A Man Could Lose His Way in a Country Like This

San Guillermo Peak

A man can lose his past in a country like this

Wandering aimless

Parched and nameless

A man could lose his way in a country like this

Canyons and cactus

Endless and trackless

~Rush, Seven Cities of Gold

I spend a considerable amount of time virtually exploring places I’ve never been by pouring over images on Google Earth and searching topographic maps on CalTopo. For better or worse, I’ve passed this idiosyncratic trait onto my eldest daughter who now carries on the tradition. Most of these “out of body” explorations involve the wild places close to home, the Los Padres National Forest and the Angeles National Forest, but I frequently stray beyond these boundaries to the San Bernardino National Forest, the Sierra Nevada, and to other far-away places I’ll probably never go other than in my fervent imagination.

Recently, while staring at the computer screen and time-traveling across the magnificent canyons and ridgelines that texture the southern flanks of Mt. Pinos, I noticed a narrow slot in the lower sections of the Middle Fork of Lockwood Creek that piqued my interest. Some online searching unearthed a short YouTube video clip posted several years back by a guy who had visited this area which he described as “the narrows of the Middle Fork of Lockwood Creek.” Additional scouring of the interwebs revealed nothing about this little canyon.

So this past weekend, my daughter and I drove to the Lockwood Valley in hopes of getting into the narrows. Much of this area is a crazy-quilt of public and private land that is crisscrossed by a network of mostly dirt roads. One or more of these roads, I surmised, would allow us easy access to the Middle Fork of Lockwood Creek which we would then ascend to the narrows. 

Along Boy Scout Camp Road, we swung off the pavement and tracked north on a gravel road adjacent to the Middle Fork. A short distance later, we encountered private property and a chain blocking our forward progress. Back-tracking to Boy Scout Camp Road, we tried a different dirt road on the other side of the Middle Fork. But to call this track a road is being generous with the term. It was narrow and soft, and the encroaching sagebrush scraped the side of the car as we proceeded forward. Ultimately, this option failed us too.

The preordained back-up plan was Mt. Pinos. But as we headed back to Lockwood Valley Road, San Guillermo Mountain and dark storm clouds loomed nearby to the south. So that of course became our new objective.

We found Pine Springs Campground mostly deserted except for a few hardy souls that were toughing it out in the oppressive midday heat. A couple of small RVs occupied the lower spaces. A tent and assorted gear filled the upper-most site in the loop. A woman peered at us over her bikini top as we circled the campground, a plume of dust trailing us. Looking at this moisture-deprived place, it's easy to forget the big winter we just had.

The air was still and the heat withering as we dropped into the dry drainage adjacent to the campground. On our way, we passed a plastic bucket topped with a section of pool noodle. Toilet paper was strewn hither and yon, while a shovel lay nearby at the ready. A make-shift privy, necessary I suppose since the outhouses at Pine Spring were boarded up tight for some odd reason.

In the drainage, we boulder-hopped west for a short distance, following cairns and the occasional piece of brightly-colored tape hanging limply from encroaching tree limbs. Little black flies buzzed us incessantly. A short distance later, we left the creek bed for a low ridge that splits San Guillermo from Pt. 6,324 to the immediate south. Here, the flies disappeared, chased off by occasional wind gusts heralding the imminent arrival of high-country thunder-showers. Ominous dark clouds hung leaden in the sky, neither advancing toward nor retreating from us. We stopped, looked skyward, and checked wind direction, contemplating the possibility of being caught on an exposed ridgeline during an electrical storm. But sometimes storm clouds are like bullies, threatening but ultimately pulling their punches. And so it was with these clouds. We faced the threat and pressed forward while the storm retreated to the northeast.

Atop the ridge leading to San Guillermo, the impressive expanse of the Sespe Wilderness unfolded before us. The trackless sweep of Wagon Park Canyon spread west to the horizon. To the south lay the boundless headwaters of the Piru Creek drainage. Eastward sat Mutau Flat and the big empty. Mt. Pinos and the beginnings of the Cuyama Badlands buffered the north. This is vast and vacant terrain that doesn’t give up its history or its secrets easily. A man could lose his way in a country like this.

Ultimately, we didn’t go deep enough or long enough to lose our way. We were ill-equipped for that type of undertaking. But the prospect and promise of that very sort of adventure exits in a place this unspoiled, this magical. It’s a compelling proposition, isn’t it? To have a grand adventure. To walk into the wilds and back in time. To get completely lost, if only within one's self. To experience the raw fear and magic that only the remote backcountry is capable of manufacturing. The certainty of all of that is just too tantalizing to pass on. We will return. To secure the missed reward. To collect on the promise.

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

Up, Over, and Around Strawberry Peak

Strawberry Peak from Colby Canyon

Start a new chapter

I find what I'm after

Is changing every day

The change of the season

Is enough of  reason

To want to get away.

~Rush, Fly by Night

Early October, 2005. My first foray into the San Gabriels. A friend and I drove up the Angeles Crest with mountain bikes strapped to the car. Into the unknown. We stopped at Clear Creek, unloaded our gear, and began to ride. Our 16.5 mile route took us up the Josephine Fire Road (2N64), over to the junction with the Colby Canyon trail, onto the spectacular single-track that descends to Strawberry Portrero, out and up the slow grind to the Lawlor saddle, around and down Lawlor's southern flank to Red Box, onto the wondrous Gabrieleno Trail down to Switzer, and then up the short, steep, and miserable pavement climb to Clear Creek. We thought we were all that until a fellow bi-pedal easily pedaled past us on a fully rigid, skinny-tired cyclocross bike as we inched our way up the Josephine Fire Road. As we were San Gabriel newbs, he rode with us for a spell to act as our navigator, sensing perhaps that we were search and rescue candidates in the making. But at the Lawlor saddle, he finally left us after causally drinking a beer he pulled from his pack, exasperated I'm sure with our snail's pace.

That was kind of a watershed moment for me in terms of the San Gabriel Mountains. It opened my eyes to the vastness, the ruggedness, the immensity, and the sublimity of the range that John Muir called "ruggedly, thornily savage" and "more rigidly inaccessible" than the Sierra. That's high praise or low praise for these mountains depending upon your viewpoint and disposition. 

Since that day I've revisited this same area on a number of occasions to scale the local peaks. But what I hadn't done for over a decade was repeat my original circumnavigation of Strawberry Peak. I also hadn't scaled Strawberry Peak via a scamper up its steep and rocky western ridge. This past weekend, I set out to rectify this latter gap in my experience and ended up also accomplishing the former.  

I started my day at the entrance to Colby Canyon. The skies were gray, the temperatures cool, and the parking area full. Dropping into Colby Canyon from the Angeles Crest, I found water still trickling over the falls and coursing through the creek bed. Crossing over into Daisy Canyon, I discovered water still running in that drainage as well. Further up the trail, high above the channel now, the serpentine twists and turns of Colby Canyon came into view behind me. Here, I stopped momentarily to admire my surroundings before making the push up the boulder-strewn, south-facing slope to Josephine Saddle. The sour sky and cool air that I bemoaned earlier were my good friends here.

The tip of the tongue of Strawberry's western ridge licks Josephine Saddle at the intersection with Colby Canyon. Here I met a couple from San Diego who had come north to explore the San Gabriel Mountains. They had started earlier that morning at Red Box, dashed up Strawberry's eastern ridge, retraced their steps to the Lawlor saddle, and then circled Strawberry in a counter-clockwise direction. We all sat on the adjacent water tank eating snacks, taking in water, and chatting about hiking before they dropped into Colby Canyon to connect up with the Gabrieleno Trail and I began the off-trail scramble toward Strawberry's summit.

Labyrinthine Colby Canyon 

Backside of Josephine Peak from the Josephine Saddle

View Into Upper Tujunga Canyon

Strawberry Peak from the Western Ridge Route

Water Tank at Josephine Saddle from the Western Ridge Route

Ok, to be honest, there was some scrambling along the way, but really not a whole lot. And the route up Strawberry's western ridge is only "off-trail" in the most nominal and technical of senses. Immediately north of Josephine Saddle, there is a well-worn and obvious use trail that zig-zags up the western ridgeline. The path is steep in places, but not technically difficult. There are two locations that involve what I imagine is Class 2 or 3 scrambling. At the first "obstacle," it was not immediately apparent whether the "formal route" veered left, right, or straight up and over. From the looks of things, folks had gone every which-way. I tacked right as others obviously had, climbing a short, slippery, and exposed chute that I had reservations about descending.

Beyond the first scramble, the path arcs around the head of Colby Canyon to the base of Strawberry's western face. This is the crux of the climb which involves picking your way up a series of steep, blocky gashes on the rocky mountainside. Route-finding is not really an issue as someone has marked the way with a series of spray-painted arrows which point you in the right direction (Ugh!). Here again, going up was really not terribly intimidating, but being solo, I did have second-thoughts about wanting to descend the same way I came up.

Finally atop Strawberry, I shared the summit with 4 pretty young ladies who were busy taking selfies and lazing about in the sunshine that had finally broken the cloud-cover. A register box was securely chained to a nearby boulder, but I found no register. The register-ripper strikes again.

The Western Route up Strawberry Peak

View North from Strawberry's Summit

View East from Strawberry's Summit

The San Gabriel Complex of Peaks from Strawberry Peak

The return trip was now before me and the prospect of down-climbing what I had just ascended wasn't really that appealing to me. Going up is always much easier than getting down, I had the time, and a couple of attractive alternative were readily available, so I made the decision to continue east from the summit and down to the Lawlor Saddle. Much like the route up Strawberry's western ridge, the use trail from the east is well-worn and easy to follow. In fact, it is so heavily used it almost doesn't qualify as a "use" trail anymore. It is that well established. 

At the saddle, I briefly considered veering south, skirting Lawlor's southern flank, dropping down to Red Box, and then following the San Gabrieleno trail back to Colby Canyon, but that was comfortable territory that I visit more regularly. So I opted for the northern route which circumnavigates Strawberry and would ultimately return me to the Josephine Saddle. This would allow me to replicate on foot the first excursion I made into the San Gabriel Mountains by bike almost 12 years ago. 

The trail north from the Lawlor Saddle (the Strawberry Peak trail I believe) is a pleasure to walk. It has a gentle drop, is well maintained, and it affords nice looks into Coldwater Canyon and the upper Big Tujunga drainage. And because it probably doesn't see as much use as the front side, it has retained its character as a "single track" instead of what otherwise passes for a "trail" in other parts of the forest that sees heavy mountain bike use. That's not to say that mountain bikers don't use this trail--they most certainly do--but they have not yet managed to destroy this fine back-country track. 

Strawberry Peak Trail to Strawberry Potrero

Strawberry Spring. There's More Water Here Than it Appears

Looking North from the Strawberry Peak Trail

Remnants of the Station Fire

Ceanothus in Bloom

The character of the land here is a bit schizophrenic. Like many places in the San Gabriels, it can't quite decide if it wants to be mountain or desert. Evergreens growing on the cool and shady north-facing slopes cohabitate with yucca and manzanita that dot the warm hillsides with a more southern exposure. The damage done by the Station Fire is still evident, but the area is recovering nicely. And like the front side, there are surprises here like water trickling from Strawberry Spring.

The trail bottoms out at Strawberry Potrero just south of Colby Ranch. Here, the trail splits in two different directions. The fork north terminates at Colby Ranch; the other fork (now technically the Colby Canyon trail) passes through Strawberry Portrero before tracking back to the Josephine Saddle. Unique and fanciful trail signage here is helpful and makes it impossible to get lost.

Strawberry Portrero is a very pleasant spot, but appeared to be quite dry with the grasses already gold instead of green. The real star of the show here, however, is not the meadow, but the dramatic north face of Strawberry Peak that stands silent sentinel over the little valley. I'm too old to be much of a rock-climber, but if I was, Strawberry's stony north face would be high on my must-visit list.

Beyond the meadow, the trail climbs softly over a low ridge before it winds lazily along Strawberry's western side. Like it's counter-part on the east, the path here, which sometimes clings precariously to the steep hillside, is fine and easy walking that allows views into lower Tujunga Canyon and beyond. It's easy to get lost in your thoughts and the scenery here. Distances seem much shorter than they ought to be. Time becomes irrelevant. This is a path I hoped continued forever.

Unfortunately it doesn't and before I had time to even enjoy my hiking-induced stupor, I was at the Josephine Saddle. Roused back to reality, I clamored atop the water tank for one last survey of area. Unlike when I started, the sun was now shining brightly and the skies were a deep blue. Mt. Wilson and the peaks of the San Gabriel complex were plainly in view. So I lounged a bit on the cool concrete tank and dined on peanut butter pretzels and warm water before reluctantly retreating down Colby Canyon and back to the trailhead along the noisy Angeles Crest.

Trail Signage Near Strawberry Meadow

First Glimpse of Strawberry's North Face

North Face of Strawberry

Another View of Strawberry's Impressive North Face

Zoom of Strawberry's North Face

Josephine Saddle and Water Tank from the Colby Canyon Trail

Sitting Atop the Josephine Saddle Water Tank

Last Look at Strawberry from Atop the Water Tank. Start of Western Ridge Route Visible Left Frame.

My Route for the Day