Day 2 South Fork Trail to Manzanita Trail Back to Vincent Gap

On Day 2 of my journey, I opted to "sleep in". My knees the night before were throbbing, and after a full week of too little sleep, I realized that I didn't "need" to do 20 miles today. After all, the idea of this was to build up to being able to do that. I decided I'd rather not risk injury, so at 7:00 am, I awoke.

If you've never been camping, sleeping in a bag in a tent on the ground makes you want to wash the feet of the memory foam mattress guys. It is ungodly uncomfortable. My hiney hung out in the chilly mountain air all night because my new sleeping quilt kept coming off of me, I slid down my mat all night, because I didn't take the time to level out the mere 15 degree tilt of the land, and my poor excuse for a pillow left me with a kink in my neck like a cramp in a tired runner's leg.

Although I "rested" a full 8 hours, I probably only slept about 5.

I got out of my tent. A silver car was parked in the space of the campsite I had mistakenly taken the night before. (To read Part 1, go here:here ).  After walking over to the next-door campsite and making my apologies, I was relieved to find out that they had just arrived. Good. I quickly packed up everything and set out on a new course. Rather than hike the Burkhart Trail out of Buckhorn Campground to the High Desert National Recreation Trail to the Manzanita Trail back to Vincent Gap, I decided to cut off 9.5 miles and take the South Fork Trail to Manzanita instead.

Rather than a 20 mile day, I opted for a mere 11.5.

Deciding to take the minimal amount of water I would need, as I chronically bring too much, I lightened my pack by about 10 pounds as I poured Gatorade onto the pine needles of my site. Another 2 delicious vanilla almond Cliff Builder's bars for breakfast, and I headed back out to Highway 2 to hitch a ride.

 It was a glorious morning! Something just told me I'd be able to get a ride in.

Two cars passed, I stuck my thumb out. Nothing.

A bunch of black motorcycles passed, their riders all pushing the speed limit, pure joy splashed all over them, but no room for two.

A couple of hippies in a van waved at me, but then they drove by. I kept walking--about a mile.

Then, another freaking brand new black BMW with a cream interior pulls over, and two awesome Armenian guys offer to give me a ride.

We started chatting about backpacking. The one guy was a former rock climber, and we chatted the whole way to Islip Saddle, where I'd be picking up my trail head. He pointed out Williamson Rock and how by way of lack of organization on the rock climbers' side, that area of the trail had been closed for years to protect a little frog. He recognized the climbers probably didn't help the situation, as they used to go out there, party and leave beer bottles everywhere. "It was the late 70's man!", the one heavier dude said, the more talkative of the two. I could see the memories enveloping him like warm water slowly poured over his head. He said he now had a desk job--bemoaning his new-found bulging belly and his lack of outdoor time.

They wished me luck, and I got out. The two hippy guys with the white van said hi. They apologized for not picking me up, but their van had no back seats and no room, because their mountain bikes were in there. "No worries!", I said. We chatted briefly about life, nature, and the trails ahead.
They asked me where I was going and assured me I would see no one on those paths.

"Great!", I said. "I prefer it like that."

And with that, I set out on South Fork Trail heading North.

The trail looked much different than the trail I'd been on the day before. With about a 2000 foot elevation loss from 6670 at Islip Saddle to 4550 at South Fork, it was far more rocky, dry and barren. A few shaded parts began the path, but it was interesting to note the stark difference between the higher elevations and now.

The trail was easy to see. I pushed along as fast as I could, my trekking poles keeping time. I felt like four-legged animal. The right pole would reach out, then the left foot. The left pole would reach out, then the right one. Sometimes I'd approach it more like cross-country skiing, with both poles reaching in front of me, pulling me forward, as I pushed my legs through from behind.

I was so busy admiring how much easier it was to traverse the terrain with four legs, that I nearly missed the baby rattler crossing the path in front of me. It was clearly agitated, it's rattle sending off alarm signals into the air. "Go ahead, little baby." It struggled to move quickly up the rocky mountainside on my side of the path. I watched him, waiting for the right moment when I could safely cross.

I finally pushed forward, and he stared at me--his terrified yet threatening body shaking it's now very high rpm rattle at me.

I moved along the trail noticing how many parts of the mountain were made of rock slides of years past, and  kept moving slowly down, down down. I noticed a more stark view, still wildly beautiful in its barrenness.

At South Fork, I saw a family out in the dry creek bed. The trail had ended here, and I was trying to figure out where to go next. I asked them if they knew where the Manzanita trailhead was. They had no idea.

I passed by them and came upon one of the ugliest campgrounds I've ever seen. It was a big circular parking lot of dirt. There was a pair of camping restrooms right in the middle of the dirt circle. A few picnic tables lined the dead end where the road met the mountains. On them, a family had abandoned paper plates with caked on food, orange sodas, beer cans, Tostitos, hot dogs, mustard. They were all probably on a nearby trail somewhere.

I was half way to my goal, but I needed to know where to go from here.

The map was a bit unclear, so I got out my compass and followed it's lead. The two possible trailhead's diverged, and I took the one I was pointed to. Good choice.

The trail wound up the back side of a mountain, through lots of trees. About half way, I came across a wide sandy and rocky river bottom. Enough water trickled through it that I was able to fill up. I was becoming a bit lower than I'm comfortable with, and the day was warmer here than on higher ground.

I pushed on. Another mile in and I heard what I thought was a large fan. A torrent of water was coming down the mountainside, pushing over rocks, creating a 4' wide stream. Yes! Here was the most water I'd seen on any trail I'd been on all Summer long. The rains we'd been having lately were clearly taking a positive toll. I thought about how interesting it would be to revisit some of the trails I traversed after the rainy season. I imagine many of them will be impassable.

After about 5 hours, I finally wound up back at Vincent Gap. I was glad I'd gone easy on my knee and on myself, for I felt challenged without being wiped out.

I got in my car and headed to Wrightwood for a burger and an iced tea. I ate at the same cafe as before, only today's waitress was clearly not in a good mood. She was racing around, like she had a dozen tables, but there were only 2. She forgot my dressing, my salad, and my tea.

No matter, I tipped the busboy instead of her, since he brought me all three, but I was still thrilled to have real food and a place to sit down for awhile. I headed back to my car and the long drive home, pleased with myself for putting in over 30 miles in two days.