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