Day 32: Mile 341.9 - 361.7

Today was the big climb up to Wrightwood. Cajon Pass sits at 3000 feet but to get into Wrightwood the trail climbs to 8000+ feet, before offering a variety of paths into town (which itself sits at 6000 feet--so why did we climb up here again?). But those decisions were for tomorrow, today was just about the climb.

We left the hotel, grabbed breakfast at the McDonald's, then headed onto the trail. The day started overcast with low clouds obscuring the mountainsides, one of those days when I glance up and think, I'm going to head up into that, and it's going to be  glorious.

Tina and Heather finished breakfast and headed out early, whereas J-Pro and me took our time and headed out later. After a bit of confusion at the I-15 and some railroad underpasses, we started up the mountains to the west of Cajon. This ended up being a walk over a local ridge, before dipping down into Swarthout  Canyon where some trail angels had set up a water cache at the road. From there, the trail headed up the mountains proper, ascending all the way up to 8000 feet. This was a long climb but, at least in the beginning, what I call an "infinite incline".

Ok, this "infinite incline" terminology is 1) solely my own, and 2) confusing. An "infinite incline" is one that can be walked forever without having to stop; contrast a "finite incline" where stops and taking breaks are necessary. So on an infinite incline you can walk until infinity; on a finite incline you can walk but a finite distance before you have to stop. Infinite inclines are thus preferable. Infinite inclines of course depend on the grade (i.e., the slope) of the trail, but also the heat of the day, elevation, my own fitness, lots of things. For much of the beginning of the climb, thanks to the long switchbacks the climb was mostly an infinite incline, with some spots of finite incline that usually J-Pro would power through without stopping, and I would just follow him. This lasted throughout almost the whole day, until we got to about 7000 feet and I started noticing the altitude getting to me: a slight headache building up, harder to draw full breaths. That push--from 7000 to 8000--was more effort than all that came before, and was really where I started to tunnel-vision and just focus on heading up the mountain. I admit that in this last stretch the hike did become a bit death march-y: narrow focus, collapsed concentration, stopped paying attention to my surroundings beyond their impact on my next few steps. And this sounds like a bad thing, but here's the thing: so long as I know it's become death march-y and I'm ok with missing the sights, then death march-y is fine . Because sometimes a death march-y hike is the only way I'm going to get from point A to point B today and, while it may not be pleasant, it can nonetheless be optimal. (There's a lesson here, but I don't know what.)

I mention missing the sights because, really, the real benefit of going up a mountain is seeing the sights. (The sense of accomplishment at the peak is also nice, but peaks can sometimes be less than overwhelming--cf San Bernardino Peak!) In the morning, crossing over that first ridge, Ralston Peak loomed to our right, its top lost in the clouds. We're not going up there are we?, I joked, and luckily we weren't: we were going up the mountains to the left. By noon, the clouds had dissipated and, now partway up the leftward mountains, we looked back at Ralston Peak and thought, hey, in the light of day that doesn't look so tall. I could reasonably see me getting to the top of that. I'm not going to--got plenty enough getting to the top of *this* mountain!--but it doesn't look so intimidating. (There's a lesson here, but I don't know what.)

But even more stunning than Ralston's continual diminution was the view out east over the San Bernardino Mountain range. To the south, clouds covered the LA basin, low and overcast, a sea of cloud stretching to the, well, sea. To the north spread the desert, hot and bare, exposed to the full strength of the sun but for a handful of shadows from passing high clouds. And in the middle, a shore of mountain tops, the sea of cloud breaking against them in slow motion. Some clouds would find Cajon Pass, and excitedly stream through, only to dissolve a few miles into the desert heat. It was just a magnificent sight, and the mountains would hold back the sea throughout the day until, with the cold of evening, the clouds would finally break through and start flooding into the desert, pooling in the valleys and ravines of the northern foothills. But watching the struggle play out was fascinating: throughout the day the mountains held steady, holding back the surges of cloud, and they looked so indomitable, the heat of the desert so incontrovertible. But in the end, the water won. (And by now, I'm giving up on finding lessons.)

Throughout the day, J-Pro and I would occasionally glimpse Tina and Heather powering along a switchback or two further up the mountain. We would catch up to them at lunch, but they would head out before us again. My plan was to stop at a campsite about 1.5 miles before the Acorn Trail junction, then meet up with Ismael at the Acorn Trail junction tomorrow morning. But Tina and Heather--and by extension J-Pro--were aiming to get to Guffy Campground, the next water source, about 1 mile *after* the Acorn Trail junction. As we came up to the campsite at 8000 feet, I was dragging pretty badly and was thankful that I would finally get to stop for the day. I was about to wish J-Pro good luck to Guffy!, when I noticed a couple of tents that looked familiar. I went to take a closer look and, yep, it was Tina and Heather, already set up! At this "early" campground! Tina explained that they "bonked super hard", had even stopped to eat some protein to get back some energy and concentration, but even with that extra, they only managed to get here. So we all ended up in the same campsite again, clearing spaces between the tall pines, sweeping aside the pine needles to find the earth beneath. It would have been a wonderful spot, except that one side was a cliff (lots of jokes about rolling off in the middle of the night) and the wind had picked up and was blowing toward said cliff (lending said jokes a certain morbid viability), and Heather for one doesn't appreciate the wind. The cliff did afford beautiful views of the desert to the north, though, and far below, the sea of clouds was just now starting to flood over the little buildings and roadways of Wrightwood.

And that was the hike! There were some other people camped on the ridge, but I think most folks were pretty tired from the climb, so beyond the usual pleasantries of hello, there wasn't much mingling. So it was set up tent, hunt for rocks for stakes, make and eat dinner, then: to bed!

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Some notes:

-- Cajon > Swarthout Canyon Road > Campsite

-- Swarthout Valley is also evidently along the San Andreas Fault line--where the North American and Pacific Plates meet--which fascinated J-Pro. To my uneducated geological mind, this explained the geography of the past couple days. For example, it was obvious that Hesperia and Victorville and the rest of the desert were actually atop this massive plateau that stretched, well, for the rest of the world really, as if the land was two pieces of plywood atop each other and Hesperia and Victorville sat on the top slat, but here we could see the edge of that top slat, sharp as a shelf and several stories tall. It looked almost unnatural to me, but maybe could be attributed to two large plates coming together? And the first ridge we crossed today: here, the hilltops were often giant exposed portions of rock and you could see the strata were clearly at an angle, pushed skyward. Either someone was pulling up the rug of the earth, or--more likely--a plate passing underneath was curling up the ground above. Doubtless there's more fascinating geography further along the fault line, but even these pieces made for some memorable sights.

-- I had originally declared to J-Pro that it was going to be a great day to climb the mountain, since it was overcast and hence it would be cool. And he was looking forward to climbing up into, and then above, the clouds. We didn't get to do that, though, because the clouds dissipated well before we got that high. And without the clouds, the day turned out to be warm, with breezes present, but only occasionally. Sometimes we would look down and see the shadow of a lone big puff-ball of a cloud high above, and I would sigh and say, why is it over *there*, and not over *here*, above us? Towards the end of the climb I got my wish and we finally got under a cloud shadow and it was cooler, but now also windier--the trail had turned to the desert side by now, and where deserts and mountains meet there always seems to be lots of wind--and now it was getting a bit chilly actually and I'm tired and pushing through too so, hmm, be careful what you wish for!