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.