Condor Peak and Nighttime Hiking

Last Sunday I decided to challenge myself with my longest hike to date. Even though I knew it was going to be in the 90's weather wise, I couldn't tear myself away from the idea of checking out Condor Peak.

Condor Peak got its name as it used to be a vast nesting spot for the California Condor. These grand birds used to fly over the area in search of dead animals for food. Sadly, none have been seen in this area since before World War II. There have been a handful being reintroduced to the wild in California recently, but unlucky for me, it is in Big Sur, north of the California Mason Dixon line.

Imagine how cool it would've been to be there in the late 1800's searching for gold and watching these amazing birds with a 9 foot wingspan soar above the chaparral coated mountainsides. I figured I'd let my imagination take me to the majesty of what once was.

Nevertheless, the idea of the 8.3 mile (16.6 round trip) hike peaked my interest, and I've realized I do well in hot weather hikes, so I decided to give it a go.

The trail starts off just across from the Vogel Flats parking area off Big Tujunga Canyon Road. Via a maze of long switchbacks, it's only about a 3000' elevation gain overall. This is deceiving, however, as the trail goes up, up then slightly down continually all along the way--to the top gaining elevation until you can look out over all god-kind.

I brought six 32oz bottles of Gatorade and a handful of Cliff Builder's bars and set out early-ish--finally hitting the trail at 11:30 am. As I wrongly assumed there would be no water up there, I also assumed this would mean no bears and few critters, so I didn't bring along my bear spray. Fortunately I didn't need it, but my assumptions definitely turned out to be wrong.

My mission this trip was to collect wild plants. After enjoying my first class of 5 survival courses I'm taking-- this one being on native edible and inedible plants, I decided to both test my knowledge and bring back samples of things I see all the time but couldn't identify.

I collected Manzanita berries, which can be used like aspic, for a thickener. The leaves can be made into a tea. I found a puff ball mushroom, which if it wasn't so dried up would've been entirely edible. Of course there is Yucca absolutely everywhere. I now know how to make rope from its leaves and found out its fruit is also edible. I pulled up what I thought was wild sage, only to learn that it was gypsum weed, a powerful narcotic, and I munched on Toyon berries, which were quite dry--think grape nuts--having lost some of their inherent tart taste. I was surrounded by buckwheat too, which can be used to make a porridge or mixed with more glutenous flours to make things like pancakes.

However, mostly I just walked fast and looked and walked fast some more.

 My secondary mission was to follow the trail on my map and really delve into the topography, discerning what I was in for ahead of time simply by reading the map. This definitely came in handy, as it prevented me from taking a wrong turn and enabled me to make fairly accurate assessments of how much distance I had traveled.

The map did identify two small streams coming off the trail, but the scope of the drought left me assuming they would not still be there. Instead, this is what I pleasantly found. Water in So Cal in September!

Sure we'd had a brief shower earlier in the week, and even a flash flood warning. Perhaps this place was where the rains actually arrived.

The stream wasn't much more than a trickle. However, the lush green plants surrounding it gave away that this place likely provided water to local fauna year round. Eager to once again try out my water purification skills, I gathered as much as the small puddle would allow, dropped in my iodine tablet and set about to wait the 30 mins it takes.

Water in So Cal Mountains 9/13

After the water, which was less than halfway up, the trail got a bit rockier. I was hoping to average 3 miles each hour, but as the clock approached 3:30, I realized I had not yet hit Condor Peak, and I didn't want to hike back in the dark. I could see the peak however, off in the distance, so I decided to press on. I wanted to reach my target no later than 4:30 pm. I had already been hiking for five hours.

The trail book said to expect five false peaks, so I started counting them. After I hit peak number five, I stood atop the hill victorious, only my celebration was short-lived, as I realized I'd mis-counted. I was somehow on peak #4. Condor Peak loomed large just over the next saddle.

Crap! I'd already allowed an extra hour to get here, and by the looks of the trail, I knew it would take me another hour to hit the top of the bird baby, so I decided to call it a day and set back down, hoping to beat the sunset--even if only by a hair.

Condor Peak Just Over There

Realizing I had set myself up for a stiff challenge, I headed back down the trail as quickly as I could. My trekking pole made of burnt wood stood fast, and I made good time. However, somewhere about 2 miles down, I lost the trail. Realizing the sun was about an hour away from setting, and I had easily another 2 hours on the trail, I retraced my steps. Remembering what happened to me at Fish Fork, I did not want to take the chance of being stuck out here at night. Where is the damned trail? I went back up to where I last knew for certain the trail was and for the life of me could not find the path down.

S.T.O.P. This is what every survivalist learns to do when moments like this occur. Don't panic!

S. Stop,. T. Take Note. O. Observe. P. Plan.

I took a deep breath and decided to make a plan. I stood at the end of the path that was now leading nowhere and searched for 10 minutes looking for signs of the trail. Finally, over the gorge on the peak opposite the peak I was standing on, I saw where the trail picked back up. Knowing what I know now, I knew scaling down that mountain then back up it in a straight line would not only be nearly impossible, it would take far more time than it looked like it should.

That being said, I realized it was my best chance, so I set out to switchback down my hill then find a way to climb the other one back to the known path. I thought of what I should do if  I had to stay the night. I realized how foolish it was that I had decided not to bring my 3 oz thermal blanket. I thought of how I would likely burn down the forest should I decide to start a fire around here, and how I couldn't live with myself if I ever were to make that happen. I decided to put all that out of my mind and cross that bridge if I got to it. I knew if I had to, I would find a way.

I know how to make shelter out of what is around me. I know how to make them warm. If I could get through the night, I knew I'd live to tell the tale another day.

I started carving out a trail and not 4 minutes later, I found my lost trail! There must've been a switchback steep corner I had missed somehow, because there it was. Thank the gods! I wasn't much in the mood for bushwacking.

I picked up the pace and set off to see if I could hit the bottom before nightfall. I was completely unafraid. Along the way, I stopped to take a picture of the fairly fresh pile of bear poop I'd seen on the way up there. It was filled with Manzanita berries and was nearly as big as 2/3 of my foot. When I poked it with my stick, it was wet inside. That's how I knew it was fresh.

As I sped down the mountain I thought about how far I've come in such a few short journeys. My first journey had me terrified of animals. Now I was completely unafraid--not unaware, just not afraid.

My senses were peaked, as the daylight retracted from the mountains, and I listened. Nothing. Crickets and cicadas doing their thang. It's funny how they pick up at night. Even the lone few that live in the gym always start singing when the sun goes down.

Around 7:30 pm, it was 100% black. There was no moon out tonight, but my flashlight kept the trail lit. I loved seeing how my body responded when I'd misjudge a trail and start sliding down the slope a bit. I'd jump back to safety. It was instinctual. I loved that.

I remember when I first started doing CrossFit. My coach at the time used to have us run up something called Suicide Hill. Coming down that path scared the bejesus out of me. It was so damned steep! I always loved how he'd just assume we could all do it and challenge us by not backing down.  We all managed to find a way.  I was grateful for that training now.

Quickly, quickly I went down switchback after switchback, revisiting areas that I'd crossed over earlier, grateful I had an easy-to-follow path. No signs of animals anywhere, not even a rabbit, snake or a mouse.

As I rounded the final switchback made passable only by riding on one's butt under thorny chaparral, it was pitch black. The lights from the lone house in the area burned. A motorcycle rounded the corner, slowing to check me out. I'm sure he was just making sure I was okay. All he could see was an unexpected flashlight from afar.

I headed back down the last stretch of trail which followed the highway, then found safety in my car.

This was my longest trek to date.