Winter Wanderings

7/25/2019 Winter Wanderings

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Winter Wanderings

While my daughter was on winter vacation, I was afforded the opportunity to go hiking after getting off

work. Usually, I will come home from work at night and take her to school in the morning; therefore,

going on a hike would be limited to only a few hours. So for the past three weeks during her break, I

have been exploring further up the Etiwanda Nature Preserve and looking for alternative paths to TruckTrail 1N34. As written about previously, my trek up the Etiwanda Canyon made further headway, but I

was not able to make it all the way to the truck trail that runs along the crest of the Cucamonga

mountain wilderness. Therefore, during my daughter’s second week of vacation I decided to go up an

old trail that has been closed, Bullock Spur (1N36). I had hoped that the trail would still be in good shape

and provide me with a shortcut.

And so on December 31st, 2015, I drove up into the housing community of Hunter’s Ridge in Fontana,

California and onto Reservoir Road that leads up to where the trail is. When I first used this trail just out

of high school, it was a place my father took all of us to play in the mountains. We would ride our bikes

up to the foothills before any houses existed in the area. Then they built Hunter's Ridge and shortly

thereafter a private community in the very spot I loved. I was upset that I could no longer go here and

that this little slice of my childhood was no longer open to me. Before it was closed to me however I had

hiked all the way up the truck trail to the crest of the mountains and the trail was quite good. I

discovered however that the trail had been completely abandoned by the Forest Service and in just a

little over ten years quite literally returned to a wild and native state. The path was horrible, and

overgrown with prickly Ceanothus

bushes. I would not have gotten

lost, but I may have turned around

and given up, or postponed my

attempt for another time. Thewind was bearing down on me and

humming loudly. My nose was

chilled and dripping like a leaky

faucet. On my head I wore two

beanies and the wind pierced

through both as though I was

wearing nothing. I made it to the

truck trail that I have been trying

to reach from the Etiwanda

Preserve, but I have no desire touse this path ever again.

Despite the difficulty of the path, I was able to make it to the other truck trail from this one, but

discovered a valuable lesson: Sometimes paths in life that were open to us in the past close and are no

longer suitable. I could try to cut back the bushes, but have no desire to intrude near private land any

further. And so, eventually this trail will probably be completely forgotten and lost to time. It became

clear to me that it would be a fool’s errand to attempt to clear so many miles of overgrowth, and I began



to feel the same way about going up the Etiwanda Canyon to the truck trail above as well. As much as I

have clung to the idea of going all the way up the Etiwanda Canyon, I am willing to make concessions

that there might be a better way, and just walk around the mountains to the Lytle Creek Road entrance

to 1N34.

I do have my reservations about walking eleven miles on a truck trail however after several off roaderscame barreling down the road towards me. At that moment it was hard for me to get off the road

because there were steep hills on either side of me. I was scared to death as I hugged the side of the

nearby hill and hoped that none of them hit me. Suddenly the first one came to a quick stop and just

stared at me for a moment. I smiled sheepishly and waved. He smiled and kept driving. The others

paused or drove slowly by before proceeding on as those before them. Finally, all that remained of their

presence on the crest of the mountain was dust and the sound of their engines off in the distance. But

because it was so windy any sound of them soon faded away, and explained why I had not heard them

approaching until they were practically right on top of me. Having faced several setbacks during the

past few hikes and previous attempts to reach the crest of the Cucamonga Wilderness from a frontal

assault, and now being scared out of my boots, I considered perhaps I should take a break and try againat a later time. I began to think about other portions of the trail to Valyermo that I had no knowledge of.

Having a direct knowledge of these trails before attempting to walk the entire length of the Cucamonga

and San Gabriel mountain range would be equally important.



With these thoughts in mind, I decided to jump to the end of the journey and work my way back

towards home. It felt like I was reading my own story and flipping to the last few chapters to see what

happens before I get there. And it’s almost odd to be planning a journey to Valyermo and to simply drive

there in an hour by car. Modern conveniences make the entire journey almost feel trivial and of little

importance. Everything I have been preparing for is not that far away, but by foot it feels almost like an

impossible feat of my imagination that would be a huge accomplishment. Beyond these feelings, I

needed some perspective, to have seen fully the beginning and the end, the whole picture in plain view.

Putting my feet on the ground was the only way to fully conceptualize each segment of the trail, and to

erase any shadow of doubt about the challenge I would be undertaking at each step of the way.

Throughout the work week it snowed a considerable amount; and so, I decided it also made sense to

hike on the desert side which was lowest in elevation and avoid the higher mountain trails as much as

possible until the snow had melted. Before leaving for work I made sure to bring better protection from

the elements then I had taken on the last hike. Having felt the wind pierce through my beanies, I

decided to bring instead an airplane pilots style hat with faux leather and fur lining. It covered my ears

fully and snapped at the bottom along my chin. I also put on thermals and thick wool socks, butunfortunately I did not have any water proof shoes or snow boots. Concerned that it might rain or snow

I brought along a rain poncho that can also convert into ground cover or even a tent for shelter. And

lastly, I had a pair of snowboarding pants that I threw into my pack for good measure. After packing all

these things, a bottle of water, and my camera, I headed off to work.

After work, as is often my habit of late, I went to Del Taco and ordered a bean and cheese burrito, salsa

verde nachos, and a crunchtada tostada from their buck and under menu. I pulled into the gas station,

filled up the gas tank, and finished all the food there. After leaving, my main concern was that I would

run into traffic going up the 15 freeway northbound. As I neared the Cahon Pass, I saw warning signs

cautioning heavy winds, but fortunately there were no strong winds. The traffic was also moving steadilyup the hill and most traffic appeared to be coming down the hill as people living on the high desert

made their way to work in the valley below. When I reached highway 138 there was a lot of road

construction and the road was narrow with concrete retaining walls on either side. Driving up hill in a

Honda 95 Civic with a string of cars behind you and a narrow road in between is slightly unnerving.

Fortunately, no one was tailgating me or trying to pass, and by the time I reached the turnoff to

Wrightwood, I was happy the rest of the road would be mostly downhill or flat across the desert floor

until reaching the turnoff for Devil’s Punchbowl.

All the way from the Cahon Pass to Pearblossum, the mountains were covered in snow. I expected that I

would encounter some snow on the trail. And when I pulled into the Devil’s Punchbowl parking lot I

could see snow not too far off. I made my way to the trailhead, signed in at 7:20 and designated that I

would be heading for Devil’s Chair. Not more than a half mile up the trail, I found myself surrounded by

snow everywhere. I realized that I would be walking in snow with no snow boots or waterproof shoes,

and that this might be reason enough to turn around without completing my goal. I decided to push on

regardless and found that a lot of people had already walked through the snow and packed down the

snow on the trail. This relieved some of my concerns and my feet were not getting soaked quickly as I

had feared would happen.



Walking along the trail, I took in the entire

winter wonderland. Looking down on the

desert valley below there was not a sign of

snow or almost anything other than brown

hills. It was a sharp contrast that just miles up

the road were green mountains, vibrant

forests, and gentle creeks making their way

down and through the canyons. On the trees

and bushes were blankets of snow and as the

sun caught each snow crystal it sent millions of

shining lights towards me. I nearly felt blinded

by the glaring light and realized I had forgotten

another essential item: sunglasses. You would think that after suffering from snow blindness as a child

after skiing with no glasses or ski goggles on for an entire day that I would have remembered, but there I

was standing empty handed of any such item and feeling angry with myself for that lapse in memory or

better judgment. So I ended up walking as though in a dream with my eyes shut entirely save for a small

crack. Other times I walked with just one eye open or looked off to the side where there was no snow. I

made all attempts possible to avoid looking into the blinding reflection of the sun on the snow.

In the blankets of snow were also to be seen animal footprints leading to and

from the surrounding trees and bushes. Occasionally, near the animal footprints,

I would see yellow snow and imagined the animal coming out of its warm shelter

in the night to relieve itself in the cold outside air. And perhaps at this time a

coyote or owl was also hunting during the night to catch any unsuspecting rodent.Seeing all the footprints however made me realize just how many animals there

really were. Aside from prints from squirrels and other smaller rodents, it

appeared that I saw prints from a raccoon, coyote, perhaps a gray fox, deer tracks,

and bird tracks. But despite all these signs of life, I only saw one small rodent,

which quickly rushed for cover under the bushes. There was a friendly sound of

birds chirping throughout the forest but I only saw crows flying through the air

above me.

Making my way around the fault zone, known as Devil’s Punchbowl, I had the opportunity to see the

pushed up sandstone from different angles and perspectives that I had not been able to do when I came

the year before with my family and we did the one mile loop. I imagined how dramatic it must have

been if such an event happened in one day pushing the sandstone rocks up into the air as they now

appear. Being no geologists or expert on earthquakes, my mind imagined that it either happened very

slowly over time or very quickly. One could not stand there and not be taken back by the sheer power

and force that would be required to have created such a natural wonder of the world.



As I neared Devil’s Chair and looked for each of the markers along the trail indicating the next half mile

completed, I noticed areas where the trail was held up with thick metal platforms and stakes. In most

areas of the trail the platforms looked secure, while in others there were signs that the mountain was

exerting pressure on them and slowly pushing them down the hill. But it was evident that the trail was

well maintained and that eventually these areas would be fixed in such an event. Eventually, I could see

Devil’s Chair, marked by a path with handle bars on either side, and footsteps down to a promontory

jutting out from the side of the mountain and overlooking the entire fault zone. There was snow on the

path down but it had melted off from the sides and surrounding areas below. It almost gave the

appearance of a white carpet being rolled out down the trail to Devil’s Chair. On Devil’s Chair there were

footprints from crows in the snow and it seemed they liked this look-out point as much as we do. I

stayed for awhile to take

in all the sights and then

made my way back up

where the turn off to

South Fork continued.

After a moment to

gather my thoughts and

consider whether I

should go back or move

forward I reasoned that

another two miles to

South Fork wasn’t too

bad and that I should

press on.

The trail moved abruptly down the side of the mountain and out of the snow and into the sunny side of

the mountains. Here there was no snow, just mud and a trail that felt saturated with water. Before long I

was hot and sweaty and considered taking off clothing until the trail curved around back towards the

shaded side of the mountains and back into the snow again. It was an odd feeling to being shifting from

two very different environments in such a close distance. Several portions of the trail had severe erosion

and I had to take my time with each step; however, on the steady portions

of the trail I decided to run downhill and cover as much ground as possible.

It wasn’t long before I was in South Fork and discovered that there is a

campground there. It is also a place where several trails intersect with each

other, namely the Pacific Crest Trail, High Desert National Recreation Trail,

and Manzanita Trail heading up to Vincent Gap.

By this time it was already 10:30 a.m. and I considered turning back, but was

curious to see what was on the top of the saddle further up the trail. And so

I pushed up the trail about another mile along the Manzanita Trail to the

saddle where there is a rock formation protruding from the mountain at an

angle. This portion of the trail was shaded and covered in snow and by this



time I was starting to get thirsty. I drank my own water but was also tempted to pull off hanging icicles

from trees and bushes and suck on them instead. This saved me the trouble of getting my bottle out

each time I wanted a sip of water. Eventually, I made it to the saddle and looked down on another fork

with a surrounding settlement and access road to it like the one to South Fork. I later discovered this

was Paradise Springs: Big Rock Creek Campground.

After taking in the views, perhaps with Mount Baden-Powell off in the distance, I decided to turn around.

I sprinted down the trail and covered ground quickly back down. Heading back up to Devil’s chair

however was mostly all uphill and I found myself rather exhausted by the time I made it back and with

wet feet by this time. The trail to South Fork had not been walked on so much and I had to make fresh

tracks in the snow. The last three miles were the most challenging as my exhaustion seemed to intensify

and every uphill seemed to wear on me just a little more. Along the way back, I encountered other

people full of energy and playing gleefully in the snow with each other. Most had come to see Devil’s

Chair, but near the parking lot I encountered groups of people carrying snow sleds running and throwing

snow balls at each other. I began to have that feeling that I often have as I near the end and realize that

my car awaits me. It is hard to imagine how much you appreciate the transport we have available to usnow until you spend seven hours walking through the wilderness and losing almost all desire to go any

further.

With that sinking feeling, I opened the door to my car and slipped into my car and sat for a moment in

complete relief. The parking lot was full by now and crowds of people were just coming to have their

thrills for the day. Like my previous hikes, I knew that my wife and daughters were waiting for me and

looking forward to getting out of the house themselves, so I made my way home and was happily

greeted by my daughters, Sonya and Sophia, who came running out the door. And for a moment, I

thought to myself that this was the whole point of my journey to Valyermo, to come home and realize

just how much I have to be thankful for and appreciate.

Winter Wanderings

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