Bridge to Nowhere, Prospector's Blues, Rock Slide, and a Spine

Last weekend I went out with my old long-time boyfriend, Dan. Although we are officially separated now, we remain great friends. Despite my odd proclivity for solo adventures, he's been very supportive of them. I decided to invite him along on this one, as I had a few specific tasks in mind. Add to that the known dangerousness of this area when it rains, and I thought I'd be better off being smart than being solo.

The Bridge to Nowhere is a bridge built in 1936 as part of an abandoned attempt to connect the San Gabriel Valley with Wrightwood. Apparently the frequent flash floods wiped out the attempt early on, so the bridge was abandoned. Now it stands as an odd sublime sculpture amidst monolithic rock faces leading into the Narrows, home of gold prospectors, rapid rivers and bones.

Many people have lost their lives here, mainly due to the flash floods which roar through the area carrying unsuspecting hikers to an early grave. That being said, many more people have made it through successfully, and I planned to be one of those. Sure enough, fliers announcing the funeral for a long-time prospector in the area who was 65, hung from nearby trees. The last torrential rain brought forth a flash flood, which cost him his life.

On Sunday morning, it was lightly drizzling, and the forecast called for some rain. We drove over an hour to get to the trailhead parking lot, arriving about noon.

We had plans to hike in as far as we could, potentially to Fish Fork, no more than a six mile day. However, with unsure footing and wetter weather, we mostly just wanted to enjoy the ride. My plan was to build, then set a trap for a bird and successfully build a fire in wet conditions. We wanted to arrive to camp early, so we could set up camp early and get these things done.

Dan set a fast pace, and we unknowingly lost the main trail right away finding ourselves on a path that had us crossing the river about a dozen times. No crossing was higher than the knees. We went in knowing we were going to get wet. Soaked through within the first 30 minutes, we weren't disappointed. At least it wasn't too cold out!

On our way, we saw some really interesting things. The first one was an 8 inch section of what was clearly some animal's spine. I've seen turtle bones, some craniums, some leg bones even, but I'd never seen an animal's spine. It was an eerie reminder that there were animals out here capable of ripping apart flesh leaving almost nothing behind.

We quickly came upon a bevy of young gold prospectors. Dressed like young tarzans, they both looked like mere boys, high as kites, their pails holding hopes of daily bread.

Dozens of people passed us heading out as Dan and I made our way in. It was Sunday after all. We both had the next morning off; apparently they did not.

We passed by Swan Rock. If you look closely at the photo, you'll see the resemblance.

A stream of 8 guys and girls that were twenty-somethings streamed past us one by one. Their fearless leader, donning a curled moustache made stiff by wax proudly announced that they had come via the back way through Fish Fork. I told them I was impressed, as that was the only journey I have had to abort. He was dressed like a prospector of old donning tall black lace-up boots and what appeared to be vintage military riding pants.

Odd. People are so interesting.

We passed by a blue tarp, home to yet another prospector. They must be gold up here somewhere, because there sure are a lot of people up here looking for it.

Dan and I continued on our way. We followed sandy almost-trails and animal trails. We knew as long as we followed the river, we'd reach our destination.

A few hours in, we arrived at the Bridge to Nowhere. Forbidding warning signs were everywhere. Two large forest green shipping containers with a wire fence protesting "No Trespassing" stood like fortresses against the forbidding rock face back drop. A set of aluminum stairs led into the mountain like an Escher drawing. The first step was about 18 feet off the ground, and they lead directly into the cliff face. Strange. Two diving flags were placed oddly on two separate cliff faces, which could've only been reached via rope by an expert climber. Signs were everywhere ensuring we knew that this was private property, damn it, and if we dared to camp, prospect or do anything other than pass through anywhere within 1/2 mile in either direction, there would be dire consequences.

Creepy. Glad you're letting us pass through your land, buddy, but we get the message.

We decided to stop on the Bridge and have a bite to eat. The wind picked up. We huddled around the corner to break the chill and stood silently eating our Cliff Bars and Gatorade.

Suddenly a rushing started. It sounded like a very large waterfall had just turned on or some sort of an engine. Dan and I stood puzzled, wondering what in the hell it was. "Rock slide", Dan finally said, noticing what was happening.

"Holy shit! You're right", I loudly exclaimed! On the west facing mountainside behind the bridge a steady stream of smooth gray stones rushed down the mountainside. It was truly a waterfall of rocks. Rain and wet conditions often cause these slides, but I'd never had the opportunity to see one for myself. Safely on the Bridge out of harm's way, we watched the rocks slide down a full 8 minutes. Larger rocks tumbled down, hitting other rocks, then bouncing out of the way, but mostly it was a steady long stream of smallish gray rocks, pouring down the mountain literally like a stream. A pool of rocks lay at the bottom creating a dam to block the bottom of their path.

I thought of all the times I've crossed gorges with rocks similar to those and wondered how weird it would be to suddenly have those rocks give way. Majestic. Beautiful. Nature has shown me its awesome ferocity and beauty every weekend in some unique way.

After the slide finished, we gathered up our packs and set off to find a campsite at least 3/4 of a mile away. Within a few hundred yards, the trail became precarious. I mean, it was present, sort of, and it was stable, but there was a portion that was kind of missing. The trail became about 10 inches wide, and you had to step down and across a few places where the rock faces had been shaved off.

Dan, a born sherpa, quickly darted across this gash in the rocks. A slip would've sent him bounding down, rolling over and over the steep angle a 1/2 mile to his death. I set out, but after a few tries, became too afraid, and we turned back.

We opted for a trail that took us down to the river instead. Honestly, the trail was scary, but not crazy perilous, but somehow I've developed a fear of heights--specifically when your walking across them and falling means your certain end of this life. I understand that fear has a purpose, but this fear was more akin to learning to box jump. The likelihood you'll fall if you're aware, careful and brave is slim. It's when the fear takes over than you're skinned to the bone, and I was gripped with a vertigo like sensation and sheer terror.

Lol! We made our way down the lower trail, then followed it back up when it once again became more safe. We saw so much left behind trash! We saw several pairs of men's underwear, some shoes (mismatched and in different places), cans, bottles, a pillow, two abandoned sleeping bags. I was embarrassed for these folks. Really? We saw left-behind tent poles and cooking grates and utensils. Usually folks who dig nature take care to leave it pristine, but apparently lots of folks who come here don't feel the same.

We passed by one fire pit. No. I think it's still within 1/2 mile of the Bridge.

We passed by another potential spot. No, if there was a rock slide, we'd surely die.

Finally, trapped by the Narrows, with the only way through meaning we'd have to hike upstream in the water and no foreseeable options close by, we settled for a spot out of the way of rocks, yet a little closer to the River than would be preferred. The water would've had to rise pretty high to get us, but we were aware of its potential.

I set about to make a fire pit and we both set out to find some dry-ish wood.

Wow! There must really be gold in these mountains. We found hoses and wheel barrows, loads of camping gear, buckets, sieves, pans, pumps, you name it. Clearly a full-scale operation was going on here, and we wondered if this was part of the "Bridge Guy's" turf. We'd traveled 30 minutes. It would be pretty bad if we didn't cover at least 1/2 a mile. Besides, the map indicates this part does not belong to him. We decided to take our chances and stay.

I made feather sticks. Dan cut down a dead Yucca tree. I gathered wood. Dan cut it up into various sizes. The feather sticks made from wet wood worked fantastic. We used cotton balls soaked in vaseline to get everything going, and before we knew it, our fire was roaring. The Yucca didn't burn like we thought it might, but it was a good experiment anyway.

I set about to build my bird trap, while Dan put up the tent. The trees in the area didn't offer many straight sticks, so I wound up using some reeds of a plant I can't yet identify. They were a little light, but I thought they might work fine.

No sooner did I get the trap set, did rain start coming down, so Dan and I holed up in the tent content to play hangman for the night.

This tent was waterproof! It didn't leak, and we were dry. A chill had set in on me, however, and I was thrilled I'd thought to bring along my trusty wool socks, some leggings and some warm clothes for the night. We listened to the swell of the river, as we wanted to be aware of any potential danger that might be found. It seemed fine.

After a few hours, the rain died down to a drizzle, and we sank into sleep.

The alarm went off at 5 am, but it was pitch black. It took us 4 hours yesterday to travel a mere 5 miles. I was concerned I wouldn't get to work on time today. We set about to break down the tent and eat breakfast, but we opted to wait for daylight to begin our hike. The terrain was simply too dangerous to traverse at night. Add to that the rain from the prior evening, and we decided to wait for the light.

I checked my trap. It had been sprung! Alas, however. All the bait was gone, but there was nothing inside. I think the reeds were simply too light, and whatever it was just lifted it up and got away. Better luck next time.

Knowing we were there for awhile, I gathered some water from the stream, and we made coffee--enjoying watching the sun rise over the cliff face just ahead. Finally about 6:20 am, we set off. We decided to focus on speed, just in case we ran short on time. We followed the path, up and up. I knew it was going to lead us back to the trail I was too afraid to cross yesterday, but today I felt ready for the task.

Handing off my pack to Dan, I faced the cliff wall and shimmied across the path. As long as I didn't look down, I was fine. I made it across. My proverbial super-tall box jump was a success. I find as long as fear can be kept at bay, reasonable risks can be made to no ill effect.

We wound up finding another trail that followed the river on the opposite side. It was higher up, against the mountain, and it was easy to see. We picked up the pace making stellar time.

We passed wild cherry and stopped for a bite. My edible foods class with Christopher Nyerges was paying off. I identified Mallow, Filaree and Buckwheat too. I can identify Mule Fat and some Willow, Cottonwood, Sycamore, Laurel and Oak.

We only had to cross the river 4 times on the way back, and we made it to the car a full 90 minutes faster than yesterday.

Fantastic! We drove back to Pasadena recounting the cool things we saw. We'd have time for another cup of coffee to start the day.

Bird trap made and set. Check. Fire made with wet wood in wet conditions. Check. Another beautiful trip in our bountiful California Wilderness. Check.

I can't wait to do it again next weekend!