Eustace Bagge Joins the Trail Crew

Sentiment without action is the ruin of the soul.

~Edward Abbey, A Voice Crying in the Wilderness

Get away from me!

~Eustace Bagge, Courage the Cowardly Dog

I've never been much of a "joiner." What I mean is that I've never been terribly fond of becoming part of some collective "we" that assembles sporadically or regularly to accomplish some task or to engage in a communal activity. I've done that type of thing before in my life, but it's always felt unnatural, inauthentic, and slightly forced. And if I'm honest with myself, it has almost always been the consequence of some self-imposed social pressure and the silly desire to fit in, to be accepted, to be one of the "cool kids." Even if that meant suppressing my natural inclinations and/or tempering my instinctive nerdiness and unconventional world-view.

So as a young lad, I participated in scouting, first as a Cub Scout, then a Webelo, and finally a full-fledged Boy Scout. I liked the actual scouting piece of it, but not so much the group dynamic. I also found the cozy admixture of knot-tying and religious indoctrination troubling if not downright repugnant. What in God's name did staking a tent or starting a fire have to do with Jesus anyway? Nothing as far as I could tell other than keeping me in-line and on the straight-and-narrow. But I didn't really care to be on the straight-and-narrow. And neither the scouts nor "the brethren" appreciated doubters, independent-thinkers, or trouble-makers. After all, there were rules to be followed, flags to be saluted, invisible Gods to be worshipped, and serious oaths to be taken. And that wasn't me. So before I ever achieved my Eagle, I drifted away a scouting loser much to the dismay of my poor mother who must have regularly asked herself "why can't he just be like all the other good Mormon boys?"

When I got older and entered college, I followed my childhood best friend into a frat house. Our friendship was waning some at that stage, but I still looked up to him. And I was a follower. So where he went, I went. And that was into Greek life. It was a fraternity for mostly white, good-looking, athletic and popular kids from the wealthy side of town. Lots of BMWs, loafers, Polo shirts and everything that went along with that. I was somewhat surprised they even let me in the door. I'm even more surprised that I knocked in the first place. With my long hair, VW Rabbit, aversion to golf, flannel shirts, and crunchy enviro-ethics, I was an anomaly. And as soon as I was permitted entrance into the the exclusive club, I regretted what I had done. I'm sure my fraternal brothers harbored some regrets of their own. So I slunk away from the whole ridiculous scene to spend time with the hippies, dorks, and dope-smokers in the Biology department who shared my nascent enthusiasm for evolution, ecology, and systemmatics. That afforded me the opportunity to spend part of a summer in independent study sitting in a lab picking microscopic nematodes off of root knots for a tenured professor who was researching how marigolds rebuff the parasitic little roundworms. 

You could be forgiven at this stage for thinking that perhaps I'm a loner. But it's not necessarily that I'm anti-social, or that I don't like people. It's just that I'm anti-social and don't like people. Or at least I don't like lots of people doing the same fucking thing that I'm doing at the same place and time that I'm doing it. I don't need that type of camaraderie or want the social stroking. And I don't fancy the associated chaos, complexities, and cacophony that comes with group projects and outings.  

My predilection for crowd-avoidance has carried over to my outdoor activities. I don't enjoy large group hikes so rarely participate in them. They typically involve too much disappointment and compromise. Somebody's late. Someone else bails at the last minute. There's the constant stopping and waiting for the group to reassemble at every conceivable trail junction lest someone gets lost because they didn't think to look at a damn map before going out. Then the group has to wait for me because I'm older and dragging the pace down. Fuck that. I don't want to be the subject of furtive glances and frustrated whispers.

Beyond all of this, at base level I'm just a selfish bastard with my limited outdoor time. I don't want to go where you want to go. I want, to go where I want to go. And when I want to go. And how long I'll stay there. Admittedly, that's not a particularly endearing quality, but at least it's honest. But honesty only gets you so much these days, so more often than not, my hiking companions are limited to me, myself, and I. No one else can stand to be around me. I am the Eustace Bagge of the hiking world.

Because of that, I'm not exactly a prime candidate for organized trail work parties. I've done trail work and trash pick-up before, but only as a solo, guerrilla undertaking. I've cleared both Russian Thistle and Black Mustard by myself from my local trail. I've hauled many a heavy load of broken glass from the slabs in the hills near my house where teenagers escape to get inebriated and then joyously fling their empties down the sandstone rock-face to explode into a millions glittering shards. And I've picked up and carried out of the hills more candy wrappers, cups, soda cans, water bottles, buger-encrusted tissues, sweat rags, pee rags, shit rags, dog shit in baggies, and dirty undies than I can remember. But it's always been a solitary effort.  

Until recently that is. Contrary to my natural predisposition to go it alone, I've recently tried my hand at some actual, organized and officially-authorized trail work. You know, the kind of work where some government functionary pre-clears everything you intend to do, dictates the number of people that can participate, approves the types of tools that can be used, and drafts the language of the release that you must sign to prevent you from suing when you stab a Pulaski into your shin or an unseen rattlesnake sinks its fangs deep into your calf. All while sitting in an idling truck in the parking area burning fossil fuel and just waiting to hand some poor slob a ticket.  

My first go at this was in Santa Paula Canyon shortly after it was closed to the public due to over-crowding. Santa Paula Canyon has been an abused and graffiti'd trash-heap for years, but with crowds swarming the place because of the pandemic, it had become a veritable sewer. Spray-paint marked every rock, stump, and branch. Garbage was strewn hither and yon. Used diapers, feminine products, and reproductive prophylactics were not an uncommon sight. New use trails all through the canyon bottom spontaneously appeared. In short, the place quickly went to hell, but the Forest Service, perpetually short on money and man-power, was ill-equipped and/or unwilling to assume the mantle of responsibility and do anything about it. 

Enter Santa Paula local Ellie Mora aka mtnbabe aka Los Padres badass who took control. She solicited and obtained the Forest Service's blessing, organized a clean-up, secured the necessary tools, and then recruited help. Fortuitously and fortunately, I ended up being part of that help. I was joined by a bunch of other like-minded, yet much younger forest regulars as well as local Boy Scout Troop 111. Over the course of several outings, the group scrubbed or covered-over graffiti, removed multiple dumpster loads of some of the most disgusting garbage imaginable, reconfigured and improved trails, trimmed evil poison oak, and broke down and removed rock dams from the creek-bed. Very dirty, difficult, yet immensely satisfying work. Especially when your regular routine is to sit behind a desk for nine hours a day staring at a screen and getting a pasty fluorescent light tan. Getting grimey is good for the soul.

Then this past weekend, Ellie organized another work party in conjunction with the Los Padres Forest Association. This time, we would be working the nature trail at Wheeler Gorge just north of Ojai along Highway 33. As I drove up Grimes Canyon at 7 a.m. and then began the swirly drop into the Santa Clara River valley I could already feel the heat coming on. The weather gods had guessed it was going to be 102 and it felt like they were going to be right. Clad in long pants, long sleeves, and work boots to keep the itchy and poisonous plants at bay, the dread began welling up in me.

Forty-five minutes later I was at Wheeler Gorge with the rest of the work crew. After demonstrating the the proper use of the mcleod, Ellie informed everyone that we would be segregating into two different groups: one group would work the upper trail in the scorching sun, and the other group would work creekside in the shade ripping out poison oak. Make your choice, heat or poison oak. I pondered this "damned if you do, damned if you don't" proposition and decided I'd take the heat. I had just recovered from a nasty bout with poison oak and I wanted no part of that again. Then Ellie said she also needed a couple of volunteers to walk the creek and bust rock dams. No one raised their hand so I jumped at it. A third option that didn't involve heat or poison oak? Mama didn't raise no fool. 

For the next three and half hours, my work companion (code name Bear Woman) and I splished and splashed through the N. Fork of Matilija Creek finding artificial rocks dams and then dismantling them. This involved lifting and moving an endless number of heavy rocks, tree trunks, and other material from the creek and redistributing it elsewhere so that the creek could again flow freely. It's surprising how much effort some folks will go to in order to build these annoying things in the first place. It involves some degree of engineering, a lot of time, and a lot of muscle power. Just for a trailside pool.

Anyway, when we finished our task, we committed to head up trail to let Ellie know we were done. At that moment, she suddenly appeared on the rise above us to tell us her crew was finished as well. So we all picked our way through the forest back to where we began and called it a day before the real sweltering heat set in.  

So does this mean that I'm now cured of my group-phobia? Am I jonesing to go on a hike with 20 others? Not really. I'm still pretty much a cranky old lone wolf. I'll continue to do my own, unauthorized thing. But when it comes to trail work, I definitely have no aversion to linking up with what I consider to be the next generation of local Los Padres hot-shots and stewards. When it comes to them, I've become a "joiner."

Divide Peak: To Infinity and Beyond

Mouth of North Fork Matilija Canyon 

A recent trip report by David R reminded me that it had been years since I'd been up beautiful Murietta Canyon just north of Ojai. I used to ride this canyon on a fairly regular basis when I lived in Ventura, but after moving further east in 1998, I hadn't been back and it was bumming me out. So on Sunday morning, I  made a return visit to my old stomping grounds to get reacquainted with this magical place.

My objective for the day was Divide Peak, a 4,707' bump along the Santa Ynez Mountains that separates the Ojai Valley from the coast and affords incredible views of the Santa Barbara Channel and the Channel Islands. From road's end in Matilija Canyon, the route is about a 4.5 mile road walk up scenic Murietta Canyon, a steep 1.5 mile scramble up the Monte Arido Trail, and then a 0.8 mile amble along Divide Peak Road to the summit. You can avoid some of the road walk (and shave a bit of mileage) in lower Murietta Canyon by taking a foot-path that leads to Murietta Trail Camp and then rejoins the main fire road at 34.498565, -119.402450. 

North Fork Matilija Canyon

View Down Matilija Canyon from Murietta Road

Scenic Murietta Canyon

The day was unusually warm for late November and the road felt steeper than it should have felt. I wore a halo of flies as I made my way up Murietta Canyon, grateful that I had grabbed my bug net at the last moment before leaving the house. But the canyon was quiet, colorful, and completely vacant. I had the run of the place.

The walk up Murietta Canyon is pretty straightforward. Get on the road and walk uphill. The road up the canyon climbs gently at first but steepens further up as you approach the saddle. There, you have options. You can tack right and continue north up to Old Man Mountain and beyond on the Monte Arido Fire Road. You can continue west on the fire road which descends into Juncal Canyon and into the upper Santa Ynez River drainage. Or you can turn south and ascend 1,200 feet on the Monte Arido Trail to the Divide Peak Fire Road and the crest of the Santa Ynez Mountains.

Jameson Reservoir from the Monte Arido Trail

Juncal Canyon from Upper Monte Arido Trail

Murietta Trail from Upper Monte Arido Trail

Old Man Mountain and Monte Arido

The path for this latter option is not immediately obvious, but it is not difficult to find. Simply scale the southern embankment just beyond where the Monte Arido Fire Road joins the saddle and the way forward will come into focus. Initially, the trail follows what appears to be an abandoned road bed and the going is easy. Eventually, however, that road bed peters out at which stage the trail climbs steeply and directly up the spine of the ridge. Not being in prime adventuring condition, I struggled here, but the expanding views into Juncal and Murietta Canyons distracted me and pushed me forward. I took a breather at flat spot along the ridgeline straddling the two canyons that would make a very fine spot to spend the night.

After a final stiff climb, the Monte Arido Trail intersects the Divide Peak Fire Road. You'll know you're done with the climb when you arrive at a large sandstone boulder with a cairn atop it. To get to Divide Peak, turn right and follow the sandy and relatively flat road for approximately 0.8 miles. The summit can be attained by climbing steeply up very loose rogue motorcycle trails that scar Divide's north-eastern flank. The easier and less frustrating alternative, however, is to wrap around Divide's northern side on the fire road and then come back at the summit from the west.

As far as summits go, Divide's is somewhat underwhelming. It's basically broad, flat, and exposed humpback. But the views of the Santa Barbara Channel and the Oxnard Plain are unmatched. On the day I was there, I could clearly see Santa Rosa, Santa Cruz, and Anacapa Islands. I could also plainly see Santa Catalina Island floating in the Pacific almost 100 miles away.   

The trail register is located in a water-bottle canister tucked into a rock-pile just northeast of Divide's high-point. I could not located a benchmark. I sat on the rock pile for a spell enjoying a burrito and the sound of the breeze. 

Back at the Monte Arido Trail junction, I contemplated attacking the Santa Ynez Mountains high point which sits at 4,864' and approximately 3/4 mile east of the junction. But that is all I did. I knew I didn't have enough gas in the tank or water in my bottles so I began the long walk back and committed to return to explore this area on another day.   

Divide Peak Summit Canister. Big Ass Ham.

View South from Divide Peak

Oil Platforms in the Santa Barbara Channel

Anacapa Island from Divide Peak

To Infinity and Beyond

Lake Casitas from Divide Peak. This Drought is Real Yo.

Chief Peak the Ugly Way

Pointy Chief Peak as Seen from Chief Peak Fire Road

Ok, calling it the "ugly way" is a bit of an over-statement. Maybe the "uninteresting way" would be a more apt description since the views along the way are pretty spectacular even if the hike up is rather, um, "pedestrian." Either way, fire roads are not my favorite way to get to a peak and this hike involved quite a bit of fire road. 

So why go the fire road route if there are other alternatives? I'm glad you asked that. At 5,587 feet, Chief Peak is the highest point along the Nordhoff Ridge. I've been eying it for some time, but thought a summer route from the north would be preferable to climbing out of the Ojai Valley by way of the potentially scorching route up south-facing Horn Canyon. I was also looking for the most direct route to the summit of the Chief's somewhat out-of-the-way location. Looking at Tom Harrison's map of the Sespe, I didn't see any routes that fit those criteria other than fire road 5N42 out of Rose Valley campground. 5N42, which is the entry for ORV access to the Nordhoff Ridge, climbs south out of Rose Valley to intersect with Chief Peak Road. From that intersection, the route takes you east along the Nordhoff Ridge via Chief Peak Road until your reach a fire break approximately 1.5 miles later that affords easy access to Chief's summit. North-facing, short, and direct. So that was the route I settled on.



Thorn Point and the Sespe from Fire Road 5N42

Upper Rose Valley Falls, Such as They are at the Present

Pine Mountain Ridge from Fire Road 5N42

Pine Mountain Ridge Detail

5N42 begins at the rear south-west corner of the Rose Valley campground. There is a small spot to park between two campsites near the trailhead for Rose Valley Falls that you can squeeze into. Adventure Pass required I believe. Almost immediately, the road begins a relentless climb toward the Nordhoff Ridge to the south. Candidly, I was surprised by the sustained steepness of the road, although it is well smooth as a baby's bottom and well maintained. The day was warm and the bugs were out in force which was annoying, but as the road climbed out of Rose Valley, the dramatic views really begin to open up and a breeze kicked up for which I was eternally grateful. To the south-east, the Rose Valley Falls are visible. To the north lies the Piedra Blanca, the Sespe, and the ramparts of Pine Mountain. Looking west, you catch of glimpse of the Howard Creek trail as it makes its way toward Nordhoff Ridge several miles away.  



5N42 Flora

The Howard Creek Trail Climbing to Nordhoff Ridge to the West of 5N42

The Nordhoff Peak Fire Lookout Standing Sentinel in the Distance

 

After approximately 2.2 miles of climbing, 5N42 intersects the Nordhoff Ridge. From here, and all along the ridgeline, you are treated to expansive views south of the Ojai Valley, the Oxnard Plain, and the Channel Islands in the Santa Barbara Channel. The road going east from here will take you out to Chief Peak and beyond; the road going west roller-coasters along the ridgeline out to Nordhoff Peak.

The Ojai Valley and Beyond from Chief Peak Road

The Oxnard Plain and Pt. Mugu from Chief Peak Road

The View North Toward Thorn Point from Chief Peak Road

Piedra Blanca and Thorn Point

The Upper Ojai Valley from Chief Peak Road

 

Atop the Nordhoff Ridge, the traveling is easy. Basically a stroll along an undulating fire road. A jeep passed me as I ambled along the road absorbing the scenery and solitude, but I had no other company except the halo of flies that magically appeared when the breeze was suddenly stilled. Approximately 1.5 miles later, an obvious fire break to the right signaled it was time to leave the road for a bit of welcome cross-country travel.



Approaching the Chief from the Nordhoff Ridge

Thorn Point Framed by a Nice Meadow

The Firebreak Leading to Chief Peak. You Leave the Road Here

 

The firebreak requires a scamper up a steep, loose slope to the top of the "bump" to the Chief's immediate west. From the vantage point atop the bump, you get a good look at the Chief up close and personal and the rocky route ahead. That route follows a use trail to the base of the rocky out-cropping shown in the picture below and then contouring around to the south side for some Class 2 scrambling to the top.

Close Up of the Chief. The Route Up Contours Around to the Right in this Pic

The Ojai Valley and Channel Island from Chief's Summit

Anacapa Island Peaking Out from Above the Coastal Fog

 

Atop the summit I found two benchmarks, a summit register, and rocky aerie upon which to lunch and appreciate the 360 degree vistas. Even though the fog clung heavy to the coastline, the Oxnard Plain, Pt. Mugu, and the Santa Monica Mountains were all plainly visible. Although partially obscured from view, Anacapa Island also poked its head through the cloud cover to make its presence known. Looking north brought views of Reyes and Haddock Peaks, the upper Sespe drainage, Piedra Blanca, and Thorn Point. The Topa Topa Bluffs featured prominently in the view to the east.



The Sespe from Chief Peak Summit

The Topa Topa Bluffs

One of Two Benchmarks Atop Chief Peak



The Second Benchmark. This One Looks More Recent.



Chief Peak Summit Register Adorned with Eispiraten Logo

After spending what was far too short a time on the summit, I scrambled back down to Chief Peak Road and began my way back to Rose Valley. On the ridgeline, the breeze kept things tolerably pleasant and the bugs at bay. Descending 5N42 on the backside of the ridge, however, the breeze abated and the bugs became my constant companion all the way back to Rose Valley campground.

So that's my story and I'm sticking to it. Although fire roads are generally not my preferred mode of back-country travel, in this case the ease of access, the direct route they provided, and the amazing scenery all made up for the "ugliness" of not having a trail to tread. 

The Pratt Trail to Nordhoff Peak

Nordhoff Peak Abandoned Fire Lookout

Nordhoff Peak in the Los Padres National Forest is the high point of a rugged, mountainous ridge that forms a rampart along the northern border of the Ojai Valley. The peak, adorned with the remnants of a now abandoned fire lookout, stands sentinel high above the village of Ojai some 3500 feet below. Originally named "Nordhoff" after author Charles Nordhoff when the town was first established in 1874, the town's name was ultimately changed to Ojai in 1917. The name Ojai derives from the Indian word "Awhai" meaning "moon" in the language of the Chumash who once inhabited the valley.



California Man Root Growing Along Pratt Trail



Pratt Trail Winding Through Lower Steward Canyon



Wild Hyacinth is Abundant Along the Trail-

There are two principal routes to the summit of Nordhoff Peak from the Ojai Valley: the Gridley Trail and the Pratt Trail. The latter, an 11 mile or so round trip jaunt, begins at a small forest service parking area along the upper reaches of Signal Street. The initial rock-strewn portion of the trail winds its way up lower Stewart Canyon through private property until the path reaches a gate at the terminus of the Cozy Dell Fire Road. Beyond the gate, a footpath branches off to the left and parallels the streambed before re-joining the Fire Road a short distance later near the junction with Fuel Break Road. This entire stretch of trail is verdant, luxurious, and exploding with flora particularly after the drenching winter rains.


Signage at Junction of Foothill and Pratt Trails





Luxuriant Greenery

From this point, the dirt road climbs steadily north and then west to a saddle overlooking Cozy Dell Canyon and the Matilija. To the east, views of the upper Ojai Valley begin to open up. Beyond the saddle, you abandon the Fire Road once again in favor of a well established foot path that ascends relentlessly up the western wall of Stewart Canyon.  



View West at Cozy Dell Saddle

View East Toward the Upper Ojai Valley



Trail Signage at Cozy Dell Saddle

The initial climb out of the Cozy Dell saddle is on a south facing, chaparral-covered slope that is warm in the winter and which would be scorching in the summer. However, the trail eventually contours the ridgeline into the cool shade of the east-facing slope until the trail crosses over onto the eastern slope of upper Cozy Dell Canyon where views open up south to Lake Casitas and the Channel Islands. Midway between these two points, a short spur trail descends to Valley View trail camp which is somewhat of a misnomer depending upon the valley you are supposed to be viewing.

Beautiful Purple Nightshade

Anacapa Island Floating in the Santa Barbara Channel

After a sustained climb, the path ultimately tops out on the Nordhoff Ridge which affords dramatic and panoramic views north into the Sespe Wilderness, west into the Matilija Wilderness, and south toward the Santa Barbara Channel. To the east sits Nordhoff Peak, the summit of which is visible from the trail's crest.


Piedra Blanca and the Pine Mountain Ridgeline from Nordhoff Ridge

Clouds Descending Into Murietta Canyon

Nordhoff Peak Fire Lookout from Nordhoff Road at Pratt Trail

Ominous Clouds Hanging Above Lake Casitas

From the point where the Pratt Trail intersects the Nordhoff Ridge Road, it is approximately another mile of easy walking to the summit of Nordhoff Peak. The views along the ridgeline are dramatic and the place has a primal and remote feel to it that is sometimes absent in the mountains of Southern California.  At the summit, there is a picnic table and a fire ring directly beneath the abandoned lookout tower which you can climb for better views of the Piedra Blanca formation nestled in the Sespe River drainage to the north. There are also two survey markers adjacent to the tower embedded in what looks like concrete footings.

Fog Rolling In Over Nordhoff Peak

Clouds Enveloping Piedra Blanca

Visitor Atop Abandoned Nordhoff Peak Fire Lookout

One of Two Nordhoff Peak Survey Markers

There are two return trip options. You can either retrace your steps back down the Pratt Trail or you can continue east another mile along the Nordhoff Ridge Road and descend the Gridley Canyon Trail which will ultimately deposit you onto Gridley Road in Ojai. Although I did not go this way, it appears that one could easily loop back to the Pratt Trail trailhead by a short traverse west along Shelf Road once back in the Ojai foothills.



Chaparral Currant on the Descent (ID courtesy of Matt Maxon)