The Balconies

As stated in my previous post, one of my many recollections about the Pinnacles involved caves. Not true caves, like Lehman Caves or Carlsbad Caverns where water leach caverns out of soft spots in the rock. Nope, these are talus caves, comprised of the empty spaces between large boulders. And when I say large, I mean large; the talus boulders are each approximately the size of Boise. Armed with flashlights, hikers can follow the arrows painted on the rocks and walk through the Pinnacles while hoping the nearby San Andreas Fault stays quiet for at least the duration of the cave hike. 

Shouldn't a creek have water in it?

There are two sets of caves in Pinnacles National Park: Bear Gulch Cave and Balconies Cave. For no reason at all, we chose the Balconies for our caving venture. The Old Pinnacles Trail took us in that direction, heading up Chalone Creek on a dusty and level path. It seems like the word "creek" gets carelessly bandied about as from an Oregonian's perspective, a creek should involve water flowing in it. The "creek" in this case was a dry wash paralleling the trail, the only difference between the creek bed and trail was that there were more rocks in the creek bed. Almost comically, we crossed the creek on a footbridge. Don't want to get our feet wet!

Rock wall along Chalone Creek

We had started relatively early, which really wasn't all that early because we were on vacation and never in a hurry. However, there still was a bit of morning coolness in the air and we were feeling frisky and fresh despite the notable lack of shade. As we worked our way up Chalone Creek, rock walls began to loom on either side of the trail. The walls gradually closed in and it soon felt like a real canyon.

Shade is not overrated

The Balconies are actually a large rock wall on the Pinnacles rim and I'm not sure why they are called that. A small glistening ribbon trickling down the face could be called a waterfall, given California's liberal use of water-related vocabulary. I shouldn't have gotten too snooty about water, or lack thereof, because at the base of a cliff was a small spring buzzing with thirsty yellow jackets. Green grass grew around the spring and the vegetation was, dare I say, rather lush.

Cave entrance

The water was trickling from the mouth of Balconies Cave and we went in a short distance before coming back out, eyes blinking in bright sunlight. Our plan was to hike the caves from the top down so we returned to the trail and began a short uphill hike as the trail switchbacked to and fro up the canyon walls. The morning chill had since departed and we baked under the hot sun like a pair of tamales. 

"Waterfall" on the Balconies

As we contoured below the cliffs, there were a number of climber trails heading to the base of the various rock walls with names like Tilted Terrace. Normally, I can support the concept of tilted terraces when hiking but when you have stretchers and bone splints stashed handily at the base...well, that tells me all I need to know about the safety of rock climbing.

We went under

Once we crested over a pass below the rock wall of The Balconies, the trail switchbacked to and fro like an undecided voter in an election year, bringing us to the upper cave entrance. Dollie and I entered an increasingly narrow trail that required mild rock climbing here and there. At the real entrance, we donned headlamps and I started to go down.

Dollie enters her home

Below me, a rock slope tailed away at a steep angle and my tender ankle (I had twisted it the day before) started to feel anticipatory pain. The idea of having to put my weight on the sore joint flexed at a 45 angle just made me cringe. Sad to say, I exercised caution over valor and retreated out of the cave, figurative tail between my legs. And equally sad to say, I think Dollie was kind of grateful I hurt my ankle if it meant staying out of the cave walk.

Trail shot on a hot day

So back we go and as we did so, the day warmed up considerably, making a cool cave seem inviting, even with ankle pain involved. Oh well, as we hiked back down Chalone Creek, we tried to keep cool by imagining the creek flowing with water flanked by happy ferns on the banks. It didn't work.

Let's just stay in the shade until nightfall

For more pictures of this hike, please visit the Flickr album.

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Pinnacles National Park - High Peaks Trail.

Back when I was a Boy Scout in Watsonville (California), hiking and camping in the Pinnacles was a semi-regular staple of our outdoor fare. Of course, back then the park was "just" a national monument and I really don't remember all that much about the trails except that caves were involved. I also went rock climbing a couple of times but again, I have no idea what cliff we climbed up, only that ropes and pitons were required. In 2012, when the monument was upgraded to the lofty status of National Park, my interest in the Pinnacles was rekindled. Since the theme of this year's California vacation was all about reconnecting with old friends and family, it sort of made sense to pay a visit to the Pinnacles. Since Dollie came along, no ropes and pitons were involved in our visit to the park.

A Pinnacles pinnacle

The Pinnacles are divided into the east and west sections and for no reason at all, we first went to the western side. There were several options for hiking but since I superficially form opinions of trails by their names, "High Peaks Trail" immediately captured my heart solely on the basis of that alluring name.

What drought looks like

It hasn't rained in this part of California in something like eight years, and the more sensitive vegetation were covered in dried leaves, the dry leaves rattling in the breeze like skeleton breath. The more hardy species like ceanothus were thriving and we were glad the trail was well maintained, having saved us the trouble of wading through the thorns. The trail brochure had a picture of a mossy waterfall on a creek but water was about as elusive as a unicorn being ridden by a Sasquatch. The land was dry, dry, dry with nary a brochure-adorning waterfall to be found. Talk about false advertising!

Walking on top of the world

The Juniper Canyon Trail led away from the parking lot, gaining elevation at a gentle rate through the sere terrain. After about a half mile into the hike, the trail began switching to and fro, climbing upward in earnest. We were working our way out of the Juniper Canyon drainage and climbing up a steep slope that was garlanded with all manners of minarets, towers, thumbs, ramparts, walls, and balancing rocks. Each switchback offered a different view of all the rock structures festooning the ridge above us. After a mile or so, we took a right turn onto the High Peaks Trail, starting a loop hike around the Pinnacles crest. 

View to the parking lot

As we climbed, we also enjoyed great views of the Chalone Creek canyon and the surrounding Gabilan Mountains. On the horizon to the west were the Santa Lucias, home of the Ventana Wilderness. In between was the large Salinas Valley, full of farms producing crops for our nation's salads. When we began the hike, we peered up to a prominent collection of rocky knobs known as The Fingers, even though they looked more like thumbs; however, as we climbed, we went from craning our necks upward to The Fingers to looking down upon them. In short, the view was epic and one for the ages.

A great place for lunch!

The High Peaks Trail topped out at a mountain pass with a bench and we happily sat down and ate lunch while enjoying the view, which had even become even more epic. From our mountain aerie, we could see to the east in equal grand scope as the western view we had so far been enjoying.  We were on a narrow ridge crest that had rock pinnacles bristling formidably like the spines of an augustinia dinosaur. And coincidentally enough,  the large cluster of pinnacles are known as "The Pinnacles".  A deep and oddly straight valley paralleling our ridge crest was the rift zone of the San Andreas Fault. And just to reminisce, we could also take in the western view we had so enjoyed on the ascent. 

This would be the narrow part

The pass was kind of a meeting place for trails and we had many options for continuing our hike. But, really there was only one choice, a small and dusty trail with a sign reading "Steep and Narrow Trail". If anything, the phrase "steep and narrow trail" was even more alluring than  "high peaks trail".

Pinnacles, everywhere we look

After cresting a small rise on the ridge crest, the trail gently began losing elevation through an increasingly rocky terrain. We were walking at the base of the pinnacles and the ground dropped precipitously away from our feet as we hiked. As we contoured the massive cliffs, large scavenger birds soared on the thermals upwellling from the valley below. 

Look, it's NOT a condor!

The California condor is an endangered species whose last bastion of refuge is on Topa Topa Mountain in Ojai. In a desperate attempt to save the species, captive-bred condors were released into the Pinnacles and by all accounts, are doing quite well there. So naturally, we and several other hikers were quite excited to see these majestic birds soaring gracefully against a blue sky. Post-hike, I found out the condors have a distinctive white pattern on the underside of their wings unlike the birds we had been observing. It was a mild disappointment to find out we had been all agog over ordinary turkey vultures. 

Whee!

The trail became cliffier and cliffier and soon railings (which were needed) and handolds made an a appearance. And once we got used to holding on for dear life while the rock wall dropped 1,000 feet below us, the trail became a series of small steps etched into the rock face. Way cool, in a scary, totally exposed way. At times we had to walk hunched over (well, more hunched over than normal) under monolithic rocks. And this went on for nearly two spectacular miles. Was this a cool trail, or what!

Tunnel on the Tunnel Trail

Sadly, the mountain goat portion of this hike could not last forever, and we began dropping back down to Juniper Canyon, closing our loop on the Tunnel Trail. The trail dropped rapidly into a narrow canyon where the trail builders decided trail building was too much darn work and blasted a tunnel through an impeding ridge. 

A totally awesome trail

After the tunnel, the trail behaved a lot more ordinary as it returned us back to civilization. Unfortunately, just as the car was virtually within sight, I stepped in a gopher hole and there went the ankle and I sprawled heavily face first into the dust. Fortunately, it was just a short limp to the car with a well dusted face, that was way too much reconnecting with my past, in my opinion.

Appreciative audience

For more pictures of this amazing hike, please visit the Flickr album.

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Cape Arago loop

Cape Arago is a great dayhike. The trail is always spectacular, providing cliffy views of the rugged Oregon coast as the path rambles along the rather abrupt edge of Oregon. Periodically, the trail moves away from the cliffs and dips into the lush coastal forest. Given the right time of year, the woods yield plenty of wildflowers, berries, mushrooms, and newts. And no matter the season, the crash of waves upon the rocks is a constant along with the barking of sea lions. Yup, a great hike. But there is one small problem: I've hiked it a million times.

Scenic little cove, below the trail

So what is one erstwhile faded and jaded hiker to do? Why, apply an O'Neill twist to the route, just to keep from getting bored with one of the more scenic hikes on the southern Oregon coast. The latest and greatest change-up was to park the car nearly two miles shy of the customary starting point at Sunset Bay. Hopefully, I'd be able to work my way south to Sunset Bay and in the process, get a good view of the Cape Arago Lighthouse perched on Gregory Point, the point actually being an island. 

Is this a cool trail, or what?

Speaking of goats, you almost have to be one to get down to the beach from the Cape Arago Highway. Yeah, I know, we weren't speaking of goats but that's my segue and I'm sticking to it. A faint and muddy track dropped nearly vertically down to the beach but fortunately, a rope was tied to a tree for us non-goat human beings. Even though I sport no goat genes (that I know of), I still bleated happily on the way down, which either confused or bemused the seagulls.

Rock formations on the beach

Once upon the beach, well, I could hear but not see the lighthouse as a thick boa constrictor of fog strangled the life out of the sunny ocean views. Tortured metaphor aside, visibility was quite limited on the beach and the main attraction (the lighthouse) remained sleeping under the thick foggy blanket. The beach route going south was likewise hidden, so I decided to turn back. No sense hiking down the beach only to find access to Sunset Bay impassable, I'll retry this on a sunnier day where I can better judge the feasibility of the intended route.

Salal

So, back to the car I go and going up the rope was not quite as much fun as coming down, I didn't happily bleat like a goat on the way up. Still in the mood to change up the normal route though, I decided to hike from Sunset Bay to Shore Acres and then take the hidden perimeter trail that I had hiked on once before with the South Coast Striders.

Fern tongue

It had been baking hot (I often use a different adjective, also ending in "king", to better describe the run of hot weather) and it was getting to be so not-funny. It seemed inconceivable that anywhere else outside of Roseburg could be anything but a dry sauna; therefore I was clad in shorts and a tank top. Oops. At Cape Arago, the weather was cold and foggy, the air had a liquidity to it that stopped just short of being actual rain, and me without any raincoat or jacket. Oh well, the exertion of navigating the steep ups and downs of the perimeter trail would hopefully be enough to keep me warm.

Thimbleberry

The tide was well out and the ocean was quiet. There were few hikers encountered on the trail and the mist muffled sound, making for woods peaceful and still. Periodically, the trail ran alongside the Cape Arago Highway and every now and then the odd car slowly passed by, tires hissing on the wet pavement. Ripe salmonberries were there for the picking and the hike was berry nice at times. I have the orange juice stains on my lips to prove it.

Still life with foxglove and aphids

At Shore Acres State Park, I left the coast trail and crossed the Cape Arago Highway. The perimeter trail begins there but you have to know exactly where it is as the trail is unsigned and impossible to see from the road. Displaying the secret South Coast Strider sign, I pushed aside the brush and began hiking uphill on a trail surrounded by blooming rhododendron and foxglove.

Flies waiting...just waiting

A brisk climb took me to the top of the ridge that marks the park boundary and I had basically climbed into the low cloud cover, the woods were now mysteriously misty. In less mysterious fashion, the overhead skein of tree branches sifted the mist and fog, making sure to drip water on one lone hiker improperly attired in shorts and tank top. 

Went down into the ravine and then over the hill...yup

The upper section of the trail has some serious ups and downs as it dropped into and out of several ravines. I got my exercise in and kept plenty warm with the exertion. Whew! On the final pitch downwards, it was really hard to maintain traction on the muddy trail and I had more than a few impromptu ski runs. When I got home, I noticed my boot tread was totally worn, which would explain the slipping and sliding. As an aside, that particular little problem was later remedied on a mid-week excursion to REI, a true Happy Place on Earth.

The Cape Arago Trail provides great views of the coast

On the descent, the trail joined up with the old pack road leading to and from the group day use site and it was nice to not have to worry about sudden and unexpected mud-ski runs. Now at Cape Arago itself, I was back on familiar territory and it was a perfunctory hike back to Sunset Bay as the day darkened. Periodically, I'd work my way to a cliffy viewpoint to see what I could see, which wasn't much.

A bee hugs a sneezeweed flower

Even though I was wet and cold at the end of the hike, I deigned to turn on the car heater. There would be plenty of heat waiting for me in Roseburg and I gladly shivered in the wet air. It felt good to be cold, if even for just one day.

Future blackberry fruit

For more pictures of  the hike, please visit the Flickr album.

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Diamond Peak Loop

Many years ago, I went on my first backpack trip as a mature adult. Well, the "mature" part might be debatable but anyway, I showed up with a pack that must have weighed at least as much as a blue whale, or so it seemed. Overly heavy to be sure, but I was prepared for every conceivable calamity ranging from earthquakes to a rabid moose bite. My friend Ned Landis, with nothing but kindness in his heart, went through my pack and offloaded a lot of that unnecessary weight. Even so, the pack was too damn heavy. From that fateful trip, I did learn one lesson that still stays with me to this day: weight does matter!

Dinner is a dehydrated dragonfly head

Nowadays, I get mad at myself if my pack is over 30 pounds and just like Ned did so many years ago, I go through newbie's packs and remove stuff and preach the gospel learned on that fateful trip "Weight does matter!" Newbies tend to overpack just as I did on that fateful first trip, it is up to us grizzled veterans to demonstrate our lighter packs and total backpacking knowledge and general all-around awesomeness. That's why it was disconcerting when newbie Kevin showed up with a lighter pack than both mine and Dale's. We were both showed up by a rookie!

Day 1

Bridge over Trapper Creek

Although this trip consisted of five days in the Diamond Peak Wilderness, the hike got off to a decidedly non-wilderness feel when right at the start we crossed several railroad tracks, our heads swiveling back and forth as we kept a watchful eye out for any speeding trains. The tracks concluded the civilized portion of the hike as just on the other side, a wooden sign marked our entry into the wilderness.

Beargreass

The Yoran Lake Trail initially climbed gently through a beautifully greened out forest. Trapper Creek was full of water and was running fast with spring snow melt. The mosquitoes weren't too bad and we enjoyed our nice little forest stroll. 

Diamond Peak, from Yoran Lake

After several miles, the uphill slant increased in severity as the trail gained elevation. Pretty much all 8 miles of the first day's hike was spent plodding uphill. Just as we were starting to get bored with viewless forest, the trail did a walk-by past an unnamed lake, Karen Lake, and then Yoran Lake, each lake larger than the one before. Yoran Lake in particular provided us some wow with a great view of snowy Diamond Peak looming over the body of water. The mosquitoes increased in number and became generally annoying but not voracious enough (yet) to make us lose our sanity.

I'm following Richard, I better check my GPS!

We had been hiking on the Yoran Lake Trail and the trail ended at its namesake lake. It was a little bit of a problem because our route required us to be on the Pacific Crest Trail which ran almost a mile to the north and was slightly uphill from Yoran Lake. Armed with compass and GPS we left the trail, following Yoran Lake until there was no more Yoran Lake to follow. Continuing northward beyond the lake, we bushwhacked through the forest, placing an inordinate faith in all our electronic navigational gadgetry.

Lils Lake

Exactly according to plan, we popped out of the forest at scenic Lils Lake and one short uphill bushwhack spit us out of the forest and onto the Pacific Crest Trail. All total, the day's hiking would gain over 2,100 feet of elevation with a substantial amount of the total gain taking place on this section of the PCT. In short, it was a tedious slog up to a pass below Mount Yoran, Diamond Peak's immediate neighbor. 

Mount Yoran, above an unamed lake near Divide Lake

All that uphill became a very steep drop to the base of Mount Yoran and Divide Lake, our home for the night. Just a small, seemingly unremarkable lake but Divide Lake is all about location, location, location! The lake is strategically situated at the base of Mount Yoran and the view of both lake and mountain was breathtaking.

The mosquitoes were kind enough
to share Divide Lake with us

Camp was pitched on a rocky bluff overlooking Divide Lake, to the accompaniment of thousands of buzzing mosquitoes. Dale discovered he had forgotten not only his cool hat with the neck shade, but he had also forgotten his spoon. Improvising, he used his Deuce of Spades trowel (which he swears had only touched dirt during its lifetime) much to the perpetual amusement of Kevin and I. If I had forgotten anything, I'm not telling because its my blog and I can write whatever I want to. Newbie Kevin, on the other hand, had not forgotten a thing. Anyway, much merriment ensued along with puns about the trowel doing double doody and how Dale could really shovel the food down, etc.

Day 2

Grandeur

All that steep drop down to Divide Lake made for a big climb back up to the Pacific Crest Trail; might as well get the hard stuff done first thing in the morning. Our reward for returning back to the PCT was a relatively level trail and some world-class scenery as the venerable trail contoured below the massive rock wall of Diamond Peak. The easier walking was much appreciated, coming as it did after a tough hiking day.

Our view for most of Day 2

This was my favorite part of the trip. The PCT undulated gently in slow rolling ups and downs through an alpine rock garden. Snow drifts covered the trail and small tarns collected snow melt just off trail. Penstemon and partridge foot bloomed between rocks as we walked through miles of delightful rock gardens. Nascent streams trickled musically across the trail, the crystalline clarity of the water entrancing passing hikers. And always, Diamond Peak, its rocky crags flecked with snow, loomed above the trail. Kevin admitted that on the Day 1 slog, he wondered why he had volunteered to come along, but it all made sense on Day 2.

We could see all the way to Mount Shasta

We pretty much had the PCT to ourselves although we did run into two scrawny ladies doing a marathon trail run and one backpacker who'd been hiking since starting at Mount Shasta about a week prior. Speaking of Mount Shasta, amazingly we could see the peak on the horizon as we rounded the south end of Diamond Peak. The sky was cloudy and it felt like rain was coming, yet there was Shasta, faintly visible from a mere 145 miles away! Other peaks nearer and dearer to us Oregonians were eminently visible from the PCT: Middle and South Sister, Maiden Peak, Cowhorn Mountain, Sawtooth Mountain, Union Peak, Mount Thielsen, and Mount Bailey.  Sounds like a roster of my blog posts over the years!

Colorful Rockpile Lake

A trail junction past the southern end of Diamond Peak was our cue to jump off the PCT and take a side trail to Rockpile Lake. Nearby Marie Lake gets a lot of backpacking love as it's the logical starting point for those climbing up to the top of Diamond Peak. However, stunningly colored Rockpile Lake is much more scenic and we had the place to ourselves, although the mosquitoes drove us into our tents well before the sun went down.

Day 3

Celebrating Clean Underwear Day

Day 3 of a 5 day trip marks the halfway point and as such, is that cherished and special day euphemistically referred to as Clean Underwear Day! Clean underwear is not overrated and let's just say we left Rockpile Lake with buoyant enthusiasm engendered by the wonderful sensation of freshly laundered clothing "down there", to put it delicately.

Mountain View Lake view

It was an uphill trudge for the first couple of miles on the hike away from the Pacific Crest Trail. After cresting a broad rise, a rest break was taken at the aptly named Mountain View Lake. There was a mountain, there was a view, and there was a lake. Seriously, the little lake provided an awesome vista of snowy Diamond Peak rising above the waters. After a short view soak, it was then all downhill for the rest of the day. As the trail lost elevation, the scenery transitioned from all that wonderful alpine wonderland to dull, drab, and dusty lodgepole forest that was singularly uninteresting. The main excitement on this part was reaching the Whitefish Trail which then delivered us to Diamond View Lake, our home for the next two nights.

A perfect ending

It had been a short 6.7 mile hike to Diamond View Lake so there was plenty of time to kill. Kevin and I sat by the lake all afternoon, cameras clicking all the while,  If anything, the view here of Diamond Peak was even more scenic than the view at Mountain View Lake. The sun eventually sank behind the mountain and more camera clicking took place with the advent of a spectacular sunset.

Day 4

Why we hike

There's a "Leave it to Beaver" episode where Ward Cleaver takes Wally, Beaver, and friends to the movies. When they exit the theater, they find Beaver is still in the theater. Lumpy goes back into the theater to find Beaver but Beaver comes out and now where's Lumpy? So Wally goes to find Lumpy and Lumpy comes out and then someone has to go find Wally, and so on so forth for 30 minutes. Well, we were ready to start our day hike to Saddle Lake and Dale has to go back and get his GPS. But wait, I have to go back and get my hiking poles. Now, are we ready, guys? Whoops, I forgot my GPS. Even Kevin got into the act, having to go retrieve a hiking pole. Cue the laugh track and cut to commercial!

Saddle up, Kevin, we're going to Saddle Lake!

Anyway, Day 4's festivities got off to a great start (once we actually started!) with Diamond Peak reflecting on the mirrored surface of Diamond View Lake in a quintessential postcard view. If every day of the rest of my life started out like that, I'd probably be much easier to get along with. Our itinerary  for Day 4 was a short day-hike to aptly name Saddle Lake, which sits on a forested saddle between Peak 6982 and Redtop Mountain. It was a brisk climb away from Diamond View Lake and we were all glad we weren't toting fully loaded backpacks. Most of the day hike was spent in forest but here and there the crest of Diamond Peak appeared between the trees on the climb up to Saddle Lake.

Bug with a heart-shaped butt

It was a lengthy and enjoyable lollygag next to Saddle Lake, the time spent watching mothy little bug things swim across the surface of the lake. Periodically, large armored beetles with heart-shaped carapaces crawled on us, triggering the occasional "Gah!" moment. The day and lake water were each on the cool side, otherwise we may have gone swimming with the mothy things.

Dale and his amazing Sooper Dooper Pooper Scooper spoon

Back at camp, we shared Diamond View Lake with some Pacific Crest Trail thru-hikers whose trail names were Bubba Gump and Smiley. Pleasantries were exchanged from a safe distance as they had that certain air about them that comes from way too many miles on the trail between showers, even the mosquitoes laid off of them. And speaking of showers, Day 4 was Bath Day and all members of our party at various junctures waded into Diamond View Lake (sorry, fishies!) to remove trail dust and that certain air about us.

Night light

Just like the night before, the sunset at the lake was spectacular, albeit cloudier. Much photography ensued while slapping at mosquitoes. Back at camp, our sleep was interrupted by a sick sounding croak emanating from the trees. Dale was sleeping in his hammock and although the croak sounded a lot like Dale, the croaking originated from a point much higher in the trees than his hammock. It was probably a dyspeptic crow, expressing displeasure with our uncommonly clean camp.

Day 5

Not the most interesting trail ever

Day 5 was getaway day and the hike out was about 5 downhill miles. As the path dropped down towards Odell Lake, Trapper Creek showed up next to the trail again as the forest morphed from dull lodgepole to a verdant forest draped with old man's beard. Lupine and beargrass bloomed next to the trail, providing a colorful counterpoint to all the greenery.





As usual, we had to step over the odd tree that had fallen across the trail, nothing new there. However, there was a large patch of downed trees that made the trail darn near impassable and we had to snake our way through the branches and trunks, passing our packs forward hand to hand like a bucket brigade from a 19th century house fire. Kevin's pack was still the lightest, darn it.

Back to civilization!

As we continued to lose elevation next to Trapper Creek, the trail tread widened, the ground well-tamped by frequent use in an indication we were nearing the trailhead. And sure enough, after a perfunctory 5 miles, we crossed the railroad tracks that had an Amtrak passenger train parked on a railway siding, waiting idly for no apparent reason. From there, it was off to a real breakfast at Odell Lake Resort where we ate outside so as not to "perfume" the restaurant. And I'm both happy and sad to report Kevin did not fall for the "guy with the lightest pack buys the meal" trick.

Sunset at Diamond View Lake

For more pictures of this hike, please visit the Flickr album.

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