Telegraph Peak via Icehouse Canyon aka "Deception Peak"

View of Mt. Baldy from atop Telegraph Peak

Hike(s): Icehouse Canyon to Telegraph Peak

The Inspiration: The allure of the 3 T's

Highest Altitude: 8,985'

Trip(s) Mileage: 13.8

Total 2010 Mileage: 100.6

Telegraph Peak is quite the deceptive little ballbuster. 

The plan was for Team WWED? + Modern Hiker to stroll through Icehouse Canyon and head for the Three T's trail from the Icehouse Saddle, passing by Timber and topping out on Telegraph. Which we did. But it proved a bit more labor-intensive than any of us initially thought.

Arriving at the ranger station before the hike, we grabbed our wilderness permit and were duly informed that there was a hungry and very social little bear hanging out around the trail. Where?, we asked. The ranger very helpfully circled the trailhead, then made a big red asterisk right next to it.  Right there. At the beginning of the trail. Oh.

We practiced our bear-scaring measures (stomp loudly, clap loudly, repeat) and sped past the trailhead, continuing warp speed ahead, dodging slow trekkers left and right, rushing past an incredibly full flow of water, making record time to the Cucamonga Wilderness boundary. And then we all panted. And panted some more. Slow and steady does win the race when the race is more like a nearly 14-mile marathon. Lesson learned.

We carried on, tromping relatively quickly up the never-ending switchbacks to the saddle, passing a gushing double-decker waterfall in the canyon's crease. (Note to readers: Go to Icehouse Canyon NOW. Winter snowmelt = massive amounts of water everywhere. Bonus!)

At the saddle, we recharged, a mix of cold pizza, Clif bars, trail mix, and ginger chews fortifying us for the next set of quick switchbacks up towards Timber, and a surely quick 2.2 mile jaunt to Telegraph.

Ha. Bwahahahahahahahahahahaha!  Quick 2.2 mile jaunt, my ass!

At the junction with the Timber Mtn. spur trail, the Three T's trail continues towards Telegraph, and quickly descends to a very, very windswept saddle at about 7740'. Of course, we knew we'd have to climb back up to reach Telegraph, but we had no idea just how much elevation we lost on the way down from Timber. It was only afterwards that we realized that we put ourselves through 1,245' of elevation gain in just over a mile. 

During said mile, I cursed. I mumbled things under my breath. I considered finding a new hobby. It was a very, very, very silent mile. A very, very, very shitty mile. 

At what felt like the 666th switchback, we came across a group of people descending, with a few of them opting to cut across said switchback. Prompted by general crankiness, my inner self-righteous hiker asshole blurted out, "You know, you're not supposed to cut the switchbacks. It ruins the trail." The offending hiker retorted with, "Well, we're good hikers and we wouldn't cut the trail, except there's snow on it." I looked over. There was definitely snow on the trail. 

Telegraph Peak was turning me into an asshole. I needed to take a rest. I considered the possibility of scooting down the mountain on my butt. I considered the possibility of continuing on to Thunder and taking the ski lift down. I considered stopping at that very switchback and taking a nap, but I found myself nervously tromping across the snow and back up the damn mountain. 

When we reached a luxuriously wide and vaguely forested saddle, we all sat down, fueled up, and I proclaimed that I was done with this jerky portion of the hike and would be sitting out the last chunk to the top. Then we looked at the map, and the map said that it was only 0.1 miles to the top, and I bucked myself up for the last haul. 

Once on top, I realized that Telegraph Peak was not as assholey as I thought - it was just very, very picky. It wasn't going to let just anyone stake a claim - you had to earn your way. I felt proud. I soaked in the 360 degree views of Baldy, Cucamonga, San Jacinto, San Gorgonio, and beyond. Then I ate 4 slices of well-earned cold (well...lukewarm) pizza.

The mile or so back to the saddle was relatively uneventful (save for my constant fear of losing my balance and pitching myself thousands of feet down off the mountain during some hairy parts). It didn't seem nearly as steep, nor as exhausting, though the climb back up Timber was a minor pain in the ass. But as we gained momentum and busted our knees sailing down past Icehouse Saddle, through the canyon, and back to the car, I think we all felt a sense of pride in earning our spots atop Telegraph Peak. 

And then we went to Baldy Lodge and scarfed down burgers and fries and sugary drinks, a worthy prize for such a worthy endeavor. 

What Would Ed Do?

Ed would take Icehouse Canyon up through the Three T's, across Baldy, then hop in the car and tag San Gorgonio just for fun. Ed would, however, be proud of our camel-like abilities to collectively carry something like 11 liters of water on this trip. 

[Shawnté]

3 Months 'Til Whitney aka "And So It Begins"

Hike(s): Batcave/Hollywood Sign/Mt. Wilson/Temescal-Will Rogers-Topanga Loop

The Inspiration: Mt. Whitney prep

Highest Altitude: 5,712'

Trip(s) Mileage: 35.6

Total 2010 Mileage: 86.8

And so it begins. 

In less than three months, Team WWED? and Modern Hiker (joined by Good Ranger Laura) will (hopefully) stand proudly atop the highest point in the continental United States - the grand diva herself, Mt. Whitney (that's Ms. Whitney, if you're nasty).

So we must condition ourselves and prepare our bodies to be the best high-altitude summit-seeking machines they can be. This training entails the following:

1) Miles. Lots of them. In a row. Without the aid of motorized vehicles.

2) Altitude. Lots of it. Progressively higher. Without vomiting.

3) Swedish Fish*. Lots of them. And then more of them.

As a little wake-up call to our legs, Team WWED? + MH began pre-conditioning in mid-May by playing tourist for a warm-up 6.6 mile jaunt, ducking into the Bronson Caves (aka Batmobile Garage), then searing our calves en route to the top of the Hollywood Sign. 

The following weekend, confident in our abilities, we led a full-on masochistic assault on our bodies, a sweaty, energy-sapping, ab-engaging, knee-breaking 15-mile cross-ridge loop from Chantry Flat to Mt. Wilson and back. Not three minutes in to said adventure, MH already had us bushwhacking up a poison oak-laden firebreak that nearly rivals the (lovingly) dreaded Chumash trail (for the record, that's the one that boasts a lovely 845' gain in 0.7 miles, straight off of PCH to the La Jolla Valley). 

After emerging from the second of these lovely scrambles, we caught the last hairpin turn on the San Olene Fire Road and hopped up on the Santa Anita Ridge firebreak - aka NOT A REAL TRAIL. But we knew this going in, and MH assured us he'd done this trail (albeit mistakenly) before - and he's a hiker of his word. 

Now, if you're reading this and thinking, "Well, I'd really like to do something painful to my legs today," I have just the solution for you - hike the Santa Anita Ridge firebreak. This sucker is no joke - up, down, up, down, up, down, up, down, for what felt like an eternity. There were a few slips, a few slides, and a few times when I found myself on hands and knees - but you know what? Once it was over and we were back on the real trail, I realized that I must have a slightly masochistic streak, because it was a hell of a lot of fun (at least until I woke up the next day unable to walk properly).

Less than a week later, Rebecca and I decided that since we'd already begun the pre-Whitney physical beatings, why not carry on, but with significantly less firebreak madness, so we headed off to Temescal Canyon to begin a 14-mile loop that quickly led us up and out of Temescal into Will Rogers State Park, then on a very overgrown, bee-and-fly-ridden trail around the bend of a canyon, which took us through Topanga State Park, and then back into Temescal. This time, 14 miles didn't feel so rough.

And so it began. And so it will continue, all summer long, until we've ascended the infamous 99 switchbacks, passed quickly across the dreaded "windows," and find ourselves on top of the (continental) U.S., full of Swedish Fish and enjoying the biggest natural high I've ever imagined.**

*Swedish Fish is the unofficial energy snack unofficially endorsed by Team WWED? We highly recommend the traditional red variety, also good for trail-marking when in a pinch.

**Until the next big adventure...

What Would Ed Do?

Ed would do quadruple the miles at triple the altitude, but then again, Ed has major sponsorships and time at his beck and call; we have finite paychecks and jobs.

[Shawnté]

Backbone Trail Redux aka "VICTORY!"

Hike: Backbone Trail - Corral Canyon to Castro Crest

The Inspiration: Stubbornness

Highest Altitude: 2,250'

Trip Mileage: 6.6

Total 2010 Mileage: 57.8

Last weekend, Rebecca and I set out to avenge our misguided journey on the Santa Monica Mountains Illicit Drug Trail, hoping that if we started at the Corral Canyon parking lot entrance to the Backbone Trail, we could retrace our steps and figure out what in the holy hell went wrong back there.

Legs stretched, packs fastened, and sheer determination at full throttle, we quickly wound our way down to the canyon floor, leaving a few lumpy cairns in our wake, lest we end up in Meth Lab Valley once more.

We took our time wandering underneath a thick canopy of greenery, crossing a shallow creek eight or nine times, emerging at one point in the mist of a mini-Manservant Meadow (I'll explain that some other time), where we later spotted this phallic, yet adorable piece of work:

Not a care on our minds besides finding the damn effing damn mothersucking effing other side of the Backbone Trail by the Castro Crest, we sauntered through the thick foliage, until we heard an utterly frightening noise. We both froze.

My inner monologue: Is that a woman being attacked in the woods? I'm really starting to hate the Backbone Trail.

Rebecca looked at me.

I looked at her.

Then the godawful sound happened again.

"Oh, that's just a bird," I say, ignoring my inner monologue.

"Well, it sounds like maybe a baby mountain lion being mauled to death," says Rebecca, clearly in tune with her own inner monologue.

"Just a bird," I mutter, and unconvinced, we barely restrain ourselves from running as fast as humanly possible away from the sound...until we hear another sound.

Ohmygod, it'scomingforusandit'sgoingtokillusandwe'regoingtodieonthiseffingdamneffingtrail.

Oh, nevermind. Just some people hiking with a dog. Perhaps I should lay off the Lost marathons for a while.

Without trying, we've both summoned up the maximum levels of adrenaline permissible in the human body, and we hightail it up the trail until we come to it...the other end.

Wait a minute. Waiiiiiiiiit a minute. I know where we are. And I know how we completely missed this the first time - see photo below:

Pretend you're walking straight ahead, facing East in this photo, towards that humpy thing in the background. Do you see a trail turnoff? No, neither did we. So we kept walking due East, towards the humpy thing, and that is how we ended up on the Santa Monica Mountains Illicit Drug Trail.

Now look a little closer at the left side of the photo - do you see a wee little itty witty bitty area that maaaaaaybe might be something? Yeah, that's a 90-degree turn in the trail that's unmarked and pretty easy to miss when you have a large humpy thing distracting you straight ahead.

Now you know.

And so do we.

What Would Ed Do?

Ed would not be distracted by humpy things in the distance - Ed would look around at his surroundings just a weeeeee bit. Also, Ed would have saved us both from certain death by the woman/baby mountain lion-mauling machine lurking out in the forest.

[Shawnté]

Latigo Canyon-Castro Crest aka "Meth Lab Motorway"

Hike: Backbone Trail (Latigo Canyon Rd. to Castro Crest to Meth Lab City)

The Inspiration: Our maniacal urge to complete the Backbone Trail in its entirety, segment by segment

Highest Altitude: 2,250'? Who the eff knows!

Trip Mileage: 5.0...ish

Total 2010 Mileage: 51.2*

I met my outdoor nemesis and it is the segment of the Backbone Trail that begins at Castro Crest and winds down to Corral Canyon Road.

Please allow me to explain.

Caffeinated, Rebecca and I flew down the 101 last weekend, excitedly heading for the junction of the Backbone Trail and Latigo Canyon Road. According to the P-circle on our handy waterproof Tom Harrison map, we were looking for a real parking area. Something defined. Maybe signed.

Or maybe not. Maybe we turned around TWICE in two very inopportune, barely two-lane-width areas on Latigo Canyon Road, me cursing in a progressively more audible way, Rebecca gritting her teeth in a progressively more audible way, totally unable to locate said Harrison Map P-circled parking lot.

Several curses, teeth grinds, and less-geographically-challenged cyclists later, we found said P-circle, parked, and fired ourselves back up. The Backbone Trail! WE'RE GONNA DO IT! RARRRRRR!

We found ourselves down in a lush, green canyon of sorts, rife with purple-y, pink-y wildflowers, split by a trickling stream. Despite hopping off-trail a few times to avoid being flattened by several maniacal cyclists, we were having a damn swell time. We LOVED the Backbone Trail!

Several cyclist-dodgings and a small bit of climb later, we emerged on a fire road in the Castro Crest section of the Santa Monicas. One option was to go left, which according to two dog-walking know-it-alls was a bad idea, since there was a private gate a half mile up.

We shrugged. It did not matter. The Only Thing That Mattered Was Continuing On The Illustrious Backbone Trail, Full Of Wildflowery Beauty And Lush Green Fantasyland.

We turned right on the fire road. At a fork, the dog-walking know-it-alls ascended the road to the right. We descended to the left, on the well-marked Backbone Trail, dodged a few more cyclists, and took in the epic valley view. One of us might have said "I love this trail."

One of us might have regretted that a short time later.

Continuing our descent, we suddenly found ourselves faced with what can only be described as a tightly-knit thicket of bramble crap. I said something about how the recent rains must have stimulated some growth in the area, wondered for a moment how all of the renegade cyclists must have a hard time navigating this area, and then plowed right through, logic be damned.

Ow. Yowch! Grrr. Ouch!...pfffft.

"Hm, do you think this is really the right way?" one of us might have voiced.

"Yeah, of course. I mean, we followed the Backbone Trail sign,right?" one of us might have responded.

Once we fought our way through the mess, we faced a conundrum. To the far left was a dry riverbed of sorts, just right of that was a grassy bump, and then a fork in the fire road. We consulted our handy Tom Harrison map. Then I made the fateful decision to follow the left fork of the fire road, in the hopes that it was the Backbone Trail, and we would end up at the far end, Victorious!!!

But I was wrong. So. Totally. Wrong. We suddenly found ourselves stomping our feet and wading through knee-deep weedy grasses, making our best attempt at scaring off lurking snakes. We consulted the trusty Tom Harrison a few more times. We stopped and took a photo of a tennis ball jammed into a dead bush. We skirted fallen trees. And we think we stumbled upon some meth labs.

We were most definitely NOT on the Backbone Trail. We came to a high spot and broke out ole Tommy H. We used our compass. We knew North, South, East, and West. But we weren't on the map. Tommy was of no use. We were in the wilds.

We were also probably not too far from this.

We considered the possibility that someone from the sure-to-be meth labs might come out and shoot us. We finally turned around.

Curious as to how our spidey senses, T-Harr, and the official Backbone Trail signage could have pointed us towards certain death on the Santa Monica Mountains Illicit Drug Trail, we retraced our steps and considered the options we first encountered when we emerged from the scratchy thicket:

1) Dry riverbed - NOPE. This was not the Backbone Trail. This was a dry damn riverbed that suddenly fell deeper into the canyon.

2) Grassy bumpy thing - MAYBE? I ran up and scouted the area. I thought I saw a trail. Maybe. Well, definitely. But whether or not it came from here...I do not know.

3) Left fork - NOPE. GUN-TOTING MADMAN METH LAB CENTRAL.

4) Right fork - Aw, the hell with it. Let's go home.

We WILL return, Backbone Trail. We will find you, and we will triumph. TRIUMPH, I SAY!!!

* Yes, the milage jumped quite a bit between the last posted hike and this entry. That is because I've been a hike-posting slacker, and in the interim, Rebecca and I have completed jaunts down into Hondo Canyon, around the Temescal Canyon Loop, and over to Eaton Canyon Falls, which maybe I'll write about if I'm not completely sidetracked by the 5 seasons of Lost my co-worker recently bequeathed me.

What Would Ed Do?

Ed would have turned around at the first sign of off-trail bushwhacking and/or possible meth lab activity. However, please allow us to redeem some points here because Ed would be proud that we not only used a map and compass together, but used them correctly together.

[Shawnté]

Sandstone Peak 2 aka "Mud Bath Trail"

Hike: Sandstone Peak via the Backbone & Mishe Mokwa Trails

The Inspiration: Memories of our last trip to Sandstone Peak; the promise of post-rain water everywhere!

Highest Altitude: 3,111'

Trip Mileage: 6.6

Total 2010 Mileage: 28.6

The recent-ish spate of wet weather here in SoCal prompted a return trip to one of our favorite trails in the Santa Monica Mountains - the Mishe Mokwa Trail to Sandstone Peak. This was actually the first trail Rebecca and I trod on together, and it was time for some re-treading, full of anticipation for the wet wonderland surely laid out before us.

Joined by Casey and Kolby, we tightened the ole bootstrings and began the muddy hike in from the Backbone Trail.

The very muddy hike in.

The very very muddy hike in.

I blurted out, "This is kind of like walking in poop."

Rebecca looked back at me, clearly disgusted.

I continued on, anyways, brain-to-mouth filter broken for the moment: "Yeah, just the color and the consistency and everything. Totally like walking in poop."

We carried on in silence.

Whilst I quietly and perversely contemplated the position of this particular mud on the Human Waste Color/Consistency Continuum, the landscape opened up like a fresh post-rain bloom all around us - the snow-capped mountains of the Los Padres National Forest, the newly greened hills cleaving into canyons drenched in rainwater, the almost unnaturally blue skies…

Even once we hit the familiar Mishe Mokwa Trail, it was all new again – the trail turned into an active creekbed and mini waterfalls tracked down the sides of cliffs like so many Smokey Robinson tears, the unfamiliar sound of gurgling water bouncing off of echo-fed walls.

Not too shabby. Any and all mud-poop comparisons totally left the building.

The rest of the hike was just really, really fantastic, and if anything, it was a reminder that mother nature isn’t static; even in a place with the kind of weather predictability that leaves potential retirees foaming at the mouth, she can throw a curveball and leave us slack-jawed and giddy like schoolchildren skipping through fresh puddles on sidewalks we thought were nothing but concrete.

What Would Ed Do?

Ed would have worn gaiters, and for that, Ed is a smart, smart man.

[Shawnté]

Mojave National Preserve aka "Oh, The Desert is FUN!"

Hike: Kelso Dunes, Cinder Cones National Natural Landmark, Teutonia Peak trail (Mojave National Preserve)

The Inspiration: Discovering desert deliciousness without battling the heat

Highest Altitude: appx 5,000'

Trip Mileage: appx. 8

Total 2010 Mileage: 22

During a recent meeting of the minds between Modern Hiker, The Hike Guy, and 1/2 of Team WWED?, it was decided that winter should involve two very excellent, and very different, activities - snowshoeing and spending time in the desert.

When a three-day weekend presented itself in the form of Martin Luther King Jr.'s Monday birthday, we decided to haul our buns off to the winterized expanse of the Mojave National Preserve. Plans were made, maps were purchased, marshmallows were packed...and poor Modern Hiker had to bail the morning of the trip due to unforeseen circumstances.

The remaining two-thirds of Team Awesome was shaken, but not stirred, and decided to forge on, with Team WWED? arriving at the Kelso Depot Visitor Center just in time for an impromptu chili taste-off with the affable Mike Williams of The Beanery! Let it be said that free chili is probably the best start to a camping trip, unless you are sleeping in close quarters that evening. And even then...

After a hugs-around-the-campfire type evening, Team WWED? + THG rose early and bundled up for a bumpy drive down to the Kelso Dunes...

O, land of wonderment! O, land of awe! Big, sweeping sandy landscape loomed ahead, curls of dust at our feet, oceanic desert plants strewn left and right, dreams of flinging ourselves like out-of-control childrenfolk into the sand clutched at our collective breast.

I have now driven twice across the desert from Texas to California, and twice have declared the desert to be "boring and sucky" - but at this very moment of sand-fever, I fell in love with the desert.

The trail to the dunes is deceptive, nothing like frisking about on the beach, but one by one, our group made it to the saddle, and then the summit ridge. Watching Rebecca climb towards the summit prompted the observation that this is exactly what Ed would do, and exactly what he would look like, if this was about 20,000' taller and capped in snow. Exactly.

Once we all reached the top, we flung ourselves onto the sand in various states of rest. Rebecca stood on her hands; Kolby reclined on the slope; I flopped down prone, like a beached whale. Then we all took turns running awkwardly straight down the side of the dunes like newly-birthed Frankensteins. It wasn't pretty, but it sure made some great noise.

We later returned to the dunes area, Kolby drawn by the promise of kit fox den-seeking, and Rebecca and I by the notion of sliding down and otherwise burying ourselves in more sand. But before this was to commence, we spent some time at the lava tubes (lava!) and patiently waited for the tiniest shaft of light to stream through while completely trying Rebecca's patience and feeding her desire to avoid being stuck down there if an earthquake struck at that precise moment and showered us all in a bazillion years' worth of volcanic residue.

Luckily, we emerged unscathed, and after another stop at the Beanery and our late afternoon sand diversion, we packed up our top-secret campsite and headed through the world's largest concentration of Joshua Trees, towards Teutonia Peak, while continuing our daylong tradition of inexplicably bursting into refrains of "Lookin' like a fool with your pants on the ground" every twenty minutes or so.

After missing the sunset, we turned around at the saddle, headlights on, and eventually blasted out of Mojave on I-15, about five minutes before it began to rain, bound for the greased-up, calorie-laden delights of Peggy Sue's 50's Diner.

Start a trip with a free chili cook-off and end it with fried pickles, grilled cheese, and pie. Now that's the spirit!

What Would Ed Do?

Ed would be proud that we had the common sense to leave before the storms hit. Ed would be concerned, however, that our weekend diet consisted solely of concession food and marshmallows.

[Shawnté]

Echo Mountain 2 aka "Station Fire, You Bastard"

Hike: Echo Mountain - Mt. Lowe Railway (sort of)

The Inspiration: Kolby's 100th Hike

Highest Altitude: 3207'

Trip Mileage: 8

Total 2010 Mileage: 14

As I mentioned a few posts back, I thoroughly enjoyed my maiden trudge up Echo Mountain as part of The Hike Guy Kolby Kirk's celebratory 100th hike. In fact, I enjoyed the peak-top views and resulting thigh-burn so very much that I suggested to Rebecca that Team WWED? recreate the jaunt in timely fashion.

The trail was a bit more steep and sweat-inducing than I recalled from that misty evening, and the amount of masochists running nonchalantly up the side of the mountain did nothing to quell my sense of inadequacy, but 1400' and a bazillion lazy switchbacks later, we stood atop Echo Mountain, drinking in a pretty large swath of greater Los Angeles...with a pretty large cross-section of Angelenos.

"This would be a great place to come at night and set up a picnic blanket with some dinner," Rebecca suggested.

"Yes, if we could push all of these people off of the mountain first," I thought.

And "Yep," I replied.

As Rebecca traipsed off to explore the ruins, I settled in with a mound of satsumas and considered an option to extend the hike - we could make our way down into the canyon, back up some 1300', catch a loftier view at Inspiration Point - then backtrack down and up and down and up and down and up and down until we returned to my car, parked halfway down Lake Avenue thanks to the glut of drivers parked on the mountain.

So, no. We didn't do that. Instead, we decided to saunter down the Middle Sam Merrill Trail for a bit, then return the way we came. Except that when we got to the trailhead, the trail was closed by the park service or someone important like that, so said the sign on the brown stick.

I looked at Rebecca. There were people up higher on the very trail we hoped to hike. Hm.

Hm.

Hm.

"It says 'RESPECT' on the sign," said Rebecca.

"Yeah. You know what - I think we should RESPECT it," said I.

So we did.

You know why? Because:

A) It said so.

B) We could see signs of the Station Fire damage just west of Inspiration Point, no doubt imperiling the Sam Merrill Trail as it climbed higher...and if there's one thing we don't want, it's anything even vaguely resembling the Tom Sloan Hell-Trail Experience of 2009.

C) Because it's what Ed would do, dammit.

Proud of our increased capacity for rational thought, we retraced our steps and decided instead to tack on some of the Mt. Lowe Railway Trail...

...Until it, too, was thwarted by a brown RESPECT stick.

This time, though, the reason for the RESPECT stick was obvious - everywhere to the North and West of the damn stick was toast.

Station Fire toast.

It was oddly beautiful, though - every nook and cranny of the mountains exposed, chaparral-free, cast in an eerie greyish hue. I was awestruck, standing on the Sunset Ridge fire road, snapping photos with my phone, when Rebecca pointed out that the fire stopped right at the edge of the road. When I looked up, I noticed the tree you saw in the photo at the top of this post - 2/3 burned, 1/3 bright green.

That tree gave me hope - these mountains and trails are a tenacious bunch, and spring is sure to bring lots of surprises.

Until then, please RESPECT the brown sticks, yo'.

Ed wouldn't have it any other way - and neither would we.

What Would Ed Do?

For once, Ed would have done what we did. For once!

[Shawnté]