This is a hiking blog, I guess. Mostly it’s about how there
are rocks, and rocks have been complicit in the following tragedies:
- Pompeii
- Mt. St. Helens
- Guns n' Roses
- Trapped Chilean Miners
- Stone Soup
So ergo, thus, and therefore: 100% rocks can go to hell.
However, rocks are heavy and large and there is more rock per unit land than
me. So, this isn't a "hiking blog" as it is "war stories from
the front of an unending crusade against my igneous foes"
The San Bernardino battlefield has been opened recently,
with my co-conspirator Martha. Thus far, I had walked up Mt. Wilson and
Cucamonga Peak, both were fabulous display of flora and fauna, but I wanted to
check something a bit more strenuous off my list. So, San Jacinto!
I haven't seen Martha since 2008, so the 4 AM car ride up to
the San Bernardino Mountains was rapid-fire "hey we know each other but we
don't know anything about each other" catching up that happens when you
*know* someone, but don't know anything about them anymore.
I really wanted to take a photo of the sun rising, because
we were driving right into it ('it' being 'the east' and not 'the sun' because
that would mean 'we died' which isn't true unless I am 'a ghost') but couldn’t,
because driving a high-explosive-filled fishbowl-missile filled with delicate
squishy things inside requires at least a modicum of attention.
We get to the actual mountain area, and it's twisty and
turny, bobbing in and around the following
- Big Goddamned Rocks
- Crazyass trees
- Bitchin' views
- mounting excitement for XTREME WALKING.
We get to the parking lot, which is not so much a lot as it
a vaguely unforested crater. We get out, both remark how cold it is to our
delicate, pampered Californian hypothalimi, put on a coat, and begin walking!
Martha!
We're treated to some really great views as we go up some
switchbacks right out of the gate. The trail winds through a forest, and is
really poorly marked for the first half mile or so - Multiple times we had no
idea where we were going until we found a sign with such vaguely useful
information as "<-path" or "<-lack of hilarious
death"
The path lets out into a road, wherein it joints the PCT and
begins in earnest. Going up, you can feel the super-fast elevation gain because
you *know* you’re in better shape than this and Jesus Christ are you *really*
that out of breath you fat bastard? Oh wait, the trail STARTS at 6,000 feet
elevation, and climbs to about 11,000 feet. LA is basically Atlantis in
comparison.
We get to a clearing, snap a couple good photos, and then
continue upward. The environment continues to get more alpine, and the forest
here is SHATTERED - Hunks of trees lay across the path, wood splinters sprayed
every which goddamned way as if the trail was engineered by Michael Bay who was
told he could only use materials found on the mountain. We climb, shimmy,
crawl, and scurry across a variety of obstacles, eventually coming into a large
rocky edifice, where we have to do the same goddamned locomotive verbs, but this
time it’s hard and cold instead of vaguely squishy and cold.
More climbing! Now it’s snowy! Fuck! Those layers we're
wearing are coming in handy. As are my crampons, because holy shit these work
boots have fuckall for traction. Also I get to have spikes on my shoes which is
basically some supervillain shit. If I strapped crampons to my stompy goth
boots, I'm pretty sure the cops get called.
We're at about 9,000 feet and we're taking more and more
breaks because we're essentially in the vacuum of space, which is as cold as it
is beautiful. Also I can't breathe worth a goddamn. During one such break, we
note that
1) Bees are relentless killing machines
2) Bees are suicide commandos
3) Bees lack physical capabilities of experiencing remorse
or sadness
4) We are safe from the bees, because bees do not appreciate
high-altitude, low-temperature weather that we are currently situated in.
As we remark this, we are accosted by 2 arctic bees.
ARCTIC GODDAMNED BEES.
So we flee as fast as we are able (read: very slowly,
uphill) until we find an actual cabin in the actual woods. Unlike spooky story
cabin in the woods, this cabin makes absolutely no presumption it is a pleasant
place to be. If you found this cabin in the woods, you would stay there for the
following reasons
1) You are panicking because you are being attacked by arctic
bees, and cannot think clearly
1a) The bees can get into the tiniest crevices and murder
you to death
1b) The bees will not stop until you are dead.
2) There is an actual storm on this mountain and you will
die from exposure
3) It is night and you will die from tripping over a rock
and the mountain will have claimed another life and laugh at you because
mountains are assholes.
4) You need a particularly remote and forbidding place to
summon whatever infernal horrors you want.
Oh yeah there were supplies like granola bars and vodka and
sleeping bags in the cabin. It was cool.
The peak was a thing we got to. Except the trail ended like
100 yards before the peak. To get to the actual peak, you need to climb a
fucktillion rocks. So we climbed the fucktillion rocks and almost died because it’s
December and hurr durr the rocks are covered in ice because why the fuck wouldn’t
they be, the mountain hates humans.
View from the peak
We get to the summit, and have an impromptu party there. We
party until we realize that going down will take a long time so we get started.
The trip down is less eventful, except for a few vignettes.
Vignette 1) as we're going back down the mountain, about
2/3rds down, we start getting followed by 2 of the biggest goddamned ravens
either of us has ever seen. We affectionately dub them Huginn and Munnin. They
follow us all the way to the base of the mountain. Odin's ravens,
mythologically speaking, are his eyes and ears; about as foreboding as being
watched by a security camera, but instead of a guy who hates his life on the
other end, it's an elder deity of a forgotten religion responsible for making
the world.
Vignette 2) As we got closer to the base of the mountain,
the mountain got very very quiet. We were in very rocky, steep cliff-like
areas, which is prime black bear and mountain lion territory. So, combined
silence, paranoia, setting sun, and the occasional flock of birds flying away
apropos of nothing made for a very spooky return. Also, those two goddamned
sentinel ravens.
Vignette 3) In my delirium of hiking for 10 hours, I return
to my car finally. In the dusky sunset light, I turn to my left to look at a
structure, and besides a downed tree there is a man wearing all black in a
hoodie with the hood up, hands in pockets, looking at Martha and I, unmoving.
All the hairs on the back of my neck firmly erect, I boogie as fast as possible
to the car and leave, before realizing it was a trick of the light - the downed
tree cast shadows that helped my imagination create a spooky dude.
Vignette 4) The sunset was fucking amazing. So bummed I ran
out of film.
Ran out of film, not 'my battery died'
Vignette 4a) The drive home in the sunset light, winding
through the mountains at high speed while the sky was on fire with reds and
oranges: Yes. Do want.
I got home and ate a burrito then passed out. One battle
against my gnarly rocky foes won.
