Day 16: Mile 175.4 - 190.5

Another tough day on the mountain. And one that ended with some dubious decisions,

The day started on a bit of a sour note: Jessica had gotten a tick on the back of her arm, which Anna dug out with tweezers. And while we had hoped the winds would have died down as the night cooled off, it seemed the opposite had happened, and when I checked the weather report I got wind-emoji, wind-emoji. So not the greatest of starts. But the hiking was fine in the morning: I stuck with JAM until Saddle Junction, and we went through these boulder-and-pine forests, occasionally punctuated by snow. Even when we got water at Tahquitz stream, even that was picturesque: the small brook dropping down little disjointed waterfalls as it hazarded its way down rocks towards a snow bank, and all of us sitting about, along with some others, collecting, filtering, them eating breakfast. And the occasional view on the trail, looking down over Idyllwild Valley: there were some stunning spots of sheer granite spiking up to the sky, still frosted by deep snow. It was shaping up to be a good day: I sang a bit, hummed a bit, sometimes even when other people were within earshot.

At Saddle Junction I parted ways with JAM, and instead joined up with Dina (sp?: like "Tina" but with a "D" she had said). Dina had camped with us last night, and I had spoken to her in the morning. Dina was doubting. The Rock Slide and the Downed Trees had taken a toll: she'd had to do them herself and they'd been very tough and hard, physically but also mentally. (To which I don't disagree, on both counts.) And she was worried about asking for help, didn't want to be a burden. I responded with my version of Ghost's advice to me, back at Stagecoach. Have you helped out other folks on the trail?, I asked. Yes, she had said, with water, sometimes food, such things. Did you feel they were a burden? I see your point, she had said. (Honestly, should probably have repeated Ghost's advice verbatim--"Don't be bashful"--his is more straighforward.) When we met up at Saddle Junction--she had taken an alternate route--we got to talking and ended up hiking together through lunch. We talked about whatever came up, from her kids, to her retirement (she worked payroll and accounting for a fire department basically), to the wonders and beauties of the trail, which we often stopped for, looking back over all the distance we'd come. She loved it out here, really: when she was a kid, her dad had always taken her outdoors, into the mountains or the deserts, and when she had kids--two boys--she'd done the same, carrying the younger on her back while holding the older's hand. She loved the sights, the sounds, the smells: she appreciated what I call "the smell of sunlight on wood", senses it so distinctly she can taste it in all its nuances. At lunch, she introduced me to onion bits--dried bits of onion you sprinkle on your tortillas--very good. And she knew that I was making a push all the way to Big Bear, so insisted on giving me food--and though she didn't know it, being of Asian background, if someone older than you offers you food, you're kind of obligated to ultimately take it if they insist. So I got some extra bars, and an extra dinner of mashed potato, couscous, and yeast, which I'll have to try. It makes my pack lighter was her justification. Dina was great to be around, and though she keeps having to get off trail and go home to San Diego for these meetings with her church, interrupting the development of her trail legs, it was great to see that pure love of being out here, and the sense of wonder at the beauty of it all.

If the day is sounding pretty good so far, it was. But here is where I start making decisions. I had been worried about my short mileage the past couple of days, so in the afternoon decided to push it. Picked up the pace, aimed to do 10 miles to get to Fuller Campground. This turned out to be hard. The trail is still at elevation, and still going up and down, so it was still hard going for me. And getting lost a couple times didn't help. Towards the end of the day, I managed to get water at the North Fork of the San Jacinto River--the last water for 20 miles so I loaded up to 6 L--and just 4 miles from Fuller Campground. It was getting late, 5pm, but I figured I could make it.

There's a danger here: to get to Fuller Campground, you have to go down Fuller Ridge, which has snow. And some scary snow reports on Guthooks. There are two bailout points along the way, both campsites before Fuller. I blew through the first one, haven't seen snow yet. Came to the second, still hadn't seen snow yet, but reports were it was ahead. The way here had been long, but it was 6:15pm and I had 2 miles to go. Now the arguments started. On the one hand, technically you can't camp here, because technically you aren't supposed to camp in the San Jacinto Wilderness Area (which you entered about 6 miles ago and have yet to exit). But on the other hand, being tired and stupid and having to get rescued off Fuller Ridge is even worse than breaking a camping rule, so camp here and take the tricky ridge in the morning, fresh. But on the third hand, maybe the snow will be icy in the morning, and given that I don't have spikes, I'd prefer afternoon slushy to morning icy. But on the fourth hand, it's getting late: do you want to try *any* snow in the dark? And so on.

In the end I didn't decide, but I did walk past the campsite, and so was Committed.

After that campsite, the trail drops to a very narrow, very windy section where you're up high on a ridge with sharp drops. After that, it crests then descends into switchbacks down slopes filled with evergreen forest. And with snow. Here the snow began proper. This, for me, was scary. I'm not good with snow and when I can't see the ground and don't know how thick the snow is but know it's crossing over rocks and hollow underneath--well, that just scares me even more. No spikes, so footing could get slippery, but daylight was waning and I started pushing it, started fighting the trail. This is a bad idea: kids, *never* fight the trail. I finally came to the San Jacinto State Park Wilderness Area sign, denoting I was through the no-camping zone, to be promptly greeted with a quarter of a mile of snow slopes, the trail marked by naught but brown footholes. I paused a moment there to brace myself, when I felt a tickle on my cheek. The young branch of a fir tree was gently brushing against my face, patting it kindly. I didn't know what it was saying--I don't speak Tree, unfortunately--but I took it to mean to step gently. Carefully and decidedly, but gently. Think Legolas, basically. And with that advice, I got through that final quarter mile, then through the mile after that, to come to Fuller Campground just as the last bits of daylight gave way to the dark.

In retrospect, descending Fuller Ridge near sunset was spectacular: the views on the south/west facing side--in the far distance, in blue I could see Saddleback, Santiago and Modjeska, what Randy of Whitney said were my "beloved Santa Anas". And I could see Lake Elsinore, and to the south so much more that I can't name, but looked stunning, patches of fields of red and green made vibrant in the setting light. And even the switchbacks: descending through fir and pine forests, across deep dark soils with little undergrowth, in the solemn quiet, stately and tall. It was a wonderous experience. But was it the wisest? Hard to say. I did start fighting the trail, and recognizing that, did rachet it back in the end, and I did make it to Fuller Campground, but still: the ends don't justify the means, and aa unwise mistake that leads to a good outcome is nonetheless an unwise mistake. 

Previous   Next

Some notes:

-- Tentsite > Tahquitz Creek > Saddle Junction > North Fork San Jacinto River > Fuller Campground

-- The first time I got lost, I refound the trail then headed back up to see where I had gone wrong. Then realized I had stepped over a wall instead and gone straight instead of turning for a switchback. So I spent some time adding rocks to that wall: damned if I'm going to make the same mistake when I'm here next!

-- The second time I got lost, I had just met Bloom again. She was hiking with Nudie Bootie (I didn't ask for the origin story). She had been severely dehydrated back at Warner Springs, but was feeling better. I was in a rush by then, pressing for Fuller Campground, and came to a tricky part where multiple trails meet and parallel their old, ghosted counterparts. And I went the wrong way. Nudie Bootie actually had the right idea--intuited the right way early--but I missed it a couple of times before seeing someone come down that way. Not the best impression on my part, and too much in a rush to catch up. There's a lesson in this; will need to think on it.