGvm6zw2rnBpXVIAN8blcIUCO_V8muleLrWIb_bdwyeQVQaf_MyKC3Wo/w640-h480/20220422_112238.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>After the Storm</i></b></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFP9UVQkS2KRfOQzpv7MzC3pNyqBnyo2ZnDAeCYo15pRUkNDvjNUa8T0fCyZbc0J99HJ7x_3irb2nOkRIPH-hKIDvKrQwvDObBgbFjAME3simmtX6Lqo5FbsgFwfkK_TYNujpZmLOfPU-Nbhgjc0sQpDbzLJRtB3IlP9Ub9wxV9txKu9rLz0nUpUnI/s4032/20220421_090936.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFP9UVQkS2KRfOQzpv7MzC3pNyqBnyo2ZnDAeCYo15pRUkNDvjNUa8T0fCyZbc0J99HJ7x_3irb2nOkRIPH-hKIDvKrQwvDObBgbFjAME3simmtX6Lqo5FbsgFwfkK_TYNujpZmLOfPU-Nbhgjc0sQpDbzLJRtB3IlP9Ub9wxV9txKu9rLz0nUpUnI/w480-h640/20220421_090936.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>Mas Tequila</i></b></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYG4h_q5YyMa-hxK4FBNmpi-us4DThFPHA89W31FZpzGM2-JlPeByOrwfH07UX1pMpgm2kD_ziOiqB8Y_jrQ9SJ6s5IYdt7n6fPgW4aivz2XOVkpongGDdfvTRZCE-qtCcjwtD4i0OUoGgTW3DVMFYPV1Eu0osxy0B8_4-4D8to0qiBGjHtGoTV-CI/s4032/20220421_203539.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYG4h_q5YyMa-hxK4FBNmpi-us4DThFPHA89W31FZpzGM2-JlPeByOrwfH07UX1pMpgm2kD_ziOiqB8Y_jrQ9SJ6s5IYdt7n6fPgW4aivz2XOVkpongGDdfvTRZCE-qtCcjwtD4i0OUoGgTW3DVMFYPV1Eu0osxy0B8_4-4D8to0qiBGjHtGoTV-CI/w640-h480/20220421_203539.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>Burning Ring of Fire</i></b></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGr2R0IY8lNmNoADxXggUg_zjeAtlpajzuMANNXzOblBlUoFbRFklCj_iiJ49t-yNjJ7N2uxSoHK8u1JdZ_uRDG9mcbj6FEeN1gxRFCG6kPGztq2GdmyU7Dkm-Djqlw8MNOUDC8zetohmAsz0GYs_a4G-FmDSN0MP3UEYeQmvq2_us1s5NUgdGBH4S/s4032/PSX_20220424_210542.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGr2R0IY8lNmNoADxXggUg_zjeAtlpajzuMANNXzOblBlUoFbRFklCj_iiJ49t-yNjJ7N2uxSoHK8u1JdZ_uRDG9mcbj6FEeN1gxRFCG6kPGztq2GdmyU7Dkm-Djqlw8MNOUDC8zetohmAsz0GYs_a4G-FmDSN0MP3UEYeQmvq2_us1s5NUgdGBH4S/w640-h480/PSX_20220424_210542.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>Strawberry Canyon</i></b></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5aXu_9xr2NovJ_Af4F45JmIxlb1vtkdTnOazZeHoRi_1wfv9x2wbMKM-LFiaKDkIKL_6tA-cGlmq04GIO_CKHXHNtVP6rjEn19_9NdGZYh6D3YLV-cuqGlTg2hI3qK08Q_9jvyVHZgHAyZJsfMGIG7BOmt4Ld4BEtGMR-qRgdTGLv6arvYu4U2DA1/s2640/20220424_093212.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1980" data-original-width="2640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5aXu_9xr2NovJ_Af4F45JmIxlb1vtkdTnOazZeHoRi_1wfv9x2wbMKM-LFiaKDkIKL_6tA-cGlmq04GIO_CKHXHNtVP6rjEn19_9NdGZYh6D3YLV-cuqGlTg2hI3qK08Q_9jvyVHZgHAyZJsfMGIG7BOmt4Ld4BEtGMR-qRgdTGLv6arvYu4U2DA1/w640-h480/20220424_093212.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>Old Guys</i></b></div></div><h2 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><u>October is Coming and the Goose(fest) is Getting Fatter</u></i></span></h2><div>On the last day, we decided that an annual trip probably wasn't sufficient to scratch the itch. At our age, you have to get as much in as you can as many times as you can. Because there are no guarantees in this life. One day you're here, the next day it's done. That's happening with concerning frequency now in my demographic. People I grew up and went to school with are starting to drop. Out of the blue and into the black. It's sobering. So we decided to double our efforts and make the trip a bi-annual thing: one trip in the late spring, another in the early fall. I haven't had the chance to see these boys much over the years on account of geography, work, kids, life. So Goosefest is a fun platform to do just that. It's a reunion masquerading as a camping trip. </div><div><br /></div><div>Goosefest 3, the next installation of the Goose, will happen on October 6-9. A post-mortem will probably be forthcoming, but may have names changed to protect the innocent. </div>Madison Christianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476494056610217659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6909480215675625524.post-37046050450723515802022-08-30T07:05:00.016-07:002022-09-19T13:58:37.078-07:00I Ain't Going Out Like That<p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkcjIFc2j6j-K55XokiJNMp2hpW7V4CmKArOdg-C8jrY9PXUtpq8O17kp4FFe0VbI3DwccwhjvnmKPg6oD9xUZxmEAc-ELTRH3O5Crro3t5FMyl7cPd3PSl34h656DJSR3NU-f75QyN4V52_dZ1xcJXQidYANG_oVZK81ih87WInMD4g9sqG_jpx4W/s4032/24_Lyell%20Canyon.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="John Muir Trail" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkcjIFc2j6j-K55XokiJNMp2hpW7V4CmKArOdg-C8jrY9PXUtpq8O17kp4FFe0VbI3DwccwhjvnmKPg6oD9xUZxmEAc-ELTRH3O5Crro3t5FMyl7cPd3PSl34h656DJSR3NU-f75QyN4V52_dZ1xcJXQidYANG_oVZK81ih87WInMD4g9sqG_jpx4W/w640-h480/24_Lyell%20Canyon.jpg" title="John Muir Trail in Lyell Canyon" width="640" /></a></p><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>The next big event after retiring is dying. And I'm not going to volunteer for that one yet.<br /></i><i>~Bobby Bowden</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><br /></i><i>We ain't going out like that, we ain't going out like that.<br /></i><i>~Cypress Hill, I Ain't Going Out Like That</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Legendary Florida State football coach <a href="https://www.espn.com/college-football/story/_/id/31986091/long-florida-state-football-coach-bobby-bowden-dies-91" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Bobby Bowden</span></a> continued to work long into the sunset of his life. His philosophy, often repeated, was that once you retire, there is only one major life event remaining. And he was determined to stave that event off by avoiding the immediately preceding life event (retirement) as long as possible. How successful that strategy was we'll probably never know for certain. But death found Bobby despite his efforts and he was escorted into the mysterious beyond on August 8, 2021. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I don't know how Bobby lived his life, but the subtext of his philosophy is to just keep grinding until you ultimately slump over a stack of paper on your desk, a tie around your neck, and the fluorescent lights reflecting in your vacant stare. Fuck that. As <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/DJ_Muggs" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">DJ Muggs</span></a> and the boys said, "<a href="https://youtu.be/N9l23a3setM" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">I ain't going out like that.</span></a>" I know the stage of life I'm at. I know what the actuarial tables say. I know the knock could come any day. So I'm not going to waste opportunity on the mere possibility that continuous toil is the path to <a href="https://www.history.com/news/the-myth-of-ponce-de-leon-and-the-fountain-of-youth" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Ponce de Leon's mythical spring</span></a>. If living instead of working costs me a couple of extra years, I'll happily make that Faustian bargain.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">So when the chance to walk a stretch of the famed <a href="https://www.pcta.org/discover-the-trail/john-muir-trail/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">John Muir Trail</span></a> (JMT) was placed in front of me, I wasn't going to demur. Even if that meant spending a precious few days away from the never-ending stream of emails that I knew would be pooling to unfathomable debts in my absence.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm a spur-of-the-moment kind of guy. It drives my wife crazy. She's a meticulous planner. Every detail must be accounted for beforehand. There is little room for variation in the finalized agenda. Me, I too often approach things with only a sketch of a plan and then figure I'll ad-lib the rest. I like the not knowing. I like the spontaneity. I like the surprise. I like the freedom. Sometimes that approach bites me in the rear. Most of the time things works out. But as a result, if it was left up to me, I'd probably never walk the JMT. That's because it requires thinking about the trip months in advance. It requires researching when and how to obtain permits (and then actually getting those permits). It requires a fair amount of thought and planning. I find that whole process tedious and aggravating. I just want to show up and go. It's one of my many flaws.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Fortunately, I have a friend that is pretty good at doing those types of things and will tolerate me mooching off of his administrative efforts. So back at the beginning of the year, when the night sky still lingered long on the landscape, my friend, who was already dreaming about summer backpacking, secured permits for the the JMT with entry at Lyell Canyon in Yosemite National Park. Being the swell guy that he is, and knowing that I'd want in on the action, he made sure there was a spot for me to tag along. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Our adventure started on a Saturday in Mammoth Lakes where we left a car. Early the next morning, we jumped on a Tuolumne-bound <a href="https://yarts.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">YARTS</span></a> bus in front of the Shiloh Inn. We were joined by a couple of young lads from Rotterdam, Netherlands who had just finished the entire 222 miles of the JMT, had hitched a ride back up the 395, and were now headed for the Yosemite Valley. Talking to these young guys, who couldn't have been more than 21 or 22, I was impressed by their adventurous spirits, their infectious energy, their youthful fearlessness, and their ability to communicate with us fluently in the native tongue. Thinking back on my own youth, I would never have had the courage to go traipsing off to some foreign land with nothing but a pack on my back and a wild idea in my head. Hell, that wasn't even on my radar when I was their age. So I have great admiration for these guys. They are everything that I wasn't in my youth. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">At Tuolumne Meadows, we, along with a rag-tag assemblage of other backpackers, secured our permit after receiving the obligatory ranger lecture about bears, poo, and fire. We then started up Lyell Canyon where we planned to stay the first night. The term "up" in this context is somewhat of a misnomer as the trail through Lyell Canyon is relatively level for the first 7-8 miles before it finally begins climbing toward Donahue Pass. That makes for an easy first day and provides the ability to acclimate some before the air thins out and your lungs begin to burn as you walk.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF66RANcI4AK_IkQlnd2uW6wU8MoM3DYNTBETE7aZE2vHNeFUrfSTE3Dc6GJfsm2spv7MBRE5BuVLWxTWjB6BR5o79XfeVhW-Vupok5_huEjmHy3D7-QtG6QwlyFuHgqeaO7C8c9IKp29-YpJmS23wx3aMwV6gzh_L8vba866vRE7nj2JFWdJlIvn7/s4032/8_Lyell%20Fork.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Lyell Canyon" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF66RANcI4AK_IkQlnd2uW6wU8MoM3DYNTBETE7aZE2vHNeFUrfSTE3Dc6GJfsm2spv7MBRE5BuVLWxTWjB6BR5o79XfeVhW-Vupok5_huEjmHy3D7-QtG6QwlyFuHgqeaO7C8c9IKp29-YpJmS23wx3aMwV6gzh_L8vba866vRE7nj2JFWdJlIvn7/w640-h480/8_Lyell%20Fork.jpg" title="Lyell Canyon" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4LrmUQBvsy4mJ19FYjougjDruQbQYgtIzrfXXDc6h-PM8yaNvAAhGx7nP0u26JyXkXn_g2oymSIKcYrGzIf9WPczr84oan_n5TYLhKSBUDbE7-VpS7uIzF7-7Yu__tH7x4_7joud7GVbUFwcwmQNqKeetSRMpyRxc6F2trKL-jPhzoanzbGxpCMuk/s4032/20_Lyell%20Canyon.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="John Muir Trail" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4LrmUQBvsy4mJ19FYjougjDruQbQYgtIzrfXXDc6h-PM8yaNvAAhGx7nP0u26JyXkXn_g2oymSIKcYrGzIf9WPczr84oan_n5TYLhKSBUDbE7-VpS7uIzF7-7Yu__tH7x4_7joud7GVbUFwcwmQNqKeetSRMpyRxc6F2trKL-jPhzoanzbGxpCMuk/w640-h480/20_Lyell%20Canyon.jpg" title="John Muir Trail Through Lyell Canyon" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw9uQWbNSTzhhY3ymAI4Pih5oMB5caNBpwkPDbtnQipZKKGA19IwFVmclDfZE9i30tJPhkz9ZW0ete2AlqMvh2djzoGorJLTGuaUXzelS-kVUtDwFZih56sdCrZ8pdCvhgpKnaxpJPzolBDvRA4-7J8CLq1rWfmueTd3DSh1Q4WHYbo81l3zd6ISKY/s4032/22_Lyell%20Canyon.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Lyell Canyon Yosemite National Park" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw9uQWbNSTzhhY3ymAI4Pih5oMB5caNBpwkPDbtnQipZKKGA19IwFVmclDfZE9i30tJPhkz9ZW0ete2AlqMvh2djzoGorJLTGuaUXzelS-kVUtDwFZih56sdCrZ8pdCvhgpKnaxpJPzolBDvRA4-7J8CLq1rWfmueTd3DSh1Q4WHYbo81l3zd6ISKY/w640-h480/22_Lyell%20Canyon.jpg" title="Lower Lyell Canyon" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It was high season along the JMT so we continually passed, or more frequently were passed by fellow travelers. That's the thing about hiking in the Sierra Nevada. The range can conceal an incredible number of hikers and backpackers. There are folks everywhere in these mountains. To the casual observer, it might no be evident. But they are there. By the lakes, along the ridgelines, and under cover of the forest canopy. So even when you're alone on the trail, you're never really alone. And there were quite a few folks alone on the trail. Most of them we encountered were women which was counter-intuitive. In the olden days, when we were all forced to walk to and from school bare-foot in the snow, and it was uphill both ways, you wouldn't have seen that. Too dangerous. Or at least that was the commonly-accepted wisdom. Now? I suppose safety in numbers has mitigated that concern some. And/or maybe contemporary women are just sick of that shit and are like "fuck it! I'm going." Either way, the "fairer sex" is killing it out there. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Youth was the other common denominator. Schlepping a backpack full of gear at elevation, battling pesky mosquitoes, and sleeping in the dirt is mostly a young man's game. And the trekkers we encountered along the trail substantially, although not exclusively, bore that out. As old guys, we were definitely an outlier. Maybe even a curiosity. As we walked along, I couldn't help imagining the youngsters we met thinking how cute it was that a couple of old men were still out there doing it. Of course, no one said that or even hinted at it. Still, I'd be lying if I told you I never felt that we didn't belong. But that probably says more about me than it does the youth brigade we shared the trail with.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The day began gray and continued to get grayer the deeper in we went. By late afternoon, with the sky darkening, we reached the 9,700' contour and decided to camp just below the footbridge that crosses Lyell Fork. A ranger we met earlier informed us that there had been bear activity at this location for the last few nights, so I was a little on edge. Shortly after we set up camp, the sprinkles began and we took refuge in our tents. I didn't bring anything to read in an effort to cut bulk and weight, so I just laid there in my nylon cocoon listening to rain spattering the fly and awaiting a visit from <a href="https://observation.org/species/596474/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Ursus Americanus Californiensis</span></a>. That never happened, and I ultimately drifted off around 8 p.m., awakening early the next morning well before they sky began to lighten. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Back on the trail, we climbed to a beautiful tarn at 10,200' that is fed by what remains of the Lyell Glacier. There are several campsites here which would make an outstanding place to stay for a night or two. As we admired the camping opportunities, we lost the trail when we followed a social path that skirted the eastern bank of the tarn and then ultimately fizzled out. Backtracking, we realized our error when we saw another JMTer crossing the tarn outlet and then follow the correct path along the western bank instead. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Higher up, the trail crossed a stream before reaching another tarn that sat above treeline. Low clouds were smothering Mt. Lyell which made for an ethereal and foreboding landscape. We stopped to collect some of the cold, delicious water at the stream whose source was a pool higher up in the glacial cirque. One-half mile or so later, we crested barren Donahue Summit where I surprisingly, but briefly had cell reception.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo_AVRyMhIFzxnZRSSgCMidnMBr8FWu68qDZy9NsbeUIFQyLquxi5pXloHGiV_nvZ18CHc4-Ti6xhevgRi6vZx1MRZ1YNP4EPq-fr9sgGvNTPe_frhG8MR8gIfqu1WiqaBa1kibAmqoKkbC1QBSWC6baMMCLCYFU8lXqhPCf849SqJeWajQOKBgrSQ/s4032/25_Upper%20Lyell%20Canyon%20Campsite.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Lyell Canyon Yosemite National Park" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo_AVRyMhIFzxnZRSSgCMidnMBr8FWu68qDZy9NsbeUIFQyLquxi5pXloHGiV_nvZ18CHc4-Ti6xhevgRi6vZx1MRZ1YNP4EPq-fr9sgGvNTPe_frhG8MR8gIfqu1WiqaBa1kibAmqoKkbC1QBSWC6baMMCLCYFU8lXqhPCf849SqJeWajQOKBgrSQ/w640-h480/25_Upper%20Lyell%20Canyon%20Campsite.jpg" title="Upper Lyell Canyon Camp" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbCRBMSr1VDimUOf3Dib1uPMKa0DXEWrFyxWyqBgYmAE-6uw4NDhIIeXhmXgIeX5_pmeV5K0iTe3SnLOdaNu0mpdHL1bZjhkTjrHEmz1l2gDyoUMOIjGkJC-FSCknMWMp_Xd-7cT4xaSZcn_EUJ3Qq4xgeYZKKFCd0UTo5cyA-7RLCfIlF1I-9okrn/s4032/32_Upper%20Lyell%20Cyn%20Tarn.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Lyell Canyon Yosemite National Park" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbCRBMSr1VDimUOf3Dib1uPMKa0DXEWrFyxWyqBgYmAE-6uw4NDhIIeXhmXgIeX5_pmeV5K0iTe3SnLOdaNu0mpdHL1bZjhkTjrHEmz1l2gDyoUMOIjGkJC-FSCknMWMp_Xd-7cT4xaSZcn_EUJ3Qq4xgeYZKKFCd0UTo5cyA-7RLCfIlF1I-9okrn/w640-h480/32_Upper%20Lyell%20Cyn%20Tarn.jpg" title="Upper Lyell Canyon Tarn" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM0Xa7ZX5N9OHeavK7caQ4AZ2Ai_1Hx29Gfy3CfgRgv6iSghifNb8QyLtwq9TvdeOOSm_NKRbQTEWUOextubKjZUPbj90y3toECmpaUzXtstukmelhhx-2TiRdp8jZbC53Oz4xdqJV6N5izELbrkljX3HqqxGRrOOKQDGIveZ72dMreNl5e3CXqYFg/s4032/34_Upper%20Lyell%20Cyn%20Tarn.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Lyell Canyon Yosemite National Park" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM0Xa7ZX5N9OHeavK7caQ4AZ2Ai_1Hx29Gfy3CfgRgv6iSghifNb8QyLtwq9TvdeOOSm_NKRbQTEWUOextubKjZUPbj90y3toECmpaUzXtstukmelhhx-2TiRdp8jZbC53Oz4xdqJV6N5izELbrkljX3HqqxGRrOOKQDGIveZ72dMreNl5e3CXqYFg/w640-h480/34_Upper%20Lyell%20Cyn%20Tarn.jpg" title="Upper Lyell Canyon Tarn" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHNOibmEwtC1C491nqjx9DRIn-j7BF4HJ-lMMGMqvmvO5nTUKfJlsXqVbDB9ysHgZYtOGHdN7U4j0kkwUSLxOgbiNUk6Z_K3MBwji3XqMrAx8TRgVTisDZ9dNe5g_XE-F2j-mBfdD_Qv4iEBTNxIozzSYUsqxtMe89DBv1P4gENLN3mBl59rvYl5fZ/s4032/38_Donahue%20Pass.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Donahue Pass Yosemite National Park" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHNOibmEwtC1C491nqjx9DRIn-j7BF4HJ-lMMGMqvmvO5nTUKfJlsXqVbDB9ysHgZYtOGHdN7U4j0kkwUSLxOgbiNUk6Z_K3MBwji3XqMrAx8TRgVTisDZ9dNe5g_XE-F2j-mBfdD_Qv4iEBTNxIozzSYUsqxtMe89DBv1P4gENLN3mBl59rvYl5fZ/w640-h480/38_Donahue%20Pass.jpg" title="Donahue Pass" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The clouds that hung high in the sky earlier were now at ground level. Maybe they moved lower or we moved higher, but suddenly we were in them. And they began dropping moisture. It started as an innocent mist that morphed into drizzle. That drizzle then turned to rain which quickly became a malevolent torrent. We donned rain jackets and ponchos, but it was futile. The rain was drenching and relentless. Dropping into the Rush Creek drainage, we took refuge under a gigantic granite overhang to ride out the rest of the storm. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Afternoon thunderstorms are a regular occurrence in the mountains. They are one of those things that you just expect at elevation in the summer. But as we cowered under that slab of protective granite, the irony of it suddenly raining after 8 months of bone dry weather struck hard. Perhaps, I thought, I could single-handedly solve California's drought situation by seeding the clouds through backpacking all the time. I'd be happy, you'd be happy, the farmers would be happy, everyone would be happy. Win-win-win-win.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">When the rain tapered off, we began moving again, but the skies did not look friendly. We had targeted the Marie Lakes as our destination for night 2, but when we got to the trail junction leading into the basin, we could tell that location was going to be stormy. So we continued descending until we reached the junction with the trail leading to Gem Lake where the deluge began once again. We joined a couple of young ladies under a tree in an effort to stay dry and made idle chit chat. One of them was on the finishing leg of a solo JMT trek northbound; the other, her friend, had joined her for the last few miles of the journey. Eventually, they got up and wandered off in the still-falling rain as we continued hiding under the tree boughs until the storm died down some and the trail stopped flowing like river. Then it was up and over Island Pass and down to Thousand Island Lake where we camped for the night. We had been warned by others on the trail that Thousand Island was crowded, noisy, and not very pleasant, but the place was pretty much empty. We had a very enjoyable evening there.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxtG-EkIZhj9RZXCWqLXr0easJ1EDf8JqAOwMoLRuudLkYP_-xNCUg-2-oSYGkQ29vkUYXUBb3GVWmjq3zZ2i4iWSikvTkvQL-PxSSvns0z0UmjEJBRKHLDwGEpPWPR2HzYabFPc6D-XJziv_VTolt3Nu_sVb_hEcTRBhjVnV25ihEaoJMowwCieT8/s4032/41_Rush%20Creek%20Basin.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Ritter Range John Muir Trail" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxtG-EkIZhj9RZXCWqLXr0easJ1EDf8JqAOwMoLRuudLkYP_-xNCUg-2-oSYGkQ29vkUYXUBb3GVWmjq3zZ2i4iWSikvTkvQL-PxSSvns0z0UmjEJBRKHLDwGEpPWPR2HzYabFPc6D-XJziv_VTolt3Nu_sVb_hEcTRBhjVnV25ihEaoJMowwCieT8/w640-h480/41_Rush%20Creek%20Basin.jpg" title="Ritter Range from Rush Creek" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ZukRxIalv0sczCdQe5xVQK-d5xeMvP3qss8zlUXjXG2iz2v3mShj_MwdEGODrVZJaaoicaTqjj3LzfGJMRXZW-eod8e99BSe4XMVPMpjnNIRDSX2CZHG44HuPyiB110LP99CspJGUBv6uQqkRC9KgP33gIHa5-DFk7QOxZML_4LAJjxjANU0lB0M/s4032/44_Island%20Pass%20Tarn.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Island Pass John Muir Trail" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ZukRxIalv0sczCdQe5xVQK-d5xeMvP3qss8zlUXjXG2iz2v3mShj_MwdEGODrVZJaaoicaTqjj3LzfGJMRXZW-eod8e99BSe4XMVPMpjnNIRDSX2CZHG44HuPyiB110LP99CspJGUBv6uQqkRC9KgP33gIHa5-DFk7QOxZML_4LAJjxjANU0lB0M/w640-h480/44_Island%20Pass%20Tarn.jpg" title="Island Pass Tarn" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj59daSPJ3Xsk_2VDDkEZ9C0totPc5XG9KSwsV0h12G2_z74vPjTzk0Sr8JbIkgeL-oluywmrnRvPZrkCfRacEAOZRsm7dmIMXxXiD1Z5zLYEKkK2TKBU6FGIAg0yh0eGObj5JDcBjwrfcf1UCxlLoT9dgRiK7qycGjdWmy7cFs0f79XObEOVe6sTll/s4032/45_Thousand%20Island%20Lake.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Thousand Island Lake" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj59daSPJ3Xsk_2VDDkEZ9C0totPc5XG9KSwsV0h12G2_z74vPjTzk0Sr8JbIkgeL-oluywmrnRvPZrkCfRacEAOZRsm7dmIMXxXiD1Z5zLYEKkK2TKBU6FGIAg0yh0eGObj5JDcBjwrfcf1UCxlLoT9dgRiK7qycGjdWmy7cFs0f79XObEOVe6sTll/w640-h480/45_Thousand%20Island%20Lake.jpg" title="Thousand Island Lake" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The following morning, the sun was shining and Mt. Ritter gleamed gold in the alpenglow. The air was warm, birds were chirping, and I'm pretty sure I heard a chorus of angels heralding in the new day. Convinced we'd survived the worst Mother Nature had to throw at us, and ahead of schedule, we decided to tack on some extra mileage and head for Rosalie Lake that night with an eventual exit at Reds Meadow.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The trail that morning led us past the precious stone lakes - Emerald, Ruby, and Garnett. The water at Thousand Island tasted somewhat swampy so we stopped to pump at inviting little Ruby Lake that sits in a small, confined basin backed rocky cliffs. The scenery here is really spectacular and the water was superior to Thousand Island so we were glad we waited. Then it was down to sapphire-hued Garnett Lake (another misnomer) where we stopped briefly at the footbridge at the lake's outlet to dunk our heads in the cool water. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Here again, we briefly lost the trail when we mistakenly followed an alternate path that apparently leads to Altha Lake. The JMT, which we relocated quickly, hews closely to Garnett's southern shore before climbing over a low divide and dropping into the Shadow Creek drainage. As we descended off the rocky divide, the surroundings suddenly changed and we found ourselves wandering a pleasant path through a shady, evergreen forest.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Where the JMT intersects with the Shadow Lake Trail, we stopped to talk to a young fellow from Alabama who was going solo southbound. He told us he'd never been to California before and this being only the third day of his journey, he was still acclimating. That gave us pause. We were on day 3 of our trip too and we started at Tuolumne. This Golden State newbie was at the same place, yet he started at Happy Isles in the Yosemite Valley. To add insult to injury, he was headed for Red's that day while we were only aiming for Rosalie. He was averaging about 25 miles per day to our 10. That was a bit of a sobering slap that reaffirmed our lowly place in the backpacking pecking order.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">After we parted ways, the drips started again. As we followed the Shadow Creek Trail east, it continued to pick up intensity until we reached the footbridge at the inlet to Shadow Lake. Then, the heavens opened up and the rain came pouring down with impressive intensity. We sheltered under another tree and considered our options. We had originally planned to exit at Agnew and only altered that agenda because we were ahead of schedule. But with the rain now falling hard, the prospect of hiking further in soaking conditions and then setting up a soggy camp wasn't terribly appealing. And when we weighed the potential misery of sitting in the rain at Rosalie against the guaranteed pleasure of sitting at <a href="https://mammothbrewingco.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Mammoth Brewing Company</span></a> with a hoppy pint before us, the decision was easy. We decided against continuing onto Red. "We ain't going out like that, we ain't going out like that."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOKYbnPiWHRE4m-IySJjLhfFDn9_HMOQhD0JDMvptcEGRsW122_Gge159dsdLJHrh9GFb6rIezzbT1DE5gAl7Bbdqi2GzykldFKTZ1BNtcVEixpPUQu_iiBiuZya7LwHhZ8sEil-piJHEimksjjblNw_dYkZvRQMNYgOOe4LqScKmb_6VH5klHdTUW/s4032/55_Banner%20Peak%20Over%20Thousand%20Island%20Lake.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Banner Peak Thousand Island Lake" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOKYbnPiWHRE4m-IySJjLhfFDn9_HMOQhD0JDMvptcEGRsW122_Gge159dsdLJHrh9GFb6rIezzbT1DE5gAl7Bbdqi2GzykldFKTZ1BNtcVEixpPUQu_iiBiuZya7LwHhZ8sEil-piJHEimksjjblNw_dYkZvRQMNYgOOe4LqScKmb_6VH5klHdTUW/w640-h480/55_Banner%20Peak%20Over%20Thousand%20Island%20Lake.jpg" title="Banner Peak from Thousand Island Lake" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9CLruvsAHPn0exF9AEyLKyGzDtLyjO_wjcA7LBFkexluSQmZmQdQLtpui84yikGopSgc0KvRiXkz09sZo8u0HSsq3ZBiiPUt_h53yiZ6gVs9V1aF5DD9PzziprnH267LmTlsZkMrZgWZGgGobFdGc-tkaDjQ-Sy49heEaqw6PwBqbqbf4vnuifjTb/s4032/64_Garnett%20Lake.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Garnet Lake John Muir Trail" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9CLruvsAHPn0exF9AEyLKyGzDtLyjO_wjcA7LBFkexluSQmZmQdQLtpui84yikGopSgc0KvRiXkz09sZo8u0HSsq3ZBiiPUt_h53yiZ6gVs9V1aF5DD9PzziprnH267LmTlsZkMrZgWZGgGobFdGc-tkaDjQ-Sy49heEaqw6PwBqbqbf4vnuifjTb/w640-h480/64_Garnett%20Lake.jpg" title="Banner Peak from Garnet Lake" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dw1zeVg1fY-Cp02YArKZrvQ6o1_WEODShilZP13Rr-rLLWmRKT-nXU8soS2dox1K-jETrtp4OAHq-MxXQ5r5w' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">As we walked out, the sky dried up some but the clouds still looked sinister and foreboding. Finally at Agnew, we awaited a shuttle ride out with a pleasant group of fellow gray hairs from Oregon. Since Agnew is the last stop on the exit route, every shuttle that came by was already full. So it was a long and frustrating wait. After a while, I got impatient and resorted to flashing cash at passing cars in an effort to catch a ride. Unsurprisingly, I got no takers. Few folks are interested in picking up a pair of stinky axe-murderers even if the reward is $30. After what seemed an eternity, one of the shuttle drivers going into Reds Meadow radioed ahead that there were riders that needed out. And we successfully caught a ride on the very next shuttle heading up the hill. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Back at <a href="https://www.mammothmountain.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Mammoth Mountain Resort</span></a>, we boarded the last free shuttle of the day into town. As luck would have it, that shuttle dropped us immediately adjacent to the brewery where we plunked down our heavy packs and consumed a bit of craft beer with enthusiasm and affection. As the warming influence of the alcohol began to take hold, I felt pleased with the trip, even though we abandoned the last leg to Reds. And of course I was happy to have snuck in one more adventure before experiencing what Bobby Bowden euphemistically called the last major life adventure. Especially because my way of avoiding that event seems much more fun than the utter drudgery of Bobby's way.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE35WstZTiz50sRhkuoA1KkKuFSQCPveGncHnyQ5vesJXVRxTTBJAK2mSphXgBN2weOz33xgTzqV7qF-50MQlWZOAvcvzYruOlixvamV1kfFdDIOfxmCj0OEqFp9i_lUafyIcp85afgCS7VHJntjjDERdh6fLVY7Yak16bfWHqn37Hi5u4ATMw5i73/s4032/79_Ascending%20to%20Agnew%20Meadow.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Shadow Creek Trail" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE35WstZTiz50sRhkuoA1KkKuFSQCPveGncHnyQ5vesJXVRxTTBJAK2mSphXgBN2weOz33xgTzqV7qF-50MQlWZOAvcvzYruOlixvamV1kfFdDIOfxmCj0OEqFp9i_lUafyIcp85afgCS7VHJntjjDERdh6fLVY7Yak16bfWHqn37Hi5u4ATMw5i73/w640-h480/79_Ascending%20to%20Agnew%20Meadow.jpg" title="Mammoth Mountain from Shadow Creek Trail" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfXLFqagZ-PdeaPCIZOCene9_LzCcIeQG37VKDh5AEZpEZz2Pv__HwIJImkt60C9a0ED7OR_IM32NVKXfjydygCKjbepBDcgx5w-sIL1Crct6ysGmWpUkJisnT25xGo49d1-1XGanR-WiLgiGMzQvs8yDsup4CqndFFAxUv8CSGSp206NwjWNMORsv/s4032/81_Agnew%20Meadow.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Agnew Meadows" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfXLFqagZ-PdeaPCIZOCene9_LzCcIeQG37VKDh5AEZpEZz2Pv__HwIJImkt60C9a0ED7OR_IM32NVKXfjydygCKjbepBDcgx5w-sIL1Crct6ysGmWpUkJisnT25xGo49d1-1XGanR-WiLgiGMzQvs8yDsup4CqndFFAxUv8CSGSp206NwjWNMORsv/w640-h480/81_Agnew%20Meadow.jpg" title="Agnew Meadows" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe5zT17gFJBCDVy-pjqdWhQsa9A1cINOTixq10g62tiuFeCUjS6BPlEOC4Hm0UYZWt76zq4jp4_kR0N3YyzIx9s6bLqg4GrRYCQ-v1E9oj2YiVBOkFtofYzw9kq_tSDfUgkRRNrq6JRxZ7Oz1ZLgL7STetfoNmDav6nWq2E9u4aAM-DfIzAzaBe3My/s4032/1_Mammoth%20Brewing.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Mammoth Mountain Brewing" border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe5zT17gFJBCDVy-pjqdWhQsa9A1cINOTixq10g62tiuFeCUjS6BPlEOC4Hm0UYZWt76zq4jp4_kR0N3YyzIx9s6bLqg4GrRYCQ-v1E9oj2YiVBOkFtofYzw9kq_tSDfUgkRRNrq6JRxZ7Oz1ZLgL7STetfoNmDav6nWq2E9u4aAM-DfIzAzaBe3My/w480-h640/1_Mammoth%20Brewing.jpg" title="Yosemite Pale Ale at Mammoth Mountain Brewing Co." width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Madison Christianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476494056610217659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6909480215675625524.post-13992764706727397692022-01-05T07:09:00.003-08:002022-09-01T07:11:49.237-07:00Fire Canyon Wash<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpfKtgurbsfN7mxb1-zdMVFGisqPKQRVHmiKRMc21Y4fo8vXpzeKywBu6mFOqCobmv0pQq2arKVt5eItbxp59ZLsJHps7-qFomcgnFb3iPeQmbI3gBKuo9BwO-Iau_w8aRVh9ZvHuGfKzPR3X5F-2tWyrjrIGMoDKkGsFf0qY147Ro014--iv7gnY6=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Fire Canyon Wash" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpfKtgurbsfN7mxb1-zdMVFGisqPKQRVHmiKRMc21Y4fo8vXpzeKywBu6mFOqCobmv0pQq2arKVt5eItbxp59ZLsJHps7-qFomcgnFb3iPeQmbI3gBKuo9BwO-Iau_w8aRVh9ZvHuGfKzPR3X5F-2tWyrjrIGMoDKkGsFf0qY147Ro014--iv7gnY6=w640-h480" title="Lower Fire Canyon Wash" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"><i><b>In the first place, you can't see anything from a car; you've got to get out of the goddamned contraption and walk, better yet crawl, on hands and knees, over the sandstone and through the thornbush and cactus. When traces of blood begin to mark your trail, you'll begin to see something, maybe. ~Cactus Ed</b> </i></p></blockquote><p>As you drive north on I-15 out of Las Vegas, you pass through the Moapa Valley, a broad and arid expanse of high desert populated by screwbean mesquite and creosote. From the windshield of a speeding automobile, it presents as a hot, desolate and rather uninviting place. Which of course is why the United States government <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moapa_Band_of_Paiute_Indians" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">forcefully relocated the Moapa Bank of Paiutes here in 1869</span></a>. At first blush, it was the shittiest and least useful land we could find to "give" to them as a reservation. But the U.S. government has a history of taking back what it gives to the natives. So although the land originally assigned to the Paiutes consisted of the entire Moapa River watershed (including lands along the Colorado River), in 1875 that allotment was reduced to a paltry 1,000 acres. Today, the reservation stands at approximately 75,000 acres in total, but given the government's abysmal record on taking back from the natives what they have given, it is more than ironic that the offensive appellation <a href="https://www.npr.org/sections/codeswitch/2013/09/02/217295339/the-history-behind-the-phrase-dont-be-an-indian-giver" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">"Indian-giver"</span></a> somehow inexplicably became associated with the supposed dishonesty and treachery of natives as opposed to the white man.</p><p>I've driven this stretch of road innumerable times on my way to Utah. I've seen the sign for the colorfully-named Valley of Fire which conjures up images of an inhospitable <a href="https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/Dantean" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Dantean</span></a> hellscape, but I had never once exited the freeway to take journey to the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Inferno_(Dante)" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Inferno</span></a>. Embarrassingly, the closest I ever came was when I exited the freeway once to patronize the <a href="https://www.moapatravelplaza.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Moapa Paiute Travel Plaza</span></a> for fire water and explosives.</p><p>But on a recent trip across the desert, I had the luxury of a few extra hours, so I decided to see what I was missing. At the appropriate exit, I got off the freeway and started south-east across the desert following the winding 2-lane ribbon of asphalt approximately 15 miles to the park entrance. There, I tried without success to convince the attendant that I was a Nevada resident and thus entitled to a discounted entry fee, but he was shrewd and wasn't having any of it. So I coughed up the obligatory $15 charge and proceeded into the park. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhDuyHYXDCzpSo83huHazZg6BXYL5Vcy9iWmJz3o_ksqHl4w6U-DOsuxHnlsWSDkjpQTB5icVuRNPsCw5P4BeGVZgZh5K_QM0HhPQtvh0k3NgjCk9w5WlaJLDdnkQUVxGl3giN4skqktU4FJxKZwqo4w3sqrbi_DSt58yxywCuM2i9wbkOD-5R-ubfz=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Fire Canyon Wash" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhDuyHYXDCzpSo83huHazZg6BXYL5Vcy9iWmJz3o_ksqHl4w6U-DOsuxHnlsWSDkjpQTB5icVuRNPsCw5P4BeGVZgZh5K_QM0HhPQtvh0k3NgjCk9w5WlaJLDdnkQUVxGl3giN4skqktU4FJxKZwqo4w3sqrbi_DSt58yxywCuM2i9wbkOD-5R-ubfz=w640-h480" title="Lower Fire Canyon Wash" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgKRoNAwvmtINVRkm0a-YdMxpmgqHiHR85Jn6AqtOZ2av19QOBWWD0gaipDo8KlQn-oOWkDInY_yEc1cm9PwbAAvakWUgYKCyBwUJzv4Vfab7Uli7hwUpLZB-DUTlOw84pp9dy1pcvh-Z26jMqGfcBCn22HAuOfY5laUYPp5PU28JnOsn19BszVwMoL=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Fire Canyon Wash" border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgKRoNAwvmtINVRkm0a-YdMxpmgqHiHR85Jn6AqtOZ2av19QOBWWD0gaipDo8KlQn-oOWkDInY_yEc1cm9PwbAAvakWUgYKCyBwUJzv4Vfab7Uli7hwUpLZB-DUTlOw84pp9dy1pcvh-Z26jMqGfcBCn22HAuOfY5laUYPp5PU28JnOsn19BszVwMoL=w480-h640" title="Lower Fire Canyon Wash" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjy5BmBS-aUBIKF5W6EEU4ZKQrpjJQ5LWuLnftjNmJiH32W_myGhodEqj4CH05a37CNICa52Y5HCX27NsR_98i5EZE6OKuPTLZTSq8gMiP5Ya06W2CWGi3YWRSnaFuLSB2ceRiaOHtWakPmmDKA8CNAtqBv0SYWtX6jBCntO4vib2QZm5fStGKT3YnK=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Fire Canyon Wash" border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjy5BmBS-aUBIKF5W6EEU4ZKQrpjJQ5LWuLnftjNmJiH32W_myGhodEqj4CH05a37CNICa52Y5HCX27NsR_98i5EZE6OKuPTLZTSq8gMiP5Ya06W2CWGi3YWRSnaFuLSB2ceRiaOHtWakPmmDKA8CNAtqBv0SYWtX6jBCntO4vib2QZm5fStGKT3YnK=w480-h640" title="Obstacle in Lower Fire Canyon Wash" width="480" /></a></div><p>Knowing that my time was limited, I had done a bit of research in advance and had targeted the Petroglyph Canyon Trail leading to the Mouse Tank. Although it's quite a short trail, on its face it appeared to provide maximum bang for both the dollar and hour. Beyond that, looking at Google Earth I discerned that it might be possible to continue down Fire Canyon Wash at the terminus of the trail proper for additional off-trail scampering and exploration. So that was my aim. </p><p>There was a fair number of cars at the trailhead as I started off down upper Fire Canyon Wash and into the maze of redrock fins, spires, pinnacles, hoodoos, hobgoblins, and other fanciful formations. But the path itself fortunately wasn't as crowded as I thought it might be, so I strode along in reverent awe of both the landscape and the various petroglyphs scratched into the black patina on the adjacent sandstone walls by the <a href="https://wandering-through-time-and-place.com/2014/06/14/ancient-petroglyphs-in-the-valley-of-fire-state-park-the-desert-series/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">ancient Basket maker and Anasazi people</span></a> who inhabited this place some 2000 years prior. </p><p>A short distance later, the trail abruptly terminated at the Mouse Tank (or more accurately, at a precipice looking down onto the Mouse Tank). "Mouse" (or more appropriately, "Little Mouse") was apparently the name of a <a href="https://www.desertusa.com/dusablog/legends-of-mice-and-more-bighorn-in-valley-of-fire.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">renegade Southern Paiute</span></a> who used the Valley of Fire as a hideout in the late 1800s. The "Tank" is a natural basin where precious water collects after the rains. Thus, the Mouse Tank.</p><p>Not willing to end my exploration so early, I scampered up a rocky bypass to the left and then dropped down into the Mouse Tank. I then continued down canyon following the sandy stream bed further into the bowels of fantastic Fire Canyon Wash. Initially, the wash was broad and the going easy. But as I penetrated further into the canyon, the path narrowed, the walls closed in, and the going got considerably more interesting. Here I found myself scampering around, crawling over, straddling, and ducking under large sandstone blocks that clogged the drainage and impeded the path forward. It was both fun and challenging and I was enjoying the serenity of the gorge which I had to myself. Ultimately, however, I reached a blockade that choked off further access to the drainage without a bit of down-climbing. It was potentially a point of no return. Being solo, and uncertain whether I could climb back out if I committed, I reluctantly decided to become a SAR statistic another day and retraced my steps back up canyon. </p><p>On my initial descent, I noticed another drainage entering from the right as I came down canyon. I still had time and daylight, so on my way out, I decided to explore this drainage as well. This ended up being less of a gorge and more of a shallow valley with a dry creek bed running up its center. I followed a faint use or game trail for awhile until I topped out at a flat saddle. To the east, there was an endless jumble of more sandstone. To the north and south the same. An endless playground for rock-hopping and off-trail scrambling. This was no country for old men.</p><p>Coming back down the valley I could see in the distance exactly where I needed to end up, but navigation in the redrock desert is tricky because everything looks the same. So ultimately I found myself in a slot of sorts that I knew was unfamiliar. Obviously on the descent, I'd failed to pay close enough attention to what I was doing and had veered off track. This is both the thrill and peril of desert hiking. It's very easy to get disoriented and lose your way. And when the temperatures are scorching, such an error can easily prove fatal. </p><p>Recognizing what I'd done, I doubled-back to the point where I zigged when I should have zagged, and then returned to the Mouse Tank wiser but without incident.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgO0PEEqOnKZ0sQB1CqjzNonTfz_orAdJ4ukXjVCsO9qss4ZoNUocY8WrqER13uBig-k7J97ReLiSKAHYL2a0xRjXsqxVHNLIvOdFJsUtXA8qcZV2gMSkJtL28c3WpG-e46b-SO2pqRcPBhU51_WGLd7WK_72oAVkkAZwNg8MqqdYdp0ACI2_DHo6Hc=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Fire Canyon Wash" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgO0PEEqOnKZ0sQB1CqjzNonTfz_orAdJ4ukXjVCsO9qss4ZoNUocY8WrqER13uBig-k7J97ReLiSKAHYL2a0xRjXsqxVHNLIvOdFJsUtXA8qcZV2gMSkJtL28c3WpG-e46b-SO2pqRcPBhU51_WGLd7WK_72oAVkkAZwNg8MqqdYdp0ACI2_DHo6Hc=w640-h480" title="Side Canyon in Lower Fire Canyon" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhtflVUExzquJslO2DdMimQ_NLl-JE-cpoEpXi9us71oDqdZf41nJGAhHFSbJT5PE9Gcks1MWcytKsSPCjcHuhD7rOxddQYfMY5r-ppV__QW0Tm9ZFbEO-6g91hMC4PvZSDRL-iYF9Hk0fSWH6O7cunVNAR084e0_dvaOyJmxQ_-wcc71ygcbYLS_9N=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Sandstone Windows" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhtflVUExzquJslO2DdMimQ_NLl-JE-cpoEpXi9us71oDqdZf41nJGAhHFSbJT5PE9Gcks1MWcytKsSPCjcHuhD7rOxddQYfMY5r-ppV__QW0Tm9ZFbEO-6g91hMC4PvZSDRL-iYF9Hk0fSWH6O7cunVNAR084e0_dvaOyJmxQ_-wcc71ygcbYLS_9N=w640-h480" title="Windows in Crimson Staircase Side Canyon" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg45w5tZxIiqeYgda8jF1uGIe3E9TU3WWw7qQDcFsEG3K8xbXqpq8jVORoeyUYcNMIPlpXtBqKJ3PC-c78p8rhzPMI6n3TNIC35r9fXWVJohhQt61QOnrIsHFExl71ghJc5hY_WC7IaWAwT1zXnvrz9uxycW0ujMbKP9-P7a-0p1hD3Ucc-B_X_qu7v=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Fire Canyon Wash" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg45w5tZxIiqeYgda8jF1uGIe3E9TU3WWw7qQDcFsEG3K8xbXqpq8jVORoeyUYcNMIPlpXtBqKJ3PC-c78p8rhzPMI6n3TNIC35r9fXWVJohhQt61QOnrIsHFExl71ghJc5hY_WC7IaWAwT1zXnvrz9uxycW0ujMbKP9-P7a-0p1hD3Ucc-B_X_qu7v=w640-h480" title="View Down Crimson Staircase Side Canyon" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>Back on the established trail, I noticed another side drainage with a sort of use trail entering again from the right (or the left if you are returning to the trailhead). Figuring I might as well leverage my limited time in the park as much as possible, I tacked hard left. Initially, the drainage was a flat and sandy walk. But a short distance in, I hit a crag where the path continued up a crack that split the rocky monolith. The climb up wasn't terribly challenging although it did add nice variety to the outing. And when I topped out, I was rewarded with more outstanding looks at the surrounding area.</p><p>It was now late afternoon, the shadows were creeping across the landscape, and the air was getting noticeably cooler. Time to leave. But on my way out, the Valley of Fire gave me one last gift. Just outside the park entrance, the handful of cars in front of me all came to a sudden stop. For a moment, I thought perhaps there had been an accident of some sort. But then I saw what all the commotion was about. A solitary desert big horn sheep was foraging immediately roadside, unfazed by the crowd of gawking onlookers. As I pulled along side to snap a picture out the passenger-side window, the sheep glanced at my without any apparent interest and then continued crunching away on the local grasses. </p><p>Back at the I-15, I pulled into the Moapa Travel Plaza thinking I'd pick up a nice six-pack of craft beer before crossing into the land of Zion where the selection is limited and the prices are high on account of "sin" taxes. I have heard Mormons jokingly refer to this governmental levy of additional taxes on the "Gentiles" (anyone who is not a Mormon and therefore, in theory, doesn't drink) as "bleeding the Beast." Ha, ha. Yeah, totally hilarious. All those drinkers and smokers subsidizing the Utah educational system for the benefit of all the hyper-fecund Mormon couples. Bleeding the beast indeed.</p><p>Anyway, I was surprised and dismayed to find that the Travel Plaza had a pretty uninspiring selection of beer to choose from. Coors, Miller, Budweiser - mostly just shitty, mass-produced American lager in gigantic quantities. Pass. I drank that swill growing up as a young apostate in Utah and I wasn't going there again. So I continued up the road to Mesquite where I stopped at <a href="https://www.leesdiscountliquor.com/stores/mesquite/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Lee's Discount Liquor</span></a> instead for my weekend supply of adult malt and grain beverages. </p><p>Having got a sample of what the Valley of Fire has to offer, I'm now all hot to return on my next pass through Moapa for further exploration. Although it's a relatively small park, there's still quite a bit of territory left unexplored. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjMcYvIlzA0d4hKTYHsIjS2LdbfDn4_K59ZpbW8c_ia3pBtsiQUXMAY_cXt0DYqKRMTFHoTum_qHQWpPdiqy3swzIStKHiOIxaFqA1Yh7YWEmxw3LKWvVdQqg8tIYLJFvPbfaESpdsaAv6whgCOUmrJeK2WrX8aHbgZMU3Vvx5bbJ7Rp3TuhH7R4QSJ=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Valley of Fire Petroglyphs" border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjMcYvIlzA0d4hKTYHsIjS2LdbfDn4_K59ZpbW8c_ia3pBtsiQUXMAY_cXt0DYqKRMTFHoTum_qHQWpPdiqy3swzIStKHiOIxaFqA1Yh7YWEmxw3LKWvVdQqg8tIYLJFvPbfaESpdsaAv6whgCOUmrJeK2WrX8aHbgZMU3Vvx5bbJ7Rp3TuhH7R4QSJ=w480-h640" title="Basket Maker Petroglyphs" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi37Ok7-1_jIJUdvter85k2dO7Ql9Fu0tSCd9kXf0Q_NWFz4gskJU-Jeg-WVFF38uN0a3d04gnDQT3cKzTliGfxHQssXnkaLTCE2ZIeBh_BnXvRgbzciKoEeuSTI_qmvCtVFakeXNc1yYZ1Wxt1hThEzR_Bdu5CBqa83c1yzliNuR-a0A-LgVVzxIFI=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Desert Big Horn Sheep - Valley of Fire" border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi37Ok7-1_jIJUdvter85k2dO7Ql9Fu0tSCd9kXf0Q_NWFz4gskJU-Jeg-WVFF38uN0a3d04gnDQT3cKzTliGfxHQssXnkaLTCE2ZIeBh_BnXvRgbzciKoEeuSTI_qmvCtVFakeXNc1yYZ1Wxt1hThEzR_Bdu5CBqa83c1yzliNuR-a0A-LgVVzxIFI=w640-h480" title="Roadside Attraction - Desert Big Horn Sheep" width="640" /></a></div><p><br /></p>Madison Christianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476494056610217659noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6909480215675625524.post-46824887602456407352021-12-05T09:31:00.003-08:002022-09-01T07:17:33.998-07:00Crescenta View Trail<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiK13aVMP9YkdT9UZ5CdRgnFtX29q65MGZk7OepGSJAZZr_7EWC5kxF38rCZuUyrq9mSk7oeC55BVxUcdu5ojCm83oDB99o4fNUc69_U8S6V9R-rCjLKHKRvFEqrVP0NIbTz_6GYVsOoEyrvBKz1fL_FyYnWMVrzp6n5cN43rEtBSnV1t58sroP0l9R=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Crescenta View Trail" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiK13aVMP9YkdT9UZ5CdRgnFtX29q65MGZk7OepGSJAZZr_7EWC5kxF38rCZuUyrq9mSk7oeC55BVxUcdu5ojCm83oDB99o4fNUc69_U8S6V9R-rCjLKHKRvFEqrVP0NIbTz_6GYVsOoEyrvBKz1fL_FyYnWMVrzp6n5cN43rEtBSnV1t58sroP0l9R=w640-h480" title="Los Angeles from the Crescenta View Trail" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"> <i><b>Tip the world over on its side, and everything loose will land in Los Angeles.</b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>~Frank Lloyd Wright</b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>L.A. is the loneliest and most brutal of American cities.</b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>~Jack Kerouac</b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>The final story, the final chapter of western man, I believe, lies in Los Angeles.</b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>~Phil Ochs</b></i></div><p></p><p><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roman_Polanski" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Roman Polanski</span></a> once said <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2004/07/25/movies/film-la-residential.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">"Los Angeles is the most beautiful city in the world, as long as its seen at night and from a distance."</span></a> Obviously, Mr. Polanski never hiked the Crescenta View Trail on crystal clear, sunny day in November. If he had, he would have known that viewed from on high and afar, with the island-studded, gleaming Pacific as a backdrop, the City of Angels is a spectacular, if not messy, sight to behold.</p><p>How do I know this you ask? Because I recently hiked the Crescenta View Trail on a crystal-clear, sunny day in November. And from a perch at 4,400' feet, Los Angeles, in all its frenetic, sprawling, chaotic glory is quite a beautiful thing. This despite what all those sneering east coast elites and raffish midwestern outsiders might say otherwise.</p><p><a href="https://www.hikingproject.com/trail/7075686/crescenta-view-trail" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">The Crescenta View Trail</span></a> starts at <a href="https://www.glendaleca.gov/government/departments/community-services-parks/parks-facilities-historic-sites/deukmejian-wilderness-park#ad-image-1" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Deukmejian Regional Park</span></a> which is technically in Glendale. As far as trailheads go, Deukmejian is somewhat unique in that it has plentiful free parking, water, and full bathroom facilities. Bueno! The track begins at the rear of the parking area and gently ascends Dunsmore Canyon adjacent to the dry creek bed. A short distance up-canyon, a trail branches off to the right and crosses over to the east side of Dunsmore Creek before continuing northward. A similar connector intersects the Dunsmore Canyon Trail further up the canyon. Wanting to get off the more heavily-traveled main trail, I took the first branch which was a mistake as the path has been completely washed away where it crosses to creek. I had to scramble up a steep and brushy bank on the other side to regain the trail. I did not repeat that mistake on the return trip, following the second connector further up canyon. </p><p>A short distance later, the climbing begins as the path switch-backs up the ridge that separates Shields and Dunsmore Canyons. The climbing isn't particularly steep, but it is sustained and really doesn't let off until you reach the saddle where the Crescenta View Trail ultimately intersects the Mt. Lukens fireroad. From that point, you can traverse the dirt road a short distance west to the summit of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Lukens" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Mt. Lukens, the highest point in the Los Angeles</span></a> proper at 5,074 feet.</p><p>There is apparently some controversy over the name "Mt. Lukens." According to the Sierra Club HPS Section, the peak was previously named "Sister Else (or Elsie) peak. Nobody seems to remember or know who the original female namesake was, but as part of the 1875 Wheeler Survey, a chap named "McLain" decided "Lukens" was a more appropriate appellation and so renamed the peak in honor of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theodore_Lukens" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Theodore Lukens</span></a>, a former Supervisor of the Angeles National Forest. McLain ostensibly did this because<span style="color: #ffa400;"> <a href="http://www.hundredpeaks.org/signatures/09e.htm" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">"mountains should be monuments to the men who have treasured and protected them,"</span></a></span> gratuitously observing "what did Sister Elsie ever do for the mountains?" </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiN2aSzMktakyjd67hTVIhVtG-lpz03w5oUeVNMbHD4IBcg2eT5a2I3BpeFadTkKuJz005nDlKUcZwbSIg7inAwBBrJDurCg5y42GN2xCLgwvJsdnqQPp6v26xdNBWSBeEBKIFys_l6aJfjDg8pCO1Sc4J4o2iE5CTec2Y0GDqA5IPfqKHJPUSDBbMO=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Crescenta View Trail" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiN2aSzMktakyjd67hTVIhVtG-lpz03w5oUeVNMbHD4IBcg2eT5a2I3BpeFadTkKuJz005nDlKUcZwbSIg7inAwBBrJDurCg5y42GN2xCLgwvJsdnqQPp6v26xdNBWSBeEBKIFys_l6aJfjDg8pCO1Sc4J4o2iE5CTec2Y0GDqA5IPfqKHJPUSDBbMO=w640-h480" title="View from Lower Crescenta View Trail" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj1Rmp4DkKnA7sIR83LR1LYWDqnVE7TZo8w8jOuDgKciQOKECQrNLGkufI0XtgeV-DydVN5Rx_vHQ6TIbUqeQgPvMqS4TQ9hlDsTC7a32XxWMagUw3D24aZxEJsBzxZK7S0BniL3_zSoSesmiAViJIe3iM0OL011YqGSsTwQQD0LT-c_J5BLBDXJoFW=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Crescenta View Trail" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj1Rmp4DkKnA7sIR83LR1LYWDqnVE7TZo8w8jOuDgKciQOKECQrNLGkufI0XtgeV-DydVN5Rx_vHQ6TIbUqeQgPvMqS4TQ9hlDsTC7a32XxWMagUw3D24aZxEJsBzxZK7S0BniL3_zSoSesmiAViJIe3iM0OL011YqGSsTwQQD0LT-c_J5BLBDXJoFW=w640-h480" title="View west from Lower Crescenta View Trail" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi7lwxmgWs7Pcd03CmNDE_KkkTam7inogUIVpvGLEsaaUUu4Ql7SMLPp2C7FFgDm5VOx7ew9DgJsMz65z6SUn0zmCdHtapNY_pvC1VxQw4jN_vO4PKUpBa1n_4aLrii51Trp5bsu8h6MvuVG3mz4FvI_pz1jNNcxeIbNRv4C8fydgi1ktSMOhO4GAl1=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Crescenta View Trail" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi7lwxmgWs7Pcd03CmNDE_KkkTam7inogUIVpvGLEsaaUUu4Ql7SMLPp2C7FFgDm5VOx7ew9DgJsMz65z6SUn0zmCdHtapNY_pvC1VxQw4jN_vO4PKUpBa1n_4aLrii51Trp5bsu8h6MvuVG3mz4FvI_pz1jNNcxeIbNRv4C8fydgi1ktSMOhO4GAl1=w640-h480" title="Trail View" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>Anyway, my objective this day was not the summit of Sister Else Peak. Instead, my plan was to simply hike to the Redoubt, a circular rock enclosure on one of the ridge's promontories accessorized with a flagpole. There, I figured I'd take in the views, have a snack, lollygag a bit, and then return to the parking lot. But as alluring as that might sound, the Redoubt is an exposed and shadeless place, and sitting there baking in the direct sunlight for any appreciable amount of time is not ideal. So I continued another 3/4 mile up the trail to the Pickens Spur water tank which is also a shadeless and exposed spot, although perceptibly cooler. Plus, the flat concrete there affords an opportunity to lounge about without having to roll around in the dust and dirt.</p><p>From this spot high on the ridgeline, the entire Los Angeles basin is observable. Downtown, midtown, Century City, Santa Monica, the Palos Verde Peninsula, the Valley, and the Verdugos are spread out before you like a crazy metropolitan quilt. To the distant east, you also get impressive looks at all the celebrities of the San Gabriel front country: Mt. Deception, San Gabriel Peak, Occidental Peak, Mt. Markham, Mt. Wilson, Mt. Lowe, and Brown Mountain. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhmQaQEfs6FZ1S8d5DE8l1Vl9zOHhUmRNOYbcpbTBeD9ipIG3oA5tZIFPbT9TiSJ-VfbswHZLMQGznAdngMJ164jBCzJhOziM8OtY1pQFfY3FtAcqhhK6eo7R3p1eopjT321l84im_s61UU8zFCywdc1cGwYqtX_JjiK1MonYqvXPrIj-WKX-G0Fnw2=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Pickens Spur water tank" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhmQaQEfs6FZ1S8d5DE8l1Vl9zOHhUmRNOYbcpbTBeD9ipIG3oA5tZIFPbT9TiSJ-VfbswHZLMQGznAdngMJ164jBCzJhOziM8OtY1pQFfY3FtAcqhhK6eo7R3p1eopjT321l84im_s61UU8zFCywdc1cGwYqtX_JjiK1MonYqvXPrIj-WKX-G0Fnw2=w640-h480" title="Pickens Spur water tank" width="640" /></a></div> <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj-vGdqC21u_0MMB-3hZFqyRDLeA6x5COkB1o34lqg_pm_TZiA6ocKEntihGfR09xW4EIAY-l7X-cMPPjToIKCsVfAeXD-3Igt_wiIjQzbNqSb0X0vO0fQmaedlFy5aByLPJrk-xd-OMNeV4qN-jl3nQSmXM2EOS43sZCmqPQOFSkKrRZAYSNse_rMx=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Crescenta View Trail" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj-vGdqC21u_0MMB-3hZFqyRDLeA6x5COkB1o34lqg_pm_TZiA6ocKEntihGfR09xW4EIAY-l7X-cMPPjToIKCsVfAeXD-3Igt_wiIjQzbNqSb0X0vO0fQmaedlFy5aByLPJrk-xd-OMNeV4qN-jl3nQSmXM2EOS43sZCmqPQOFSkKrRZAYSNse_rMx=w640-h480" title="Los Angeles Basin from Pickens Spur water tank" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSM5zbvzjNtHgld24x1M6vvXgaJLUJIgVigkdmbnkEqnuTVBVEsphLHE9ocqoqciFSVY2vIIQ_IyUiEm6j-vd5ZH5A7eKc_hgsP1xJqBrYe3zm10TfQJqIYMPs5M0_SED2I7eP8HjUJrBbGf8jf7Fy2DdRoLj20hkoWl1Fu_-SDtgHMNvHR_mDCOv2=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Crescenta View Trail" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSM5zbvzjNtHgld24x1M6vvXgaJLUJIgVigkdmbnkEqnuTVBVEsphLHE9ocqoqciFSVY2vIIQ_IyUiEm6j-vd5ZH5A7eKc_hgsP1xJqBrYe3zm10TfQJqIYMPs5M0_SED2I7eP8HjUJrBbGf8jf7Fy2DdRoLj20hkoWl1Fu_-SDtgHMNvHR_mDCOv2=w640-h480" title="San Gabriel Mountains front country peaks" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>I stripped my sweaty shirt off here, exposing my embarrassing corpulence to no one, and lingered for a while. Shortly after that, things got <a href="https://www.stonebrewing.com/beer/year-round-releases/stone-hazy-ipa#ageGatePassed" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">amazingly hazy</span></a> so I packed up and started back down the way I came.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjWRMzfTtHHwBhqZWXJpYhz7SWwnlxVjcawlMlFXvwcEcj6IoNISVNrQ8rBlOH76ADfNXPQpqi9gNJ1kWKeehUUrYXePZAdKu4eSwpTTLvG6OhMcw8_N8k6H9yqttdNvSwbeiRM41RZLZ8SVul9tmlNzXKpxrbutasH8k7N3MmUAniYEkwA9txEes7i=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Stone Amazingly Hazy IPA" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjWRMzfTtHHwBhqZWXJpYhz7SWwnlxVjcawlMlFXvwcEcj6IoNISVNrQ8rBlOH76ADfNXPQpqi9gNJ1kWKeehUUrYXePZAdKu4eSwpTTLvG6OhMcw8_N8k6H9yqttdNvSwbeiRM41RZLZ8SVul9tmlNzXKpxrbutasH8k7N3MmUAniYEkwA9txEes7i=w640-h480" title="Getting Hazy" width="640" /></a></div><p>Total mileage for this one came in at 5.20 with an elevation gain of just shy of 3,000 feet. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiVWd43rt_ZTsGb9_tp8Z7xouWTkFxFRd0S6ki8Pw0UF-4hR2TBDeuLwQ1vyf2LaX-C_E4cuK5_2LEt6TTwrmofYvJzFmiK_R6pNFfo_22yEU_4-PMJMTLo7gkmzdBWM9aBAO1i_-5BIO-G253L7BPZEDgll02YRfjcMKi-h1-UWvlJAISEzxXKQOAg=s1290" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Crescenta View Trail" border="0" data-original-height="1290" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiVWd43rt_ZTsGb9_tp8Z7xouWTkFxFRd0S6ki8Pw0UF-4hR2TBDeuLwQ1vyf2LaX-C_E4cuK5_2LEt6TTwrmofYvJzFmiK_R6pNFfo_22yEU_4-PMJMTLo7gkmzdBWM9aBAO1i_-5BIO-G253L7BPZEDgll02YRfjcMKi-h1-UWvlJAISEzxXKQOAg=w536-h640" title="GPS Track" width="536" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjIOxKYDRxwQY-6WNAib4qWWiSA73Nln9qJtusEWuxHV99y2VfyJe-Rbdxqz5bDhzD2C_5nr5vMLiQ-76ZTxzCRJbZhuEc3fklfmVwLT2md2GcZIs5DrBBu9U7LqAXNIH6U-iAdr5IbWdB4TacGJ-_dlQlZknTIQ6CKZbKxr_NooJg5gcSF4oJ6Zkvu=s1080" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Crescenta View Trail Elevation Profile" border="0" data-original-height="1062" data-original-width="1080" height="630" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjIOxKYDRxwQY-6WNAib4qWWiSA73Nln9qJtusEWuxHV99y2VfyJe-Rbdxqz5bDhzD2C_5nr5vMLiQ-76ZTxzCRJbZhuEc3fklfmVwLT2md2GcZIs5DrBBu9U7LqAXNIH6U-iAdr5IbWdB4TacGJ-_dlQlZknTIQ6CKZbKxr_NooJg5gcSF4oJ6Zkvu=w640-h630" title="Elevation Profile" width="640" /></a></div><p><br /></p>Madison Christianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476494056610217659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6909480215675625524.post-17357732789159849882021-11-27T21:18:00.004-08:002021-12-15T06:34:47.449-08:00Looping Through the Ventura River Preserve<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNvfhfV72Xvp9fli0teTYw_0KdRTdc8mAbBVufV0iCM-518bDn2MMhg2RA6UJZtLCoqtkIpyQn1v7CLXToROy9ttviDvoOQfwBYgRguE0upiR4RRhO0GdksPgudQLFD_dsi23eGnEQK2Q/s2048/IMG_6840.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Ventura River Preserve" border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNvfhfV72Xvp9fli0teTYw_0KdRTdc8mAbBVufV0iCM-518bDn2MMhg2RA6UJZtLCoqtkIpyQn1v7CLXToROy9ttviDvoOQfwBYgRguE0upiR4RRhO0GdksPgudQLFD_dsi23eGnEQK2Q/w640-h426/IMG_6840.JPG" title="Rice Canyon" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>The core of mans' spirit comes from new experiences.</b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>~Christopher McCandless (aka Alexander Supertramp)</b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Old age should burn and rave at close of day.</b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>~Dylan Thomas, Do Not go Gentle into that Good Night</b></i></div><p></p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><i><u>Preliminaries - Old Man Walking</u></i></h3><div>The other day I was stopped at a red light in my suburban neighborhood. As I was waiting for the light to change, a silver-haired gentlemen walking a fluffy white pooch passed in front of me in the cross-walk. It wasn't exactly an unusual site. I see it regularly and usually give it no mind. The sidewalks where I live are alive both morning and afternoon with 50 and 60-somethings in relaxed-fit trousers sedately walking lap dogs and carrying little plastic bags of poo. I guess it's all part of the normal and expected progression of things. Go to college, get a job, have kids, achieve some sort of professional success, bid farewell to your kids as they fledge from the nest, buy a cute little Shih Tzu or Yorkie or Maltese or Chihuahua to fill the void, and then start sauntering around the neighborhood with your canine companion as you slide toward retirement and a more dormant existence.</div><div><br /></div><div>Unfortunately, I've now joined this baggy pants-wearing, dog-walking demographic. Or, perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I've been "conscripted" into this army-of-the-aged. Because I'm certainly not itching to voluntarily join this club any time soon. It feels like giving up. A death sentence that involves rusting away at the kitchen table with a crossword puzzle in front of you while staring at the world through a double-pane of glass. Or, as old Captain Bildad did in <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moby-Dick" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Moby Dick</span></a> as he piloted the <i>Pequod</i> out of Nantucket and into the open Atlantic as it embarked on a multi-year journey in quest of the white whale, forlornly lingering about the deck and delaying good-byes before reluctantly returning to the tranquility, safety, and boredom of the harbor. Fuck that. I don't want to feel Captain Bildad's sad tug of desire and twinge of regret. I watched my father and father-in-law voluntarily relinquish their passion to the quiet life and it murdered their spirits. </div><div><br /></div><div>That is to say that I don't plan to give up so easily. When I go down, I'm gonna <a href="https://youtu.be/I4vJM4L2D2U" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">go down swinging</span></a>. Or, to put it in less hyperbolic terms, I plan to hike trails, bag peaks, swim icy mountain lakes, and sleep on a mat beneath the glittering heavens until the laws of the physical world tell me that I can no longer do that. That doesn't necessarily mean that every outing will or even has to be an epic, white-knuckled, risk-filled adventure. At 58, I recognize my limitations. So for me, it involves simply exploring as many outdoor places as I am able in the time I have.</div><div> </div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><i><u>The Ventura River Preserve</u></i></h3><div>To that end, last weekend, I decided to check out the trails of the <a href="https://ovlc.org/preserves/ventura-river-rancho-el-nido/hiking-ventura-river-preserve/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Ventura River Preserve</span></a>. The Preserve, which is owned and managed by the <a href="https://ovlc.org/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Ojai Valley Land Conversancy ("OVLC")</span></a>, sits on land adjacent to the Ventura River that was once part of the historic Rancho El Nido. Seemingly like every other big parcel of undeveloped property worth saving in Southern California, the Preserve was once slated to be developed as an exclusive community and golf course for the well-heeled until it was rescued from that abhorrent fate by OVLC in the late 90s.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now, Rancho El Nido is a place for outdoor enthusiasts instead of wealthy duffers wearing loud pants and berets. And for the hiker, there is a variety of short and medium-length options to choose from. I had read recommendations to ascend Willis Canyon and then return by way of Rice Canyon for the views the latter affords. But I wanted something longer so decided to loop counter-clockwise through the Preserve on a route that allowed me to see as much of it as possible in one big swoop. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1HU-0XuxgJ7wKompoUFptcUD8X9xPXe1ueNOX9YgZcol1zFCOLWs1YgekGPQ2j3Fr_E78MkNbBTGxrZyidPb-n0eYCcXHq99XosdUpAhyisYJaRQ3U2AFWg8pmku3PdjZgFueiJncZ_U/s2048/IMG_6833.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Rice Canyon" border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1HU-0XuxgJ7wKompoUFptcUD8X9xPXe1ueNOX9YgZcol1zFCOLWs1YgekGPQ2j3Fr_E78MkNbBTGxrZyidPb-n0eYCcXHq99XosdUpAhyisYJaRQ3U2AFWg8pmku3PdjZgFueiJncZ_U/w640-h426/IMG_6833.JPG" title="Entering Rice Canyon" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5fXFf0Xtu6_CxigpYmLf3ENTCjMMvXkoYLUxVqXdKbUwTOpvlfoOvF99r2DtW7v4jtltFgkO9W0znbm_8aQp7MoNjNwubUSCbRJI8KkJbottEoBNFhwcaKcx7QF23CZRB-svJ1W_UU0M/s2048/IMG_6836.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Rice Canyon" border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5fXFf0Xtu6_CxigpYmLf3ENTCjMMvXkoYLUxVqXdKbUwTOpvlfoOvF99r2DtW7v4jtltFgkO9W0znbm_8aQp7MoNjNwubUSCbRJI8KkJbottEoBNFhwcaKcx7QF23CZRB-svJ1W_UU0M/w640-h426/IMG_6836.JPG" title="Rice Canyon" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsdy2KUBxA0JkOXG0ha0E1jaBcWyVVLTX0OQiRvCOPAdJpOoX-QnQK6nK2w8AQyb1ODi-XVNwzEfrOXf7STgP7w-8XcrvaDObewpEkZwlbkYNhSeVilU644eTrO0n1fadC7Zb7IujyW4Q/s2048/IMG_6840.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Rice Canyon" border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsdy2KUBxA0JkOXG0ha0E1jaBcWyVVLTX0OQiRvCOPAdJpOoX-QnQK6nK2w8AQyb1ODi-XVNwzEfrOXf7STgP7w-8XcrvaDObewpEkZwlbkYNhSeVilU644eTrO0n1fadC7Zb7IujyW4Q/w640-h426/IMG_6840.JPG" title="Rice Canyon" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><i><u>The Loop</u></i></h3><div>There are three trailheads for the Preserve - the Old Baldwin Trailhead, the Riverview Trailhead, and the Oso Trailhead. I started at the latter midday and began my way up Rice Canyon. Almost immediately, I scared up three deer that bounded off into the brushy hillside at my approach. Although it was late November, it was warm. Sitting in the low foothills of the kiln that is the Ojai Valley, these are hot trails. But in the inner sanctum of the canyon where oak and sycamore proliferate, there was shade. And there was a surprising amount of lush green. The hibernating plant life in drought-stricken California yearns for moisture, and with the recent rains we received has exploded in a lusty and joyous celebration of renewed life. When, if ever again, we get normal winter precipitation, I can imagine these canyons transforming into a verdant Shangri-La. </div><div><br /></div><div>I had originally planned to take the Kennedy Ridge Trail as a detour before rejoining Rice further up canyon. But the bottom-lands were so pleasant and inviting, I just stayed the course. Ultimately, the path (really an old ranch road) climbs to a saddle before loosing elevation again as it descends to El Nido Meadow, which I think is a bit of a misnomer. It's not really a "meadow" in the traditional sense of the word, or at least it didn't look like one to me. But whatever you want to call El Nido, it is shady, beautiful and inviting, and I lingered here a bit before starting the stout climb westward toward the Preserve high point. </div><div><br /></div><div>At the top of the climb, the path levels out as you make a semi-circle to the junction with the Oso Ridge Trail. Along this stretch, I noticed <a href="https://www.calflora.org/app/taxon?crn=7316" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Hummingbird Sage (Salvia spathacea)</span></a> growing on the cool north-facing slopes in great proliferation. Later on, I would see the same thing along the Fern Grotto Trail and in the bowels of Willis Canyon. In all my years trodding the trails, I never recall seeing such an orgy of Hummingbird Sage. It must be a stunning site when it is all in bloom.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzL2r2OpWZm431VTbvUSRVkx6moKk4U5-8QbCKZyzCsloz1mTHs-SupUMUYLHm0TEVndWsa5QU5cJcEfU45bJbeOR1IVcDyNNQAFMoQuYBIzPGXD6avlfqxRuCM6zVqfeTccOGfpSKOCk/s2048/IMG_6848.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Willis Canyon" border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzL2r2OpWZm431VTbvUSRVkx6moKk4U5-8QbCKZyzCsloz1mTHs-SupUMUYLHm0TEVndWsa5QU5cJcEfU45bJbeOR1IVcDyNNQAFMoQuYBIzPGXD6avlfqxRuCM6zVqfeTccOGfpSKOCk/w640-h426/IMG_6848.JPG" title="Willis Canyon" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQCZkLXeeTW7P1K-GNzCNXY1YRvQtsXlZ32_huhoTDWiTPdJDRqKlHoTvvf3eqyBh0R7m139-3WVOMj3z2HjGoNEIknCFLLA0KCx7AkXJtvyMazkFEnT7R_d1vm5FDmCoZSagJ-1zu958/s2048/IMG_6850.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="White Ledge Peak" border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQCZkLXeeTW7P1K-GNzCNXY1YRvQtsXlZ32_huhoTDWiTPdJDRqKlHoTvvf3eqyBh0R7m139-3WVOMj3z2HjGoNEIknCFLLA0KCx7AkXJtvyMazkFEnT7R_d1vm5FDmCoZSagJ-1zu958/w640-h426/IMG_6850.JPG" title="White Ledge Peak" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHci86aavjGYB8-6_r1u54kf1fjDk8hnQmsmV409mI3k45AkF5iRhAKWX8B3NnkIe-sgnRiALAfDh4wgZ46_YPq45Ywi48Bf_Zn6cFsCqmz8mZBswMZPBdbrubbxNYp84N1hV_mBZRufI/s2048/IMG_6853.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Lake Casitas" border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHci86aavjGYB8-6_r1u54kf1fjDk8hnQmsmV409mI3k45AkF5iRhAKWX8B3NnkIe-sgnRiALAfDh4wgZ46_YPq45Ywi48Bf_Zn6cFsCqmz8mZBswMZPBdbrubbxNYp84N1hV_mBZRufI/w640-h426/IMG_6853.JPG" title="Lake Casitas" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>At the Preserve high point, you get expansive looks at Rancho Matilija and Lake Casitas to the south and the Ojai Valley to the east. The trail then follows the undulations of the Oso Ridge downward to the junction with the Allan Jacobs Trail named for none other than Allan Jacobs. Here, the path tacks north as it gently zig-zags back up to the Chaparral Crest Trail before returning once again to the floor of Willis Canyon by way of the leafy Fern Grotto Trail. You close the loop by following verdant Willis Canyon to its mouth, and then returning to the trailhead following the flat Orange Grove Trail north along the river.</div><div><br /></div><div>Back at the car, I decided to return home by way of idyllic upper Ojai Valley instead of the citified 101 corridor. On my way in a few hours earlier, everyone who fled to Santa Barbara from Los Angeles for the weekend was already returning south, snarling traffic through Ventura and The Nard. I had no interest in being a part of that. Bad juju for the soul. Plus, taking the alternate route provided the perfect excuse to stop at <a href="https://summitdrivein.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">The Summit</span></a> for a Pineapple Coconut milkshake. I don't know if The Summit makes the world's best milkshakes, but it sure seems that way after spending a couple of hours wandering the hills. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSpgI6Ahc0IOjx8_aVsISbfKmEY7JbD7H13bh8UDVxI020doxO3wCJslgs-jDMmRHW279c-FJqh09NtwOMi7xbcXJvPIgAcoQaUf2RHX3X6uYKwEENld4DaSStg4mGC9bdXVLD_Rq-WLQ/s2048/IMG_6854.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Ojai Valley" border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSpgI6Ahc0IOjx8_aVsISbfKmEY7JbD7H13bh8UDVxI020doxO3wCJslgs-jDMmRHW279c-FJqh09NtwOMi7xbcXJvPIgAcoQaUf2RHX3X6uYKwEENld4DaSStg4mGC9bdXVLD_Rq-WLQ/w640-h426/IMG_6854.JPG" title="Ojai Valley" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYi5K0f0rKR53Qh89irjJGjqkmVqRUaCLvCY3z-t1vRpPgT_e0xAPuq3qNFFiIN5R7FuMVSkNWctqlHC0Rod0ByOV5_W0aCOou0mU-XQ1O4nHNsl-7s9WpULJS804BfXXqMjDy5186Kpg/s2048/IMG_6860.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Fern Grotto Trai" border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYi5K0f0rKR53Qh89irjJGjqkmVqRUaCLvCY3z-t1vRpPgT_e0xAPuq3qNFFiIN5R7FuMVSkNWctqlHC0Rod0ByOV5_W0aCOou0mU-XQ1O4nHNsl-7s9WpULJS804BfXXqMjDy5186Kpg/w640-h426/IMG_6860.JPG" title="Fern Grotto Trail" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjly8wm4z2XDukm6fzm_MKWdFaKBSCA3Qxyc1mFxjlSn0rez3GM9U_J1NBMubUk4TKtOJMzMeiQ53c3Tt6chYtwGRtBRNpzFEIlCR4bkI-D1sM9dd8fJF8jnZXlu9p4SjAVgLvxNo-o_14/s1080/Summit.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="The Summit Drive In" border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="810" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjly8wm4z2XDukm6fzm_MKWdFaKBSCA3Qxyc1mFxjlSn0rez3GM9U_J1NBMubUk4TKtOJMzMeiQ53c3Tt6chYtwGRtBRNpzFEIlCR4bkI-D1sM9dd8fJF8jnZXlu9p4SjAVgLvxNo-o_14/w480-h640/Summit.jpg" title="The Summit Drive In" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>Total mileage for this loop was 8 miles with an elevation gain of 1,538 feet.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDPEQxqDqXEVxH493KNVCWzIXQritEjQ8YbxMMb0qnQwQLX1zLGKcdXtQX_UVX9QvDy-l-hJrbXEonT5IycYfjecFnvSrmq8TqnDiUkH7ybxoxE1_0PMCYt1xUJmSzZ_1pYqbKEYnQizE/s674/Track+Map.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Ventura River Preserve Loop Route" border="0" data-original-height="380" data-original-width="674" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDPEQxqDqXEVxH493KNVCWzIXQritEjQ8YbxMMb0qnQwQLX1zLGKcdXtQX_UVX9QvDy-l-hJrbXEonT5IycYfjecFnvSrmq8TqnDiUkH7ybxoxE1_0PMCYt1xUJmSzZ_1pYqbKEYnQizE/w640-h360/Track+Map.png" title="Ventura River Preserve Loop Route" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5khrfORkJiaRT21nXDOjgwNbyLaVEJ8lPYt40nbH_QB0YOlU2LQcRqm_RXeDCDzS-sYq4jRLXQ3X9tVHkMWbDv8R7SvLn-o0SjMbQ1JnxybD2ih5DyvE80A3gtUMqfojQMz3wBCcnMY8/s1080/VR+Elevation+Profile.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Ventura River Preserve Elevation Profile" border="0" data-original-height="1070" data-original-width="1080" height="634" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5khrfORkJiaRT21nXDOjgwNbyLaVEJ8lPYt40nbH_QB0YOlU2LQcRqm_RXeDCDzS-sYq4jRLXQ3X9tVHkMWbDv8R7SvLn-o0SjMbQ1JnxybD2ih5DyvE80A3gtUMqfojQMz3wBCcnMY8/w640-h634/VR+Elevation+Profile.jpg" title="Elevation Profile" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Madison Christianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476494056610217659noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6909480215675625524.post-87832257575857596512021-11-20T07:34:00.002-08:002021-12-01T06:52:52.843-08:00Zuma Canyon Loop: Hiking the Bu<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9iemo9DSb_nXSZOy1NReMn1Hc7mBa-zTyMZ3V5TQwwjwcdRh0zD3t6S048p_HngC6QOD0o-a2cqDKMnV76JhcnAMwhYH74Z286_-q74bDCzZ-FcCnaWdBUE-rf1dmOwrdOC0aw61464U/s2048/IMG_6802.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Zuma Ridge Trail" border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9iemo9DSb_nXSZOy1NReMn1Hc7mBa-zTyMZ3V5TQwwjwcdRh0zD3t6S048p_HngC6QOD0o-a2cqDKMnV76JhcnAMwhYH74Z286_-q74bDCzZ-FcCnaWdBUE-rf1dmOwrdOC0aw61464U/w640-h426/IMG_6802.JPG" title="Malibu from Zuma Ridge Trail" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div>It seems of late that I perhaps have wandered off path some. From a focus perspective, I've found myself bush-whacking and rock-hopping through a tangle of posts that stray from the original vision of this blog. That's not necessarily a bad thing. As Neil Young famously quipped after the success of his tune <a href="https://youtu.be/X3IA6pIVank" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Heart of Gold</span></a>, "<a href="https://ultimateclassicrock.com/neil-young-on-the-beach/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">this song put me in the middle of the road. Traveling there soon became a bore so I headed for the ditch. A rougher ride, but I met more interesting people there.</span></a>" So sometimes following an odd strand and allowing things to develop organically instead of by deliberate design has its rewards. Even if it means plowing through dead-fall and poison oak and yucca. Other times, doing that just gets you dehydration, ticks, and an itchy rash. </div><div><br /></div><div>I've had enough ticks and poison oak in my time that I'm going to avoid that and get out of the proverbial ditch, at least for today, Instead, I'm staying in the middle of the road and sticking to a plain, vanilla trail report. No navel-gazing (or at least limited navel-gazing). No asides (or at least limited asides). No pontificating (or at least limited pontificating). No curse words (or at least limited curse words). And no bitching (is that a curse word?). Well, I may do some bitching. As a grumpy, old curmudgeon that's my job.</div><div><br /></div><div>So anyway, there was a time when I was going to the Angeles National Forest every single weekend to explore. The ANF was new to me then so every outing was an exciting adventure. But eventually, all the driving wore me down and I finally hit a wall. If hiking meant a 70 mile drive to the trailhead, I wasn't interested. So I stopped going, opting instead for more hyper-local, yet ultimately shorter trails. Sometimes those "trails" even ended up being the NordicTrack elliptical sitting in my garage. Physically satisfying, yet soul-crushing.</div><div><br /></div><div>On Sunday, I sought to change that dynamic a bit by getting out for a good, long jaunt in the hills. But because it was one of those hot, summer November days we have here in Southern California, going inland wasn't that appealing. So I looked to the <a href="https://www.nps.gov/samo/index.htm" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Santa Monica Mountains</span></a> where I figured it would be cooler. It was, but not by much.</div><div><br /></div><div>The track I settled on was the "<a href="https://www.alltrails.com/trail/us/california/zuma-canyon-loop-trail--2" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Zuma Canyon Loop.</span></a>" The route starts at the top of Busch Drive in Malibu, ascends the Zuma Ridge Trail, drops into Zuma Canyon via the Zuma-Edison Road, climbs back out to the Zuma Canyon Connector trail, descends and joins Kanan-Edison Road, returns to the bottom of Zuma Canyon by way of the Ocean View Trail, and then returns to the trailhead on the Zuma-Loop Trail. Total mileage for the loop is approximately 10.6. The app I use (<a href="https://www.outdooractive.com/en/k/welcome-to-outdooractive-/61393841/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">View Ranger</span></a>) registered 4,100 feet of gain. AllTrails says total gain is 2,755 feet. Neither is probably accurate, but the gain did feel like it was significantly greater than 2,755.</div><div><br /></div><div>There is very little shade on this route. There is a bit in the bowels of Zuma Canyon along the dry creek-bed where Sycamore trees grow, and then there's the occasional <a href="https://www.calflora.org/app/taxon?crn=5348" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Laurel Sumac</span></a> that you can shelter beneath. Otherwise, it's an dry, hot slog. For that reason, it isn't an optimal summertime day-hike. It's also not one of those hikes where you carry nothing but a single 20 oz. plastic water bottle that you discard trailside. I carried a bladder containing 3 liters and essentially drained it.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdeu57a0ifHRdzb7TF5lM1EQ1S-HqeZNwDIQx76BjpjeYMRQ9QslYdVMUeoqCa1kahM-JL4NqCoI4sJ6rvGvH1Kuj4-asNwu-GCcm8UiA_lKmxSf3NvhdvYAfxpldVZYiJQ0Sfq1o0edY/s1658/Track+Map.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Zuma Canyon Loop" border="0" data-original-height="1658" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdeu57a0ifHRdzb7TF5lM1EQ1S-HqeZNwDIQx76BjpjeYMRQ9QslYdVMUeoqCa1kahM-JL4NqCoI4sJ6rvGvH1Kuj4-asNwu-GCcm8UiA_lKmxSf3NvhdvYAfxpldVZYiJQ0Sfq1o0edY/w416-h640/Track+Map.jpg" title="Zuma Canyon Loop" width="416" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfuQzRf2ucyiNZWPwn6Gm-vvVXOo9bEkSeFSSP6tMk1_-e_fWladsw_rws7QHE2u7TifZVLbpoVHKtfjCw5MLGFb9tw24QtDj0c3C6Rj-4VA_FBwu4s90yGp6t1PE7cdpfZAqhG9mDTK0/s1604/Elevation+Profile.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Zuma Canyon Loop Elevation Profile" border="0" data-original-height="1604" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfuQzRf2ucyiNZWPwn6Gm-vvVXOo9bEkSeFSSP6tMk1_-e_fWladsw_rws7QHE2u7TifZVLbpoVHKtfjCw5MLGFb9tw24QtDj0c3C6Rj-4VA_FBwu4s90yGp6t1PE7cdpfZAqhG9mDTK0/w430-h640/Elevation+Profile.jpg" title="Elevation Profile" width="430" /></a></div><div><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u>Zuma Ridge Trail</u></h3><div>The Zuma Ridge Trail is somewhat of a misnomer. The term "trail" normally conjures up images of narrow single-track, but in this particular instance, the trail is actually a roadbed that climbs steadily northward out of the small parking area at the trailhead. The climb isn't particularly steep at any point in time, but it is sustained, and flat areas before the junction with the Zuma-Edison Road are few and far between. If the climb isn't enough for you, opportunity exist along the way to bag a couple of unnamed "peaks" (e.g., Peak 1260, Peak 1791, and a few other unmarked bumps). </div><div><br /></div><div>As you continue to climb, the views of the mighty Pacific get more impressive. On a clear day, the Palos Verdes Peninsula, Santa Catalina Island, Santa Barbara Island, San Nicholas Island, and the remaining Channel Islands are all visible. On the day I went, you could also see a number of container ships sitting in the Santa Barbara Channel waiting their turn to off-load containers full of iPhones and automobiles and television sets and clothing and other "stuff" at the Port of Los Angeles. A number of squid boats were also congregated just off the coast where the soft-bodied molluscs were apparently boiling. </div><div><br /></div><div>At approximately 3.2 miles, you reach the intersection with the Zuma-Edison Road that comes in from the right. Here, you have a couple of options. You can continue up the Zuma Ridge Trail to Buzzard's Roost. You can turn around, return to your car, and go have a cold beer. Or you can continue with the loop by descending Zuma-Edison Road. If you choose the latter option, make sure you have enough juice in both the tank and your water bottles. This is the point of no return. There is no way out of the canyon bottom that doesn't involve either a 1,000 climb or an off-trail sufferfest. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV63ftqGdaG8LsRhb4q2KBCjrDqDKIIlTvQWECYsM6tMetyx3NtseWGhorrCshyW9lbn370rq3m8BKtVfrVyZQjiaj0sslv9jvtSFWrtCjVoXdJgdFXtm5z7rCuI64x3bkYIQheQfov4c/s2048/IMG_6803.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Zuma Ridge Trail" border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV63ftqGdaG8LsRhb4q2KBCjrDqDKIIlTvQWECYsM6tMetyx3NtseWGhorrCshyW9lbn370rq3m8BKtVfrVyZQjiaj0sslv9jvtSFWrtCjVoXdJgdFXtm5z7rCuI64x3bkYIQheQfov4c/w640-h426/IMG_6803.JPG" title="Ocean Views from Zuma Ridge Trail" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBmFyxA83VH2JUSYHPG3G2Z_p_QWmhyphenhyphen6K9irBCzxvENXwkgTh34Htxg13C2drT2XkxRQRIFDgk_DXb-hBy3wIqyI7ARztPDkbPqiyfcgps2BwsXE7qYhm2vsQRS2YuoFLIKeMrb4Ad9xc/s2048/IMG_6808.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Squid Boats in Santa Barbara Channel" border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBmFyxA83VH2JUSYHPG3G2Z_p_QWmhyphenhyphen6K9irBCzxvENXwkgTh34Htxg13C2drT2XkxRQRIFDgk_DXb-hBy3wIqyI7ARztPDkbPqiyfcgps2BwsXE7qYhm2vsQRS2YuoFLIKeMrb4Ad9xc/w640-h426/IMG_6808.JPG" title="Squid Boats and the Channel Islands" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRV74MGqrLPuEPJkx30w7MtCgbZOWt_07x8LAMk9R939M5i2YvN5e_-vmq0NvmXG7XqJ41KXEOWTNyNOFbK7mTUnPQQoNsp0Qafy1rSVW09K_WsHrrg-iKcpHKhcDcysrBK3E6bJwzxRY/s2048/IMG_6809.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Sandstone Peak" border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRV74MGqrLPuEPJkx30w7MtCgbZOWt_07x8LAMk9R939M5i2YvN5e_-vmq0NvmXG7XqJ41KXEOWTNyNOFbK7mTUnPQQoNsp0Qafy1rSVW09K_WsHrrg-iKcpHKhcDcysrBK3E6bJwzxRY/w640-h426/IMG_6809.JPG" title="Sandstone Peak" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTBvSkh5sbiMYnHiNFDpXAVMphCYC6ftc9VtNckJ0crWH6vdB3xm7PQ2WE03SBv0j-0FQGhoxF0uu-jYL9kBRZIlQ5xaN0FqJCePlfKSzpiqbKZDDvyYQ0xpP593R6ZKE3o2hfyV09HdQ/s2048/IMG_6810.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Buzzard's Roost" border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTBvSkh5sbiMYnHiNFDpXAVMphCYC6ftc9VtNckJ0crWH6vdB3xm7PQ2WE03SBv0j-0FQGhoxF0uu-jYL9kBRZIlQ5xaN0FqJCePlfKSzpiqbKZDDvyYQ0xpP593R6ZKE3o2hfyV09HdQ/w640-h426/IMG_6810.JPG" title="Buzzard's Roost" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u>Zuma-Edison Road</u></h3><div>The Zuma-Edison Road descends quickly into Zuma Canyon as you give back most of the elevation you just gained. Once again, you're walking a maintained fire road that is used to access Edison's towers that host the high-tension wires that hang across the canyon. As you continue to loose elevation, you get more nice looks at the Buzzard's Roost, this time from the east. At the last tower on the descent, the maintenance stops and the road deteriorates into a defacto trail until you reach the next tower on the other side. At the bottom of the canyon, the path crosses dry Zuma Creek where Sycamore trees provide some shade relief from the unrelenting sun. There is no established trail along the creek in the canyon-bottom, but it is feasible to rock-hop and brush-bash down-canyon back to the trailhead at Bonsall Drive. Not knowing the conditions, I decided against launching off on such an exciting adventure, opting instead for the long, boring road walk up the other side to the junction with the Zuma Canyon Connector Trail. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipzfFpX1he-DwH8Dcpr070O-IbqNPIK9v4GBshQ2CTcg9XVCUgtKZZ1Gb_zd0LaTPO4TDkzg5483nMyqarZiXlk8Hze1zh7XzaeVoH0bOUK1h6ISaQETAyjcMTGl8GiSJkscS3tnGCrLI/s2048/IMG_6816.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Zuma Edison Road" border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipzfFpX1he-DwH8Dcpr070O-IbqNPIK9v4GBshQ2CTcg9XVCUgtKZZ1Gb_zd0LaTPO4TDkzg5483nMyqarZiXlk8Hze1zh7XzaeVoH0bOUK1h6ISaQETAyjcMTGl8GiSJkscS3tnGCrLI/w640-h426/IMG_6816.JPG" title="Zuma Edison Road" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk_N-OcFuiGyXQ6nWsotPu-nVu49rq7udDjQKAqZOjAuzhjQ3BvJHuCpfN8V8YAZAa5qVdB1jMx41JO7E03gKL6OcdFwY4zUfb-LZMi2VGt7-dHL_mwyURhxtF2Xm_3HQogBwHWrCpkWc/s2048/IMG_6819.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Zuma Canyon" border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk_N-OcFuiGyXQ6nWsotPu-nVu49rq7udDjQKAqZOjAuzhjQ3BvJHuCpfN8V8YAZAa5qVdB1jMx41JO7E03gKL6OcdFwY4zUfb-LZMi2VGt7-dHL_mwyURhxtF2Xm_3HQogBwHWrCpkWc/w640-h426/IMG_6819.JPG" title="Zuma Canyon" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZMTBvKnP35-a5_F_9XeuolBeK_GGS6fA3h5zdBEFjUbUOzQSnahbfYa1hIfYpCoPXO8RrcEal-UHfVINRaseMxYzrW-mfSTR7Gn-Hu7vhSKf1gs7KePZzieuvVTRgIOh2chBUi-CBvyw/s2048/IMG_6825.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Peak 1984" border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZMTBvKnP35-a5_F_9XeuolBeK_GGS6fA3h5zdBEFjUbUOzQSnahbfYa1hIfYpCoPXO8RrcEal-UHfVINRaseMxYzrW-mfSTR7Gn-Hu7vhSKf1gs7KePZzieuvVTRgIOh2chBUi-CBvyw/w640-h426/IMG_6825.JPG" title="Peak 1984" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYEQ3NDjhbZrOC-cqV0jxafO3cxJG6pH_GccTt8P9Y-wu1tqPJ6jB_tdWcwAIk-NYDXmLj9mu5ZTyBWD6rZ3_Ki1EOiQVMM1IH8wYll0jC0gVdeqFyfeD531oW9rh5WLfmdTWrcGSZvRs/s2048/IMG_6827.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Zuma Canyon" border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYEQ3NDjhbZrOC-cqV0jxafO3cxJG6pH_GccTt8P9Y-wu1tqPJ6jB_tdWcwAIk-NYDXmLj9mu5ZTyBWD6rZ3_Ki1EOiQVMM1IH8wYll0jC0gVdeqFyfeD531oW9rh5WLfmdTWrcGSZvRs/w640-h426/IMG_6827.JPG" title="Zuma Canyon" width="640" /></a></div><br /><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u>Zuma Canyon Connector Trail</u></h3><div>Just beyond the crest of the high-point on the other side of the canyon, the Zuma Canyon Connector Trail intersects the road. The trail is obvious, and the junction is marked with a sign telling you dogs and motorcycles are not permitted, but there are no other marking telling you that this, in fact, is the Zuma Canyon Connector. Even though I wasn't entirely certain that was the correct route, the single-track was so inviting after all the road-walking I'd done, that I didn't really care. The trail was heading generally in the right direction so I crossed my fingers, hoped for the best, and launched off down the path. This is a really enjoyable stretch of the route as you roller-coaster along the undulating ridgeline and catch nice views of the Malibu coastline.</div><div><br /></div><div>Down trail, I ran into a pleasant young lady that was on her way up. Because it was late afternoon and I told her she still had a long way to go, she turned around and we walked back to the bottom of Zuma Canyon together. We continued along the trail until it merged with and became the Kanan-Edison Road. About 1.3 miles later, we branched off and descended dusty Ocean View Trail which is heavily used by equestrians. In fact, on the descent, crossed paths with a train of about 10 equestrians who were coming up trail as we were going down.</div><div><br /></div><div>When the trail ultimately bottoms out in Zuma Canyon, you might hope and think you're finished. But you'd be mistaken if you believed that. That's because you still have another half-mile to go. And it's all uphill which is disheartening. It's isn't steep, but after grinding for 10 miles, it's not necessarily what you want to encounter.</div><div><br /></div><div>Here, my hiking companion, who was parked at the Zuma Canyon trailhead, offered to give me a lift back to my car where I started. That was an enticing offer and I briefly contemplated accepting. But I figured that would be cheating (because it <i>would be</i> cheating), so I graciously declined and began the crawl up the Zuma Loop Trial back to where I started. Ultimately, that was a good decision because the trail is well maintained and the ascent gentle, so the climb really wasn't as bad as I had imagined. </div><div><br /></div><div>A short while later I was back at the trailhead as the afternoon shadows began to get long. My total time out was about 4.5 hours which included a few stops along the way to goof around and explore.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEJhZGmwhfDlqlf6aGmRYaRuTpibkceJRV_z9R2Otgo9hApSs9g3X-4CFwwaxjTElUg3NYRDhtu9lNWQ3YKPTDPyJUxHDPRr5_VGEA3bFz3FhVg37j9dl541ECiCo7jVVGyS5lunKyGJ4/s2048/IMG_6830.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Zuma Canyon Connector Trail" border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEJhZGmwhfDlqlf6aGmRYaRuTpibkceJRV_z9R2Otgo9hApSs9g3X-4CFwwaxjTElUg3NYRDhtu9lNWQ3YKPTDPyJUxHDPRr5_VGEA3bFz3FhVg37j9dl541ECiCo7jVVGyS5lunKyGJ4/w640-h426/IMG_6830.JPG" title="Zuma Canyon Connector" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi03aOszZDB9I5GuzU7I5LM24b2pmJTf6Scuun1M6uCDJzR0ckBH1ticM70_rVzElw7xedrVR-txDkXdHpIi5TQ418MWGjWDh24X12jGj_UHoQm9UclNzrdFh__eS-_M3QlP80AUiO3imo/s2048/20211114_141955.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Zuma Canyon Connector Trail" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi03aOszZDB9I5GuzU7I5LM24b2pmJTf6Scuun1M6uCDJzR0ckBH1ticM70_rVzElw7xedrVR-txDkXdHpIi5TQ418MWGjWDh24X12jGj_UHoQm9UclNzrdFh__eS-_M3QlP80AUiO3imo/w640-h480/20211114_141955.jpg" title="Zuma Canyon Connector" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div>Madison Christianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476494056610217659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6909480215675625524.post-13533509814379762162021-11-13T10:32:00.007-08:002021-12-01T06:57:03.555-08:00Magical Wildwood<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8QCV7ih7SOYTcXm4RHZYHSVTPzn_8VHoqSjPhvYP1LWlZZ2kexQB8u8WkQaGtmFm127bJIK0iLa1Lq0mZtjEX9lRdyuBTPnvbIYe-p1tMPyAWSuCUebUEmI3-rX2WSOpGxnA1Dyefke0/s2048/IMG_6791.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Arroyo Conejo Creek" border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8QCV7ih7SOYTcXm4RHZYHSVTPzn_8VHoqSjPhvYP1LWlZZ2kexQB8u8WkQaGtmFm127bJIK0iLa1Lq0mZtjEX9lRdyuBTPnvbIYe-p1tMPyAWSuCUebUEmI3-rX2WSOpGxnA1Dyefke0/w640-h426/IMG_6791.JPG" title="North Fork Arroyo Conejo Creek" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Fairies, come take me out of this dull world</b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>For I would ride with you upon the wind</b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Run on top of the disheveled tide</b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>And dance upon the mountains like a flame!</b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>~William Butler Yeats (The Land of Heart's Desire)</b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b><br /></b></i></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u><i>Looking for Fog in All the Wrong Places</i></u></h3><p style="text-align: left;">It's the season of fog. That time of year when blankets of dense mist steal into the coastal canyons and valleys while the world sleeps to envelope the landscape in a veil of monochromatic opacity. It's also the season of darkness. That time of year when we all determine (or somebody determines) that daylight isn't worth saving anymore. So we unceremoniously cast it aside in favor of a late afternoon drive home from work with the headlights on. </p><p>I have conflicted feelings about what we call this "Standard Time." I bristle at being forced by celestial bodies and government functionaries <a href="https://youtu.be/i6RZY4Ar3fw" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">out of the blue and into the black</span></a> before I'm ready. And I abhor what the premature darkness portends: incessant devil winds and the unseasonable heat and predictable wildfires they bring. On the other hand, autumnal blue skies and cool morning air are something to be relished. And then there's the fog that makes driving a challenge, but transforms familiar ground into a surreal and oddly disconcerting playground of mystery and enchantment. </p><div style="text-align: left;">On the Sunday morning that we all "fell back," the cloud bank clung close to the ground, obscuring views and transforming familiar landmarks into strange apparitions. It was a perfect moment to go wander the in the hills. But I surmised that I had an extra hour in the bank, so I squandered it on caffeine and the news. My dallying aside, visibility was still poor by the time I finally left the house and started for the Nicholas Flat trail deep in the Santa Monica Mountains. I've trod that trail alone in the silent murk before and it's a ethereal experience. But as I began the climb into the Santa Monicas on State Road 23, the cloud cover thinned and began to dissipate. I'd lingered too long at home. Aggravated, I doubled-back into the pea soup skies that hung over the Conejo Valley naively believing that I still had a chance at a ghost walk.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u><i>Heading for Wildwood Regional Park</i></u></h3><p>I figured the canyon-bottoms would cling to the fog the longest, so I headed for the ravines of <a href="https://www.crpd.org/park/wildwood-regional-park/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Wildwood Reginal Park</span></a>. But as I raced toward my destination, visibility improved as the cloud bank began to lift. By the time I pulled into the crowded parking lot along Avenida de Los Arboles, the heavens were still gray, but the canyons were completely clear of the cottony sky candy I came to play in. </p><p>Determined, I alighted from my car and headed into the canyon. I knew the masses would be amassed along the mesa, at the teepee, and down by the falls, so I avoided those areas. Instead, I dropped into the cool green of the Indian Creek drainage where I knew I could find some solitude. There, I found a decent amount of water flowing in the creek-bed. The water is disgusting mind you as it is mostly residential run-off that is full of chemical pollutants, dog shit, and other suburban refuse. But when you're in the bowels of the canyon sitting creek-side, listening to the squirrels chattering and the brook babbling, its easy to ignore all that. Certainly the crawfish and the ducks don't seem to mind. </p><p>As I strode down-canyon, something large and gray flashed near the water's edge to my right. A Great Blue Heron perhaps. Or maybe a gnome. Neither likes to be seen. Further on, I found a pleasant glade guarded by Sycamore and Oak trees where I stopped and imagined that I had inadvertently stumbled into <a href="http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Mirkwood" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Mirkwood</span></a>. Above, voices of excited children sitting in the "Indian Cave" punctuated the silence. The <a href="https://www.conejovalleyguide.com/dosomethingblog/wildwood-park-in-thousand-oaks.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Chumash inhabited these canyons for 8,000 years</span></a> before the white man arrived which explains some of the current park nomenclature (Indian Cave) and motifs (the tee pee). </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimLuuZMgPhPqZtlc3D6rBrRZs6rF09RZiYhSJJPQydvKGvATaDSl7cszmjpRpeKd6X1FYs1nCUKpsZy8uhvmr2G5gcPAjbicmbkcqYZLOa8YkNvUjmPv6To9NeLeI_lP2DO4XAzSKkCTU/s2048/IMG_6785.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Indian Creek" border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimLuuZMgPhPqZtlc3D6rBrRZs6rF09RZiYhSJJPQydvKGvATaDSl7cszmjpRpeKd6X1FYs1nCUKpsZy8uhvmr2G5gcPAjbicmbkcqYZLOa8YkNvUjmPv6To9NeLeI_lP2DO4XAzSKkCTU/w640-h426/IMG_6785.JPG" title="Indian Creek Glade" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>Further into the canyon, I veered off the beaten path and onto the Lynnmere connector trail. The North Fork of the Arroyo Conejo runs adjacent to this path here so I made my way down to the water's edge to see what I could see. In the dark shade of the canyon I found a placid pool surrounded by luxurious and colorful foliage, proof that Southern California does in fact have a fall season. It was a marvelous spot that I'm fairly certain is inhabited by fairies and unicorns. </p><p>After indulging my over-active and phantasmagoric imagination, I started back the way I came. I was still disappointed that I'd missed the early morning mist, but was quite satisfied to have experienced a little bit of the mystery and magic of Wildwood.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiABgOd2ziYdBlsvh1T64W5oy1qA6aWX3D1kwivJiExiuPd-CoD_jA3qGuYJJReBxsXnoElI1AM7oFj5MK5WTZx0jmDhlaHOo5z-t4FAkiQMLr_7Lc0dOqFUg-YVTOWK2PRTOz6ksbRvHU/s2048/IMG_6795.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="North Fork Arroyo Conejo" border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiABgOd2ziYdBlsvh1T64W5oy1qA6aWX3D1kwivJiExiuPd-CoD_jA3qGuYJJReBxsXnoElI1AM7oFj5MK5WTZx0jmDhlaHOo5z-t4FAkiQMLr_7Lc0dOqFUg-YVTOWK2PRTOz6ksbRvHU/w640-h426/IMG_6795.JPG" title="North Fork Arroyo Conejo" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Madison Christianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476494056610217659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6909480215675625524.post-75760466692695319662021-10-31T10:07:00.007-07:002021-11-14T07:46:03.502-08:00Wright Mountain Hootenanny and Grilled-Cheese Extravaganza<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzgdUNZJTUVVuOnC7vPh7KVv2NUFRctMElPM-lnQacxvz0ecWyxA-76kN9m5IwpvcD87avaze8_ynl3o1DpaNj0DjufOFa9zDRwgPwuavfJBAfPAkMLANDK10GbdiyGjCMNvs6rPrhvPI/s2048/29_Gobblers+Knob+View.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Gobblers Knob Summit" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzgdUNZJTUVVuOnC7vPh7KVv2NUFRctMElPM-lnQacxvz0ecWyxA-76kN9m5IwpvcD87avaze8_ynl3o1DpaNj0DjufOFa9zDRwgPwuavfJBAfPAkMLANDK10GbdiyGjCMNvs6rPrhvPI/w640-h480/29_Gobblers+Knob+View.jpg" title="View from Gobblers Knob" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>I'm into grilled cheese. Grilled cheese makes me feel beautiful.</b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>~Emma Stone</b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>The poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.</b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>~Gilbert K. Chesterson</b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>Men only need two things: grilled cheese and sex.</b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>~Emmy Rossum</b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b><br /></b></i></div><h3 style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><u>Ruminations on Grilled Cheese</u></i></h3><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The grilled-cheese sandwich. Two slices of white bread, butter, and cheese. A gastronomic staple of childhood and the culinary stuff of adulthood nostalgia. I never really thought that much about how enjoyable the combination of hot cheese and toast could be. And I certainly never considered the absolute epicurean genius one must possess to imagine, and the actually grill, grilled-cheese sandwiches on a mountain top. But a recent group outing to Wright Mountain in the San Gabriel Mountains brought me cheesy enlightenment about these important subjects. </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The event that set the table for this sudden understanding was the 14th anniversary of the <a href="https://www.tapatalk.com/groups/sangabrielmnts/index.php" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">San Gabriel Mountains Discussion forum</span></a>. The forum is a San Gabriel Mountains-focused on-line board for posting trip reports, photos, information, questions, nonsense, and other valuable (and invaluable) whatnot. To celebrate the forum's 14 circle around the sun, Sean (aka Cucamonga Man), one of the board mucky-mucks, planned a ramble to the summit of Wright Mountain from the east starting from <a href="https://caltopo.com/map.html#ll=34.31433,-117.59081&z=16&b=f16a" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">PCT mile marker 356 at the end of Forest Road 3N31</span></a>. The plan was to arrive Saturday afternoon, car-camp at road's end beneath Gobblers Knob, and then hike westward along the Pacific Crest Trail ("PCT") to the summit of Wright Mountain.</p><h3 style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><u>Meet Up Beneath Gobblers Knob</u></i></h3><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After a slow and bumpy ride up 3N31 from Lone Pine Canyon, I arrived at the designated spot late Saturday afternoon. It was the middle of deer hunting season in <a href="https://nrm.dfg.ca.gov/FileHandler.ashx?DocumentID=83601&inline" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Zone D11</span></a>, so I passed several armed hunters in full camo on my way in. David and Elwood were already there when I arrived so I settled in with them as a heavy blanket of clouds began to broil up the ridge from the valley below. It was an ethereal scene reminiscent of the <a href="https://youtu.be/SIajxKkQYR4" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Ten Commandments when the Lord sent the breath of pestilence to kill the first born of the Egyptians</span></a>. Fortunately, none of us perished as the fog passed-over while we drank beer and waited for Cucamonga Man, our Moses, to arrive so he could lead us to the promised land on the morrow. Much later, as the fog retreated and darkness replaced it, Dima and Sondra arrived to join the group. </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We were still above the cloud bank the following morning as the sun began to rise in the crystalline blue sky. In an over-used word, it was spectacular. While we waited for Cecelia and JeffH to arrive to round out the group, I made a quick dash to the summit of Gobblers Knob. There is no trail to the summit, so I just gutted it out up a steep and loose old firebreak the follows the eastern ridge. The top of Gobblers Knob is wide and flat so it wasn't immediately apparent where the actual high-point was. But on the far western side of the summit I found a rock-pile which, officially or not, marks the spot. I could locate neither a register nor benchmark on Gobblers Knob, but I did find one of those ubiquitous triangular signs known as "<a href="https://hikingguy.com/how-to-hike/what-are-these-triangular-signs-witness-posts/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">witness posts</span></a>." And it was the only time the entire trip that the back-side of Mt. Baldy would be visible.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ZzpOx_Ouf8uGmVoCK6hpA6GOxw1NJID-NmnUqTjFDJHgNfoDemdlVBQXdeEibq_6NrWWwmP6LROPpQ1lm04aDbq7ciD2yaZ3Quat8PiqI5fqu1KgDC40-jCvJpVKGBCW6rCHNHdHW8M/s2048/2_North+Fork+Lytle+Creek.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="North Fork Lytle Canyon" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ZzpOx_Ouf8uGmVoCK6hpA6GOxw1NJID-NmnUqTjFDJHgNfoDemdlVBQXdeEibq_6NrWWwmP6LROPpQ1lm04aDbq7ciD2yaZ3Quat8PiqI5fqu1KgDC40-jCvJpVKGBCW6rCHNHdHW8M/w640-h480/2_North+Fork+Lytle+Creek.jpg" title="Cloud Blanket in North Fork Lytle Canyon" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>North Fork Lytle Creek Canyon</b></i></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYRwNF0ffL5lixI4MkXTHHpKyYX7xxrJIFlh7ghkw2_210YqGPkNc49jcF4XmrGu520iyK08V5gNMy7tnHoNWezgCvZY80jS4hUhA9eM9gwzdddoCB6R800V4Wurag9aZFXo3dGzYTAMI/s2048/5_Lone+Pine+Canyon.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Lone Pine Canyon" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYRwNF0ffL5lixI4MkXTHHpKyYX7xxrJIFlh7ghkw2_210YqGPkNc49jcF4XmrGu520iyK08V5gNMy7tnHoNWezgCvZY80jS4hUhA9eM9gwzdddoCB6R800V4Wurag9aZFXo3dGzYTAMI/w640-h480/5_Lone+Pine+Canyon.jpg" title="Clouds creeping up Lone Pine Canyon" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>Lone Pine Canyon</b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6s_CG5vF_d9nlbFhkDSBDbTE_RB9jbaZv8YBkaAIxm6tS5gumDm_aWmcsDtX0A4jO1Rjn9Jse2kERiCufJyQtA6bdiFg0h4a4TIVDcU236ZPx7QhyWOtnHfEOnirQrJ9aeEvhWx61Q-Q/s2048/16_PCT+Sunset.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="PCT Sunset" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6s_CG5vF_d9nlbFhkDSBDbTE_RB9jbaZv8YBkaAIxm6tS5gumDm_aWmcsDtX0A4jO1Rjn9Jse2kERiCufJyQtA6bdiFg0h4a4TIVDcU236ZPx7QhyWOtnHfEOnirQrJ9aeEvhWx61Q-Q/w640-h480/16_PCT+Sunset.jpg" title="Sunset Over the PCT" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>Sunset Over the PCT</b></i></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZGsaY_Tv9HkiYliYTAV-gpxzNaqEU040zYybgQ5liMsc3gCVdc4x3RQppvA8qdJsNsducMb0_ETOQIqerZfaTyJT16x_94RhEjtNbPdZbddAtzWog4SBnL62af2UcB3ws5zBkVBQidmA/s2048/21_Moonshine+Over+Lone+Pine+Canyon.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Moon Over Lone Pine Canyon" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZGsaY_Tv9HkiYliYTAV-gpxzNaqEU040zYybgQ5liMsc3gCVdc4x3RQppvA8qdJsNsducMb0_ETOQIqerZfaTyJT16x_94RhEjtNbPdZbddAtzWog4SBnL62af2UcB3ws5zBkVBQidmA/w640-h480/21_Moonshine+Over+Lone+Pine+Canyon.jpg" title="Moon Over Lone Pine Canyon" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>Night Vision</b></i></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRr_LFzSpYaRpov5u9y0dJ3EY4bWDOGCN04R6llWTwCVu_vyjV4OaN7anDlCQPpQDUSWtp7EunzbEXLJgJr7xo0b3xOYtV5D_KwdeZS3vo90-9Et6O9T4YowY1lMPQ_SGc5L9MycKDRdE/s2048/25_Lone+Pine+Canyon+Sunrise.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Sunrise over Lone Pine Canyon" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRr_LFzSpYaRpov5u9y0dJ3EY4bWDOGCN04R6llWTwCVu_vyjV4OaN7anDlCQPpQDUSWtp7EunzbEXLJgJr7xo0b3xOYtV5D_KwdeZS3vo90-9Et6O9T4YowY1lMPQ_SGc5L9MycKDRdE/w640-h480/25_Lone+Pine+Canyon+Sunrise.jpg" title="Sunrise" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>Sunrise Over Lone Pine Canyon</b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7BwsuW5CfLlSYXMIKK1SbLV0jS6Rw2pYDJYIZku2zk52K8DLaNc194d27M_PW0S1sUi068WJ8mSEnUjFdVoKZ9v3yFOv8caDqt0ZAEb4RiBZl7_M4efzvWGP55z-PxinIT7R5d9epJMg/s2048/32_Gobblers+Knob+View.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Gobblers Knob Summit" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7BwsuW5CfLlSYXMIKK1SbLV0jS6Rw2pYDJYIZku2zk52K8DLaNc194d27M_PW0S1sUi068WJ8mSEnUjFdVoKZ9v3yFOv8caDqt0ZAEb4RiBZl7_M4efzvWGP55z-PxinIT7R5d9epJMg/w640-h480/32_Gobblers+Knob+View.jpg" title="Sunrise views from summit of Gobblers Knob" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>Views from Gobblers Knob</b></i></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJgOAPTwUDh-D4tc0sI0VZ6V8SytBFFxZqV35W-YF_Mr8-6FuxOs2BS0QfINuE9DyIjYqoy8H3C-wnure8EtmLT1RGTsGwjQ-CbYoaYivL8AvSIOmrLCba_CmBg0KQmosnzdWi3wM7syc/s2048/33_Dawson+and+Pine+from+Gobblers+Knob.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Gobblers Knob Summit" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJgOAPTwUDh-D4tc0sI0VZ6V8SytBFFxZqV35W-YF_Mr8-6FuxOs2BS0QfINuE9DyIjYqoy8H3C-wnure8EtmLT1RGTsGwjQ-CbYoaYivL8AvSIOmrLCba_CmBg0KQmosnzdWi3wM7syc/w640-h480/33_Dawson+and+Pine+from+Gobblers+Knob.jpg" title="Pine, Dawson, and Baldy from Gobblers Knob" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>View West from Gobblers Knob - L to R: Baldy, Dawson, and Pine</b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b><br /></b></i></div><h3 style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><u>PCT West to Wright Mountain</u></i></h3><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Shortly after I descended from the Knob, Cecelia and JeffH arrived and we headed out, jumping onto the PCT which transects the parking area. The well-maintained trail skirts Gobblers Knob to the north as it climbs gently toward the Blue Ridge and Wright Mountain. As you go along, the transition from a more scrub-dominated environment to a lush evergreen plant community is obvious and striking. You also get good looks at Dawson and Pine which dominate the southern skyline. Ultimately, the trail tops out and joins an old fire road that wraps around the south side of Wright Mountain. Here, we stopped at a window above the slide area at the head of Heath Canyon for snacks and the sublime scenery. Wrightwood and the high desert were visible in the foreground, while the southern Panamints could be seen on the northern horizon.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The final push had us ascending a faint, old road bed of some sort to the summit of Wright. Like Gobblers Knob, the forested crown of Wright is broad and flat and the actual high-point is not immediately obvious or intuitive. To complicate matters further, a series of use trails criss-crosses the summit plateau in a sign that a good many others have also spent time and energy wandering around in search of the actual "top" of Wright. But Cucamonga Man knew the way and led us to a rock-pile on the north end that apparently qualifies as the official summit. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><h3 style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><u>Grilled Cheese Sammies on the Summit</u></i></h3><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As we settled in to luxuriate in our achievement with our bland old trail mix, beef jerky, and granola bars, chef de cuisine JeffH dug into his stash of secret goodies and pulled out all the makings for grilled-cheese sandwiches. In a flash of mad-scientist brilliance, he had packed a loaf of bread, slices of American cheese, a container of butter, a frying pan, a spatula, and his stove. He then went about grilling sammies one at a time for everyone. It was candidly delicious and we all sat around in the warm sun extolling the awesomeness of Jeff's gastronomical creativity and licking butter and melted cheese off our grimy fingers. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Afterwards, we hoisted our packs back onto our backs and started the 4.5 miles back to where we started. On the way out, a few of our party climbed Gobblers Knob via its north ridge. That route looked much more accessible than the east ridge that I climbed previously, and I then wished I had waited to ascend the Knob using that approach. Back at the parking area, we cracked cold beers as Cecelia broke out chips, salsa, and guacamole. Another stroke of inspiration. That probably sounds a bit over-stated, but I rarely bring post-hike food and drink to enjoy (mostly because I'm generally solo), so this was a really tasty treat. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">On the way out, I took the long way down 3N31 out of Lytle Creek just because. Although considerably longer, the road out this way was an easier drive than the access from Lone Pine Canyon.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">All in all, a fun day in a really nice part of the San Gabriel range. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV1n6FHJ0B8cYJKz4COKMP2vrbLfJkrR93GXbM_EkpSQPR11pUmqSp2V3Ic0VIyqr-3PDWTVHpMj-j7i0Qh97mwp972RCYrjvLaZfOk70d2nVtuHqT_pqKjbUuuBR0E03NK61wqZ4DrlE/s2048/43_Eispiratens+on+the+PCT.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Pacific Crest Trail" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV1n6FHJ0B8cYJKz4COKMP2vrbLfJkrR93GXbM_EkpSQPR11pUmqSp2V3Ic0VIyqr-3PDWTVHpMj-j7i0Qh97mwp972RCYrjvLaZfOk70d2nVtuHqT_pqKjbUuuBR0E03NK61wqZ4DrlE/w640-h480/43_Eispiratens+on+the+PCT.jpg" title="Eispirates on the PCT" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>Along the PCT</b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCqMqLyGjCR9gREc5UzgcBfpetjTcYzKkiyX1KpPrDQ4lWRMbJYj27o82l8uOP3G59-e71K95XL_qYTetmo1jLLiL4Y5bP05618kff32DWJoBZSHnI1qimNUj6_HvAbq2qnX-5qZZ9uNs/s2048/45_PCT.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Pacific Crest Trail" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCqMqLyGjCR9gREc5UzgcBfpetjTcYzKkiyX1KpPrDQ4lWRMbJYj27o82l8uOP3G59-e71K95XL_qYTetmo1jLLiL4Y5bP05618kff32DWJoBZSHnI1qimNUj6_HvAbq2qnX-5qZZ9uNs/w640-h480/45_PCT.jpg" title="Pacific Crest Trail" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>Nearing Wright Mountain</b></i></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1twnJxc29NU9AfnasR51cDEdTjLcyIKW_nplRT7uaKeGt8jPyQ-yNdfAN2lDxqvsmKcYQzZJwVB3sOCrtH6qRzcrz2bcRsrUKK_7QYI1d1LoXlhHEgKMQDn1ryla66OA5FARm-Wv0GmU/s2048/46_Dawson+and+Pine.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Dawson Peak and Pine Mountain" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1twnJxc29NU9AfnasR51cDEdTjLcyIKW_nplRT7uaKeGt8jPyQ-yNdfAN2lDxqvsmKcYQzZJwVB3sOCrtH6qRzcrz2bcRsrUKK_7QYI1d1LoXlhHEgKMQDn1ryla66OA5FARm-Wv0GmU/w640-h480/46_Dawson+and+Pine.jpg" title="Dawson (L) and Pine (R)" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>Dawson Peak (L) and Pine Mountain (R)</b></i></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi6BKYJP_3I0F8Z9obLyONO1_34ryC2l5AAKTbKbGIFjeBs5fnzbvsth3G4CMJZ5TDQ0gSsdrqIYubMAC0wodizAXyLDG2xJjHVe7Pktc4kVxuz4tJNkhdCD1XL_MF3m7ly9oMWyw583k/s2048/51_High+Desert+from+PCT.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="High Desert from PCT" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi6BKYJP_3I0F8Z9obLyONO1_34ryC2l5AAKTbKbGIFjeBs5fnzbvsth3G4CMJZ5TDQ0gSsdrqIYubMAC0wodizAXyLDG2xJjHVe7Pktc4kVxuz4tJNkhdCD1XL_MF3m7ly9oMWyw583k/w640-h480/51_High+Desert+from+PCT.jpg" title="High Desert from PCT" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>To Infinity and Beyond</b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKsNbDwwHZ1ePgmcp20yqZ5lVQBur0O4M7uBRuE2QJG8pjHg4j4NQ-DtD-tl6AJeHpmgXIyKjSfm6aug_tvK1uU0BP9LFO1WADk6nXyi7alwF1Gf9-Rf6q9JWxJwTKQD-zCGjlqIFpovk/s2048/54_Jeff%252C+Dima%252C+and+Sondra+at+Wright+Summit.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Wright Mountain Summit" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKsNbDwwHZ1ePgmcp20yqZ5lVQBur0O4M7uBRuE2QJG8pjHg4j4NQ-DtD-tl6AJeHpmgXIyKjSfm6aug_tvK1uU0BP9LFO1WADk6nXyi7alwF1Gf9-Rf6q9JWxJwTKQD-zCGjlqIFpovk/w640-h480/54_Jeff%252C+Dima%252C+and+Sondra+at+Wright+Summit.jpg" title="Wright Mountain Summit Cairn" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>Wright Mountain Summit Cairn</b></i></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJr1ivgloxEfJtPfiMAqZNP_bdhOwil0jVhLVmonNaaFX5faputAABN5tc53sx6FfDPe5h6fB6ca1FoAmuHTsk-c4u0jPiTWYrYn337BCI9mvn_XtSJx2iUOqCF6ONR1JEc0AgVXtvM6Q/s2048/56_Jeff+Making+Grilled+Cheese+Sammies+on+Wright+Summit.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Grilled Cheese Sammies on Wright Mountain" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJr1ivgloxEfJtPfiMAqZNP_bdhOwil0jVhLVmonNaaFX5faputAABN5tc53sx6FfDPe5h6fB6ca1FoAmuHTsk-c4u0jPiTWYrYn337BCI9mvn_XtSJx2iUOqCF6ONR1JEc0AgVXtvM6Q/w480-h640/56_Jeff+Making+Grilled+Cheese+Sammies+on+Wright+Summit.jpg" title="The Maestro at Work" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>The Mad Scientist at Work</b></i></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTKIqxfYbAUcR-83q9PEQ5014uU5s-XWkDLK4ibyfqYIwf1spCC87IlgZzk1bWeVsI9NyGcSImjdl-j7DrEKqCWV-NY4C0clzv-L01UrEKYFlp2XyX2K-pkYDCsOfbg9Yq4zUVb50sIrY/s2048/60_Grave+Marker+on+Wright+Mountain.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Memorial on Wright Mountain" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTKIqxfYbAUcR-83q9PEQ5014uU5s-XWkDLK4ibyfqYIwf1spCC87IlgZzk1bWeVsI9NyGcSImjdl-j7DrEKqCWV-NY4C0clzv-L01UrEKYFlp2XyX2K-pkYDCsOfbg9Yq4zUVb50sIrY/w480-h640/60_Grave+Marker+on+Wright+Mountain.jpg" title="Memorial on Wright Mountain" width="480" /></a></div><i><b>Wright Mountain Beautiful Child</b></i><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz-hMWMUWmrL-jKYtlbTnGlKDpxRlTgAvpGizeMWJEfM1tMPnHp6jyZWIm2_yZKGSK5Q3rwBmP24oRdfwgFtejMzx5jrQC8DtF2mLkqmLMRfNBjzv_0qHrkqzsYcfXpunxqdetFoQJULo/s2048/53_PCT+Views.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="PCT Views" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz-hMWMUWmrL-jKYtlbTnGlKDpxRlTgAvpGizeMWJEfM1tMPnHp6jyZWIm2_yZKGSK5Q3rwBmP24oRdfwgFtejMzx5jrQC8DtF2mLkqmLMRfNBjzv_0qHrkqzsYcfXpunxqdetFoQJULo/w640-h480/53_PCT+Views.jpg" title="PCT Views on the descent" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Views East to San Gorgonio and San Jacinto</b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p>Madison Christianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476494056610217659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6909480215675625524.post-27504546038500697302021-10-08T07:18:00.006-07:002021-11-14T07:46:18.047-08:00Takin' 'er Easy at Polly Dome Lake<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcQxEoSEWZ5VdLHx7Nbl5frTCdGuLoOZp8ovmvVSQFZHjPF5zNgEcOlt3_oSkfhgvj1GC-jkqIBrXb9Anj6YQeAFJ9F1i9jbzufByL0sEe1BjLGI5wmmPzvZUdcLvGr41RBoMvExIoepE/s2048/89_Polly+Dome+Lake.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Polly Dome Lake" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcQxEoSEWZ5VdLHx7Nbl5frTCdGuLoOZp8ovmvVSQFZHjPF5zNgEcOlt3_oSkfhgvj1GC-jkqIBrXb9Anj6YQeAFJ9F1i9jbzufByL0sEe1BjLGI5wmmPzvZUdcLvGr41RBoMvExIoepE/w640-h480/89_Polly+Dome+Lake.jpg" title="Polly Dome Lake" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Lighten up while you still can</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Don't even try to understand</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Just find a place to make your stand</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>And take it easy.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>~Take it Easy (Eagles)</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>The Dude abides.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I don't know about you, but I take comfort in that,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>knowin' he's out there. The Dude.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Takin' 'er easy for all us sinners.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i> ~The Stranger (The Big Lebowski)</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><i><u>Foiled by Fire - Tahoe Rim and Jennie Lakes</u></i></h3><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Several months back, when the hills were still rich with vegetation and the reverberating echoes of Spring deceived me into believing that fire season in California wasn't really a thing, I dreamed of taking a late-season, multi-day backpacking trip with my kids and some old friends. California's backcountry is immense, so the possibilities then seemed limitless. Thus, along with my backpacking co-conspirators, we began pouring over topographic maps, researching trail descriptions, and plotting potential routes through the forests and ranges that comprise the vast Sierra Nevada. Ultimately, we settled on a section of the <a href="https://tahoerimtrail.org/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Tahoe Rim Trail</span></a>, a 165 mile path that circumnavigates the famous sapphire pool that straddles the California-Nevada border. That selection seemed to have everything that an outdoor enthusiast could possibly desire: scenery, easy access, scenery, adequate water, and scenery. Plus, it was proximate to post-adventure beer and tacos. That was the real clincher. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And then in mid-August, as the date for our departure began to creep over the horizon, the <a href="https://inciweb.nwcg.gov/incident/7801/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Caldor Fire</span></a> ignited and the El Dorado Forest near Lake Tahoe began to burn. As the conflagration raged out of control and evacuation orders forced locals to flee to wetter ground, smoke darkened the skies and ash rained down over the Tahoe Basin. The best laid plans...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">So we scouted alternatives and settled on the <a href="https://www.sierrawild.gov/wilderness/jennie-lakes/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Jennie Lakes Wilderness</span></a> near Sequoia-Kings Canyon ("SEKI"). It hit all the same marks as the Tahoe Rim Trail save nearby tacos and beer. We decided we could adjust to that minor imperfection and major inconvenience. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And then it happened again. The <a href="https://inciweb.nwcg.gov/incident/7838/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">KNP Complex</span></a> fire ignited and suddenly SEKI was ablaze too. The fire began in the south, but steadily marched northward threatening the world's largest tree by volume and closing the park. Foiled yet again, we scrambled for a back-up to our back-up and miraculously found enough available permits for the <a href="https://caltopo.com/map.html#ll=37.83842,-119.46271&z=16&b=mbt" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Murphy Creek Trail in Yosemite</span></a>. If the Tuolumne Basin started to burn, we were done. We'd just stay home and pout. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But Yosemite didn't burn. So on a Thursday afternoon, we all converged on the trailhead along Tioga Pass Road, strapped on our packs that were heavy with whiskey and other goodies that would make the ultra-light set squeamish, and headed into the wilderness. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u><i>Murphy Creek Trail to Polly Dome Lake</i></u></h3><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The Murphy Creek Trail is a short, flat, and pleasant walk through a lush coniferous forest that is occasionally interrupted by brilliant granite slabs that have polished smooth by the ancient glaciers that created this place. Classic Yosemite. About 2 miles in, a use trail branches to the right that takes you to the western edge of pretty Polly Dome Lake. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The original plan, conceived when we were feeling ambitious about our adventure, was to hike to Polly Dome Lake for the first night, down to Glen Aulin along the Tuolumne River the second night, back to May Lake the third night, then out the morning of the fourth day. But after we arrived at Polly Dome Lake and set up camp, we decided to embrace our inner Dude and <a href="https://youtu.be/EsKoxi12jbI" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">just take 'er easy</span></a>. We'd use Polly Dome as our base the whole time and just day-hike to our planned destinations. That way, we could avoid the unnecessary hassle of repeatedly putting up and tearing down camp. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcR_6mrbV-EnOEw_e8rBoNt5DGi2vuD1zytLFblg_iqXnGCXz6V-mQGamocEslGsqi_vWtiae9_RXLfMQAzyMYIi-KSc7jPD4SF4rSFW5r2Tk4iZRqd0SGSn4kH7JMn_1arGArH-vzWpM/s2048/3_Murphy+Creek+Trail.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Murphy Creek Trail" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcR_6mrbV-EnOEw_e8rBoNt5DGi2vuD1zytLFblg_iqXnGCXz6V-mQGamocEslGsqi_vWtiae9_RXLfMQAzyMYIi-KSc7jPD4SF4rSFW5r2Tk4iZRqd0SGSn4kH7JMn_1arGArH-vzWpM/w640-h480/3_Murphy+Creek+Trail.jpg" title="Murphy Creek Trail" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMeFt0-2N9NnZogWG7dF9bta_cgDZs6Yiz2k8lYchufp0ErPE0b0oUMdAg31oSEFw8FhcLUX-Z7O5hqLFNCv_UrKDVHYpPyMYf1ZS-cX470Ifkja-ADoO8AWVzuYRI-iHqJzNQI2tomiQ/s2048/6_John+and+Payson+at+Polly+Dome+Lake.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Polly Dome Lake" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMeFt0-2N9NnZogWG7dF9bta_cgDZs6Yiz2k8lYchufp0ErPE0b0oUMdAg31oSEFw8FhcLUX-Z7O5hqLFNCv_UrKDVHYpPyMYf1ZS-cX470Ifkja-ADoO8AWVzuYRI-iHqJzNQI2tomiQ/w640-h480/6_John+and+Payson+at+Polly+Dome+Lake.jpg" title="Polly Dome Lake" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB8ViJnoq3ZUkub0KM4eLX2lwPoNiCi3_6YUO4X50t2UaeBftg-8mvExXSRwPHrUbGNc4Cd2Tnym0xG4b1xRvv2xVUBR7-hvbuflRbJbNm4om3vF9cte2W-VB7A4sqd8WULgnWHGjAtRU/s2048/11_Polly+Dome+Lake.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Polly Dome Lake" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB8ViJnoq3ZUkub0KM4eLX2lwPoNiCi3_6YUO4X50t2UaeBftg-8mvExXSRwPHrUbGNc4Cd2Tnym0xG4b1xRvv2xVUBR7-hvbuflRbJbNm4om3vF9cte2W-VB7A4sqd8WULgnWHGjAtRU/w640-h480/11_Polly+Dome+Lake.jpg" title="Polly Dome Lake" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBzPah9NZm-pirtmijcRGIRnPf3AKTe0ZEzzQPR-ecT_6DDBrC0nkErOvzXzI8LFazjm48o3nduZLktXvMtrULaXLYPBse4dVAYTT4qwrnS5Ssrvu739f8JQIJ9SS7RsyYq4wMdqADqRk/s2048/30_Campsite+at+Polly+Dome+Lake.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Polly Dome Lake Campsite" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBzPah9NZm-pirtmijcRGIRnPf3AKTe0ZEzzQPR-ecT_6DDBrC0nkErOvzXzI8LFazjm48o3nduZLktXvMtrULaXLYPBse4dVAYTT4qwrnS5Ssrvu739f8JQIJ9SS7RsyYq4wMdqADqRk/w640-h480/30_Campsite+at+Polly+Dome+Lake.jpg" title="Polly Dome Lake Campsite" width="640" /></a></div><br /><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u><i>Day Hike to the High Sierra Camp at Glen Aulin</i></u></h3><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The following morning we brewed coffee in the cool mountain air. Inexplicably, the exact same coffee that you drink at home every single day suddenly becomes a gourmet experience when consumed from a titanium mug under a canopy of regal evergreens. If only I could say the same thing about food (Top Ramen excepted) which I find to be largely unappetizing at elevation. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Anyway, sufficiently juiced up on caffeine, we then headed to Glen Aulin for the day which was a little less than 5 miles to our northeast. It was a slow descent on a beautiful, well maintained trail that permitted occasional looks at various peaks that stud the Tioga Pass area. At McGee Lake, a finger-like lake along the trail, we stopped for a brief spell to try our hands at swimming and fishing. Neither endeavor was particularly successful. We then made the final drop to Glen Aulin where the Tuolumne River comes spilling of the cliffside into a large, emerald pool. There's a High Sierra camp at Glen Aulin with bathrooms, water, and bear boxes, but all of it was locked tight and the camp was empty of campers. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Ultimately, the nearby water proved too enticing, so we all gleefully stripped off our clothes and jumped into the waiting pool. A day-hiker nearby watched in bemusement. Almost immediately, we regretted our impulsiveness as the water was surprisingly frigid and major shrinkage ensued for all those with appendages that could shrink. We then sat like lizards in the sun, warming our now cold blood. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">On the way back to camp later that afternoon as my mind had wandered off as I wandered along, my friend suddenly exclaimed "bear!" I immediately snapped to attention, and sure enough, about 30 yards up-trail blocking our way was a very large black bear. When we checked in to obtain our permits, the ranger told us that bears were very active in the park and to expect a visit to camp every night, but that never happened. This was the only bruin we would see. As the bear ambled down trail toward us, we all started yelling and clapping our hands like fools to no avail. The bear was completely unfazed by our antics and continued slowly toward us. As we started to search the ground for projectiles, the bear moved off trail and we slid by without incident making it back to camp with a tale to tell.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZBu0n3eI9oaT-tIfiBesZEHEGfcNKzDiJxoi0LEBhd2-Fe6M7iWP5AAHLwUvz-bKNDB5oQfzyk65FfeyGJEUBRxGKp_4-8IPRrlpi6sse8aNO2JdP7h-Tertv3kMLAZbpjmSq0uLPMxQ/s2048/22_Dusk+at+Polly+Dome+Lake.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Early Morning at Polly Dome Lake" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZBu0n3eI9oaT-tIfiBesZEHEGfcNKzDiJxoi0LEBhd2-Fe6M7iWP5AAHLwUvz-bKNDB5oQfzyk65FfeyGJEUBRxGKp_4-8IPRrlpi6sse8aNO2JdP7h-Tertv3kMLAZbpjmSq0uLPMxQ/w640-h480/22_Dusk+at+Polly+Dome+Lake.jpg" title="Early Morning at Polly Dome Lake" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFNMpP3hIGzqQBTtQxYY-Q8qGxA-IfCg0T4QkiiBCAlrNJqwgN6iau-_CNJcZxSMUsZWkErVDvpH4y85_a588n4ynf3jSQDGHBZosCk-Zw5Cr5A865dfSoi5_8AoBJ_VRursyLi_z3Low/s2048/41_Glen+Aulin+Trail+Views.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /><img alt="Yosemite National Park" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFNMpP3hIGzqQBTtQxYY-Q8qGxA-IfCg0T4QkiiBCAlrNJqwgN6iau-_CNJcZxSMUsZWkErVDvpH4y85_a588n4ynf3jSQDGHBZosCk-Zw5Cr5A865dfSoi5_8AoBJ_VRursyLi_z3Low/w640-h480/41_Glen+Aulin+Trail+Views.jpg" title="Trail to Glen Aulin" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6sLhZVDk5cGcb6b4hVGXgzmODAPm_ZMXHWTZdym2YraOVlPKP9FGO8CIQZHhSKpTAnXK8lth1IhQlAxescoPmtXTL6WM9Taa6TJMoeQdQYjRXuRq9sukXc8gDdf2vc-mIm0BxKcNT20k/s2048/46_McGee+Lake.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="McGee Lake, Yosemite National Park" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6sLhZVDk5cGcb6b4hVGXgzmODAPm_ZMXHWTZdym2YraOVlPKP9FGO8CIQZHhSKpTAnXK8lth1IhQlAxescoPmtXTL6WM9Taa6TJMoeQdQYjRXuRq9sukXc8gDdf2vc-mIm0BxKcNT20k/w640-h480/46_McGee+Lake.jpg" title="McGee Lake" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhtQcnqb7VCdMMMw6fXttRdafLfK6zA4vhUbZ9xDNLPZQDNrth9bzEag9bJ16REVd_iBjtHIlm4Uq9I0NnRNx9TnhiJ3sAyZWKm9Ve5zRcMgmHGi_QOONd9XHOY_7UvMD-IS0qiijVB08/s2048/50_Falls+at+Glen+Aulin.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Glen Aulin" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhtQcnqb7VCdMMMw6fXttRdafLfK6zA4vhUbZ9xDNLPZQDNrth9bzEag9bJ16REVd_iBjtHIlm4Uq9I0NnRNx9TnhiJ3sAyZWKm9Ve5zRcMgmHGi_QOONd9XHOY_7UvMD-IS0qiijVB08/w640-h480/50_Falls+at+Glen+Aulin.jpg" title="Tuolumne River at Glen Aulin" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtUh9geHRdropY8tzWbTn24KkU8ZAskS-WHplIfJgAJfJ0kqyD79Usl371JVQtT2QUVAnum-ly32HptQ_YOFeAI1SRbWwyR383pycwr5-ACGXLOvXIZ1oYYLH_fH419lJIw6bcouEHRLM/s2048/58_Grand+Canyon+of+the+Tuolumne.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtUh9geHRdropY8tzWbTn24KkU8ZAskS-WHplIfJgAJfJ0kqyD79Usl371JVQtT2QUVAnum-ly32HptQ_YOFeAI1SRbWwyR383pycwr5-ACGXLOvXIZ1oYYLH_fH419lJIw6bcouEHRLM/w640-h480/58_Grand+Canyon+of+the+Tuolumne.jpg" title="Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><h3 style="text-align: left;"><i><u>May Lake, the Geographic Center of Yosemite</u></i></h3><div><br /></div><div>The following day, we made the 4-mile trek to May Lake, the "geographic center" of the park. May Lake is a gorgeous high-country lake that sits in a basin beneath stark and towering Mt. Hoffmann. We briefly contemplated making an attempt at Hoffmann's summit, but consistent with our adopted Dude-aesthetic, we decided to simply sit shoreside and admire it from afar. </div><div><br /></div><div>There's also a High Sierra camp at May Lake replete with bathrooms, water, and bear boxes. Like Glen Aulin, the bathrooms and water here were non-functional. Unlike Glen Aulin, the bear boxes here were unlocked and stuffed to the gills. Loafs of bread, bottles of ketchup and mustard, and edibles of all types were crowded in, on, and under every box. And the camping area was congested with campers. It was a bit of a shit show even though it was late season. I suppose that is understandable given that May Lake is easily accessible from Tioga Pass Road via a mile and one-half trail. But as scenic and worthwhile as it was to visit for the day, we were quite happy to return to lonely Polly Dome for the night.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPhLEAG2hluA_0GLWjSvoy7qV6ykm6lC91s0KnG42bExr4GT1epPjFG3j1YYA-skhBxiCaLDiCx1gM-nFWBPHJT_pAyv-MK5hB_bqFJpDoGaTzRdPE2U86W4gjJwawZzvyrceoNGvz5iU/s2048/67_May+Lake+Trail.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="May Lake Trail" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPhLEAG2hluA_0GLWjSvoy7qV6ykm6lC91s0KnG42bExr4GT1epPjFG3j1YYA-skhBxiCaLDiCx1gM-nFWBPHJT_pAyv-MK5hB_bqFJpDoGaTzRdPE2U86W4gjJwawZzvyrceoNGvz5iU/w640-h480/67_May+Lake+Trail.jpg" title="May Lake Trail" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinkYhtpU5xgfMVqi_bC03udj36IJTv-9FXHVh03zZULg6SE_3F7J4d0JzWxWtvW058ue8iceQXayIHoBXYNNSz5v07Z78OFBekeVahcw-ce-WEdEHxSsC5COu8lM9Z2oXUCyzEkYB1LR8/s2048/71_May+Lake+with+Mt.+Hoffmann.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Mt. Hoffmann Yosemite National Park" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinkYhtpU5xgfMVqi_bC03udj36IJTv-9FXHVh03zZULg6SE_3F7J4d0JzWxWtvW058ue8iceQXayIHoBXYNNSz5v07Z78OFBekeVahcw-ce-WEdEHxSsC5COu8lM9Z2oXUCyzEkYB1LR8/w640-h480/71_May+Lake+with+Mt.+Hoffmann.jpg" title="May Lake and Mt. Hoffmann" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyYJ3Y_ikZPgCPyxEbuDOE8VeZmGrfqqIkkoDImWE15NqZRKhwcCXAB5bBmUNlFPe2K5JZ3ygtEUKcgRwk0oapNIYWwEEnq6I3lHvZb_xH5NfQKEywjSgt3YwNWEh7gqjVV1Nv6FYbU10/s2048/77_May+Lake.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="May Lake Yosemite National Park" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyYJ3Y_ikZPgCPyxEbuDOE8VeZmGrfqqIkkoDImWE15NqZRKhwcCXAB5bBmUNlFPe2K5JZ3ygtEUKcgRwk0oapNIYWwEEnq6I3lHvZb_xH5NfQKEywjSgt3YwNWEh7gqjVV1Nv6FYbU10/w640-h480/77_May+Lake.jpg" title="May Lake" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje8ZhvFcc__ccG1DaMZLvTFgApfzwOmy5phuyT9W7KaLyp4Q3zegnKMHKcDyW2OUTo0G2FIaEl1BJPZ3cuOu0PrYco5InWGidAqw_wToc4ECrGKcQ8VgIL3dtdvWYquJv5qmCrY4PJpFU/s2048/88_May+Lake+Trail+Views.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Yosemite National Park" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje8ZhvFcc__ccG1DaMZLvTFgApfzwOmy5phuyT9W7KaLyp4Q3zegnKMHKcDyW2OUTo0G2FIaEl1BJPZ3cuOu0PrYco5InWGidAqw_wToc4ECrGKcQ8VgIL3dtdvWYquJv5qmCrY4PJpFU/w640-h480/88_May+Lake+Trail+Views.jpg" title="May Lake Trail" width="640" /></a></div><br /><h3 style="text-align: left;"><i><u>Leaving Yosemite - the Last Day</u></i></h3><div><br /></div><div>On the final morning, we walked out, retracing our steps from day one. As always seems the case when you've been out a few days, we were both ready and reluctant to go. So we got moving early, but moved slowly, savoring the last moments of high-country bliss. Back at the trailhead, we unloaded our packs and retrieved the cans of malt and grain beverages that were stowed in the nearby bear boxes. We were going to just leave those in the trunk, but the ranger told us that bears can smell sealed beer through an aluminum can. Although we skeptically viewed that tidbit of information as nothing more than ranger scare-mongering, and despite the threat of theft by fellow hikers and hooligans, we ultimately were obedient little soldiers and stashed our stash in the bear boxes. And the beer survived the ordeal.</div><div><br /></div><div>On the way down 395, we were hankering for some real food. After a couple of days of trial mix and tuna pouches and trail mix, we could think of nothing but burgers and fries and burgers, so stopped in Mammoth Lakes at <a href="https://mammothbrewingco.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">the brewery</span></a> to quell our hunger pangs and slake our thirst with a frosty mug. It was all very Dude and the perfect compliment to a good couple of days in the mountains.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8RZLB_tDjH-Tilqe-2AqSNdzwDZGLq8phOYE8scgemjSP_vReD9WQf3wVDrybE_kCNjGBbxBKpgzQmvtgyiCx0PRsgCfubbpA00yjnFon7a6iN9hJm6ejCli62oZXFWqV7toz1gPuw7Q/s2048/91_Maddie+on+Murphy+Creek+Trail.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Murphy Creek Trail" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8RZLB_tDjH-Tilqe-2AqSNdzwDZGLq8phOYE8scgemjSP_vReD9WQf3wVDrybE_kCNjGBbxBKpgzQmvtgyiCx0PRsgCfubbpA00yjnFon7a6iN9hJm6ejCli62oZXFWqV7toz1gPuw7Q/w640-h480/91_Maddie+on+Murphy+Creek+Trail.jpg" title="Murphy Creek Trail" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSkZZnyheUD6A-CdoafR0rXkylTkmCJMwjvpKof1wTDsoQFKnIIjwuHQ4XR7Sh601zShDaDQO1J4a9F9op3Zc009dnapkl3hDRt50DObjwpu7RK73cc2hrk8K4rO7QKedyYBcbFAa2l08/s2048/97_Maddie+on+Murphy+Creek+Trail.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Murphy Creek Trail" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSkZZnyheUD6A-CdoafR0rXkylTkmCJMwjvpKof1wTDsoQFKnIIjwuHQ4XR7Sh601zShDaDQO1J4a9F9op3Zc009dnapkl3hDRt50DObjwpu7RK73cc2hrk8K4rO7QKedyYBcbFAa2l08/w640-h480/97_Maddie+on+Murphy+Creek+Trail.jpg" title="Murphy Creek Trail" width="640" /></a></div><br /> </div></div>Madison Christianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476494056610217659noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6909480215675625524.post-30760335106535520402021-09-16T07:35:00.013-07:002021-11-14T07:46:28.087-08:00La Jolla Canyon: Those Were The Days<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghEVO3RpO_F37Jfn7R7jZOCwnOiHBxAlN3396L2sggEagsP8AV4oyNR_H-f00DwpHLHVeBZOhe-u1JW5-2c7p9xR7GspyEU_FZRMLXezHqlJ0ZbYp3dXuOe3zFwMFuhHdqn3Ns3EeAwQM/s2048/5_Boney+Mountains.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Tri Peaks Santa Monica Mountains" border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghEVO3RpO_F37Jfn7R7jZOCwnOiHBxAlN3396L2sggEagsP8AV4oyNR_H-f00DwpHLHVeBZOhe-u1JW5-2c7p9xR7GspyEU_FZRMLXezHqlJ0ZbYp3dXuOe3zFwMFuhHdqn3Ns3EeAwQM/w640-h426/5_Boney+Mountains.JPG" title="Tri Peaks from La Jolla Valley" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Yesterday</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>All my troubles seemed so far away</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Now it looks as though they're here to stay</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Oh, I believe in yesterday.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>~The Beatles (Yesterday)</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Think I'm going down to the well tonight</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>and I'm gonna drink till I get my fill</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>And I hope that when I get old</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I don't sit around thinking about it</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>but I probably will</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Yeah, just sitting back trying to recapture</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>a little of the glory of</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Well time slips away and leaves you nothing mister</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>but boring stories of </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>glory days.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>~Bruce Springsteen (Glory Days)</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Boy, the way Glen Miller played</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>songs that made the hit parade</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Guys like us we had it made</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>those were the days.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>~Those Were the Days (All in the Family theme song)</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><i><u>La Jolla Canyon Trail - Those Were the Days</u></i></h3><div style="text-align: left;">You young whipper-snappers probably won't recall this, but way back in the olden times, well before the rona ruined everything, and we all had to walk to school and then back home again barefoot in the snow up hill both ways, you could hike into the La Jolla Valley by going straight up La Jolla Canyon. You heard my right. You could actually start at the parking lot near the Ray Miller trailhead and march right up the canyon past the falls, through what I called the <a href="https://seuss.fandom.com/wiki/Truffula_Tree" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Truffula Tree</span></a> forest (a hillside covered with <a href="https://www.calflora.org/app/taxon?crn=10952" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Giant Coreopsis</span></a> - it was spectacular in the spring) and into the valley. There was an established trail and everything. There was no need to stitch together a long and circuitous route over fire roads. There was no ridiculously steep ascent up the over-crowded Chumash trail. And there was no illegal off-trail ridgeline hijinks required to get into the valley. You just went straight up the gut. Easy. Efficient. A thing of beauty.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">One night back in those good old days when we were camping at the walk-in campsite, I realized that I had left my stove in the trunk of my car. So my boy and I strapped on headlamps and walked back via the La Jolla Canyon trail to retrieve it. An hour and one-half later we were slurping down piping hot ramen back in camp under an oddly purple sky. You could do stuff like that back then because the route through the canyon was open and passable. It allowed for those types of missteps.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But as Bob Dylan famously warned, the times they are a-changin.' And not for the better. I'm no Q-Anon conspiracy theorist or anything, but I've always had this uncomfortable suspicion that the California Department of Parks ("CDP") would rather see the recreating public recreate elsewhere. Thus, they continually take action (or no action as the case may be) that makes it more challenging if not downright impossible for folks to actually access and use the very public lands CDP is tasked with (mis)managing. You want to sit on the beach? That'll be $12 please. What's that you say? You'll just park along PCH and walk down the the beach instead? Ha! We had Cal Trans install "No Parking" signs all up and down the PCH. So hand over the cash. You want to walk that trail? Oh, so sorry, you can't do that. But it's all for your safety you know. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><i><u>The Hand of God Closes La Jolla Canyon</u></i></h3><div style="text-align: left;">In terms of La Jolla Canyon, my distrustful little mind believes that permanently closing off that route has been a bureaucratic fever dream of the CDP for some time. The problem always was how to actually accomplish that without causing a total shit-storm by the public. And then during the winter of 2015 came a miracle, the hand of God from the skies. A drenching storm blasted the coast causing major flooding and scouring the canyon. In the process, portions of the La Jolla Canyon trail were obliterated thus making it impassable to the average hiker. And just like that, the trail was closed and access terminated. Six years running, and the trail remains closed with no apparent plans to re-open it any time in the foreseeable future.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO7GblvWJwXyjeNbfr8pscNvxZybOkGoY6Ub1POmVm98JCWa6Xvnf83WhnrKXCNSy-4s41ssbtInB_KuuI-0fDOJvhzapReeGi5yH4TR-NhlmC4yNRGSpddCdgNx112UJUFtvCy0cY4RQ/s2048/20211010_130743%255B1%255D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="La Jolla Canyon Trail" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO7GblvWJwXyjeNbfr8pscNvxZybOkGoY6Ub1POmVm98JCWa6Xvnf83WhnrKXCNSy-4s41ssbtInB_KuuI-0fDOJvhzapReeGi5yH4TR-NhlmC4yNRGSpddCdgNx112UJUFtvCy0cY4RQ/w640-h480/20211010_130743%255B1%255D.jpg" title="La Jolla Canyon Trail" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I've got mixed feeling about this. On the one hand, I'm annoyed to the point of apoplexy by CDP's administrative foot-dragging. In no reasonable scenario should it take six-plus fucking years to restore and re-open a trail. I don't care how damaged it is. And CDP's predictable and well-worn excuse that it lacks sufficient resources to get the job done is as tired as Trump's bullshit claims that the presidency was stolen from him. Even if CDP's whining about insufficient resources is true, a brigade of volunteers could probably bang the job out in a couple of months. The National Forest Service does this type of thing all the time with great success. And CDP already regularly relies upon volunteer organizations like the Santa Monica Mountains Trails Council ("SMMTC") for free labor. In fact, <a href="https://smmtc.org/trailnews/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">SMMTC has already been working the upper stretches of the La Jolla Canyon trail</span></a> from the northern junction of the valley road to the junction with the Valley Loop Trail. So it would seem that what we have here is simply a lack of will by CDP. Or perhaps something more nefarious.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">On the other hand, the continued closure has probably saved the canyon from destruction by the throngs of pandemic refugees who have just recently "discovered" places that the hiking community has known about for decades. It's a virtual certainty that had La Jolla Canyon been open the last 18 months, the area leading up to and around the falls would have been a hot mess of graffiti, discarded masks, beer cans, and used tissues. As I type this, I realize that probably sounds a tad elitist. Y'all probably are thinking "Oh, we see how it is Wildsouthland. You want the trail open for you, but not for anybody else." To which I might reply, "Well yeah!" But seriously, I don't mind other folks using their public lands. I just expect them to obey the Golden Rule that we are all supposed to live our lives by: Don't be trail dick! That means don't spray-paint your lame-ass name/initials/gang insignia/directional arrows/whatever on every available rock and tree. Don't cut switch-backs to save yourself 3 seconds on your way back to the car. If you're in that big of a rush to get back to your television, your couch and a bag of Doritos, maybe just stay home in the first place. Don't leave your nauseating pee rags/sweat rags/snot rags/shit rags along the trail for the rest of us to have to see and smell. This isn't your bathroom and your mommy isn't coming by later to pick up after you. Don't bring your dog on trails where dogs are not permitted and then leave little green plastic bags of poo trailside for the rest of us to clean up. God invented dog parks for this purpose. And if you happen to ride, stop being a self-indulgent asshole by poaching "hiking-only" trails. The vast majority of public lands are multi-use and already open to bikers. You don't need to fuck up the miniscule percentage of trails that are reserved for those who prefer to journey on two legs.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><i><u>La Jolla Canyon Post-Mortem</u></i></h3><div style="text-align: left;">So anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, waxing nostalgic about the La Jolla Canyon trail. I'd like to believe that the current state of affairs is not the new "normal." That at some point in time, CDP will demand that its rangers stop playing <a href="https://youtu.be/dfzmYp60I7w" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Paul Blart</span></a>, exit their idling pick-up trucks, cinch their belts up over their substantial guts, and do some actual trail work. But I don't know whether that is going to happen. It certainly hasn't happened the last six years. So I guess that unless and until that time arrives, all we're unfortunately left with when it comes to the La Jolla Canyon trail is <a href="https://youtu.be/6vQpW9XRiyM" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">boring stories of the glory days</span></a>. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Madison Christianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476494056610217659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6909480215675625524.post-21093682118997755742021-05-30T07:28:00.011-07:002021-11-14T07:42:30.093-08:00Los Padres Double Delight<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgabbVEs2_YWeRsrf7Y_3FiYpHAHn-Cm5myWMC3zPyakoh-1AJP-vHt5jehhwUPeJfoWQyx8WB96lF2Q7ll7XFm1FqLDsioJ_Mwi-epIoLubiLqT5yVpvdo_TGu4KVHs3SrZ3uLKJ7iuGs/s2048/25_Creampuff+and+Hines+from+Topatopa+Saddle.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Hines Peak and Creampuff" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgabbVEs2_YWeRsrf7Y_3FiYpHAHn-Cm5myWMC3zPyakoh-1AJP-vHt5jehhwUPeJfoWQyx8WB96lF2Q7ll7XFm1FqLDsioJ_Mwi-epIoLubiLqT5yVpvdo_TGu4KVHs3SrZ3uLKJ7iuGs/w640-h480/25_Creampuff+and+Hines+from+Topatopa+Saddle.jpg" title="Hines Peak and Creampuff" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Hines Peak and Creampuff</i></div><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><i>The true delight is in the finding out rather than in the knowing.<br /></i></span><span style="font-size: small;"><i>~Isaac Asimov</i></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Suck it up, cream puff!<br /></i></span><span style="font-size: small;"><i>~Captain Lee</i></span></b></div><p>I've spent a good amount of time over the past couple of decades exploring the backcountry of the southern Los Padres. I've also sat in my living room attentively pouring over maps of the Sespe, staring at peaks and trails and rivers and canyons and ridgelines and fantasizing about what it would be like to experience those abstract places that exist only on a Tom Harrison map and in my fertile imagination. Because of this, I've known for some time about Hines Peak and it's slightly shorter neighbor, Creampuff. I had just never actually been to either of them. This dereliction of exploratory duty certainly wasn't due to my disinterestedness. Instead, it was primarily the result of the challenge of actually getting to these two peaks which sit in a rather difficult-to-access corner of forest. The only two ways to reach these peaks is either by a very long and tortuous walk or, a long and tortuous drive along the Nordhoff Ridge Road to Elder Camp near the road's junction with the Red Reef Trail (permit and 4-wheel drive required). </p><p>But as Isaac Asimov said, true delight isn't in the knowing. It's in the finding out. So when Keith (aka, <a href="http://ironhiker.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">the Iron Hiker</span></a>) suggested that we drive to the end of the Nordhoff Ridge Road in his 4x4 Tacoma, and then scale both Hines and Creampuff, I jumped at the opportunity. Time to be delighted. </p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><i><u>Rose Valley and the Nordhoff Ridge Road</u></i></h3><p>We met at Rose Valley early. Sean (aka Cucamonga Man) and Cecelia joined us there and we all piled into Keith's truck. As we began the long drive up 5N42, the marine layer hung thick and low in the air, blanketing the hillsides with an ethereal mist and obscuring the path forward. At one stage, the cloud-cover became so dense that I had to get out of the truck in order to tell Keith where the road was.</p><p>After a slow, bumpy, and foggy drive, we found a place to park just beyond Elder Camp and began our hike. At road's end, where the fire road intersects with the Red Reef Trail coming up from White Ledge, a couple was camped on a broad flat with magnificent views into upper Lion Canyon and the Sespe. Here, the mist finally began to burn-off as we climbed into the <a href="https://storymaps.arcgis.com/stories/d943c491f711403dab28961dbcdd6ce8" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Thomas Fire</span></a> burn zone which scorched this area in 2017. A <a href="https://www.calflora.org/app/taxon?crn=11671#:~:text=Eriodictyon%20parryi%20Calflora&text=Eriodictyon%20parryi%2C%20a%20dicot%2C%20is,elsewhere%20in%20western%20North%20America.&text=This%20plant%20is%20available%20commercially." target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Poodle Dog</span></a> orgy was in full swing here, so we had to bob and weave and dance our way around the offending bush until it petered out near the saddle that separates Lion Canyon to the north and Santa Paula Canyon to the south. Here, we caught our first glimpse of the day's objectives piercing the pillowy cloud bank.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2S6cxXq5u813Vu78YbYvVvQ96MGbuN_kLyIbxQBQ1YNwgvxP4dkzlZmN9MyH1sbvCU5pS8QpRSBSH-9TIXtshVO8_FD3nfJDS0gIYhmxDKYgzpgKXiG1QgIQhbpEIOL6S1_8ljtw72YA/s2048/7_Sean%252C+Cecelia%252C+and+Keith+on+Red+Reef.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Red Reef Trail" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2S6cxXq5u813Vu78YbYvVvQ96MGbuN_kLyIbxQBQ1YNwgvxP4dkzlZmN9MyH1sbvCU5pS8QpRSBSH-9TIXtshVO8_FD3nfJDS0gIYhmxDKYgzpgKXiG1QgIQhbpEIOL6S1_8ljtw72YA/w640-h480/7_Sean%252C+Cecelia%252C+and+Keith+on+Red+Reef.jpg" title="Red Reef Trail" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>How it began</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigIc9A9OVtnmNCO4D2ZcjWiLiY5jBmO3eCOtjuONbVk8XUDa0mia3u8nRVQMi_1Caq_xOGMf9XvzOaQQ_aU1P-fwwLWVL61SlYpz85cNToUv-VBw5P1zL-4fbmxGxt6fUHXJ7A50OSPYY/s2048/9_Upper+Lion+Canyon.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Lion Canyon" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigIc9A9OVtnmNCO4D2ZcjWiLiY5jBmO3eCOtjuONbVk8XUDa0mia3u8nRVQMi_1Caq_xOGMf9XvzOaQQ_aU1P-fwwLWVL61SlYpz85cNToUv-VBw5P1zL-4fbmxGxt6fUHXJ7A50OSPYY/w640-h480/9_Upper+Lion+Canyon.jpg" title="Upper Lion Canyon" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Upper Lion Canyon</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4UhC6kUB3ko7f27wE7ayHvlfXmWvJjQJ2qxZrrjIZYTRKTcOCtVbL_E_FZqCia1TWzRJXaYa4F5fX-jzhQBFvPN7QOMvnHqC6Bi7SM0YrcEcx1rXmiXTlJVP0jwnF5ScBWgFsa04AXqw/s2048/15_Back+Side+of+Topatopa+Bluff.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Red Reef Trail" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4UhC6kUB3ko7f27wE7ayHvlfXmWvJjQJ2qxZrrjIZYTRKTcOCtVbL_E_FZqCia1TWzRJXaYa4F5fX-jzhQBFvPN7QOMvnHqC6Bi7SM0YrcEcx1rXmiXTlJVP0jwnF5ScBWgFsa04AXqw/w640-h480/15_Back+Side+of+Topatopa+Bluff.jpg" title="Red Reef Trail" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Trudging Along the Backside of the Topatopa Bluffs</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge4E2CYWTjjP-qe4ypsFPzsABwqxMtDRTD5uVXjC-noVC_pXO1P8Ecj5xaE0LrhcQHUqQRfwztsDBLPJF9Xz0fbgkjt7uONgN5-8JOTyhk6HgJzFUzlmEwrqsBzxcGpxp0Po_Q1nA4FSw/s2048/17_Sean+on+Red+Reef.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Cucamonga Man" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge4E2CYWTjjP-qe4ypsFPzsABwqxMtDRTD5uVXjC-noVC_pXO1P8Ecj5xaE0LrhcQHUqQRfwztsDBLPJF9Xz0fbgkjt7uONgN5-8JOTyhk6HgJzFUzlmEwrqsBzxcGpxp0Po_Q1nA4FSw/w640-h480/17_Sean+on+Red+Reef.jpg" title="Cucamonga Man" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>The Cucamonga Man in his Natural Environment</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYvPHQLQDacsyj0LYR2rtNWkL58ybnbQDpG5G2D3ChsAnc_wV8MIdVN0tBMdqdcukueEGKSKzfXYLtLZ5726nepisLB0O30-q6V2roKJj_GcrxRR8fUNhlRFfmJ1CXby6bEpz9_Gt0xyE/s2048/19_Creampuff+and+Hines+from+Topatopa+Saddle.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Creampuff" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYvPHQLQDacsyj0LYR2rtNWkL58ybnbQDpG5G2D3ChsAnc_wV8MIdVN0tBMdqdcukueEGKSKzfXYLtLZ5726nepisLB0O30-q6V2roKJj_GcrxRR8fUNhlRFfmJ1CXby6bEpz9_Gt0xyE/w640-h480/19_Creampuff+and+Hines+from+Topatopa+Saddle.jpg" title="Creampuff and Hines" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Creampuff (foreground) and Hines (rearground) from the Saddle</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After we "ooh'd" and "ahh'd" for a spell at the grandeur of the scene before us, it was an easy stroll to the base of Creampuff. We stopped briefly to survey the steep route we would later be taking up Creampuff's north face, and then continued down the trail to climb Hines first. Dinner before sweets. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><h3 style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><u>The Climb to Hines Peak</u></i></h3><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The route up Hines begins at the shallow saddle between Hines and Pt. 6,403. The Red Reef Trail continues in a south-easterly direction dropping down to Ladybug trail camp and then continuing all the way to the Sespe where it intersects the creek near Oak Flat. Recent reports indicate that this trail is passable from Oak Flat to roughly the old Horsethief site. But between there and Ladybug, the path is apparently a tangle of overgrown brush that is difficult to follow. No bueno.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After gulping some water and a Shot Blok for a quick energy jolt, we began the slog upward. There is no formal path, but there is a visible use trail worn by others who came before. We tracked this use trail as closely as possible, but as these things typically go, it eventually frayed into a number of strands the higher we went, so each of us just picked our own way up. The north side of Hines is basically comprised of loose dirt over bedrock so it was steep and loose going. After scampering up a sketchy chimney which was the crux of the climb, we topped out on a false summit. A short distance later, we were on the actual summit where we found a register and two benchmarks, but limited views. Celebratory pictures were taken, obligatory entries were entered in the registered, and then we retraced our path back to the saddle. The retreat from the top was a quick and dirty affair, much easier than the climb. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIJ6kwX8a8q-X5Kl7n5J0-h6kxge0nxU2ii7RWR8_Fb2Bl3N6rLYO-m8CgteDPbLUn5kRL-lJwgLgUGSMYrtuJC8Ozlq_Qa4iNjOn1MovGfd5BxpgGyPsOpG8vKZwBPuZ8SmdSzzqYf10/s2048/31_Bear+Canyon.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="The Sespe" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIJ6kwX8a8q-X5Kl7n5J0-h6kxge0nxU2ii7RWR8_Fb2Bl3N6rLYO-m8CgteDPbLUn5kRL-lJwgLgUGSMYrtuJC8Ozlq_Qa4iNjOn1MovGfd5BxpgGyPsOpG8vKZwBPuZ8SmdSzzqYf10/w640-h480/31_Bear+Canyon.jpg" title="Sespe Views" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Sespe Views</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQCLQ60KjRIWFrllUjdwT2a4c33yImfNyGUUNN2Mb04yg8PQpi3cR0eJIwhKf5KTa0xWw2mcAPgWHrzPbvbSzAXrFZEwaQ-I_aT_KL3wH5Saf2FYprnObbNJ7aXL1z1obzjy0C_lTc0-o/s2048/33_Creampuff+and+Hines.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Hines Peak" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQCLQ60KjRIWFrllUjdwT2a4c33yImfNyGUUNN2Mb04yg8PQpi3cR0eJIwhKf5KTa0xWw2mcAPgWHrzPbvbSzAXrFZEwaQ-I_aT_KL3wH5Saf2FYprnObbNJ7aXL1z1obzjy0C_lTc0-o/w640-h480/33_Creampuff+and+Hines.jpg" title="Hines and Creampuff" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Creampuff (right) and Hines (left)</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir8y2S-ZHvtquo3EMOVDbKTWE9RDX44GZDtkg_B-pr1tZAlOaW9fMEgNQ0H_xrv27k5vVeQMf8yhRaR4EaOayW0-rfAWRGlRUnqDEEmxtEn4aDTaM-loLsFPfb4Fl1jF4VmWwQb6FgVQs/s2048/36_Creampuff+Ascent+Route.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Creampuff Peak Route" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir8y2S-ZHvtquo3EMOVDbKTWE9RDX44GZDtkg_B-pr1tZAlOaW9fMEgNQ0H_xrv27k5vVeQMf8yhRaR4EaOayW0-rfAWRGlRUnqDEEmxtEn4aDTaM-loLsFPfb4Fl1jF4VmWwQb6FgVQs/w640-h480/36_Creampuff+Ascent+Route.jpg" title="The Route Up Creampuff" width="640" /></a></div><i><div style="text-align: center;"><i>The Spine Route to Creampuff</i></div></i><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6VD-uhBw8epzEenGARaF7LW3lLrKtWz0WJY04qCk1sryByX2It_qkjiDYbXJP629IR1qA0erTq2NU-qBZ4r0XUzjXsgwVrsIt8wk5UoywNmUlXF1xLMGz5RuOmeKnLYScj0IvmfndBks/s2048/37_Hines+Peak+from+Creampuff+Saddle.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Hines Peak" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6VD-uhBw8epzEenGARaF7LW3lLrKtWz0WJY04qCk1sryByX2It_qkjiDYbXJP629IR1qA0erTq2NU-qBZ4r0XUzjXsgwVrsIt8wk5UoywNmUlXF1xLMGz5RuOmeKnLYScj0IvmfndBks/w640-h480/37_Hines+Peak+from+Creampuff+Saddle.jpg" title="Hines Peak" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Hines Awating Us</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZy7ABr2YfZygRgq5wy1JjOUt90PPOAJHlellTrs8N4xoz5O3j5g8CI7SY9Lp87FS8kSW5FmDBoknKNbcQOiD27CGJ2zDOcamw13d9qulU5LdNF0u5_p6AS8461FDxUms2I1e96on9rdk/s2048/45_Keith+and+Sean+Ascending+Hines.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Hines Peak" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZy7ABr2YfZygRgq5wy1JjOUt90PPOAJHlellTrs8N4xoz5O3j5g8CI7SY9Lp87FS8kSW5FmDBoknKNbcQOiD27CGJ2zDOcamw13d9qulU5LdNF0u5_p6AS8461FDxUms2I1e96on9rdk/w640-h480/45_Keith+and+Sean+Ascending+Hines.jpg" title="The Route Up Hines Peak" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>The Route Up Hines</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_tl8iYvDC1GAzDzSrbhbT7gpbV2bbgUWYtOp4GxPoLYUsjf5lIu0plnAY_ZgqtzP9Lzcfsm8plzIx7dK7P0cfMiN20k4KSyS9RSrYxyQbmNd5TSR6HxQ9YL8GRnxbisocrAYwPntQVM0/s2048/K22_Hines+Cat+Walk.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Hines Peak" border="0" data-original-height="1151" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_tl8iYvDC1GAzDzSrbhbT7gpbV2bbgUWYtOp4GxPoLYUsjf5lIu0plnAY_ZgqtzP9Lzcfsm8plzIx7dK7P0cfMiN20k4KSyS9RSrYxyQbmNd5TSR6HxQ9YL8GRnxbisocrAYwPntQVM0/w640-h360/K22_Hines+Cat+Walk.jpg" title="The Hines Peak Catwalk" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>The Cat Walk - Don't Slip Here</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY_9Rp1Pzwv3jtoAeId4yYBc-sRFBE6ALkoYfGVfbthKsXFyjDCpceOXtOwuOULVLe9nino-LoVdC_xYKC8CimwVSeV4c5AOoLfind7Mzg7u6MQWyBSBH9ics9Yrux5MRp9KKz7GF-d1s/s2048/48_Keith+Climbing+Hines.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Climbing Hines Peak" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY_9Rp1Pzwv3jtoAeId4yYBc-sRFBE6ALkoYfGVfbthKsXFyjDCpceOXtOwuOULVLe9nino-LoVdC_xYKC8CimwVSeV4c5AOoLfind7Mzg7u6MQWyBSBH9ics9Yrux5MRp9KKz7GF-d1s/w640-h480/48_Keith+Climbing+Hines.jpg" title="Hines Peak Route" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Keith Attacking Hines</i></div></div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYSB4qnis5rJNEUuVKY75a4d2C8SccPMg5HY089Uuy0sRkl14PepKajYWKYxf8PiMQqXT0KfxCIZZ-vJdm2BidvAPDhZot2RdQ2trjoBkSSw3mbtnMU7OgjhiVDWmyeEMftvud9cWbJ2s/s2048/52_Upper+Red+Red+Canyon+from+Hines+Ascent+Route.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Ladybug Camp Sespe Wilderness" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYSB4qnis5rJNEUuVKY75a4d2C8SccPMg5HY089Uuy0sRkl14PepKajYWKYxf8PiMQqXT0KfxCIZZ-vJdm2BidvAPDhZot2RdQ2trjoBkSSw3mbtnMU7OgjhiVDWmyeEMftvud9cWbJ2s/w640-h480/52_Upper+Red+Red+Canyon+from+Hines+Ascent+Route.jpg" title="View Toward Ladybug Camp" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Looking Toward Ladybug and Beyond</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4Isly9RSWG4apb1cTVR8wiFeu45ziuMaPRBCSgvsC4XToFLqOp7MH_45qzdbjfceaLkDpH5yzQw-nPrp5gwCLzDn7zXJQz_z1LI9CDxcWk1dySxhsT1dPQgK02tyIa2nxO969_Xp3IpY/s2048/53_Creampuff+from+Hines+Ascent+Route.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Creampuff Peak" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4Isly9RSWG4apb1cTVR8wiFeu45ziuMaPRBCSgvsC4XToFLqOp7MH_45qzdbjfceaLkDpH5yzQw-nPrp5gwCLzDn7zXJQz_z1LI9CDxcWk1dySxhsT1dPQgK02tyIa2nxO969_Xp3IpY/w640-h480/53_Creampuff+from+Hines+Ascent+Route.jpg" title="Creampuff from Hines Peak" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Creampuff from High on Hines</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijk6Tcb6sPCNbMmtQbnX6JT8mdHsswCj2_O6lH33-_SokpMDwsJ_iMdg0Max4ubyKiUx1C8HlVdFVHS-YeTh69lg-DcJForvQP1xGLU0JzHa_HKpXTXGOKnsekraCs6RAPcIseImLD-v8/s2048/58_Hines+Summit+Benchmark+and+Register.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Hines Peak Summit Register" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijk6Tcb6sPCNbMmtQbnX6JT8mdHsswCj2_O6lH33-_SokpMDwsJ_iMdg0Max4ubyKiUx1C8HlVdFVHS-YeTh69lg-DcJForvQP1xGLU0JzHa_HKpXTXGOKnsekraCs6RAPcIseImLD-v8/w640-h480/58_Hines+Summit+Benchmark+and+Register.jpg" title="Hines Peak Summit Register" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Hines Summit Register and Benchmark</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhACqecUX8hMa8-CCUI5_4MF7n9VwtloJOmCD2WHBpmRLzgWVSsMdiYZx7X5Ytwbm4FogomD4jRi9etOGUPxbwS6pidKsNykyqK_dLupwY7bXqwrZ7TB1N_JZNBFop00-erxgWsrCxdv38/s1024/2_Hines+Summit.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhACqecUX8hMa8-CCUI5_4MF7n9VwtloJOmCD2WHBpmRLzgWVSsMdiYZx7X5Ytwbm4FogomD4jRi9etOGUPxbwS6pidKsNykyqK_dLupwY7bXqwrZ7TB1N_JZNBFop00-erxgWsrCxdv38/w640-h360/2_Hines+Summit.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Summit Pose - Iron Hiker, WildSouthland, and Cecelia</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMW8AakqSauOXHBorl8TeEz6kiwv0tmA7j-43ZitNk6xwhikI49iIAE4jKB_xlzYMlNqNliLKkpNTPG176sVMlJTxEY6E1NGomwSh7HzkdcWT4dzRxljeNgqgm9Nndey83rwynbcZ27B4/s2048/64_Keith+Descending+Hines.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Hines Peak Route" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMW8AakqSauOXHBorl8TeEz6kiwv0tmA7j-43ZitNk6xwhikI49iIAE4jKB_xlzYMlNqNliLKkpNTPG176sVMlJTxEY6E1NGomwSh7HzkdcWT4dzRxljeNgqgm9Nndey83rwynbcZ27B4/w640-h480/64_Keith+Descending+Hines.jpg" title="Hines Peak Descent" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Dropping Down from Hines</i></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><i><u>The Route up Creampuff</u></i></h3><p style="text-align: left;">Cucamonga Man and Cecelia weren't feeling Creampuff, so Keith and I hurried ahead to tackle our second peak. Along the way, we passed the old Last Chance Trail which is mostly abandoned, but can still be seen coming up from Santa Paula Canyon. The route up Creampuff is very similar to the route up Hines, but steeper and looser. Much of the time, the process was two steps forward, one step back as the ground moved continuously beneath our feet. Fortunately, it's a shorter climb - a mere 400' in elevation gain - and before long, we were atop the summit where we found a summit register and the lid of a cream puff container to mark the spot. Trolling through the register of this "Seldom Visited Site" we recognized a number of entries from Los Padres regulars, including Christopher Lord (<a href="https://christopherplord.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Lost in the Los Padres</span></a>) and Reece McCalister aka Red Tail aka Mupu Mac aka the <a href="https://lospadreslostboy.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Lost Padres Lost Boy</span></a>. This is a superior summit to Hines in terms of views. From this 6,486' aerie, you get panoramic looks at Hines, the Topatopoa Bluffs, and all points south.</p><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGNshD8FqjO3DNPP3sZRdcqbwKfQpKVCd5PeqSQPAnawDoznc3BByNyUv076KHkQtKczdIQBarCXK2NKHRXMM6IOo5ZaWHJB6-PrMhElLruSJDITKTWrdthuZXrj35dqYV2MkyrkK4NCw/s2048/68_Keith+Ascending+Creampuff.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Creampuff Peak Route" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGNshD8FqjO3DNPP3sZRdcqbwKfQpKVCd5PeqSQPAnawDoznc3BByNyUv076KHkQtKczdIQBarCXK2NKHRXMM6IOo5ZaWHJB6-PrMhElLruSJDITKTWrdthuZXrj35dqYV2MkyrkK4NCw/w640-h480/68_Keith+Ascending+Creampuff.jpg" title="The Route Up Creampuff" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Ascending Creampuff</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfKmGrZHg48ninU_mw2Kuf660tNamDjmUBoSb5eaT8Hk5m6uMvMYVSwrgKDJCnmxQ9gFGiZpfU5Lk4JwfELhyC9i2hFPHaGnlXVarceG3ZQvFtcUZc6lXQ-7v5Iqkc12pe4YUAwzKJS-8/s2048/70_Hines+from+Creampuff+Summit.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Hines Peak" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfKmGrZHg48ninU_mw2Kuf660tNamDjmUBoSb5eaT8Hk5m6uMvMYVSwrgKDJCnmxQ9gFGiZpfU5Lk4JwfELhyC9i2hFPHaGnlXVarceG3ZQvFtcUZc6lXQ-7v5Iqkc12pe4YUAwzKJS-8/w640-h480/70_Hines+from+Creampuff+Summit.jpg" title="Hines Peak from Summit of Creampuff" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Hines from the Summit of Creampuff</i></div></div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfsldh84GR90scr4VHwkW50etCpx25pn3N94iiVopQ5P5nyzNYp8_FXeHlvHtK8NySUsK3l4U-gb5H3Q3GlgmgzmYqBQZX84UZ7xVBlSrOysLIRahp1mj_xzBJsuT0eTjzEB8_FkJjyzY/s5152/K27_Creampuff+Summit+Register.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Creampuff Summit Register" border="0" data-original-height="2896" data-original-width="5152" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfsldh84GR90scr4VHwkW50etCpx25pn3N94iiVopQ5P5nyzNYp8_FXeHlvHtK8NySUsK3l4U-gb5H3Q3GlgmgzmYqBQZX84UZ7xVBlSrOysLIRahp1mj_xzBJsuT0eTjzEB8_FkJjyzY/w640-h360/K27_Creampuff+Summit+Register.jpg" title="Seldom Visited Summit" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Summit Register - a "Seldom Visited Site"</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLNF0NkzHmSyN18VxoQdRjlwnorW9iqrsrQH-fG84Q6mKROh-fpzr5gFCUuZxSTHQPeN2JyVSyaEzdcsA7-MoC4bK9PcaBueiewFNl6fDBgu_M_-dzdpIG9U59BwG68Qv6TKYTJvPrEqU/s2048/74_Me+on+Creampuff+Summit.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLNF0NkzHmSyN18VxoQdRjlwnorW9iqrsrQH-fG84Q6mKROh-fpzr5gFCUuZxSTHQPeN2JyVSyaEzdcsA7-MoC4bK9PcaBueiewFNl6fDBgu_M_-dzdpIG9U59BwG68Qv6TKYTJvPrEqU/w640-h480/74_Me+on+Creampuff+Summit.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Proof WildSouthland was There</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJVcrreSUGQaYl1h1b85r8eJtQbziZzz8a8kBCFfdjrgUUKwHakUP8GnDaIZxoOCZNY7lu3WwtrzfIicTFYUTlXOabvTgPmFXvQIMGlBjsupj1UE9m0qhSRLtCtKcEDeITjGC4tlH15qs/s1024/4_Atop+Cream+Puff.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Creampuff Peak Summit" border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="485" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJVcrreSUGQaYl1h1b85r8eJtQbziZzz8a8kBCFfdjrgUUKwHakUP8GnDaIZxoOCZNY7lu3WwtrzfIicTFYUTlXOabvTgPmFXvQIMGlBjsupj1UE9m0qhSRLtCtKcEDeITjGC4tlH15qs/w304-h640/4_Atop+Cream+Puff.jpg" title="Standing Atop Creampuff" width="304" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Iron Hiker and WildSouthland on the Summit</i></div></div><div><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><i><u>How Creampuff Got it's Name</u></i></h3><p style="text-align: left;">It is worth noting that the appellation "Creampuff" is not the actual, recognized name of this peak. In fact, I don't believe that it actually has a formal name. Which got us to thinking: how did this peak become colloquially known as "Creampuff?" <a href="http://davidstillman.blogspot.com/2013/06/cream-puff-peak-svs-with-hines-peak-and.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">David Stillman</span></a> pondered this very same question and surmised that two guys christened it "Creampuff" after scaling it with a bag of weed and a container of Costco cream puffs. When I put the question to Bardley Smith, Los Padres legend and sawyer extraordinaire, he told me: "I thought it might be a case of Occam's razor. This was verified by legendary hiker Kim. C. As you found, the register is contained in a 'cream puffs' container." So there you have it. Mystery solved.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Back at the saddle between Lion and Santa Paula Canyon, I realized that I neglected to drink the summit beer I had brought along for the occasion. So I dug that out of my pack while the rest of the crew drank more healthy, but less enjoyable hydration alternatives. Then we all trudged back to the trailhead through the Poodle Dog minefield and the dense fog to end a truly delightful the day in the backcountry.</p>Madison Christianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476494056610217659noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6909480215675625524.post-2546968730502459762021-03-26T14:36:00.007-07:002021-11-14T07:46:49.660-08:00Where the Wild Things Are<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1HpkI_x6SGxwiScheWQGUQrrRBCAbjZHmhAdMYHreu-VFBKJT4CqDBZ1gsrT_73NrVjec323gyKXhsDqoMrxkiUxHwhdCR4qelET8r5ruvcbWD9baHZ8aFY3NFVT79njHB6nWvX8qq74/s2048/PSX_20210325_131142%255B1%255D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Southern Pacific Rattlesnake" border="0" data-original-height="1339" data-original-width="2048" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1HpkI_x6SGxwiScheWQGUQrrRBCAbjZHmhAdMYHreu-VFBKJT4CqDBZ1gsrT_73NrVjec323gyKXhsDqoMrxkiUxHwhdCR4qelET8r5ruvcbWD9baHZ8aFY3NFVT79njHB6nWvX8qq74/w640-h418/PSX_20210325_131142%255B1%255D.jpg" title="Southern Pacific Rattlesnake" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><i>And when he came to the place where the wild things are<br /></i><i>they roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth<br /></i><i>and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws.<br /></i><i>~Where the Wild Things Are, Maurice Sendak</i></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u><i>Harmon Canyon Rattlesnakes</i></u></h3><p style="text-align: left;">The <a href="https://lpforest.org/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Los Padres Forest Association</span></a> posted a image to <a href="https://www.instagram.com/lospadres_lpfa/?hl=en" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Instagram</span></a> the other day of a juvenile rattlesnake that had been bludgeoned to death in the <a href="https://www.venturalandtrust.org/harmoncanyon" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Harmon Canyon Preserve</span></a> in Ventura. Seems a skittish visitor to the preserve saw the snake, perceived it to be a danger to himself and others, and took it upon himself to exterminate the creature for the benefit of all man and womankind. That image spurred a number of comments that mostly disapproved of visitor's actions. But predictably, there were also a handful of folks who, although professing their love of being in the wilds of Harmon Canyon, nonetheless put forth the idea that it should be ridded of dangerous animals so as to make it a more enjoyable and safe experience for them, their toddlers, and their canines.</p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><i><u>The Untamed Outdoors is Not a Suburban Park</u></i></h3><p style="text-align: left;">But here's the thing that these well-intentioned, yet misguided folks need to understand and accept. The untamed outdoors isn't a nicely manicured suburban park replete with playground equipment, water fountains, and pretty chattering moms. It isn't the climate-controlled mall. And it certainly isn't fucking Disneyland. So stop demanding it be that. There are wild things there that roar their terrible roars and gnash their terrible teeth and roll their terrible eyes and show their terrible claws. Those things can and will bite, scratch, sting and/or burrow into you. Some might even kill you. But the wilds are where these critters live. It is their home, their <i>permanens loco</i>. You on the other hand are merely a temporary guest there. Actually, you're not even a guest because that term implies that you have been invited and are welcomed with open claws by the local inhabitants. You have received no such invite. Instead, you have simply broken and entered without consent. You are an intruder.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Consequently, you have zero standing to demand or expect that these wild places be sanitized and/or child-proofed to either conform to your personal safety expectations or to quell your rational and irrational fears. Instead, you have an affirmative obligation to make sure that you, your child, your companions, and your animals are all adequately prepared for what you may encounter on the trail and to understand how to minimize your risk of harm. That includes watching and listening to your surroundings at all times; knowing where to walk and where not to walk; being able to identify and avoid poisonous plants like <a href="https://www.calflora.org/app/taxon?crn=8015" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Poison Oak</span></a> and <a href="https://www.calflora.org/app/taxon?crn=11671" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Poodle Dog Bush</span></a>; and having some basic knowledge about the habitat and behavior of insects, spiders, snakes, coyotes, bobcats, and mountain lions. It also means willingly accepting the possibility and risk that you may unexpectedly cross-paths with any of these things at any time. You don't necessarily have to be comfortable with that possibility, but you do need to be physically, mentally, and emotionally prepared for it.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Because we're not killing snakes to placate your squeamishness with them. We're not relocating big felines so that you can feel more comfortable while on the trail. And we're not eradicating coyotes to prevent them from feasting on the unleashed lap dog you decided to bring hiking with you. All of these creatures are an integral part of and belong in the natural world into which you decide to step. Encountering them, therefore, is a risk inherent in any visit to the great outdoors. And like it or not, it is a risk that you willingly and voluntarily assume when you go. </p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><i><u>The Wilds are Wild</u></i></h3><p style="text-align: left;">If you don't want to assume those risks for whatever reason, then don't. It's fine. I'm not going to judge you. Remain in the safe confines of your home, yard, neighborhood, shopping center, local bar, grocery store, restaurant, movie theater, bookstore, or wherever. You'll be happy and so we the rest of us. But do not, I repeat DO NOT demand, insist, expect, suggest, lobby for, agitate for, ask, or even imply that we need to domesticate and Disney-fy the wilds for your benefit. Alleviating your fear and discomfort isn't our responsibility. Neither is ridding the wilds of the wild things that make it wild. So don't act like it is. And don't presume that those of us who like the natural world natural will give ear to any suggestions otherwise. Because that ain't happening any time soon. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2jT73w2rgfq8eWlsNkGP4hbBjpzBddIipa9xNRcbITliiRnGSzcQTdjBEAIwgiq2xb4Eaf1xcJVQIsS18NV4T-ytojWg4nF7bODLvP44VfHcf5eUAFEFS0LeeRRCs2hJ-85Ol-iFH-Qk/s1990/PSX_20210325_130126%255B1%255D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="Tarantula Spider" border="0" data-original-height="1615" data-original-width="1990" height="520" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2jT73w2rgfq8eWlsNkGP4hbBjpzBddIipa9xNRcbITliiRnGSzcQTdjBEAIwgiq2xb4Eaf1xcJVQIsS18NV4T-ytojWg4nF7bODLvP44VfHcf5eUAFEFS0LeeRRCs2hJ-85Ol-iFH-Qk/w640-h520/PSX_20210325_130126%255B1%255D.jpg" title="Tarantula" width="640" /></a></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>Madison Christianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476494056610217659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6909480215675625524.post-4102440702317821412021-03-12T06:36:00.004-08:002021-11-14T07:47:00.353-08:00Tempted by El Diablo's Potrero<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijod94I0QpbdFwLAx8T-_ef0sSsoBA3m26wU5FH0a0Ma69la1W0_wjb5nwJhIOlGVxvVyhjHksqLXcnDvx2YdhxPRzZFd9YxTT2mH_PPVe3Ir_V-hQGIJkBJRK1FnL3JMxojEh7CHJZck/s2048/20210307_143411%255B1%255D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="The Pothole and Devil's Potrero" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijod94I0QpbdFwLAx8T-_ef0sSsoBA3m26wU5FH0a0Ma69la1W0_wjb5nwJhIOlGVxvVyhjHksqLXcnDvx2YdhxPRzZFd9YxTT2mH_PPVe3Ir_V-hQGIJkBJRK1FnL3JMxojEh7CHJZck/w640-h480/20210307_143411%255B1%255D.jpg" title="The Pothole and Devil's Potrero" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I can resist anything except temptation.<br /></i><i> ~Oscar Wilde, Lady Windemere's Fan</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I generally avoid temptation unless I can't resist it.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>~Mae West </i></div></div><p style="text-align: left;">I've stared numerous times at my Tom Harrison map of the Sespe Wilderness and wondered about the <a href="https://caltopo.com/map.html#ll=34.5254,-118.79216&z=14&b=f16a" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Pothole Trail</span></a> leading out to the Pothole, the Devil's Gateway, and the Agua Blanca drainage. That area of the Los Padres has been an intriguing blank space on my experience map for awhile now, not from lack of interest, but instead from the difficulty of accessing the trailhead. Ok, perhaps "difficulty" is the wrong descriptor here because accessing the trailhead really isn't that difficult. It's more of a significant annoyance that I have simply refused to subject myself to. That annoyance involves paying $14 to enter the Lake Piru Recreation Area, parking in the visitor's lot, and then making a 4.5 mile road-walk just to get to the trailhead so you can begin the hike. Um, thanks no. A visit to the proctologist holds significantly more interest for me than a tedious 4+ mile, one-way asphalt walk. </p><p>Then, the other day I heard something on my local public radio station that piqued my interest. It was a story about a <a href="https://www.kclu.org/post/picturesque-south-coast-trail-opens-new-facilities-hikers#stream/0" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">new parking area and trailhead for the Pothole Trail</span></a> that was scheduled for opening this past weekend. The improvements are part of the recently-approved Central Coast Preservation Act that designates the 400+ mile <a href="http://www.condortrail.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Condor Trail</span></a> as a National Recreation Trial. With the opening of this new trailhead parking area, gone are both the ridiculous entrance fee to the Lake Piru Recreation Area and the interminable road walk. Suddenly, the temptation to visit El Diablo's corner of the Los Padres was more than I could be expected to resist. So I went.</p><p>At the kiosk to the entrance to Lake Piru, I told the attendant I was going to the Pothole Trail. He gave me a special permit to hang from my rearview mirror and waived me through without dinging my wallet. Then it was a 5 mile drive on a winding, narrow, and poorly maintained yet paved road to the sparkling new parking area which is equipped with clean restrooms (for now), trash receptacles, and a temporary hand-washing station. But access to the trail itself from here is not immediately intuitive. You don't proceed west from the back of the parking area to begin this hike. Ask me how I know that. Instead, to get to the actual trail, you need to backtrack out to the road and then continue north 100 or so yards where the trail starts on the left, marked by both a new sign and an old, sun-bleached forest service sign that is obscured from the road by encroaching brush.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ68nJOtF54R8IaZCV9O3iBMfCBaB8smnRaG104ybzam6-V0sAizYC9MsUsj7vMSD60lg_lFy3bbGVfg3dM3RoBjl_s7ZaxaQjWTsCuiUgymOL8M4pHeOLpYjz05HOEayt1p1XMKFUozs/s2048/1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Lake Piru" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ68nJOtF54R8IaZCV9O3iBMfCBaB8smnRaG104ybzam6-V0sAizYC9MsUsj7vMSD60lg_lFy3bbGVfg3dM3RoBjl_s7ZaxaQjWTsCuiUgymOL8M4pHeOLpYjz05HOEayt1p1XMKFUozs/w640-h480/1.jpg" title="Lake Piru" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Lake Piru</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrGR7P7wkkBT4Un-JhrtozP47B5I-_VPuB-z3AmxdBvgv56jRSNaSwfayGziVwrYg_EObYTbTQfMRgzguODS2PUJWKn0tW-rtEXz5PBOKGHvcnHhajDLsT06NBnEfabTglOscVglESxbg/s2048/3.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Trailhead Pothole Trail" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrGR7P7wkkBT4Un-JhrtozP47B5I-_VPuB-z3AmxdBvgv56jRSNaSwfayGziVwrYg_EObYTbTQfMRgzguODS2PUJWKn0tW-rtEXz5PBOKGHvcnHhajDLsT06NBnEfabTglOscVglESxbg/w640-h480/3.jpg" title="Parking Area Pothole Trail" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>New Parking Area</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuFRcOPBzSQ6COaFU30Dy_jX-ta5vr7Dw4NPauBe31KVLGhIMJDS4hq4p8RSrHTUcmCi5EbBbhss3Y0r4Mt0oVJyVIDJmirRnLyabaN35mt2QTKYTSKgN7O-iN9Vf8nNROMoguRmVvqvo/s2048/5.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Pothole Trail" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuFRcOPBzSQ6COaFU30Dy_jX-ta5vr7Dw4NPauBe31KVLGhIMJDS4hq4p8RSrHTUcmCi5EbBbhss3Y0r4Mt0oVJyVIDJmirRnLyabaN35mt2QTKYTSKgN7O-iN9Vf8nNROMoguRmVvqvo/w640-h480/5.jpg" title="Pothole Trail This Way" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Trailhead</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Because this trail was hyped on public radio where it was probably heard by all types of listeners, a word about the hike ahead is appropriate here. First, this is not a family-friendly hike or one that is appropriate for the casual hiker. From the trailhead, the climbing starts immediately and doesn't let up for a couple of miles. It is a steep, sustained, and relentless grind until you reach that boundary for the Sespe Wilderness at about the 3,200' contour. After that, it's a 1,000' drop in elevation to the Pothole itself, meaning that you are climbing both ways on this hike for a total of 3,000'+ of gain. Additionally, this is a seldom-visited and remote part of the Los Padres. If you go, make certain you are well-provisioned and know how to take care of yourself. If you get into trouble out here, ain't no one coming to assist you quickly. Finally, the initial climb to the wilderness boundary is exposed, south-facing, and shadeless. There is no water until you reach the Agua Blanca. Combine that with the fact that it gets hotter than Hades in this part of the forest, and this is probably not the best choice for a mid-to-late summer hike. In fact, barring a pre-dawn start, hiking here in the summer could be downright dangerous. Heat stroke is real y'all.</p><p>With those preliminaries out of the way, I started up the trail which initially crosses a dry meadow and then climbs steeply to the adjacent ridge. Here, Blue Point, so named for the bluish-gray rock bands that streak its south face, comes into view. Behind, and to the northeast, Whitaker Peak can also be plainly seen. The trail then continues to climb, sometimes steeply, in a northwesterly direction following the ridgeline up and over Pt. 3,016 just shy of the wilderness boundary. From a trail-building perspective, the current route really doesn't make a lot of sense. But as you climb, you'll see vestiges of the original trail skirting the numerous bumps on the ridgeline over which the current track goes right up and over. These old trail segments are now so overgrown from disuse and lack of maintenance that the more direct ridge route has ironically become the less difficult default. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvs-mK9oV70FfgDaHGTSLVyYfD6OS5vhln44v8fBZApTbnUKxoj_FQaHWJ8UkuGdMQWopq0lOepLMcXD2Zi84qoiSYq20RivJjjB3p0SLnW_BA8RQysjb6KQ-EP26-j5NyEkOejemuBO4/s2048/7.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvs-mK9oV70FfgDaHGTSLVyYfD6OS5vhln44v8fBZApTbnUKxoj_FQaHWJ8UkuGdMQWopq0lOepLMcXD2Zi84qoiSYq20RivJjjB3p0SLnW_BA8RQysjb6KQ-EP26-j5NyEkOejemuBO4/w640-h480/7.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Meadow</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVDViE3o-9TWQjMFm9iPqEFEC5c25SstyuuupCU48ILcZQzhZgAD31zLxvpcjoIBgRuxTD5vfAPQR4JbRaHTE-npQ_-kzrmE_x-oWiKC-m_v3TIeoINjfcnQ-AwGZzc5p5yRmYjjkpOLA/s2048/8.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Blue Point Pothole Trail" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVDViE3o-9TWQjMFm9iPqEFEC5c25SstyuuupCU48ILcZQzhZgAD31zLxvpcjoIBgRuxTD5vfAPQR4JbRaHTE-npQ_-kzrmE_x-oWiKC-m_v3TIeoINjfcnQ-AwGZzc5p5yRmYjjkpOLA/w640-h480/8.jpg" title="Blue Point and Whitaker Peak" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Blue Point (Whitaker Behind)</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0vg5sPCBW1vjw_OZKOQOt3E00KTM02mqgESBGjK-Q6vBaaR06ZS8AuZdMB_nOfDiuKRjGfBr8ogk56XixeG4Q62gfJiDmRjANHkstfr82EDCCdUzwjx8s0xcoXTqztAl2xWsTaMTYKzk/s2048/10.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Original Pothole Trail" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0vg5sPCBW1vjw_OZKOQOt3E00KTM02mqgESBGjK-Q6vBaaR06ZS8AuZdMB_nOfDiuKRjGfBr8ogk56XixeG4Q62gfJiDmRjANHkstfr82EDCCdUzwjx8s0xcoXTqztAl2xWsTaMTYKzk/w640-h480/10.jpg" title="Old Pothole Trail" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Original Trail Route</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKe6cbqXNPSi4weEIi7b1INYDY6A1xsVb0PShWYHpXlDemwtusoiuPt1sb8jchYc_UZu09CVFN_mi0ZOw-sxenBw7DR7NzocV1k10zpwP9dRkMGG0Z-c8IPp6Ap-IEy8F1IxBigLBiDAk/s2048/11.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Pothole Trail Ridge Route" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKe6cbqXNPSi4weEIi7b1INYDY6A1xsVb0PShWYHpXlDemwtusoiuPt1sb8jchYc_UZu09CVFN_mi0ZOw-sxenBw7DR7NzocV1k10zpwP9dRkMGG0Z-c8IPp6Ap-IEy8F1IxBigLBiDAk/w640-h480/11.jpg" title="Pothole Trail Ridge Route" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Current Ridge Route</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnOTC-uL5tePiEy7gtsd2eE8EKShyVprIp6VYfY2otCC0H5jcIecGfWfV2pIJNde9H3URhe95hnP5ny9sLfYH8k3UcqLz5GrzMaz0ynPPKgx8472fmPAU19YOkfdti0AXqD5ug994D2nw/s2048/16.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Pothole Trail Ridge Route" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnOTC-uL5tePiEy7gtsd2eE8EKShyVprIp6VYfY2otCC0H5jcIecGfWfV2pIJNde9H3URhe95hnP5ny9sLfYH8k3UcqLz5GrzMaz0ynPPKgx8472fmPAU19YOkfdti0AXqD5ug994D2nw/w640-h480/16.jpg" title="Pothole Trail Ridge Route" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Forever Ridgline</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGBBLW7nio4zsMbvw3BZVu4g1XCdFbQDbSdbEotr1Yfuq0Z4o3erI5-4TL7QiwjYOQL__-kVLoa8St9-XZ-OUggfvbdY9K8JQgdgWVgehAueMx_OEEpHJm77nOr2sasnRP_qECfC5eNUs/s2048/18.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Pothole Trail High Point" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGBBLW7nio4zsMbvw3BZVu4g1XCdFbQDbSdbEotr1Yfuq0Z4o3erI5-4TL7QiwjYOQL__-kVLoa8St9-XZ-OUggfvbdY9K8JQgdgWVgehAueMx_OEEpHJm77nOr2sasnRP_qECfC5eNUs/w640-h480/18.jpg" title="Pothole Trail High Point" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Pt. 3,016 - Wilderness Boundary Near High Point in Rear</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheWaKlGM3Pg5qyvA-Mq6DeMdE8zn4WKfTh68hNt2O_v0egbayyz7F3LZ4ZBp3w-ygaT0b38ia9mkf0jovf5OaKId8DjQ2ErRCPKgHycgXlG8imypfPLyFBR_Gq8HHuaqS3-fPkgzekpRU/s2048/20.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Cobblestone Mountain" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheWaKlGM3Pg5qyvA-Mq6DeMdE8zn4WKfTh68hNt2O_v0egbayyz7F3LZ4ZBp3w-ygaT0b38ia9mkf0jovf5OaKId8DjQ2ErRCPKgHycgXlG8imypfPLyFBR_Gq8HHuaqS3-fPkgzekpRU/w640-h480/20.jpg" title="Cobblestone Mountain" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Cobblestone and Vicinity</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Just beyond Pt. 3,016, the trail enters the Sespe Wilderness which is well marked by signage. Impressive views of distant Cobblestone Mountain and the more remote reaches of the Los Padres backcountry come into focus. Being the wilderness, mechanized travel is prohibited here, but rogue motorcyclists have ignored that ban and damaged the trail considerably. Typical fucking entitlement mentality. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">From the wilderness boundary (approximately 3,200'), it is a 1,000 foot drop to the Devils Potrero which you finally catch a glimpse of as you cross a narrow saddle at about the 2,800' contour. The trail then passes by Pt. 2,716 to the north, snakes back on itself, and finally deposits you into the potrero adjacent to the the Pothole which was formed by a<span style="color: #ffa400;"> <a href="https://www.fs.usda.gov/recarea/lpnf/recarea/?recid=11042" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">gigantic slide</span></a></span> that has covered the canyon floor with sand and silt. In his excellent blog <a href="https://songsofthewilderness.com/2020/01/25/pothole-trail-to-cove-camp/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Songs of the Wilderness</span></a>, James Wapotich has posted images from the mid-1990s showing the Pothole filled with water and forming a lake reputed to be 15 feet deep. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNonBiD4Gar7u7VCtHM01Gr-eV4MNC9j6ji2WObQrf53xasU5G9wXUD_wYPgaJbLgoU8QKjxndUn8rCHzWY3DB_v7Q_PXTKxoLAkPd_mqyH810sdgHWumJDesLpS1S4RfGFyE_GikhZRw/s2048/22.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Sespe Wilderness" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNonBiD4Gar7u7VCtHM01Gr-eV4MNC9j6ji2WObQrf53xasU5G9wXUD_wYPgaJbLgoU8QKjxndUn8rCHzWY3DB_v7Q_PXTKxoLAkPd_mqyH810sdgHWumJDesLpS1S4RfGFyE_GikhZRw/w640-h480/22.jpg" title="Entering the Sespe Wilderness" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Entrance to the Sespe Wilderness</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoqaXAS231RBfkIdBv_HPrGSND8fatrtmpmJ0Ev-5sGu92TECqT5fKZ4qFm-3naKhLlRxZeeM0dz02yUG6QfPDHcNPLRtljyj0CRl5AoJZKSOGes-5eOaY-1VffNJh7YjK93JsgN3-hAg/s2048/24.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Devil's Potrero" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoqaXAS231RBfkIdBv_HPrGSND8fatrtmpmJ0Ev-5sGu92TECqT5fKZ4qFm-3naKhLlRxZeeM0dz02yUG6QfPDHcNPLRtljyj0CRl5AoJZKSOGes-5eOaY-1VffNJh7YjK93JsgN3-hAg/w640-h480/24.jpg" title="Devil's Potrero" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>First View of Devils Potrero</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg42rVnRu6GDGP0FCwKraylisfJ48pd8GoBhqhV9p2rs5sUsIP9C-7h5BPulW6XLXS-oPojtKkUn3BmqvqBMHhqWw9UBvKZi9cLqF2oWIhMgqz_jRO_4yRqIpecao0DO1kwbHJJbG-Po1o/s2048/25.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Sespe Wilderness" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg42rVnRu6GDGP0FCwKraylisfJ48pd8GoBhqhV9p2rs5sUsIP9C-7h5BPulW6XLXS-oPojtKkUn3BmqvqBMHhqWw9UBvKZi9cLqF2oWIhMgqz_jRO_4yRqIpecao0DO1kwbHJJbG-Po1o/w640-h480/25.jpg" title="Sespe Wilderness Views" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Saddle View Looking East</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Unfortunately for me, I didn't get the opportunity to do anything more than look at the Pothole from afar. Due to a later start than originally intended, I gave myself a 2:30 p.m. hard stop. And by that deadline, I was just shy of the objective. I contemplated pushing on to achieve the objective, but I was solo, it was a fair distance back to the trailhead, and I didn't want to get caught too far out in the fading light even though I was prepared to contend with that type of situation. So I reluctantly turned tail and started the climb back out.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">On they way down, I stopped for a couple of minutes on a protruding rock to have a snack, swill a warm beer that I had stowed in my pack, and take in the scenery I had missed on the way up. Because it was now so late in the afternoon, I had the run of the place and I sat luxuriating in the absolute silence, contemplating my return. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Near the road, I ran into a couple just starting up. They asked me how far it was to the "look-out point." I told them that depended on what they meant by that term, but that they had a long, arduous climb ahead of them before they topped out near the wilderness boundary. Ten minutes later, as I was loading gear into my car, the couple came strolling back into the parking lot. Shortly after our encounter, they apparently realized the folly of attempting to complete the hike with such a late start. So like me, they resisted temptation to continue on, and returned to the parking lot so that they could come back on another day to give the devil his due.</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyGrH0oJ1I017zgmI8Rx485dCXPVmeK6u-gNQPFE87QZTFG7ZuI8YUDfsP9Ly9rLa9EVqc5LanH2XpMPAVYRK8XRLtbpdttF0AgogdRFAWapcry1EaCkiADz392Ll6pVuGysxwM0jB0aQ/s2048/30.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Piru Creek" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyGrH0oJ1I017zgmI8Rx485dCXPVmeK6u-gNQPFE87QZTFG7ZuI8YUDfsP9Ly9rLa9EVqc5LanH2XpMPAVYRK8XRLtbpdttF0AgogdRFAWapcry1EaCkiADz392Ll6pVuGysxwM0jB0aQ/w640-h480/30.jpg" title="Piru Creek Drainage" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ridge View South into the Piru Creek Drainage</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlC6TorTDVIvQJQsOno2arcfEgWHJ7rLQ7ZwnZ_D_qyeeVaU99kt_pjHK5YyybvHOWeq_h3titkReJLlMmu1_6aQHVc8iu5MUw3SE84J1kWIPQL8p1FS1vhsNtWJl1v0t9bTEvFUfUFeM/s2048/31.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Pothole Trail" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlC6TorTDVIvQJQsOno2arcfEgWHJ7rLQ7ZwnZ_D_qyeeVaU99kt_pjHK5YyybvHOWeq_h3titkReJLlMmu1_6aQHVc8iu5MUw3SE84J1kWIPQL8p1FS1vhsNtWJl1v0t9bTEvFUfUFeM/w640-h480/31.jpg" title="Pothole Trail Ridge Route" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Roller Coaster Ridge Return Route</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9g9T6qjzCfxA1eW3BhqHKVPTVYFne33vVSYoLP_H4TZmNIBAF2lG2MUjCN4kH7OGoAmfKxRK7O4hAfnbx3dTFE_PWTbmC04EsILY7_6Ykvk9-lDeM6WuBH3NjWWqd5JPuwqCGi6Jirgs/s2048/38.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Blue Point Piru Creek" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9g9T6qjzCfxA1eW3BhqHKVPTVYFne33vVSYoLP_H4TZmNIBAF2lG2MUjCN4kH7OGoAmfKxRK7O4hAfnbx3dTFE_PWTbmC04EsILY7_6Ykvk9-lDeM6WuBH3NjWWqd5JPuwqCGi6Jirgs/w640-h480/38.jpg" title="Blue Point and Piru Creek" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Piru Creek and Blue Point</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinatYGmxRAj3fpBRcKNefLk7d7P4ZuSb5nNRxhp_fC4jGrgSzapETBns115x7R7Y2F0_OeGEUMMZ3q9FPdLKVEUhpj1FYtxxKEUMbVe1BOBpL827xzTqYWjtmudWhRzQDpriv5QqeiH8Y/s2048/39.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Lake Piru Deer" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinatYGmxRAj3fpBRcKNefLk7d7P4ZuSb5nNRxhp_fC4jGrgSzapETBns115x7R7Y2F0_OeGEUMMZ3q9FPdLKVEUhpj1FYtxxKEUMbVe1BOBpL827xzTqYWjtmudWhRzQDpriv5QqeiH8Y/w640-h480/39.jpg" title="Lake Piru Deer" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Piru Locals</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Madison Christianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476494056610217659noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6909480215675625524.post-79786874318450417562021-03-02T13:48:00.004-08:002021-11-14T07:47:10.402-08:00Irrational Desire and the Allure of New Gear<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbLyn2FpZEQhv1yNISUs8maTVubQ_24L_8QpwdihUSXsiklvQAEEN_-0O8vQYlXeKx8t_MzSJYFlJUkn0XYX1mF-rB40_H48ZHQu_9ctEZTbUMHxzj9ZIjuBTkp8rFHUVzqzQkoxxVqNM/s1559/Pack.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="REI Flash 18 Pack" border="0" data-original-height="1559" data-original-width="1080" height="692" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbLyn2FpZEQhv1yNISUs8maTVubQ_24L_8QpwdihUSXsiklvQAEEN_-0O8vQYlXeKx8t_MzSJYFlJUkn0XYX1mF-rB40_H48ZHQu_9ctEZTbUMHxzj9ZIjuBTkp8rFHUVzqzQkoxxVqNM/w480-h692/Pack.jpg" title="REI Flash 18 Pack" width="480" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><i></i></p><div style="text-align: center;"><i><i><b>To want is to have a weakness.</b></i></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><i><b>~Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid's Tale</b></i></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><i><b><br /></b></i></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><i><b>Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; </b></i></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><i><b>remember that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for.</b></i></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><i><b>~Epicurus</b></i></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><i><b><br /></b></i></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><i><b>Ultimately, it is the desire, not the desired, that we love.</b></i></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><i><b>~Frederick Nietzsche</b></i></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="font-style: italic; text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: normal;">The other day I was looking over my aging 18 liter REI Flash pack. I bought this thing on a whim while Christmas shopping several years back not because I necessarily needed another day pack, but because the giant outdoor co-op was pushing them out the door for a mere $19.99. So a I grabbed a couple and distributed them amongst the greater wildsouthland family. How could I resist? How could anyone resist?</span></div><div style="font-style: italic; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">As day packs go, there is nothing particularly remarkable about this bag. It has dual daisy-chains on the exterior for gear, a small, zippered, mesh pocket with key-chain on the interior, a hydration sleeve that I've never used for its intended purpose, a draw-cord lid with weather-flap, but no other "organization" to speak of. The bag itself is just, well, a bag comprised of a single compartment into which gear and whatnot can be stuffed in a semi-disorganized manner. But for short and quick outings, the bag has proved pretty functional and mine has seen a decent amount of use.</div><p></p><p style="text-align: left;">Which is why I was examining it in the first place. After years of taking it into the hills, my bag is looking a bit ratty. It's original, uninspiring grey hue is trending toward the beige of the Southern California soil. It it streaked with charcoal from the charred remains of sumac and manzanita and elderberry. And an accumulation of salty rime coats the shoulder straps from a number of missions in the scorching heat. In sum, the bag isn't as attractive or appealing as it was on that December evening when I first plucked it from the rack at REI.</p><p style="text-align: left;">But aesthetics aside, the bag has held up nicely. The ripstop nylon from which it is made has proved to be impressively durable and impenetrable to thorns and needles and spikes and sticks and sharp rocks and all the other prickly, scratchy, and pokey stuff that dominates the landscape here. Save for one small puncture wound on the bottom, my bag shows no tears or rips or other failings. The $19.99 I paid for the thing has turned out to be a pretty damn good investment. </p><p style="text-align: left;">And therein lies the problem. I troll outdoor gear companies online. I visit retail stores that sell backpacks and sleeping backs and tents and other goodies - at least I used to before COVID changed the world. I get Backpacker magazine monthly. So I see all the sexy new packs that are out there just waiting for a home. I know that there are a bunch of "new and improved" day-packs with a host of must-have features that I don't have. And damnit, bag envy demands that I have one of those new bags even though I really don't need one. </p><p style="text-align: left;">I don't know whether that is indicative of some inherent character flaw I have, or whether I'm just easily swayed by slick marketing schemes and shiny objects, but this desire for a new day-pack when it really isn't necessary conjures an incident from my youth that suggests that perhaps I've always harbored this defect. When I was a youngster, I had a pair a olive green canvas "Keds." Other than their repulsive color, the shoes were in perfectly good condition. But somehow I had grabbed onto the idea that I really needed new pair of shoes. Of course, I knew that was complete bullshit, and that I just wanted new shoes, but I couldn't let on to either myself or my parents without destroying that delusion. So I didn't. </p><p style="text-align: left;">The problem was that there was nothing at all wrong my green Keds. And my parents weren't visually impaired. Their eyesight was pretty damn good actually. And they certainly weren't going to open the wallet for new kicks simply to pacify my budding vanity or to placate my irrational wants. So I forced the issue. I'd deliberately wear out my Keds so that my parents would have to buy me new shoes. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Once that sinister plan was conceived, I set out with skateboard under foot to put my scheme into action. But this proved to be no easy task because like my REI Flash pack, these things were pretty durable. Holes wouldn't suddenly appear just through normal wear. So I resorted to abnormal wear. I rubbed the heels against the concrete curb. I dragged the tops across grass and gravel. I shuffled my feet across the asphalt to scuff the bottoms. I dragged the toes along the sidewalk. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Ultimately, after a hard day's work of this, I had managed to pretty much destroy my puke green Keds. But the destruction was unnatural. There were patches of road-rash on the heel caps; the rubber on the toe tips and outer sole were unevenly worn; and the damage to the uppers looked suspicious because, well, it was suspicious. But I felt no pangs of guilt in my conscience as I do now as I returned home that night with my shredded shoes to plead my case for necessary replacements.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Ultimately, my shenanigans were successful and I got what I wanted, even though my parents surely recognized the absurd pretense. But my petulance isn't the point here. Rather, the point is that my Keds would have lasted a long, long time had I not resorted to focused, intentional destruction. The same holds true for my REI Flash pack. Like most gear these days, it is so well made, so durable, and so long-lasting that it has already outlived my childish wants. But the sin of covetousness is no longer a good enough reason for me to go out and replace it. And hopefully I'm past engaging in conscious, premediated savagery if for no other reason than I'm the one that ultimately pays the monetary price for it. So as Epicurus warned, I won't spoil what I have by desiring what I don't have, and will continue to carry my trusty, crusty bag for as long as it holds up. Desire be damned. </p>Madison Christianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476494056610217659noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6909480215675625524.post-54712000259748131802021-01-23T13:02:00.005-08:002021-11-14T07:47:22.620-08:00Sycamore Canyon and The Open Space Imperative<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghy5KetIPmigewz24HgM7nntHrbwS85Pxhr59iW7f4kE4ALGsQMIL6FSgB0W5FxD8395htMO_MK8fQu7zz2WC5vvsZtoVZYYWKwOk7mmxGsM_IrJCHub3LZB4oFeDb8YbTzrcVAs58ifk/s2048/20210117_143336%255B1%255D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Serrano Valley Santa Monica Mountains" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghy5KetIPmigewz24HgM7nntHrbwS85Pxhr59iW7f4kE4ALGsQMIL6FSgB0W5FxD8395htMO_MK8fQu7zz2WC5vvsZtoVZYYWKwOk7mmxGsM_IrJCHub3LZB4oFeDb8YbTzrcVAs58ifk/w640-h480/20210117_143336%255B1%255D.jpg" title="Serrano Valley" width="640" /></a></div><br /><i>Who needs wilderness? Civilization needs wilderness. The idea of wilderness preservation is one of the fruits of civilization, like Bach's music, Tolstoy's novels, scientific medicine, novocaine, space travel, free love, the double martini, the secret ballot, the home and private property, the public park and public property, freedom of travel, the Bill of Rights, peppermint toothpaste, beaches for nude bathing, the right to own and bear arms, the right to not own and bear arms, and a thousand other good things one could name, some of them trivial, most of them essential, all of them vital to that great, bubbling, disorderly, anarchic, unmanageable diversity of opinion, expression, and ways of living which free men and women love, which is their breath of life, and which the authoritarians of church and state and war and sometimes even art despise and always have despised. And feared.</i><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>~Edward Abbey, Freedom and Wilderness, Wilderness and Freedom</i></p><p style="text-align: left;"><i>To those devoid of imagination, a blank place on a map is a useless waste; to others, the most valuable part.</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>~Aldo Leopold, A Sand County Almanac and Sketches Here and There</i></p><p style="text-align: left;">There exists in contemporary American society a school of thought that teaches the pernicious idea that we the people hold title to far too much green and brown land. Too much open space where flora and fauna and freedom and frivolity and fun and fantasy can flourish. Whether in the form of regional parks, state parks, national parks, national forests, national recreation areas, national monuments, state beaches, national shorelines, conservation areas, or designated wilderness, the thinking is that all of this available land, locked up as it is by an overbearing government, is simply being wasted. "Wasted" in this context meaning that the land isn't being fully exploited for financial gain by private industry - loggers, miners, farmers, ranchers, the oil industry, the energy industry, dam builders, home builders, gold course designers, solar power generators, and the like. This idea, which is incessantly peddled by the monied interests, reinforced by their political mouth-pieces, and generally accepted as Gospel truth by an alarming portion of the population, is hard-coded into the American psyche, an artifact of 19th century expansionism and the arrogant notion of "Manifest Destiny." It is particularly prevalent in the West where, fortunately, we still have large tracts of publicly-owned land to argue over. </p><p style="text-align: left;">But if this never-ending pandemic has shown us anything, it is the utter absurdity of this well-worn and tired idea. Not only do we <i><u>not have</u></i> too much public, open space to cavort in, we have far too little of this most-valuable commodity for a stressed population that needs an unconfined place for both therapeutic and not-so-therapeutic activities. Hiking, biking, running, camping, bird-watching, exploring, finding oneself, losing oneself, hunting, fishing, drinking beer, smoking weed, skinny-dipping, fucking. All of this, good and bad, legal and illegal, is part of the palliative of the public-lands prescription. That probably sounds a bit hyperbolic and overly-opinionated. But that's only because it's a bit hyperbolic and overly-opinionated. But it also happens to be absolutely and infallibly true.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioNy0hEcdPIiyvJYuYy8VrisXEJhB9wj7cLoMHTpyUpRf1MT3bys0qijWTLV3urhNcVdJHhKGiGEgA8Csi1Z6Z-Ys9hBj17QtMT5DMSXOzY8GQKKX_uKaSEnCwtTPh8frhGrXnovPMM_s/s2048/20210117_131123%255B1%255D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Sycamore Canyon" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioNy0hEcdPIiyvJYuYy8VrisXEJhB9wj7cLoMHTpyUpRf1MT3bys0qijWTLV3urhNcVdJHhKGiGEgA8Csi1Z6Z-Ys9hBj17QtMT5DMSXOzY8GQKKX_uKaSEnCwtTPh8frhGrXnovPMM_s/w480-h640/20210117_131123%255B1%255D.jpg" title="Sycamore Canyon" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNN0b9kxIUyymx6YhyphenhyphenXZl7eiBxHn5dvtbpGFpJz04LuBX9i1UQRI2fYWr6RJoNZzMkFfjzsKhBtna2v4sfvQQhiamr-LxcCO0teyhrSGmW-H73Jn8lYQSi-LoDivEvVsNHioda1N_J3eM/s2048/20210117_132610%255B1%255D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Serrano Canyon Trail" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNN0b9kxIUyymx6YhyphenhyphenXZl7eiBxHn5dvtbpGFpJz04LuBX9i1UQRI2fYWr6RJoNZzMkFfjzsKhBtna2v4sfvQQhiamr-LxcCO0teyhrSGmW-H73Jn8lYQSi-LoDivEvVsNHioda1N_J3eM/w640-h480/20210117_132610%255B1%255D.jpg" title="Serrano Canyon" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgenLZFQCD5txJYOxxJG0F0Kp7nOQ8cTZOekudjo1mI-Y1PN3DqCFUiYcn9MuWQvWGJwrs1Vnjli6TZwvbHVybfoUoGvOTMYs8CnDBKgRLMjmfJsnSMr7xNK3-I2PC2b8fTFb8yf-lOC5M/s2048/20210117_133304%255B1%255D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Serrano Canyon Trail" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgenLZFQCD5txJYOxxJG0F0Kp7nOQ8cTZOekudjo1mI-Y1PN3DqCFUiYcn9MuWQvWGJwrs1Vnjli6TZwvbHVybfoUoGvOTMYs8CnDBKgRLMjmfJsnSMr7xNK3-I2PC2b8fTFb8yf-lOC5M/w480-h640/20210117_133304%255B1%255D.jpg" title="Serrano Canyon Water" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">How do I know this you might ask? Well, because I've seen it with my own eyeballs. Repeatedly. At my local trailhead. In the Angeles National Forest. In the Los Padres National Forest. In the Santa Monica Mountains. In the Sierra. And most recently, on a foray into Sycamore Canyon and it's reliably more serene offshoot, Serrano Canyon. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was a magnificent winter day for an outing outdoors and my soul was begging for the chance to escape the mundane confines of my suburban yard which, because of the pandemic, has been mowed and trimmed and clipped and edged and mulched and weeded and watered and planted and swept to perfection. Being the stereotypical dad that I am, I like my yard to look presentable. But it's gotten to the point that I now wander my yard aimlessly, clippers at the ready, searching for unruly twigs to snip, errant weeds to yank, and any other landscaping imperfections to remedy. I then retreat to the house for about 30 minutes or so, only to return to the yard again with my clippers just in case some botanical menace has happened to spring up and take hold during my brief absence. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So on this day, I determined to escape the pathetic prison of domesticity, and my self-imposed, quasi-exile from trailheads beyond my community, and venture out into the world. I would penetrate Serrano Canyon in Pt. Mugu State Park, glory in its glory, search for Red-Legged Frogs in the remnant pools along the now dry creek-bed, frighten myself into imagining that every bird hopping around in the leaf litter was a ferocious mountain lion waiting to pounce, lollygag and luxuriate in the soft winter grass of the Serrano Valley, listen attentively to the ancient silence, and pretend that I was a noble Chumash tribesman on a vision-quest. And I fancied that I would engage in this bit of conceit without really having to see, hear, or share space with many (or any) of my fellow countrymen and women. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_O8gG4xhLBXDUoIho7rzbGDIwrBkXpj1sNjuQA5Q7P3xgFHICk3mwM2n-7JzsW5t-r4HXEWMia22nRC5NrS5LHRGibc_zkKcOykvDHFzJ6rerj50-6RznBg5FWSbPodbqBtqriCcFp1Q/s2048/20210117_133734%255B1%255D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Serrano Canyon Trail" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_O8gG4xhLBXDUoIho7rzbGDIwrBkXpj1sNjuQA5Q7P3xgFHICk3mwM2n-7JzsW5t-r4HXEWMia22nRC5NrS5LHRGibc_zkKcOykvDHFzJ6rerj50-6RznBg5FWSbPodbqBtqriCcFp1Q/w640-h480/20210117_133734%255B1%255D.jpg" title="Serrano Canyon Trail" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifEy6S8vdFn2Hn7147fKqJIs46faQjhj0f_DtfK4MbBcLVKKaZqDxGWIKAAJFGSdGidn_VWoDeq3NRJFGsMn8Q39dBrlSBv3c0TZI2k3wQLn-0jppPZhfTJSzPS-aqUWRHFmDvvR5E8UA/s2048/20210117_142302%255B1%255D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Serrano Valley Santa Monica Mountains" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifEy6S8vdFn2Hn7147fKqJIs46faQjhj0f_DtfK4MbBcLVKKaZqDxGWIKAAJFGSdGidn_VWoDeq3NRJFGsMn8Q39dBrlSBv3c0TZI2k3wQLn-0jppPZhfTJSzPS-aqUWRHFmDvvR5E8UA/w640-h480/20210117_142302%255B1%255D.jpg" title="Serrano Valley" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfa02oeNPqwKPyGKckvHGkBG1m4FB7PToRUOg5h-2dWBDSc7OazE43he9f2RwhDHVwwcs1_V3dvLwBrH0ratHID4Uz-w4QjjQO2L2VNJfOu6PsVMh1PEnQQ582EshwKl1iVGT_QhDnSUI/s2048/20210117_143327%255B1%255D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Santa Monica Mountains" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfa02oeNPqwKPyGKckvHGkBG1m4FB7PToRUOg5h-2dWBDSc7OazE43he9f2RwhDHVwwcs1_V3dvLwBrH0ratHID4Uz-w4QjjQO2L2VNJfOu6PsVMh1PEnQQ582EshwKl1iVGT_QhDnSUI/w640-h480/20210117_143327%255B1%255D.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But those silly delusions faded into oblivion when I encountered a teeming mass of humanity clogging the coast and filling the folds, crevices, and recesses of the range that immediately fronts the Pacific. It began at at the Chumash Trail trailhead and continued unabated to Sycamore Cove. Thousands of automobiles jammed the roadway as folks desperately searched for a place to stop roadside and disembark. Those that succeeded, sat in their cars, windows down and eyes closed as the sun warmed their faces and the cool, salty breeze washed over them. Others stood at the water's edge, absorbing the blue sky and the bluer ocean whose horizon is punctuated by Anyapax and the three saints. Still others scrambled down to the sand carrying towels and umbrellas and coolers and other beach paraphernalia to find a place next to the roaring and foamy surf. Even the "lesser" beaches, the ones littered with rocks or other ocean-borne detritus, were fully occupied.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Past Thornhill-Broome, cars lined the PCH all the way to Sycamore Cove. At the great sandhill, hordes of kids and adults and seniors crawled up and down the dunes like hungry ants on sugar. At Sycamore Cove, a line of cars was queued-up at the entrance on a fool's errand to get a parking space that did not exist. On the opposite side of the road, a sign at Sycamore Canyon indicated that the lot there was similarly "full." Paradise has never been easily attainable, but on this day, attainment was virtually impossible.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Dejected, I turned around and contemplated just going back home to pout. But on a pass going north, I spied someone pulling out of a legal spot on the other side of the road. Despite high demand, these legal spots along the PCH are in shorter supply these days ever since CalTrans posted "No Parking" sign all up and down the coast. It's a dirty and sinister ploy which foists upon "we the people" the Hobson's Choice between the paid lots or a ticket. Either way, you pay the king's ransom for the privilege of stepping onto your public land. I made a dangerous U-turn and pulled in to the open spot before anyone else could. Fuck the state of California and its sordid and transparent revenue-generating schemes. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRTOtj-6eP-mcjmItQa6p620rjynsNz0iLv7GtaZnb8FwraiN4SE23YOFE1O22_-QVIgvh6wn3Xxg7r4MwzrYHhfMy8yvGAcBkpOpomBmJiOWzoncbbpiA1sCjwuJEfhtIktGGzOe8cyE/s2048/20210117_151543%255B1%255D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Serrano Canyon Trail" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRTOtj-6eP-mcjmItQa6p620rjynsNz0iLv7GtaZnb8FwraiN4SE23YOFE1O22_-QVIgvh6wn3Xxg7r4MwzrYHhfMy8yvGAcBkpOpomBmJiOWzoncbbpiA1sCjwuJEfhtIktGGzOe8cyE/w640-h480/20210117_151543%255B1%255D.jpg" title="Serrano Canyon Rock Formations" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoFe8g-PLzCr1y_MjPpLCBWIaD6XDpA8Bm251304J51ksh2mxvKf6kgDVs7TQyZCYuDHIYYCuBNNoyJJhdDt2NmzEAWxK-_GS6CT_C-A8wS5x9MUj1sgkinw_g7gqjJno8d7KXWEJEvDw/s2048/20210117_151744%255B1%255D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Serrano Canyon Trail" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoFe8g-PLzCr1y_MjPpLCBWIaD6XDpA8Bm251304J51ksh2mxvKf6kgDVs7TQyZCYuDHIYYCuBNNoyJJhdDt2NmzEAWxK-_GS6CT_C-A8wS5x9MUj1sgkinw_g7gqjJno8d7KXWEJEvDw/w640-h480/20210117_151744%255B1%255D.jpg" title="Serrano Canyon Trail" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGcMZzdiM67Zu6GeU2th2ruIKIAW-va4c6Z67cyC5iYGG59Eupyswy4CaHDUWjDpjpuQzRITkOiAwnWKBxwkwRIIxewdV5k-XoU8BTDXL2QwqSS0AxskF2wRwxz9j8FdktqfVNYWwb_YQ/s2048/20210117_152236%255B1%255D.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Serrano Canyon Trail" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGcMZzdiM67Zu6GeU2th2ruIKIAW-va4c6Z67cyC5iYGG59Eupyswy4CaHDUWjDpjpuQzRITkOiAwnWKBxwkwRIIxewdV5k-XoU8BTDXL2QwqSS0AxskF2wRwxz9j8FdktqfVNYWwb_YQ/w640-h480/20210117_152236%255B1%255D.jpg" title="Serrano Canyon Trail" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div>Away from the coast, within the shaded confines of Sycamore Canyon proper, the automobile was replaced by the bicycle. Here, a steady stream of cycling enthusiasts cruised up and down the canyon in groups of two, three, four, and more. Sycamore Canyon has always been an attractive haven for cyclists, but on this day, the bi-pedal traffic was uncharacteristically heavy. A good distance up the valley, I ducked into the wilderness, Serrano Canyon, which is closed to bikes and is too distant for most casual hikers. Here, the traffic by-and-large finally subsided. </div><div><br /></div><div>This is no way to run a public-land asylum. Every inch of the public domain everywhere is being lovingly mauled to death by the American public and foreign visitors. There simply isn't enough room for us to all get away from each other. And the problem is not unique to Southern California. Our national parks are literally being overwhelmed with <a href="https://www.popsci.com/story/environment/national-parks-record-crowds-covid-pandemic/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">visitation spiking significantly nationwide</span></a>. It has gotten to the point that we now have lotteries that you must enter and win in order to experience some of our more high-profile and eye-popping places (e.g., Mt. Whitney, the cable route to Half Dome, etc.). These are the types of places that <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3319762.Mark_Kenyon" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Mark Kenyon</span></a> has said "physically move you, creating a tightening in the chest, a loss of breath, or a tingling along the spine."</div><div><br /></div><div>But politicians of a particular persuasion don't want you to believe what your lying eyes are showing you. Instead, they want you to buy off on the notion that we actually have way too much public land, especially wilderness which Senator Mike Lee (R-UT) dismissively refers to as the <a href="https://sutherlandinstitute.org/public-lands-discussion-senator-mike-lee/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">"royal forest."</span></a> Invoking the bogeyman of feudalism, Mr. Lee and his adherents attempt to leverage the specter of craft beer-swilling, artisanal coffee-drinking "elites" to encourage the idea that such lands are neither intended for, nor open to the the archetypal everyman. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm not sure that I know what an "elite" looks like, especially on the trail, and I didn't realize that the litmus test for being an "elite" was avoiding Miller Beer and Folgers coffee, but I do know this to be complete and utter bullshit. Putting aside for the moment the fact that <a href="https://www.census.gov/newsroom/stories/wilderness-month.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">only 5% of the land in America is designated as wilderness (2.7% if you exclude Alaska)</span></a>, and <a href="https://www.fs.usda.gov/speeches/americas-wilderness-proud-heritage#:~:text=About%2018%20percent%20of%20the%20National%20Forest%20System%20is%20designated%20wilderness." target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">18% of national forest lands are designated wilderness</span></a>, the folks I have seen and shared the backcountry with have been quite a varied group - young, old, white, black, Hispanic, Asian, conservative, progressive, on horseback, on foot, armed, unarmed, well-equipped, ill-equipped, formally-educated, uneducated, seemingly wealthy, and seemingly less-wealthy. We're all there, bumping into each other and enjoying the outdoors that Mr. Lee fantasizes has been locked-up for use only by the "elites."</div><div><br /></div><div>Edward Abbey once said "better a cruel truth than a comfortable delusion." So regardless of whatever label you want to pin on the people using the outdoors, here's the cruel truth: there isn't sufficient wild, undeveloped, open space to comfortably support the number of "elites" and "non-elites" who want to enjoy it. And we can't simply create more land out of thin air or whole cloth or whatever idiom you want to use. Another cruel truth. So what we're left with is making certain that we preserve the limited open space that we fortunately still have. Because barring an unimaginable loss of life beyond what we have already experienced due to the pandemic, or a radical reconfiguration of our ideas and attitudes about procreation, we're going to want and need that open, public land for both our physical well-being and our mental health. Because as Henry David Thoreau said, in "wildness is the preservation of the world."</div>Madison Christianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476494056610217659noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6909480215675625524.post-34105026089341299502020-11-26T09:41:00.016-08:002021-11-14T07:47:32.366-08:00The Persistence of Piedra Blanca<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE38pD-3XqkN43kepqy8gbe_4MjTIrnfOWNpAiGUykzKN0rdMYgNdNBcxPJOQEEkBuxet62vuvNdx5lzX1hm7tAdmsYldAKnHoVhRL_KfFG3HQ0cAVT8a-Tll5X__FajRkYnXPfQxE1cY/s2048/22_Piedra+Blanca+%25282%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Piedra Blanca Los Padres National Forest" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE38pD-3XqkN43kepqy8gbe_4MjTIrnfOWNpAiGUykzKN0rdMYgNdNBcxPJOQEEkBuxet62vuvNdx5lzX1hm7tAdmsYldAKnHoVhRL_KfFG3HQ0cAVT8a-Tll5X__FajRkYnXPfQxE1cY/w640-h480/22_Piedra+Blanca+%25282%2529.jpg" title="Piedra Blanca Alpenglow" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Until death, it is all life.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>~Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, Don Quixote</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>No matter where you go, there you are.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>~The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The plan was...well, there was no specific plan really. We would just make it up as we went along. Let things unfold organically. Go with the flow. Ride the wave. Pierre Joseph Proudhon called it "the fecundity of the unexpected." It's an approach that literally makes my more centered half insane. She bristles at the idea of having no destination, no route, no schedule, no agenda. Me, I don't mind so much. In my daily life, I'm chained to planning and schedules and agendas and calendars and deadlines and meetings and formal processes. So cutting free from that rigidity is liberating. And I've found that things generally work out if you let them. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So off we went into the forest like Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, the aging adventurist with his head full of romantic ideas about the outdoors, and his more pragmatic side-kick. We didn't pack much. This was to be a quick and dirty outing. On the way, we stopped for over-night necessities. Burritos from La Casita in Santa Paula, beer from <a href="https://transmissionbrewing.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffa400;">Transmission Brewing</span></a> in Ventura. Then up the Maricopa Highway.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've accepted more crowds in the forests these days. Another inconvenience of the pandemic. But on this day, Route 33 was surprisingly and pleasantly quiet. At Rose Valley Road we veered east and descended to the Piedra Blanca Trailhead. Here too, we found less company than we had expected. A good omen on this All Hallows' Eve. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">On the trail, we crossed Lions and Sespe Creek which both still held water this deep into the dry season. At the junction with the Sespe Creek Trail we had options. Right took us east where we might find a nice spot along the creek. Left took us west and then north toward the impressive white sandstone of Piedra Blanca. Wanting an open site with uncluttered views where we could peer deep into the abyss of the universe on this Blue Moon night, we chose the latter route. Our pace was unhurried as we had committed in advance to not go far and just enjoy a leisurely night out. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicCAqTqeN3cuFodbhxIjxeNoxFrsY7-UgqF_Yq7VvuMFm6Xhmn0hf7f1OpRvadQdX1AB13_JnBQnoVGjWi_v2qrbGEyjtSzI_ljonAdCn1fX6LgPqD8Dxbhh-Z5ruLK6PgzbXgV9lplIA/s2048/2_Sespe+Creek.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Sespe Creek Los Padres National Forest" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicCAqTqeN3cuFodbhxIjxeNoxFrsY7-UgqF_Yq7VvuMFm6Xhmn0hf7f1OpRvadQdX1AB13_JnBQnoVGjWi_v2qrbGEyjtSzI_ljonAdCn1fX6LgPqD8Dxbhh-Z5ruLK6PgzbXgV9lplIA/w640-h480/2_Sespe+Creek.jpg" title="Sespe Creek" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja-H9x0koVAqPs34zUErDA3pKPAxE_dlxfas5ptBrnjQ-P5Sqqtevl-0G72ypdlOvI2OUHxC09Qkz39K2lnzb9Q-oLjKDzDcI5R2N2NxuMJLoTLT16jbwycTtZg_WOr_uJ7jx7gbkLvb0/s2048/5_Chris+Goode+at+Piedra+Blanca.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Piedra Blanca" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja-H9x0koVAqPs34zUErDA3pKPAxE_dlxfas5ptBrnjQ-P5Sqqtevl-0G72ypdlOvI2OUHxC09Qkz39K2lnzb9Q-oLjKDzDcI5R2N2NxuMJLoTLT16jbwycTtZg_WOr_uJ7jx7gbkLvb0/w640-h480/5_Chris+Goode+at+Piedra+Blanca.jpg" title="Piedra Blanca" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">At Piedra Blanca, we wandered without agenda up, over, and through the manzanita and white stone until a promising location to put down for the night revealed itself. For those who have ever spent a night in the outdoors with me, this is generally a painful process because of my annoying, idiosyncratic insistence on finding the absolute perfect spot. My propensity to demand campsite flawlessness is so well known by my outdoor companions that it's become a bit of a running joke amongst them. As soon as we get to this part of any trip, the furtive glances and eye-rolling always begins as I scour the surrounding area for a truly transcendent site. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Much to the chagrin of my companion, I was no different on this occasion, but fortunately the search was short. At the top of an impressive sandstone monolith with big sky views, we found a flat depression large enough for two bags and declared this our home for the evening. Because we were cowboy camping, set up was easy and soon enough we were hard at work on the beers we had brought and staring at nothing in particular and everything in general. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR12PtBDvl_v3TQ-wa0OGQ7Vz5Vw-bE5rX_W0Bkui8DhqFD6hFad2ITDDnnxU2a2YeC4xXHREqC8aAa4X2SEqHHVRX-KuB37bUVKzgAUhOe8ekK86TftRKjsYrcjP1IRo8sDEPxJG7k6s/s2048/13_View+West.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Sespe Wilderness" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR12PtBDvl_v3TQ-wa0OGQ7Vz5Vw-bE5rX_W0Bkui8DhqFD6hFad2ITDDnnxU2a2YeC4xXHREqC8aAa4X2SEqHHVRX-KuB37bUVKzgAUhOe8ekK86TftRKjsYrcjP1IRo8sDEPxJG7k6s/w640-h480/13_View+West.jpg" title="Sespe Wilderness Views" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh54_KfNdruJjFifq_F8dkTIYZ2njfN6QojGhPST8wvzj8NEA_OncgyjfMoefvpzqbqip4Qz70Uoksi4lyqbdFApttqFQuGNXJmLsvPm87nKYtUyirY99721R5Lzc3bs8rp-gD3YX2OH3U/s2048/6_Red+IPA+from+Transmission+Brewing.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Transmission Brewing" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh54_KfNdruJjFifq_F8dkTIYZ2njfN6QojGhPST8wvzj8NEA_OncgyjfMoefvpzqbqip4Qz70Uoksi4lyqbdFApttqFQuGNXJmLsvPm87nKYtUyirY99721R5Lzc3bs8rp-gD3YX2OH3U/w640-h480/6_Red+IPA+from+Transmission+Brewing.jpg" title="Piedra Blanca Beer" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIzIqeRS6-FsB0OXOnZggJqiwIdjbEfnydOGux-vMIOb4jcGCS02fY5QYDT5r0x11wjrCucCdJ0SmZhOkW4L1mm5BgRmbaJmnngz9mCGDnVs3FkP7mqTsVNA4lZWurw8QhLrIfXSBzkJc/s2048/16_Camp+View.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Piedra Blanca" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIzIqeRS6-FsB0OXOnZggJqiwIdjbEfnydOGux-vMIOb4jcGCS02fY5QYDT5r0x11wjrCucCdJ0SmZhOkW4L1mm5BgRmbaJmnngz9mCGDnVs3FkP7mqTsVNA4lZWurw8QhLrIfXSBzkJc/w640-h480/16_Camp+View.jpg" title="Piedra Blanca Sunset" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCxswIlm85ALTvpmADsVr44QGUbqWUjbs1oVsxgfiGKuA0E97BAKyaqIQLyOnSDkCzK5-CvvRjKeUxZNmbIChfuR0YBUIMJQFH-qwSuwKCML2SsowH80oU63O_B7OcFlimG7ZhyC1WbiM/s1024/49_Hanging+Out.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCxswIlm85ALTvpmADsVr44QGUbqWUjbs1oVsxgfiGKuA0E97BAKyaqIQLyOnSDkCzK5-CvvRjKeUxZNmbIChfuR0YBUIMJQFH-qwSuwKCML2SsowH80oU63O_B7OcFlimG7ZhyC1WbiM/w640-h480/49_Hanging+Out.jpg" title="Chillin'" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Words are an imperfect medium to communicate the sacred sublimity of this place. True understanding can only be gained by sensing it, feeling it, allowing it to seep into and permeate every fiber of your soul. The indigenous people that previously occupied this land (this is the historical territory of the Ventureno band of the Chumash people) certainly understood this. Or being the overly-romantic character that I am capable of being, so I'd like to imagine. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As the sun started its descent to the horizon, and dark shadows began creeping across the landscape, we sat in the stillness as the rock turned gold and the sky turned pink. Then, the lights went out completely. And stars twinkled and glinted as diamonds in the infinite black sky. A full moon then rose and it was like daylight once again. And we realized our place in both time and space. Despite what we as a species choose to believe, we're an insignificant pin-prick in the vast, undefinable fabric of the universe; an irrelevant flash along the time-line of infinity. But this immortal place, it has always been and it will always be. That's both a disconcerting and comforting thought. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh297oAqV_UKS0Hq1L1jNPhAUZAL2wozFiSojUfGRvAIgKbOTuG4GA-TnhKl9Jbe5WVp2auJwaMJMimowknBVz6umcpkhKr4hi37_8lzjB_mcVycrDETcfb3-KxqBn37TIUN6ue2kgkDos/s1280/47_Sleep+Bag+Views.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Piedra Blanca Camping" border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh297oAqV_UKS0Hq1L1jNPhAUZAL2wozFiSojUfGRvAIgKbOTuG4GA-TnhKl9Jbe5WVp2auJwaMJMimowknBVz6umcpkhKr4hi37_8lzjB_mcVycrDETcfb3-KxqBn37TIUN6ue2kgkDos/w480-h640/47_Sleep+Bag+Views.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLWxMC4e-E83P5btFXQl9omnyQ_EVhUh0Y6TAWrN5d9yDOuJEcflgeUSwsxSVjyL97I1LomuVKazcQEV2ROHNpYA04m3GZWwt5uIQoeDr8m7AyLWAsI_75eZpyxZzCa6IgX0NE7UM1jwU/s2048/29_Sunset.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Piedra Blanca Sunset" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLWxMC4e-E83P5btFXQl9omnyQ_EVhUh0Y6TAWrN5d9yDOuJEcflgeUSwsxSVjyL97I1LomuVKazcQEV2ROHNpYA04m3GZWwt5uIQoeDr8m7AyLWAsI_75eZpyxZzCa6IgX0NE7UM1jwU/w640-h480/29_Sunset.jpg" title="Piedra Blanca Sunset" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNgb6BISK9eqAXxuFclxxuo1w4P-misnmlArMpBm1_bEHipZ9ZlRKclbiKDVZTpaa8t0AIFBDpD8X3C58IAU6aV20vHxqMCFRo1puzpiaooUX6EZDLytuS50_SQM59INoIZvGUsN_nG4A/s2048/31_Sunset.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Piedra Blanca Sunset" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNgb6BISK9eqAXxuFclxxuo1w4P-misnmlArMpBm1_bEHipZ9ZlRKclbiKDVZTpaa8t0AIFBDpD8X3C58IAU6aV20vHxqMCFRo1puzpiaooUX6EZDLytuS50_SQM59INoIZvGUsN_nG4A/w640-h480/31_Sunset.jpg" title="Piedra Blanca Sunset" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigl7QWQsnEnO5-4T8DjS7ru_pYKcXQohFNHXrK9JETztxcXD2cYAdFVr0OwVgytZWR76iaXXUqLw_EAYiFXYja3sUluVDicSB3g1g6pxIKaUHKTGxw_mL8Js-B_YuwWsdbj2jgHJ4yZwg/s2048/38_Full+Moon.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Piedra Blanca Full Moon" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigl7QWQsnEnO5-4T8DjS7ru_pYKcXQohFNHXrK9JETztxcXD2cYAdFVr0OwVgytZWR76iaXXUqLw_EAYiFXYja3sUluVDicSB3g1g6pxIKaUHKTGxw_mL8Js-B_YuwWsdbj2jgHJ4yZwg/w640-h480/38_Full+Moon.jpg" title="Piedra Blanca Full Moon" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The next morning, the sun returned to brilliance, the sandstone shone white, and the cycle of things began once again. We meandered through the area looking for nothing, exploring like children for its own sake. Then it was time to leave, our welcome worn out, our trespass threatening to become conversion. So we packed up and left to return another time with the knowledge that this immutable place will be there. It always has been and always will be. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEDDW5u6xORG2F1HOjTsbJkhMccpxqchQULrL_5MIOfyIbj4dm2x559f-CloJsmqhfxVZ9Zr5VG5WaC0Cp2TMXEBwoYu_Uphotu7Qdzqn96k06TGK0b1sDYZ1Nj64OSx1X9UOF4lbBkTs/s2048/42_Piedra+Blanca.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Piedra Blanca Sespe Wilderness" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEDDW5u6xORG2F1HOjTsbJkhMccpxqchQULrL_5MIOfyIbj4dm2x559f-CloJsmqhfxVZ9Zr5VG5WaC0Cp2TMXEBwoYu_Uphotu7Qdzqn96k06TGK0b1sDYZ1Nj64OSx1X9UOF4lbBkTs/w640-h480/42_Piedra+Blanca.jpg" title="Piedra Blanca Morning" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6dODIdKmO7fOwJFoJtqp-Clvl70hTXuX6DDGRmoFOgfRaVhwrH5iAB44w7SmosztGD_Oova0e0_FECnhAiIVB9SX_le-Sy0XWcQxB4qnWuAt_M7KD1MIOYGSKCnj2Ao-KInU4HWL5XkY/s2048/48_Exploring.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Piedra Blanca Hiking" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6dODIdKmO7fOwJFoJtqp-Clvl70hTXuX6DDGRmoFOgfRaVhwrH5iAB44w7SmosztGD_Oova0e0_FECnhAiIVB9SX_le-Sy0XWcQxB4qnWuAt_M7KD1MIOYGSKCnj2Ao-KInU4HWL5XkY/w480-h640/48_Exploring.jpg" title="Exploring Piedra Blanca" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p>Madison Christianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17476494056610217659noreply@blogger.com0