Mission Aborted, Harrowing Climb

My John W. Robinson, "Trails of the Angeles" book on hikes in Los Angeles has become my go to for determining where I am going to go next. That being said, it was wrong on the directions on how to get to Trail Canyon, and today turned out to be a similar experience—only heightened. I no longer can trust this guide to be accurate.

Saturday’s weightlifting session which I coach ran over. The energy was high. Everyone was having fun joking around, the rests between sessions got lengthened. With a long day of programming, 2 hours turned into 3, already putting my trail departure time behind schedule.

I quickly hustled to gather my gear, did a few more searches on Little Fish Fork (since I already knew my Trail book to be inaccurate), and set out for the day’s journey. I had to make a quick pit-stop at Vons for 8 bottles of Gatorade, some Gatorade powder and some Cliff Builder’s Bars, as these have become my go-to fare for my adventures. The Gatorade is heavy, but I drink more of it than I would water, and today I was grateful I had enough. The Cliff Bars are small, and easy to eat. Nuff said.

The exit to Blue Ridge Road came quickly off CA 2, North. However, I had misjudged the distance in this road was. I was on the road almost 2 hours before I got to it. Just outside of Wrightwood, this 3 mile dirt road was rocky, unkempt and seriously not designed for my Toyota  Scion.  This is one thing John Robinson got right.

 I drove slowly. A flat tire would put a serious crimp in my day and my weekend. The road lead to Blue Ridge Campground, then past that underneath ski lifts for Mountain High. It was thrilling to see black diamond slopes with no snow. The drop offs were terrifying. I thought of how much I admire people who can head down slopes like this fearlessly. Although I’ve managed a few “easier” black diamond slopes in my day, I recalled one similar to this in which the drop off was simply too steep. I had to climb down several hundred feet of it on my butt.

The road passed another ski lift and the Guffy Campground turnoff. The directions were murky. I wound up taking the wrong fork the first time—winding up at a dead end, which interestingly was a trail head for the Pacific Crest Trail. Someday I’ll be on that trail for its duration, I thought, but for today, Little Fish Fork.

I turned my car around and headed down the right fork. There were several areas in which although I drove super slowly, my car bottomed out. Then I came upon a mountain of dirt clearly none but even the bravest 4-wheelers would traverse. I parked my car to the side of the gravel road, grabbed my pack and headed down the trail. The book had at least warned me of this.

I wound down this old logging road for about 1.5 miles. Scars on the mountain indicated the path of the San Andreas fault. Crazy! Nothing would grow there. Trees clung to the very edges, but the fault itself was no man’s land. About a mile in, I came to a river of rocks. It was about 100 yards wide in places. It extended from the scars on the mountain down as far as I could see. It appears the Earth had opened and spit up boulders. I’d never seen anything like it.

I crossed the rock river and headed to the right, finding the sign the book noted, “ Sheep Mountain Wilderness ahead”, then another sign which pointed to the NW spouting Fish Fork and Pine Mountain Ridge Trail ahead. So far, so good.  A deer grazed in the shade of old pines and some majestic redwoods.

The trail was clearly not often used. Chaparral and bushes with 2 inch thorns begun their process of making sausage of my legs. Although I’d worn long shorts and gaiters, my knees took the brunt of their attempt to keep me away.

The trail wound its way up, via a zig zag of dirt, rocks and scrub. I felt strong, and I pushed forward at a strong aerobic pace. It was 5:30 when I left my car. My plan was to set up camp at 7:00 pm, get up early, head down to the trails end amidst hidden waterfalls, hang out for about ½ hour, refill my water, then head back up. I figured I’d be about 8-10 hours round trip. I was up for the challenge.

About ¾ mile up from the sign, I saw what appeared to be the biggest pile of bear poop I’d ever seen. It was coiled and dark. As I got closer, I realized it was not one, but two rattlesnakes coiled up on the trail. The sun was less than an hour from setting, and as we were in the shade, the air was quite cool. I tossed a largish rock toward them. Nothing. I tossed another rock. Nothing. I got closer, thinking they were dead, and I saw the dark one’s tongue spitting out.

Whoa, I thought! They were only sleeping. No rattling was coming forth, so I got the idea they’d just assume leave me alone if I did them. His wife or her child was smaller and beige. It lay coiled up beneath it. I cut a wide swath around them, and we both continued on doing what we were before.

I continued heading up the trail, which wasn’t more than a 20-30 degree rise. I passed some of the most glorious views I’ve ever seen. Once again, this was pure wilderness. You could see 6 mountain ranges beyond and no sight of the city anywhere.

The sun started to dip beyond the mountains, so I found a plateau and set up my tent. I stowed my back pack in a tree about 100 yards away and set up camp for the night.

I studied Bjorn Kjellstrom’s, “Be Expert with Map & Compass” refreshing my memory from the one course I took over a year ago. I settled into sleep.

I awoke at 7 am and broke down camp. Two deer stood grazing on the next plateau a few hundred yards away.

I set up the mountain, and came across a sign which thankfully pointed the way to the trail, as the directions in the book did not correspond. I remember the video I’d watched of a couple who made this trek only 4 months back. I was on the right path. Another mile ahead I came to another sign that pointed toward what I falsely believed was the start of the steep switchbacks to get me down.

The trail went on for about a mile, then suddenly came to a complete dead-end. There was a chasm about 15 feet wide and 5 feet deep filled with broken pieces of what seemed like shale. The angle of the mountain was easily approaching 70 degrees.  There was no obvious trail on the other side of this chasm. I stood there for what seemed like forever, before I decided I had to find a way to cross, as I was certain the trail must pick back up on the other side.

Each step I took into the chasm brought dozens of small rocks gushing down, my feet sliding down the mountain upon them. I lay on my belly hoping to side step the ravine, but with any movement at all, I started sliding downward. The bottom of this chasm lay 1200 meters beneath. There was a small plateau in the rock waterfall I was on about 800 m down. I figured if I could get down there, I could cross the chasm more readily, then work my way back up the trail hoping to pick it back up somewhere.

My 40# backpack pushed me forward. There are many ways I thought I might die, but rolling headlong down a ravine with a backpack to my death is not one of them. I unleashed the pack from my body and sent it rolling down the mountainside first. It took 9 seconds to arrive. The pack landed in chapparal, the tent about five meters east, and the sleeping mat in another nearby bush. Thank the gods it had not rolled down the entirety.

I sat on my ass and slid down the rocks, feeling quite comfortable in this position. I gathered manageable speed, but was fortunately stopped by the chapparal at the bottom. It took me 9 minutes to make the same journey. I gathered my pack and accoutrements, re-positioned them and set off again in hopes of finding the trail. I figure this was about an 800 foot drop.

I looked everywhere on that mountain and could see nothing obviously resembling a trail. There were a few plateaus that broke up the downward trajectory, however. They seemed to circumnavigate the saddle, so I followed one.

Crap! I arrived at a dead end. The “trail” arrived at a precipice. There was no way down from here other than tumbling. I backtracked hoping to find a better path. For a short while I considered hiking back to the top from where I originally came, nearly 3200 feet in elevation gain.  I realized it was simply too harrowing to continue to carry my pack with me at this point. Instead of leaving it, however, I unloaded my tent, sleeping mat and sleeping bag—keeping only necessities like food and water. I would pick everything else up upon my return.  Another plateau presented itself and looked promising as a trail. I followed it for about ¾ mile, before arriving at another ravine, only this one was deeper and more forbidding.  Clearly I was not on the right track.

I was so frustrated!! I couldn't find a safe way down to the bottom of the mountain, and I wasn't really sure if that's where I wanted to go anyway. After much mulling, I finally decided to call it a day and make my way back up. I trekked back to my belongings, repacked them and set out in what would be a vain attempt to find the easiest way up the almost 2 miles back up the mountain side.

I knew I didn’t want to cross the original rock forge too high, for fear of not being so lucky this time down, so I started desperately trying to find anything resembling a path to traverse the ground to get to it. The chapparal and thorns further dug into my legs.  The ground was extremely steep. If it wasn’t covered in fine shale, it was covered in dirt. It seemed no matter where I stepped, I’d begin sliding down. I slipped, driving a dozen thorns into my hands. Cursing, I started picking them out, wiping away the pinpricks of blood, as I pushed on.

When I realized I was going to have to go back into the ravine to get to my destination, I took note of key markers, so I could ensure that where I chose to forge my way up would lead me back to the original trail from whence I came.  I took note of a dozen tall pine trees all in a line with a dead tree at the top and a small Christmas tree just beyond. Those were the markers I kept in my sight as I struggled to move forward.

I landed on my ass more times than I care to admit. I was hot, sweaty and a little panicky. It seemed there was no way out. I was getting more tired as the sun crept higher into the sky.

I kept pushing on, sometimes through chest-high thorns and other times on my belly. I arrived at the chasm. I was near the bottom, and the rocks were bigger. They looked easy enough to climb. Boy was I wrong, more rock slides lead me to grab ahold of ingrained boulders with tablespoons of footing. I stood on a small cliff only about 20 meters up. I was pretty afraid.

If there’s one thing that scares the bejesus out of me it’s standing or climbing up cliffs. I’d sooner trek through thorns and chapparal. I sat there scared and unsure what to do. Suddenly a loud noise startled me. Fuck! My bear spray had come undone and sprayed on me.

If you’ve never experienced pepper spray, it is unreal. The first time I sprayed it was in the gym to test it. I had a huge machine shop fan blowing behind me and both doors open. I couldn’t breathe. I had to air out the gym for several hours before I could even go in again. Another time I’d accidentally sprayed myself. Imagine the worst sunburn you’ve ever had x10. It feels like wherever you sprayed is on fire. If you touch that spot, now that body part is on fire too. Heaven knows don’t get it in your eyes. It takes forever to flush it out.

Now I’d have to deal with a burning leg and belly to add to my frustrations and growing deep sense of panic. Enough already!

Annoyed and frustrated, I tossed my backpack down the ravine again, only this time it went much further than I’d hoped, and I had to backtrack about 40 yards down the hill to retrieve it. The very real thought that I might have to leave it behind began to surface.

There seemed to be no way up this mountain! Everything was covered in rocks or dense chapparal. I was starting to get worried. Frustrated, I set out on another plateau that lead me to the other side of my tree marker line. It seemed, from a distance, to offer a better landscape for climbing.

At first I was wrong again! The pine needle covered hillside was too slippery to climb too! Every foot step sent me sliding backward.  I had to do something drastic. I decided to lighten my pack, as I couldn’t bear the thought of parting with $700 worth of equipment unnecessarily. I settled on my sleeping bag because of its density as well as a few other items totaling about 10#.

I set up the hill again. Better. I made wide swaths of switchbacks walking at 10 degree angles back and forth up the hill. I didn’t want to fall, and I had to keep moving upward. My legs felt like lead. I realized that to get up 6’ of height was like walking on a stair master with 40# of weights. It took fifty steps to earn 12 feet of elevation. It was exhausting. Many times I’d have to force myself to continue climbing, because there literally was no flat surface in which to rest. I did not look down. I kept my eyes on my trees and kept pushing.

I crossed another path of rocks. They were so hot my fingers burned. The bottoms of my boots were on fire. I kept pushing on. Finally, I arrived at the bottom of the 12 trees.  I kept my narrow and long switchbacks. It took me nearly 4 hours to get back up that hill.

I was freaking exhausted.

I headed back down the other side. I figured I was still about 2 hours from my car, as my trek back would be mainly uphill, but at least I knew I'd make it back by nightfall now.

As I crossed the San Andreas Fault rock river, I saw an old gold Bronco with 3 guys outside it all wearing camouflage. I stopped to talk to them. It was clear they were hunters. I was breathing heavy. I was covered in dirt. My legs were bleeding from the scratches and scrapes.

Thank God they volunteered to drive me back up to my car. Even their 4-wheel drive struggled to make it back up.

I got back in my car and headed back home. Starving, I stopped in Wrightwood for a burger and an iced tea. I spent 15 minutes in the bathroom just wiping off the surface dirt. I figured my back and butt were covered, but I was too tired to truly care.

When I got home I realized I’d broken my glasses from them being in my pack and my shorts had a huge hole in the ass from sliding down. Wonder what those folks at that burger joint had thought! Crazy dirty lady with a hole in her pants.

No matter. A hot shower ended the day. As I lay down to sleep, I am grateful to log another amazing. adventure.

Blueberries, Mud and a Dental Floss Spider--Part II

After my harrowing night wondering if I was going to be coyote fare, I awoke to a beautiful sunny day. It was 7 am, and I had overslept. No worries, heaven knows I didn't sleep as much the night before as I had hoped. (If you missed Part I, you can find it here:  http://goadventurewoman.blogspot.com/2015/08/twelve-wild-pigs-and-pack-of-coyotes.html )

I set out on the trail and was immediately confronted further by the depths of the flooding, as much of the trail was thigh high in water, so I opted to carve a wide swath around.

Today's journey was fairly uneventful animal wise. I saw a five foot black snake cut a path across my trail as I approached. I was amazed by his speed, but he had no interest in me.

Further up the trail  I also found what I believe to be wild blueberries, but I didn't eat any, as I wasn't sure.

The trail was much better marked today, and I strode through tall grasses with woods on either side. Clearly the boy scouts had made play out of the area. There was the "Stairway to Heaven" in which the trail was marked by some stairs someone had built, "Cripple Creek" which was just a dried up muddy creek bed and Grate Bridge, which was a bridge built out of a grate.

The bridge enabled me to miss out on waist high water, but I was up to my knees in water in order to keep on the trail further beyond. My boots were suction cups pulling up dark smelly mud from underneath. I left a trail of black footprints and I transgressed further into the woods.

Somehow I wound up on a swath of trail that appeared to have been traveled by a pick up truck at least within the past six months, as the grasses weren't too overgrown. Lucky me, I wound up smack dab at somebody's property.

Although I didn't quite make it to the end of the trail, I had already been hiking for 4 hours at this point, so it seemed as good a time to turn around as any.

Heading back I almost ran smack dab into a spider's web with a wild mid-section. It almost appeared as if the spider had found some wide dental floss and woven it into his web. The spider was rather beautiful too.

And as I got back to the part of the trail which was on the lake, I was surprised by the amount of animal bones. I saw a few fish skeletons, as well as what I believe to be turtle bones.

I continued on my path, at one point getting lost and taking a trail which lead me right back to where I started on it. It was a beautiful segway, but one which added 40 minutes to my trek.

I had been walking along the entire 2 days with a great walking stick I found. I managed to break my fall and the stick at one point today, trying to cross under a fallen tree. I found another, but managed to break another fall and it not a mile further on. Feeling that I must be within a few miles of being back where my whole journey started, I opted to go stickless moving forward. Naturally that means I fell flat on my ass in the mud as I crossed the very last mucky creek.

I unloaded my back, my shoulders were killing me! I found a hose from a campsite hookup hosed off and made my way to my Aunt and Uncle's house, where I was thrilled to have a shower and comfy bed to spend the night.

Twelve Wild Pigs and a Pack of Coyotes--Part I

I had two days between when one athlete left Dallas and before the other one arrives. Despite the 96 degree heat, I was determined to have an opportunity to experience the local wildlife via a lengthy wilderness hike and camp-out.

I settled on a 14 mile hike between Juniper Point and Rock Creek on the South side of Lake Texoma--a ginormous lake that straddles the North end of Texas and Oklahoma.

As my cell phone is a piece of crap and refuses to be useful for anything other than an occasional call, I diligently wrote out the directions via map quest. I'd drop off Laurie at DFW airport, then head to my destination.

Texas, despite its huge growth is still made up of loads of wonderful small towns, sprawling farms and farm-to-market roads labeled FM 121, for example (rather than Hwy 121).

I headed up Hwy 377 with the directions to take a left on Liberty, which I did. It dead-ended at the end of an up-and-coming fancy neighborhood. Clearly I was lost. I asked a local for some assistance, but he wasn't sure what I was talking about and his directions lead me to the lake shore on the opposite side. Finally, by a lucky twist of fate, I wound up at a blocked off road where a lady was sitting under an umbrella ensuring no one would pass.

I inquired as to the location of Juniper point. She told me she was pretty sure it was still closed.

You see, Texas, after seven years of searing drought got 10 years of rainfall in the span of a month. Not only were the water tables completely filled during this torrent, lakes and reservoirs had reached all time recorded highs. The flooding was massive.

I inquired about Cedar Bayou instead. It was a mid-way point, and my series of wrong turns had stolen about an hour away from my day. It was getting late, and I wanted to get in a few hours of hiking before nightfall set in.

She gave me directions to Cedar Bayou, not sure if that was open either, but I set off to find out for myself, as I really wanted to get a move on.

Cedar Bayou is a small marina with about 30 boats docked there. All I knew was I saw a sign for a trailhead with another sign indicating "hikers park here". Good enough for me!

As the weather was hot, I brought 7 liters of Gatorade in my back along with my tent, a sleeping bag and a sleeping mat. I also brought loads of protein bars for food and assundries like night-lamps and toilet paper. Even though the trail map online indicated a lake was near, I didn't want to risk running out of liquid, as I wasn't certain how near.

By the time I got on the trail, it was 6 pm--not at all ideal, but at least it was a start. My plan was to hike in as far as I could, get up early the next morning, hike to the end of the trail at Rock Creek, then hike back. I figured round trip the whole trail would encompass around 18 miles.

The trail was marked with green and red arrows--green for hikers, red for mountain bikers. I set out on the green trail, which was a challenge to find at times.

Right away, it was evident just how far the water had risen. Although the rains had ceased well over three months ago, there was a grey residue that lay over everything. The water line had receded from 8 feet deeper than where I was walking. The ground was ankle deep in mud in many places, and I fought to keep from falling as I crossed murky stagnant tributaries. The foot prints from animals were plentiful. I took pictures of what could be coyotes or wolves, bob cats, and what I originally thought must be deer, as the tracks were clearly of hooves.

There were so many tracks! Clearly loads of wildlife lived here.

I walked in mostly shaded areas, struggling to find the markers that were said to mark the path. Many times I was sure I was lost, only to pick back up the trail marker and realize I was found.

The trail was narrow and lead up through thick forests with light trickling in. It was hot. Sweat poured off my chin.

Fortunately I'd done some research about heat stroke. I donned a long-sleeved wicking shirt, and as it was entirely sweat drenched, it kept me exceptionally cool. I bought a cheap straw fedora to keep the sun off my face, and it was helping too. I carried my Gatorade in hand, as I am notoriously bad about drinking frequently enough, and I wanted to ensure a steady stream of hydration every 20 minutes or so.

The first foot bridge I came to was entirely washed out. I made a wide swath around the murky pond, regaining the trail on the other side. I continued on, sweating profusely, walking as quickly as I could, determined to make as much ground as possible in the span of time that remained in this day.

The second bridge was in tact, and I crossed it easily. The trail meandered circumventing the lakes amoeba-like shape before diving deep into the forest, away from the water.

The trail wound up, up and nice sized hill (no mountains here), and as I traversed the other side, I froze in my tracks.

Two eyes peered from me from not 25 feet away. At first I was sure it was a black panther, and I was baffled, as the animals I'd read about in this area did not include panthers. Bobcats, yes. Panthers no.

I stood silently, holding my breath, hoping it wouldn't see me. Then it moved. Completely tense, I watched it as it walked out from behind the tree and headed up the hill. It wasn't a panther at all. It was a black wild pig!

No sooner had he passed, then a baby spotted wild pig followed behind. Oh my God. I knew wild pigs could be vicious, and especially sows with babies in tow. I stood motionless. Frozen.

Another pig followed behind those two, then another. Larger pigs and baby pigs all scurried up the hill, their noses to the ground, looking for grubs and roots. A pink baby pig with large black spots stopped and looked right at me. I quickly assessed the situation. There was a tree not 2 feet in front of me with a small enough circumference I could easily scale it, and tall enough I could readily get away.

Then he looked away. He made no alarm to the others. One after another, a dozen pigs including 4 piglets made their way up the hill crossing the trail from which I had just traversed.

Hooves. Now I knew those were not deer prints I had seen, but rather herds of pigs.

After the last one had crossed the path behind me and was out of sight, I set back off on the trail, which was fortunately headed in the opposite direction. I kept looking back over my shoulder, but the pigs were no where in sight.

Amazing!!! I can't believe I had just witnessed something so spectacular! I felt lucky to be alive and blessed by the good fortune of running late enough that I was able to catch this spectacle of nature.

I continued on, the trail once again meandering along the lake. The sun was starting to set, so I decided to set up camp at a breezy spot along the lake.

The dirt was soft and spongy, and I could hear the waves slapping up against the shore. Cicadas and crickets created a deafening symphony, and I felt peaceful about the day.

It was hot and humid still, so I decided to leave the rain flap off my tent, sleeping under a virtual screened in view of everything around me. I wrote about the days events, the turned off the lamp. It was pitch black.

I lay awake, sweating. The dried sweat from earlier today caused hairs to prickle and itch. It was nearly impossible to relax enough to sleep. I felt a swoosh run by my tent. My hairs stood on end! I wondered to myself whether it would be better to be able to see anything looking in on me, or whether I'd feel safer knowing they couldn't see me either. I got up, donned my headlamp and covered my tent with the rain flap. It was so blistering hot, however, that within minutes I opened the front of the flap to let in some air.

Now there was no view from my tent or into it except out the front door, which was facing the lake.

I lay there itchy and hot for several hours.

I wasn't afraid, but sleep wasn't coming either.

Then, out of nowhere, I head a deep growling not 30 feet away. It was a deep growl followed by a series of yips.

OMG. It was a coyote or wolf, and I was sure he was signaling to his pack that dinner was close by sandwiched in a tent. I sat up slowly, carefully pulling both knives from their sheaths and pulling the air-horn in close, which I keep for emergencies. I had forgotten my bear spray, so it was the next best thing.

If the bull-horn didn't scare them away, I'd fight them off or die trying with a freshly sharpened knife in each hand.

I sat there, motionless, for at least 40 minutes. Nothing.

Finally, I lay back down, my hands still on my knives.

At last I heard them barking and yipping. It appeared they'd decided to move further from me. They seemed to be communicating with one another through a series of noises. No matter, the sounds were clearly at least a mile away now.

I lay back down and sunk into sleep.

Bear Poop and Bear Proof

My big goal of a six month solo backpacking trip not entirely on a well traveled trail looms large. I find it fuels my every move, my training, my weekends and  my other-than-work thoughts. I have so much to learn!

Lucky for me, my journey is about 2 years into the future, so I'll have loads of opportunities to have many many smaller adventures in preparation for my first of what I hope to become regular grander adventures.

This week, I had to be back at work early on Monday, so my jaunt had to be short. I generally work 7 days a week, although on Saturdays and Sundays it's only for a few hours each. Nevertheless, getting several days in a row together for my outings has necessitated some planning. Thus, I run with our running group on Sunday mornings, with the goal of being on the trail by noon. I camp Sunday nights, returning on Mondays--generally by 2pm. As I mentioned earlier, this week I had an important business meeting at 11, so my trip had to be a short one.  I have to hike back Monday mornings from wherever I hike on Sundays, so unless I want to start at 3am (and I'm still a little afraid of wild animals at that time of night) I have to plan accordingly.

I chose the West Fork Campground--a nice 9 mile round trip hike.

I got to the trailhead a bit later than I hoped, around 2pm, unloaded my gear, put on my new hopefully-snake-bite retardant gaiters, which I lined with double layers of duct tape, and set out.

A few mountain bikers were gathered by the roadside. They asked me if I was heading into West Fork, to which I replied in the affirmative. They told me how the trails were severely overgrown, how they'd wound up on the Silver Mocassin trail, and how they even saw bear scat. They warned me that poison ivy was everywhere, then they wished me a good weekend.

Wow. Forewarned, I walked to the next parking lot over where some locals were sitting. An Asian fellow with long black hair and two missing front teeth sat on the stoop along with a ruddy faced fellow I'd guess to be in his early 50's. I asked them if this was the trail to West Fork. After a very very roundabout answer, I still wasn't sure if it was or not, but I figured I'd wind up somewhere. As long as I had my tent, I had a place to sleep for the night. They mentioned something about Valley Forge Campground being only a mile in, then getting on the Gabrielino trail and that would take me to West Fork.

The day was hot, but the trail was all down hill, super shaded and gorgeous. As we'd had 4" of rain the week prior there were lots of small streams to cross. I'd get to practice purifying water, which was one of my tasks for the day.

The cyclists were right. There was poison ivy everywhere. I'd never seen so much of it. Fortunately I am not sensitive to it, and my gaiters kept it off my legs anyway. It was purply red and pervasive.

After about an hour in, I passed the Valley Forge Campground. Nope, too early, I kept pressing on. I passed by what appeared to be some old no longer used cabins made out of corrugated steel. One had been painted a sort of combination of mint and lime green. It was almost entirely underground, save for the roof. I kept hearing a loud odd noise, sort of like pop-gun fire. I stopped and listened--still. I've read to learn to trust your instincts and to pause when they tell you too.

Crack! It happened again! I remained quiet. Was it an animal crackling over branches in the woods? Oy vey! This time I saw the culprit. It was huge acorns falling from the oak tree above the corrugated steel roof. Each time they hit, they made a loud "pow" sound.

I laughed out loud.

The last time I went out in the forest alone I was afraid.

This time I felt no fear at all.

I wondered what it must have been like to live in a place like this.  Frankly, I'd trade it over a house in Beverly Hills any day of the week.

I hiked on, forging a small stream deep enough to test my iodine tablets on. I dropped 2 into the bottle as directed, swirling the mixture over the mouthpiece as well. I sealed the cap and put it back into my back pack. It would be ready in 15-30 minutes. I'd drink it then.

I headed past loads of trees, as the trail wound up and down forging ahead into the great outdoors. Thirsty, I decided to test out my water. It was a bit brown, but it tasted pretty good. I figured if I was going to have diarrhea, I'd just as soon get the party started.

The trail started heading up a bit, then out around into the sun. The trail became more sandy. I passed a sign that said, "Eaton Saddle. Valley Forge". I was perplexed. I'd been hiking about 2 hours now. If I was on the right track, considering my trip was mostly downhill, I should be nearing my destination. But which way?

I still had no topo map, but I had at least ordered them from Sports Chalet. I would definitely have them next time!

I decided that I needed continue on my original course, and I pressed on. Was I on the Silver Moccasin trail after all? That big pile of dung sure looks like bear scat to me. It had to be bear scat, I cannot honestly think of another animal save a horse that could've produced poop that large. It was filled with berries, and it was easily 3" in diameter. I realized I was probably on the same trail as those mountain bikers.

Overgrown my ass! This trail was a breeze compared to what I'd seen last week.

I pressed on noticing blackened trees-burnt by the Station Fire over 5 years back. Their spindly sharp fingers poking through short green foliage fighting to replace their damaged tops. It was starkly beautiful.

After another 1/2 an hour, I realized I was likely lost. I could press on, hoping I'd hit my campground before nightfall, or I could turn back and camp at Valley Forge.

I'd taken an animal trapping class that morning (which is why I arrived so late), and I'd learned a basic clap trap as well as a sling shot trap that hurls your catch into the air tied up into a noose hanging from a tree. I was eager to test them both out.

As that was the real purpose of this jaunt, I opted to head back. I wanted to set a few traps tonight to seal in the information I'd received.

I arrived at Valley Forge campground and was pleased to see I was the only person there. There is something deeply satisfying in being completely alone in the woods. I long to live in the forest. I fantasize about living off the land some day.

I set up my tent. As there was no pouring rain, it was much easier than last time. It went up beautifully. I set about to lay a few traps, but I chose not to bait them yet. I knew this meant I would likely not catch anything, but that was not yet the purpose. The purpose was to ensure I knew how. I set 2 clap traps and one noose trap. I figured I might smash a lizard, as the clap traps were really small, and without bait, I figured it would be doubtful I'd get anything in the noose.

I set about to hang my goodies, which were already in a bear-smell-proof bag way high in a tree--just in case the people-who-made-the-bag were wrong.

I sat in my tent waiting to put on the rain/night flap, looking up at the stars and watching it get dark. The cicadas and crickets started singing along with some weird sounding bird.

I got out my Renaissance Periodization Diet book, which I had on my Kindle, and got to work taking notes.

The next morning, I checked my traps. Nothing! No surprises here. Honestly, I have a pact. If I kill it, I have to eat it. Seeing that it was hot, I didn't want to travel with a smashed squirrel in a bag for 3 hours in my pack back to my car still having zero clue on what to do with it.

No, I'll wait until I know how to preserve it, skin it, quarter it, cook it then eat it before I set traps in which I really plan to get something.

I packed up my gear, wolfed down my breakfast of 3 protein bars, drank a half bottle of Gatorade and headed back. The trail was mostly uphill this time, so I had to hustle to get back on time.

Holy shit! No, I mean literally. There in the middle of the trail was mountain lion scat. I knew it was mountain lion because of the size and the fact that it was mostly fur. I've been studying up on these lions a bit now, and their diet is almost entirely animals, so if there's no fur, it's doubtful it's cougar scat. This was all fur, but it had to be a day or two old. I can't believe I'd missed it on the way in. I wished I'd taken a picture of it.

Crazy!! Last weekend I was terrified of bears and mountain lions. This week they'd both been within a few miles of my campsite within the last few days, and I felt completely at peace.

You never know what adventures the wilderness will bring.