Reconnecting with the Forest of Angels

I was born on this mountain, this mountain's my home

She holds me and keeps me from worry and woe

Well they took everything that she gave, now they're gone

But I'll die on this mountain, this mountain's my home.

~The Mountain, Steve Earle

There was a time in the not-to-distant past that I was making the trek to the Angeles National Forest almost every weekend for an adventure. I'd take one weekend day to attend to domestic responsibilities and save the other day for the forest. My compulsion, if you want to call it that, was my desire, nay need, to explore all of the places I hadn't seen and to walk all of the trails I hadn't walked. In my past, I felt that I'd squandered time, place, and opportunity and I wasn't about to repeat that mistake in the present. So I'd find at a blank experience spot on my map each weekend and then head off to fill in that gap.

Over the course of a couple of years, those blank spots on my maps became fewer and farther between as I covered most of the established trails in the ANF and a good number of off-trail locations. That's not to say I've been "everywhere." I haven't and can't even pretend that is feasible. But within my physical limits, and considering the framework of my initial objectives, finding a new or unexplored spot did start to become more of a challenge. Drive times and distances to locations worthy of experience begin to stretch out. Days in the forest necessarily got longer. Not necessarily days "on the trail," but days getting to and from the trail. So subconsciously, I scaled back my efforts. My forays into the ANF became more of a drip campaign. I stayed local instead. After all, the Santa Monica Mountains are virtually in my backyard and afford endless miles of fun.

Heading into this past weekend, I reviewed where I had been in 2019. I had an inkling that review would show that I was being a little bitch. I guess I just didn't realize how much of a bitch. Three times into the Angeles in the first seven months of the year (Colby Canyon, Islip Ridge, Lone Tree Trail). I can do better.

So I broke out my Tom Harrison and scanned for destinations I still hadn't been. My buddy Keith Winston over at the Iron Hiker recently made a visit to Bobcat Knob and Goodykoontz from Buckhorn Campground which reminded me that I hadn't yet visited Will Thrall Peak. A friend and me made the cross-country trek from Mt. Williamson to Pallett Mountain and out the Burkhart Trail to Buckhorn Campground a couple of years back, but we didn't have the time or the energy to tag Will Thrall once we arrived at Burkhart Saddle. I've also come up to the saddle from the Devil's Punchbowl on the north side, but again didn't go further than that. So Will Thrall Peak it would be.

The day was warmer than it was supposed to be when I arrived at Buckhorn around 10:00 a.m. Traffic on the Angeles Forest Highway "detour" was lighter than expected so I was surprised to see both the parking areas at Cloudburst Summit for Cooper Canyon and the Buckhorn Day Use Area already packed to the gills. Buckhorn Campground itself was also stuffed to capacity which didn't bode well for finding a place to park at the trailhead for the Burkhart Trail. But I scored a spot right up front nonetheless and was tromping down the trail in short order.

The first mile and a half of the trail is quite spectacular as it descends through a lush evergreen canopy to gurgly Little Rock Creek roughly 800 feet below. Thanks to the rainy and snowy winter we had, the trail is still wet in places where water springs forth from trailside springs. Along one short stretch of trail, I passed an explosion of gorgeous Lemon Lilies (Lilium parryi) which the California Native Plant Society classifies as rare and endangered. I didn't know at the time what I was looking at, but I knew it was special. Others on the trail seemed oblivious and/or completely disinterested in what they were seeing (or not seeing, as the case may be).

The Burkhart Trail

Lemon Lily (Lilium parryi)

Lemon Lilies Growing Trailside

Speaking of others on the trail, there's was a lot of them and most of them did not appear to be regular outdoor folks. Groups of ill-prepared millenials wearing Vans, toting towels, and blasting bad music; families with tired, small children in tow looking lost and asking "which way to the falls?"; large congregations dragging feed bags and beverages to the canyon bottom that will invariably will end up clogging the creek bed. Cooper Canyon Falls has definitely been "discovered" by the social media set and they were out in full force to get the perfectly "grammable" selfie on this sunny, summer Saturday.

The good news is that beyond the use trail to the falls, the herd thinned to one: me. From the creek crossing at Little Rock Creek to the Burkhart Saddle, I had 3.3 miles of glorious trail all to my lonesome. I realize that makes me sound like an anti-social, selfish bastard, but that's only because I'm an anti-social, selfish bastard. At the saddle, I stopped for water and to take in the stunning view of the sprawling Mojave Desert to the north before the final push to the summit of Will Thrall. As I was mustering my strength, a couple of different groups came down off of the big, flat whale-back that is Pallet Mountain to the east. The first folks I'd seen in an hour and a half.

The use trail to the summit of Will Thrall is well defined and regularly used. It wiggles steeply and relentlessly up the west side of Will Thrall gaining about 800 feet in perhaps a half-mile. Along the way, sublime views of the desert to the north and Kratka Ridge and Waterman to the south come into focus. About a third of the way up, I encountered a group of three that were descending from the summit. They were familiar with trail etiquette, so they stopped and moved out of the way to let me continue my upward trajectory without having to break stride. Curse them! I was feeling the burn at that particular stage and could have used a breather. But I was too damn proud to show weakness so I staggered on until they were out of sight before I stopped for a rest.

Finally on the summit, I encountered a group of four taking a group shot before continuing on to the Pallet benchmark another half-mile or so to the west. I plunked down in a splotch of shade to evaluate my water and energy supply. Both were running a bit lower than I would have liked, particularly given the 800 foot climb I still had to make out of Cooper Canyon on the return trip. It was then that I realized that although I might be in hill shape, I was definitely out of mountain shape. All those weekends staying local had caught up to me. Discretion being the better part of valor (or, stated differently, not wanting to become an embarrassing rescue statistic), I decided the Pallet benchmark would unfortunately have to await another day.

Passing Through Cooper Canyon

Will Thrall in the Distance

Mts. Waterman and Winston

Kratka Ridge

But it wasn't all bad news. I had stashed a cold Grapefruit Hop Nosh IPA in my pack in case of an emergency. I figured this was an emergency in the broadest sense of the term, so I broke it out and cracked it open. I don't know what it is, but there is something about a cold beer on a mountain top that is just so dang enjoyable. Beer, it seems, always tastes better in the thin air of the outdoors than it does in oxygen-rich, low-land, indoor air for some reason. But that is a universal truism I suppose. Everything is better in the thinner, leaner, outdoor air.

The can dutifully emptied, I made my retreat to the saddle and then back down the Burkhart Trail. Back where the teeming masses were congregating in the sylvan canyon bottom, the trail steepens as it begins the climb back to Buckhorn Campground. My water was very low at this point which validated my decision to forego the Pallet Benchmark. Back at the truck, the parking lot at the trailhead was now over-flowing with vehicles which were strewn hither and yon, every conceivable nook and cranny put to good vehicular use. One was inches from my passenger-side. I marveled that the driver was even able to exit his/her car. A few feet away, a family was playing soccer in the parking lot in front of the smelly outhouse. On the drive home, traffic came to a sudden stop in upper Big Tujunga Canyon as emergency personnel worked to scrape another motorcyclist off the asphalt. Packs of dangerous fools on bullet bikes scream up and down these canyons on the weekend so this was not unusual for these roads. Ultimately, I was forced to back-track to Clear Creek and descend the ACH in order to gain access to the 210.

Ah yes, it was good to be back in the forest of angels.

High Desert from Burkhart Saddle

Pallett Mountain

Goodykoontz

Desert View from Will Thrall

Looking for Lookout Mountain

If I throw myself off Lookout Mountain

No More for my soul to keep

I wonder who will drive my car

I wonder if my Mom will weap

~Lookout Mountain, Drive By Truckers

The other morning, I found myself out in Pomona during the work-week which is not a typical occurrence. So after taking care of business, I decided to leverage the unusual situation and go hunting for an alternate cross-country route to Lookout Mountain that David R and dima, two characters I know, had blogged about on the San Gabriel Mountains Discussion Forum. I don't know whether I was doing the route correctly or not, but I didn't achieve the objective. So at least on one level, I was doing it wrong. On the other hand, you really can’t do the outdoors “wrong,” especially when the alternative is sitting behind a desk.

I parked in the village in front of the visitor's center and started up Bear Canyon. Along the way, I admired the quaint cabins and day-dreamed about what daily life was like there. I followed the road until it became a footpath and then followed that to the point where it begins the short series of switchbacks climbing eastward just below where the last two cabins in the canyon are situated. Immediately adjacent to this spot, a lateral drainage enters the main canyon from the west. Here, I crossed the creek bed and started up the drainage which had been traveled by others as I saw blue tape and rock cairns along the way. So I figured if I wasn't on the right route, at least I was on a route.

I rock-hopped up the drainage to a point where a subsidiary drainage entered from the west. I figured this couldn't be the right drainage because it appeared too narrow and its entrance obstructed with deadfall. So I continued my up the "main" channel passing and posing for a trail cam mounted to a tree along the way. Beyond that point, I noticed that the blue tape and rock cairns had disappeared. Ignoring that, I pushed on and finally came to a dry waterfall that was probably 20 feet high. The falls were climbable and there appeared to be a steep bypass on the right, but since I was solo, I figured discretion was the better part of adventure and so I turned tail here. I also reasoned that there was a good chance I was on the wrong trajectory anyway, so I backtracked to the junction with the subsidiary canyon and began my way up that drainage instead. 

"Lookout" Canyon

Ascending the Main Branch

The Main Branch After the Split

Waterfall Obstacle

Ascending this drainage, I saw signs of travel by others so I was optimistic I was now where I was supposed to be. There was deadfall and rocks to negotiate, but nothing insurmountable. Then I came to a huge tree that had fallen across the creek bed. This is where I think things went awry. Instead of going under or around this tree and continuing upward in the channel, I climbed on top of the fallen behemoth and used it to cross to the south side of the gully as the going looked easier there. And I saw discernable signs that others had done the same. So I left the drainage and began ascending the steep, forested slope, following in the footsteps of previous visitors as best as possible.

But where others had been was apparently not where I wanted to be. As I neared what appeared to be ridgeline leading north from Pt. 5696, the brush got thicker. Then it became an impenetrable wall at every turn so I finally abandoned the fool’s effort. Reflecting on it now, I probably should have made my way back to the channel and continued upward, but figured I'd save that for another day. Marveling at how much easier it was descending then ascending, I retreated back to the main trail and decided to go to Bear Flats to see if I could locate the beginning of another fabled cross-country route to Lookout Mountain. 

Mouth of the Lateral Drainage

Drainage Ascending to the Saddle Just North of Pt. 5696

Bear Flats seems like a misnomer to me. I didn't see any bears and it’s not particularly flat. I also didn't see any trace of a use trail that could be used as an access point for a cross-country route to Lookout Mountain. All I saw was more brush. Since I’d already had enough of that for the day, I found a rock to sit on and have a snack while I licked the wounds to my ego and contemplated my navigational loserdom.

View South from the Bear Canyon Trail

Ontario Peak Dressed in Winter Finery

The LBC from the Bear Flats Trail

Peak 6306: Rigidly Inaccessible and Thornily Savage

Peak 6,306 from the Winston Ridge

Cucamonga Man is one of those handful of guys who really knows the San Gabriels. He's been to every peak in the range that you and I have been to, and he's trod every established and un-established trail. He knows the location of obscure and long-abandoned mines and where to find water in the otherwise dry landscape. In short, he's a walking, breathing topographic map of the Angeles National Forest.

So he's always on the hunt for new places in the range to explore. When you've been everywhere, that task gets more challenging with each passing day, but the San Gabriels is a big place that holds a lot of secrets. So I don't know whether it is even possible to really ever see it all. Even if you're Cucamonga Man. But he's trying. And he'll probably succeed.

Last September, I made my way out along the Winston Ridge to Pt. 6,850. When I returned, Cucamonga Man asked if I got any good pictures of Peak 6,306 because he was scouting it for a future trip. Before I could answer him, I had to look at my pictures and review a topographic map because I didn't even know Peak 6,306 was a thing. Sure, I may have actually seen it from the Winston Ridge, but I had no idea that it was anything other than a bump along an ancillary ridge blocking my sightline to the high desert. And I certainly hadn't contemplated actually visiting the damn thing.

But fast-forward six months and there I was, trudging along the Winston Ridge in the early morning cool with the Cucumonga Man and Dima "the Billy Goat" Kogan on our way to visit this obscure destination that feels and looks more high desert than it does forest.

We met at Cloudburst Summit at 7 a.m. to get a jump on the day and the impending heat. After chatting briefly with two PCT-through hikers who emerged from the forest just as we were departing, we began down the fire road, our packs sloshing heavily with 5-6 liters of water each. After wrapping around Winton's Peak's eastern slopes, we left the established trail, traversing the western side of Pt. 6,903 to gain easy access to the Winston Ridge.

The undulations of Winston Ridge are an easy walk and a pleasant place to spend time. But it wasn't always the case. In the winter of 1893, Pasadena banker L.C. Winston got lost in a blizzard here and perished, giving his name to the the ridge and nearby peak. With the benefit of topographic maps and an established use trail for access, it's difficult today to imagine losing your bearings here. But this was wild and unknown territory in those days without neither trails nor the nearby safety net that is the ACH. I suppose in white-out conditions with hypothermia setting in and the light fading, getting disoriented in the back-country was much easier back then than it is now. But maybe that's just a dangerous false sense of security that I really need to come to grips with.

Squaw Canyon with Pacifico in Rearground

North Side of Winston Peak

Hiking the Use Trail Along Winston Ridge

View Toward Pacifico from the Winston Ridge

Looking West from Pt. 6,850

Our Objective - Peak 6,306

Beyond the high point, Winston Ridge begins a slow and bumpy northwest descent terminating ultimately at the South Fork of Rock Creek some 2,500' below. At the bump at elevation 6,850', we lightened our packs by caching water in the shade of the hardy shrubbery that call this place home. We then dropped another 200' feet to a shadeless and forlorn hump along the ridge where the dreaded Poodle Dog was still trying to make a go of things. From this vantage point, Peak 6,306 loomed tantalizingly nearby to the north. 

But distances have an odd way of getting compressed in the thin mountains air. Horizons always appear to be much closer than in reality they are. Obstacles are easily ignored, challenges minimized. And so it was with Peak 6,306.

The way forward from where we stood was obvious: a 600' drop to a shallow saddle at roughly 5,900', a short climb to Pt. 6,147, and then an easy stroll to our objective. The first leg of this journey was simple enough. The steep ridge was clear, the footing was sure, and we quickly made it to what we dubbed Dead Tree Saddle because there is in fact a dead tree located at the saddle. Here, we cached more water, ate some snacks, and contemplated the fact that every reasonable route out from this location involved a strenuous climb of one sort or another.

But because we had not come this far to fail, we gamely pushed forward. Pushing forward in this context meant clawing our way to Pt. 6,147 up a very steep and loose slope punctuated with an assortment of sharp, prickly, and/or spiney flora. Beyond the crest of the hill, we entered untrammeled territory. Here, forward progress was impeded by clumps of impenetrable brush that we were forced to penetrate anyway by bashing and crunching our way though it. By the time we finally arrived at our destination atop Peak 6,306, our legs were a scratched and bloody mess. When John Muir said of the San Gabriel Mountains that they were both "rigidly inaccessible" and "ruggedly, thornily savage," he could have easily been speaking of the ridgeline leading to Peak 6,306.

Atop Peak 6,306 we found a summit cairn protecting a pristine register. The register indicated that it was placed by R.S. Fink on May 6, 1984. Since that date, the register reflected only a handful of other visitors to the peak. The first entry after the register was placed was dated February 10, 1991, almost 7 years after R.S. Fink originally visited. The next entry after that wasn't logged until February 21, 2015, a good 24 years later! Three months afterwards, on May 19, 2015, the peak was visited for the final time by George Christiansen, Pat Arrendondo, and Bruce Craig. After that, the register was blank. We dutifully added our names to the short list of visitors and then prepared ourselves for the slog out.

Starting the Descent to Dead Tree Saddle (Photo credit: Sean "Cucamonga Man" Green")

Looking at the Descent from Dead Tree Saddle

The Climb to Pt. 6,147 from Dead Tree Saddle

The Dead Tree at Dead Tree Saddle

Dima Breaking Brush (photo courtesy of Sean "Cucamonga Man" Green)

Summit Register Atop Peak 6,306 (p. 1)

Summit Register Atop Peak 6,306 (p. 2)

Pacifico and Bare Mountain from Peak 6,306

High Desert from Peak 6,306

The return trip involved back-tracking the same way we came in. We fought our way through the brush back to Pt. 6,147, slid down the loose hillside to Dead Tree Saddle, and then slowly ground our way back up to the Poodle Dog infested hump at approximately 6,640.' Fortunately for me, Cucamonga Man had done trail work the day before in Dark Canyon, and Dima was operating on only 2 hours sleep, so I was able to keep them in view as I suffered up the steep incline.

Back on Winston Ridge, we reclaimed our cached water and then reclined in the cool shade and long shadows of the afternoon. Weary but rested, we then exited the ridge, skirted the north side of Pt. 6,903, rejoined the PCT, and returned to Cloudburst Summit satisfied to have experienced one of the lesser-visited locations in the otherwise heavily-visited San Gabriel Range.

Little Rock Creek Drainage from Dead Tree Saddle

Serrated Ridge Coming Off the North Side of Winston Ridge

Recharging the Batteries on the Winston Ridge

Skirting the North Side of Pt. 6,903 (Photo credit: Sean "Cucamonga Man" Green")

View East from the PCT

KML Track of Our Route

Becoming Less of a Douche in Trail Canyon

Now those memories come back to haunt me

they haunt me like a curse

Is a dream a lie if it don't come true

Or is it something worse

that sends me down to the river

though I know the river is dry

That sends me down to the river tonight

Down to the river my baby and I

Oh down to the river we ride.

~Bruce Springsteen, The River

I've been wanting to get up Trail Canyon for quite awhile now. Initially, I was interested in the canyon as the most direct route to Condor Peak which I have yet to visit. Then, after the Station Fire ravaged the area and Mother Nature reclaimed the upper-most stretches of the canyon making it virtually impassable to most mortals, I tempered my expectations, focusing instead on visiting the ever-popular falls and Tom Lucas trail camp. The problem was that every time I made an effort to satisfy my curiosity and actually hike the canyon, I was stymied mostly by myself.

I once had a bad experience at the entrance to Gold Creek Road while I was out for the day exploring Mt. McKinley - vandals broke into my car by smashing my passenger side window - so the trailhead holds some residual bad juju for me. That kept me away for a spell, always looking for places to explore other than Trail Canyon. But then the skies finally opened up this winter and let loose enough rain to allow the governor to declare the drought "over." And suddenly the prospect of seeing real water cascading over the falls swept aside any thoughts of another break-in.

The problem became other obstacles, real and imagined, that kept running interference. First, I tried to visit too soon after the rains when the trail bed was a sloppy mess and the creek a raging torrent. Then, what I'll call my "trail elitism" took over and I wasted another few weeks going other places while the flow in the local creeks slowly began to die. This "trail elitism" involved my refusal to explore the canyon if there were more than a few cars parked at the trailhead (ironically, this compulsion to have the trail, and the trailhead, to myself probably contributed to my previous episode involving vandals). So when I approached the entrance to Trail Canyon on my next planned visit and found Big Tujunga Canyon Road clogged with cars and hikers at Gold Creek, I just kept driving. In fact, all I ended up doing was driving that day. I did the exact same thing on a subsequent visit, although on that occasion, I actually ended up hiking another route instead of just burning fuel.

But this past weekend, I set aside my trail elitism in favor of a more hiking-friendly, egalitarianism. So when I arrived at Gold Creek and the entrance to Trail Canyon this time and found it predictably over-flowing with automobiles once again, I didn't keep driving. Instead, I stopped, got out of the car, and began hiking.

As expected, I encountered a fair number of hikers on my way up this justly popular trail. Most of them were in groups and going in the opposite direction as me. No one was overtly unfriendly, but I did get forced to the exposed, downslope side of the narrow trail in several instances by descending clumps of spandex-clad hikers who mostly didn't adhere to the generally accepted tenets of trail etiquette. In my experience, that's not an uncommon phenomenon on trails that are popular with the mall-walking masses. It's not a malicious thing, I just don't think they are sensitive to the potential danger they might be putting other hikers in.

Trail Canyon is classic front-side, scrub-dominated western San Gabriels. Yucca, manzanita, ceanothus, scrub oak, and other native fauna typical of chaparral communities dominate here. Poison Oak is plentiful near and along the stream bed. The canyon's north side is bounded by the western slopes of Condor Peak and its steep and rocky western ridge. Pt. 3520 dramatically hangs over the canyon and was a constant companion as I climbed.

Just south of where McKinley Canyon comes in from the left and Condor Canyon comes in from the right, the path horseshoes around a ridgeline and the falls come into view. Fortunately, the creek still had a decent amount of flow it in so that falls were still falling. My self-imposed delay tactics hadn't prevented me from experiencing this ephemeral beauty after all. Down the very steep, rope-assisted use path and I was standing at the base of the falls.

There were a few folks milling about in the cool alcove where the stream from above cascades into a small pool. To my pleasant surprise, the trash and graffiti that is the typical hallmark of well-visited spots like this was absent. Since the day was warm, I promptly dropped my pack, stripped off my shirt and shoes, and made a spectacle of myself by standing directly beneath the cool, luxurious water of the falls. No one said anything, but I'm sure the sight of an old guy with a slight paunch and a fluorescent-light tan was an ugly sight that my fellow hikers would have preferred to not witness.

Now soggy but refreshed, I continued up the canyon where the number of other hikers I encountered dwindled to zero. My plan was to visit Tom Lucas trail camp before turning around and retracing my steps back to the trailhead. I understand from numerous anecdotal sources that beyond Tom Lucas, the trail to the ridgeline high above is an obliterated and difficult-to-navigate thrash-fest.

As I continued up canyon, the path narrowed some and brush began to intrude onto the trail. Just below Tom Lucas, I encountered a stretch where Poison Oak encroached from both sides. It was certainly passable, but I had just recovered from a bout of poisoning by Poison Oak and I wasn't terribly interested in a relapse so soon. So I chose to end my day here, opting instead to retreat down-canyon to a pleasant spot along the creek where I enjoyed snacks with a view.

Back at the trailhead, I found all my car windows fully intact. So not only did I overcome my own "I can't share the trail with anyone else" douchiness this day, but I exorcised the lingering bad vibes I had about this place from my previous experiences. A successful day. 

First Glimpse of the Beautiful Falls

The Falls Showing Off 

Stand Here for Best Results

Just Before Stepping Under the Torrent

Upper Trail Canyon

Lunch with a View

Dramatic Rocky Prominence ~ Pt. 3520 I Believe

View Down Canyon

Over the Shoulder View on the Descent

Beautiful, but Invasive

Big Tujunga Canyon