Passing Time on Copter Ridge

View to Mt. Baldy from Copter Ridge

Old man look at my life,

I'm a lot like you were.

Old man look at my life

I'm a lot like you were.

Old man look at my life

Twenty four and there's so much more

Live alone in a paradise

That makes me think of two.

Love lost, such a cost

Give me things that don't get lost

Like a coin that won't get tossed

Rolling home to you.

-Neil Young, Old Man

When I was a youngster, when time meant nothing and the outdoors was just someplace that I naturally spent the majority of my care-free days, birthdays were always a box on the calendar that I looked forward to because it meant that I would get more "stuff." It didn't really matter if I actually needed or even wanted the stuff I got, but the anticipation of simply getting it, enhanced as it was by the mystery of fancy wrapping paper and colorful streamers and bows, was sufficient in and of itself to eclipse that rather minor and inconvenient detail.

Now that I'm a grizzled veteran of life who (hopefully) has gained a modicum of experience, knowledge, and understanding, I predictably have a different perspective. I don't necessarily dread birthdays like some folks in my same life class do, and I don't yet fret about my steadily climbing age or the diminishing time I have remaining that it portends, but as I've grown grayer and wiser, my focus has decidedly shifted away from accumulating and hording more stuff, and toward maximizing sensory experiences and relationships. I know, I know, that personal awakening is neither particularly revelatory nor insightful, but it has taken me decades to get to the point where the absurdity of chasing and acquiring stuff for the sake of acquiring more stuff  has become apparent. Don't get me wrong, I still like certain stuff. But Lester Burnham summed it up best in American Beauty when he proclaimed: "This isn't life. This is just stuff."

So when my odometer rolled to 53 this year, the last thing I wanted was more stuff. Instead, I wanted out of the fluorescent-lit box that I now spend most of my time in during the week. I wanted see the mountains. I wanted to feel the warm sun on my face and cool breeze blowing through my now silver locks. I wanted to smell the scent of pine. I wanted to hear the call of the Stellar's Jay. I wanted to hear the crunch of the tread under foot. And I wanted share those experiences with folks that I consider my friends.

So early last Sunday morning, I headed for the Angeles National Forest high country along with Chris, Sean, Cecelia, and Dima for a day exploring Copter Ridge. We started at Dawson Saddle, ascended the trail to the junction with the Pacific Crest Trail just east of Throop Peak, and then tacked west to the summit of Mt. Hawkins. Along the way, Dima explained how he went about identifying what he has termed the Pole of Inaccessibility: the point in the Angeles National Forest that is the furthest from any roadway or established trail (that "pole" is located on the steep southwest slope of Ross Mountain).

Atop Mt. Hawkins, we paused to appreciate the the panoramic views of the surrounding cloud-filled valleys out of which a number of familiar peaks protruded, We then descended south along Copter Ridge (avoiding a huge swarm of bees as we went) to its terminus some 1,500 feet below where we munched lunch and solved a number of pressing world problems.

The climb back up the ridge to Mt. Hawkins was difficult, but satisfying, particularly since the scenery was so fine and the water we cached mid-ridge was still cool. Back atop Mr. Hawkins, I broke our a couple of somewhat chilled cans of FMB 101 Kolsch I had in my day-pack and we toasted another day of being alive in our local mountains.

I could add much more about this day, but I've blathered on far too long as it is. Other than saying that I think Copter Ridge is one of my favorite places in the San Gabriels (along with the Pleasant View Ridge), my words can't begin to do justice to the trip, the spectacular scenery, or my amazing fellow travelers anyway. So I'll shut up now and just let some of the pictures from this day do the rest of the talking for me. Enjoy.

View Toward Mt. Williamson from Dawson Saddle Trail

The High Desert from the Dawson Saddle Trail

The Crew Ascending the Dawson Saddle Trail

The Boys at the PCT Junction

First View of Baldy and Friends

Trekking Along the PCT

View Northwest from the PCT

Mi Compadres

View West from the PCT - Twins, Waterman, Islip, Buckhorn (?), Pacifico in the rearground (?)

North Slope of Mt. Hawkins

The Hawkins Ridge

View Down Copter Ridge from Hawkins

Hanging Out on Hawkins

Baldy View from Hawkins

Sean and Cecelia Atop Mt. Hawkins

Super-Brainiac Dima Atop Mt. Hawkins 

Cecelia Capturing the Stunning Views

The Gang of Five Atop Hawkins - Sean, Dima, Cecelia, Wildsouthland, Chris

Descending Copter Ridge

Taking in the "Wow" Along Copter Ridge

Terminus of Copter Ridge

Dropping Down

Looking Back Up - This is the Steepest Part of the Ridge

Flat Area Along the Rige

Final Descent

Sean and Cecelia

No Room With a View

Baldy from the End of Copter Ridge

Having Lunch and Conversation

The Climb Back Out. This is Where we Cached Water on the Descent

Chris and Dima Looking Relaxed on the Ridge

Back on Hawkins - Clouds Still Hanging Around

Airplane Views

Parting Shot

Counting Peaks Around Monte Cristo

The Iron Hiker on Monte Cristo Ridge

The plan was to meet Keith "the Iron Hiker" Winston at 6:30 a.m. at the entrance to Monte Cristo Campground in the upper reaches of Mill Creek Canyon to tackle a 4 peak loop that we had both been eyeing for some time. That loop involved a mostly cross-country, counter-clockwise route that would take us to the summit of Iron Mountain #3, Round Top, Granite Mountain, and Rabbit Peak (with the provisional "peak" Monte Cristo thrown in for good measure). Since Keith was coming from south Orange County and I was coming from eastern Ventura County, I figured I'd have no trouble beating him to our rendezvous. But of course the best laid plans of mice and men were foiled when I couldn't locate some of my gear that morning, had to stop for gas, and then misjudged how long it would take me to get to Monte Cristo. When I finally arrived at our pre-ordained meeting spot some 30 minutes late, Keith was preparing to walk off without me, figuring that I had probably died in the zombie apocalypse (or maybe that I had just stood him up).

Not wanting to delay our adventure any longer, I scrambled to get my act together and then off we went. It was a gorgeous, cloudless morning with the early sun throwing shadows into the crevices and folds of the surrounding canyons. At the entrance to the campground after crossing now dry Mill Creek, we entered a small drainage which afforded us easy access to the Monte Cristo Ridge.

Ascending the Ridge from Monte Cristo Campground

View North from the Monte Cristo Ridge

View South from the Monte Cristo Ridge

The ridge climbs moderately to a high point (Monte Cristo) before dropping to a saddle and then regaining some elevation before intersecting the fire road that contours around the western face of Iron #3. The brush was minimal here and travel was easy. This was a common theme for the day - none of the ridges we walked involved any real bush-whacking. From Monte Cristo we could easily see the rest of the circuit we had planned for the day.

On gaining the fire road, we tacked right (south) and followed it to the point where Iron's southwest ridge intersected the road. Here the road cut was low which permitted us to jump on the ridgeline and begin the push for Iron's summit. A short, stout climb later and we were atop Iron #3. On top we found a triangular post and a soggy register, but no benchmark. Views here of the backside of the front range, particularly Strawberry's north face, were impressive. Looking northeast, the steep and somewhat intimidating ridge route to Round Top was plainly visible.

The Circuit - Iron #3 Out of Frame to the Right

View South from the Summit of Iron #3

The Route to Round Top as Seen from Iron #3

The North Face of Strawberry Peak - Still Waiting for a TR from Taco About This

After some water and a snack, we dropped off the north side of Iron, crossed a fire road at the head of what the topos call Lynx Gulch (the topos also show the Gold Bar Mine in the bottom of the gulch), and began the 1,600 foot climb up Round Top. This is the crux of the route which follows a old firebreak up and over a couple of bumps (false summits) before topping out on the broad, rounded summit of Round Top. The climb along this ridge is steep in places, but the brush was minimal, footing was good, and use trails abound. Views from atop Round Top are quite exceptional even though the summit itself is somewhat uninspiring. To the east you can see Mt. Waterman, the Twin Peaks, Mt. Hilyer, and the entire Chilao area. To the north, Granite and Pacifico Mountains loom large. To the west the Gleason Ridge stands out. And looking sound affords a good look into the entire Upper Tujunga drainage. 

Once atop Round Top's exposed summit, the winds really began to pick up, so we quickly refueled and then made haste for Granite Mountain by way of the Round Top Truck Road which we followed north for a short distance to the toe of Granite's southeast ridge. A mellow ascent through some light brush and dead fall led us to the big, broad, burned-out summit of Granite which is appropriately dotted with a number of large, granite outcroppings. Here, like Iron, we found a damp summit register, but no benchmark. The winds were now howling at a sustained 30-40 mph so we huddled behind some rocks while we ate lunch, appreciating the fact that the next leg to Rabbit Peak was almost all downhill.   

The Steep Firebreak Leading to Round Top

Cross-Canyon View Toward the Gleason Ridge

Over-the-Shoulder Look of the Ridge Leading to Roundtop - Iron #3 Center-Left

Keith Contemplating the Final Push to Round Top - There are a Couple of Bumps Along the Ridge

Into the Light

Pacifico Mountain from Round Top

Granite Mountain from Round Top

View East from Round Top - Hillyer, Wintson (I think), Waterman, and the Twins

Mt. Gleason from the Fire Road to Granite

Granite from the Fire Road from Round Top

The Iron Hiker Atop Some Granite on Granite

High Desert View from Granite's Summit

Remnants of the Station Fire Atop Granite - 7 Years and Counting

The southwest ridge off of Granite is obvious and we followed it down to a saddle before making the final climb of the day to the top of Rabbit Peak. Once again, the brush was minimal and there was a fairly obvious use trail along the entire ridgeline. On the summit of Rabbit, the winds really died down so we lingered a bit after signing the register to appreciate the moment, the warmth of the day, and the big, brilliant azure sky.

From Rabbit, we descended the steep and loose south ridge to a jumping off spot which deposited us onto the fire road in the canyon bottom near the Black Cargo Mine. Hindsight being what it is, we should have just followed the ridge to its logical terminus further down canyon, but we hadn't done our homework and so were not aware that was even an option. In the canyon, we walked the fireroad adjacent to Monte Cristo Creek (which still had some flow) back to our starting point at the entrance to Monte Cristo Campground.

It is worth noting that this route can be done in a clockwise direction instead of the counter-clockwise variation that we followed. In fact, Cucamonga Man and Cecelia recently completed the circuit in that direction. But after descending the ridgelines off of Rabbit and Granite, the counter-clockwise variation that we took appears to me to be the better option.

More info and pics about this route can be found on Iron Hiker's fine blog here.

Our Route Down the Southwest Ridge - Rabbit Peak in the Center

The Ridge Route Off  Granite as Seen from Rabbit

Mt. Gleason from Rabbit's Summit

Keith Taking in the View Atop Rabbit Peak

Santa Paula Canyon: Be One With Nature

The Chapel Tower at Thomas Aquinas College

Just north of Steckel Park, where the locals gather on Sunday afternoons to bond and drink bad beer beneath the ancient Oaks and Sycamore that flank Highway 150, Santa Paula Creek spills into the flood plain from the remote depths of the Los Padres National Forest. Although the creek’s precise location is not immediately obvious to the casual observer, masked as it is by lush campus of Thomas Aquinas College, its existence, and the means to access it, are anything but a secret. In fact, it’s probably not too much of an over-statement to say that Santa Paula Canyon, and the creek that pulses through it, have attained almost legendary status amount Ventura County hikers and outdoor enthusiasts of all stripes.

Like other immensely popular destinations, water is the magnetic draw here. Not just water that trickles along a rocky streambed and collects in stagnant and ephemeral pools. But clear blue water that in the right season gushes forth from the folds and creases of the mountainside to furiously tumble and cascade over the stoney cliff faces into swimming pool-sized “punch bowls” below.
These punch bowls, and the falls that continually feed them, are very special and unique places in this otherwise arid, waterless landscape. But water, particularly if one can swim in it, is an attractive nuisance that always seems to draw a certain element. And that element always finds a way to make a complete mockery of the “leave no trace” ethos that the rest of us try damn hard to practice.

Santa Paula Creek Flowing Muddy Brown

Be One With Nature by Marking it Up

Trial Markings Just in Case You're Confused About the Way Forward Here

Reflections in a Trail-side Pool

The Forested Path Up the Canyon

Orange

Yellow

Cream

Down Canyon

Geology

Up Canyon

These destructive folks about whom I speak know all about Santa Paula Creek. And they have memorialized their visits to this canyon in bright red, blue, green, and purple spray-paint that is visible on virtually every tree, branch, and rock along the trial that weaves its way up the creek bed to the lower falls. Most of the marks are just tags left by punks who feel the need to mark their territory like the animals that they are. Some of it, however, is more philosophical like the graffiti ironically urging others on the trail to “be one with nature.” The canyon walls beneath the pool at the first falls too are plastered with unsightly graffiti while beer bottles and other trash litter the canyon bottom. On the day I visited, I rounded a bend in the trail to come face-to-face with a “gentleman” whose shorts were around his ankles as he dropped a dookie trailside with absolutely no shame or regret.

But it is possible to look past the spray paint and the trash and the dookies and the words of the philosopher kings. And you should. Because despite all of it, this is still damn compelling and wild country that is worth the visit. There are very few local places that I can think of that rival it. Tar Creek before the Forest Service closed it off probably qualifies. Matilija Falls if you can get there without raising the ire of the cranky landowner over whose property the path supposedly crosses. Perhaps a few spots along the Sespe. Maybe the Fishbowls in a good water year before they silted up. But the list is short and the chance of reaching your desired destination can be dubious. So I’ll go to Santa Paula Canyon again despite the negatives. I’ll go to see the canyon. I’ll go to experience the blessed water while it’s still around. I’ll go to sit beneath the falls and feel the cool spray. I’ll go on an uncrowded day when the skies are threatening or the temperatures are cool to listen to the silence ricochet off of the walls of the gorge. And I’ll turn a blind eye and ear to the rest.

Canyon Art

Lower Falls

Lower Falls and Pool

Welcome to the Jungle