Topatopa Peak Fire Lookout from Hines Peak [SVS], 10/30/12

I have a new standard by which all of the Los Padres' evils may be measured. The seven miles from Hines Peak to Topatopa Peak are, and I've thought about the right words here, a cast iron bitch. I think I need an intervention. I keep doing things that people don't do, and getting away with it. Twenty miles round-trip, 14 of it cross-country. Fourteen hours. Solo. Deep into the blackest heart of the coastal backcountry.

Before we get any further with this I need to admit to you readers that I don't want you to do this hike. I don't ever really exaggerate or embellish when I describe the difficulties of any given hike, and I will not do so now. This ridge is bad news. It is really and truly Egypt. A bad day here could have very serious consequences. I just don't think that anybody else should do this route in a day. It's too long and way too far out there. It's a scary place, one not meant for human beings. Should somebody one day try to repeat this route, I would advise you bring an over-dose of masochism and more water than you've ever carried. And bring some Kleenex because you will want to cry. It's that hard.

Here's the route starting from the eastern end of Nordoff Ridge Rd.

I spent my on-call weekend (when I wasn't at the hospital) poring over Google Earth and NatGeo Maps, parsing a long and benignly pixelated ridge. I can already tell that the satellite imagery is several years out of date, probably five or so years. The imagery shows very recent burn area from the 2006 Day Fire. So I can anticipate far more brush than the intel would suggest. There are no springs, no water of any kind on Topatopa Ridge. I can rest assured that there will be many, many brutal climbs and reciprocal losses of elevation. There will be brush and blood. There will be sweat and dirt and miles of fire-charred manzanita. Every step will be a small victory. I actually get the jitters 2 nights before I take off for this one. I don't get the jitters anymore. My subconscious is telling me to take this one seriously. I listen: map, compass, GPS, SPOT, extra batteries, calories, a great big knife, .40 cal, 6 liters of water and perverse sense of "fun".

Ojai and Lake casitas from atop the Nordoff Fire Tower.

I started this trek by swinging by the USFS office in Ojai to pick up a permit and the gate combo to Nordoff Ridge Rd. Papers in order it was time to drop into 4-wheel and head up the mountain. The little campsite on the ridge with the bench and fire pit was occupied by a pair of trucks so I continued up a bit further to the take-off of the Last Chance trail up to Topatopa Bluffs. I parked it here for the night, made a little fire and enjoyed the evening before crawling into the bed of the truck for some shuteye. I woke refreshed at 03:30, pounded some coffee, strapped in and got going on a day that I already knew was going to be a true test of my capabilities. I was right about that last part.

Moonrise over Topatopa Bluff.

I routinely start high mileage days well before the sun is up. It is an interesting time of day, and the right time to put down miles. On my way over to Hines Peak I encountered three small owls (Bard owls?), one of which sat on a branch just out of reach (I got a pic but it wasn't good enough for a positive ID). I also walked up to a couple of deer at the saddle between Hines and the Bluffs. The deer really don't know what to do about an approaching headlamp. It's kind of funny. I continued east and before long I had passed the turnoff for Last Chance and Ladybug. I climbed the steep slope up Hines in the dark. No big.

Hines Peak summit, in the dark.

Atop Hines I decided on a little break, not so much because I needed one but because I needed the sunrise to help me continue east. Fifty feet off the east side of Hines all real trail disappears and I just didn't feel like wandering around in the brush in the dark. I relaxed a bit in the cool predawn, had some breakfast, signed the book and kept watching for some sign of the coming sun. A half hour of sitting on Hines brought me enough light that I got going again. I left a liter of water on Hines and within minutes I was busting brush.

Hines Peak and the moon, from the east.

With the rising sun I was able to truly comprehend what I was getting myself into. My eyes automatically tracked far to the east. That first glimpse of Topatopa inspired a moment of self-doubt. The numerous smaller peaks along the ridge reinforced those small but vocal doubts. I recall standing about 200 feet below Hines, staring east, playing out the mental math. It was not a good feeling. I reset the "doubt button" and refocused on the simple fact that getting there requires a step, followed by another one, and so on. I continued down the eastern slope of Hines, picking through the brush, not finding any animal trails that headed my way, making my own route.

A heartbreaking view east, from 500 feet below the east side of Hines Peak.

Hines Peak from the east.

After descending Hines I got in touch with my inner bear, by which I mean that I started having some success locating the more or less contiguous animal track that follows the ridge. This "trail" left a lot to be desired. None of the charred manzanita at chest and head height had been cleared. It seems that bears and deer only do what works for them. Like I say, this track never ever became a real trail.

On the way out I stuck almost exclusively to the ridge. It's difficult to get lost on a ridge, but when battling overhead manzanita it's a good idea to stay on route. After I'd lost 500 feet coming off Hines I was subjected to a series of smaller peaks, each brushy and rocky, each peak steep and rough. I just hammered through them in what became a predictable routine, climb through brush to the top of some small peak, descend through brush to the next little saddle, repeat process. It was frustrating and difficult work, time consuming, and rough. This treatment went on for hours without much variation. It was exhausting.

Looking back west at Hines Peak.

A view into the Sespe backcountry.

The morning ground on. I eventually got through the portion of the ridge that is dotted with minor upthrust peaks and things started getting a bit easier. Much of the ridge had burned in the day fire and the truly southern face of this rocky ridge hadn't really grown back the way other parts of the ridge had. This was great! The manzanita and sage were only about waist high through the drier portions of the route. Still, this was cross-country work, and tiring. I startled a few deer in the brush and watched them move down the slope toward the West Fork of the Sespe and Bear Haven.

Bear Haven and the West Fork Sespe. Impregnable.

After five hours of persistent effort I was closing in on Topa. I crunched across an open slope of yucca and grasses before tackling the last miserable brush pile leading to the large, rounded summit. I was pretty blasted by the time I made it to the fire tower, covered in dirt, soot, sweat and sticks. I had been unable to completely silence the voices of self-doubt. It had taken me seven hours of constant effort to reach the tower/summit. That was not good. I assessed my water situation and wasn't immediately concerned, but that nagging part of my mind had decided that I should be concerned. It was 11:30 when I reached the summit leaving another 7 hours of max effort to return during the heat of the day. I decided it was time to pay heed to the voices of self-preservation. I put myself on a water ration before I even dropped pack.

Still endless miles to the summit of Topa.

A first glimpse of the Topatopa Fire Lookout.

As you can see, there ain't much left of the old tower on Topa. Amid the debris under the tower I was able to find the old radio and some ancient fuses, but anything flammable has long since been burned. The ground under the tower is a mosaic of broken, melted glass and old nails, hinges, bolts and wires. I bent an old folding chair back into shape and sat my ass down for a bit. There is a summit register here, placed after the '06 fire. Only 5 people had summited since then, all of them using the old route up from the Sespe to get to there. Mine was the sixth signature, the first since 10/2008. I guess nobody gets to Topa the way I did.

I gave myself a half hour in the partial shade of the steel framed tower. I was really paying attention now, to how I felt and how much water I needed. I had no illusions about making my water last all the way back to Hines. I just had to make it last until I was within range of that liter I'd left up there. With all the calculating done it was time to act. I got off my ass and started trucking out of there. The funny thing about hiking ridges is that they are almost always equally hard whichever way you are traveling and this ridge is no different. Unlike while traveling on a trail or road, I could not afford to let my mind drift. Unstable footing, brush, randomly terminating animal trails, all of these had the potential to waste my time and energy, neither of which I could afford to lose. I paid attention to everything. I walked point.

One of the many small but exhausting peaks cresting this ridge.

As the hours passed I fell deeper and deeper into a miasma of pain and heat. I took control of my body, wresting the reins away from my more rational and pragmatic self. I drove my body to the edge. Pain, sweat, heat, and tachycardia were overridden by perseverance. I dug deep into myself, pulling stamina out of my body, offering up everything I had to that water bottle on Hines. As planned, I ran out of water under Hines. I shrugged, nothing else to do but keep going, right? So that's what I did. It was enough. I got my water, guzzled half, dumped an Emergen-C in the bottle and finished it even as I skied down Hines. I hit the trail around the time the water started kicking in. Back on a trail, happy. I floored it the remaining 2.5 miles to my truck.

Long lost plane, crashed on Topatopa Ridge. I didn't spot the crashed helicopter that lies somewhere on the ridge.

I need to say (again) that this is just a stupidly hard day. To put it in context, there have only been 2 times that I've started an IV on myself after a brutal day, and this was one of them. I gave myself 2 liters of IV fluid (LR) as soon as I got home. 

Some of you will undoubtedly question the wisdom of tackling such a big day solo, and I appreciate that, but let me start by saying that I didn't want a partner for this. I'm very good on my own, I move fast, and I just didn't want to be responsible for anybody else. I don't see how I could have succeeded with a partner on this one. It was a cast iron bitch.

I started in the dark, and nearly ended it that way.

Divide Peak via Murietta Canyon, 09/19/12

A beautiful view of Carpenteria and Santa Cruz Island from near the summit of Divide Peak.

Back at it in the SLP, with a peak that's new to the blog: Divide. I'd first visited this pretty peak while on a motorcycle ride that started on East Camino Cielo above Santa Barbara. That was some time ago and I'd always looked forward to one day hiking the thing. What makes this peak something special are the views from up top. Turn a 360 on the top and one sees the Channel Islands, Carpenteria and Ventura, Jameson Lake, Lake Casitas, and both the Matilija and Juncal Canyon backcountry. It's a "view" peak. Getting there and back from the Matilija trailhead makes for a strenuous 13 mile day.

Ruth and I started early to get a jump on the heat. We left the Matilija trailhead with the sun just brightening the eastern sky. Just past the ranch we took a left and proceeded up Murietta Canyon on the single-track trail which eventually (1.8 miles later) terminates on Murietta Canyon fire road. This opening stretch of trail was easy and pretty. Our path meandered up the canyon through tall forests of maple, alder, oak and cottonwood. The route is shady and the trail is pretty good for most of the way up to the road. We rolled through Murietta Camp which is a creek-side flat shaded by tall oaks. As we walked up we saw intermittent water in Murietta Creek, and just a seep of ground water at the camp. Above the camp the trail sees much less use and is a bit overgrown in places but easy to follow. As with it's near-by sister canyons, this stretch is poison oak city so keep that in the back of your mind if traveling this way. This is an easy stretch, and before long we popped up out of the canyon and met with the Murietta Canyon fire road.

Murietta Camp

Murietta Trail.

Murietta Cnyn is stocked with beautiful old trees.

Check out what this poison oak plant did to it's oak tree.

The fire road is easy street. It had recently been graded and this long, steady grade was just a nice walk.  Every once in a while we could see down into the canyon through a canopy of trees and at one point high above the canyon floor we could hear a nicely running stream. This early in the day we managed to get a fair amount of shade along this long stretch. The angle steepened considerably a short distance below Murietta Spring, and it just kept climbing from there. The reality of this hike is that even though the hiker only gains 3,200ft over the day, it all seems to come at once. Roughly half of the entire elevation gained on this hike happens in a single 1.5 miles of climbing. The 0.8 mile stretch between Murietta Divide and the Divide Peak motorcycle trail is particularly gruesome: 1,200 feet of brushy and loose climbing in under a mile. Steep.

Murietta Spring, just a mosquito clouded trickle now.

I would be remiss if I didn't do something to illuminate what could be a confusing junction at Murietta Divide. As implied, a "divide" does just that. In this case, we are talking about the saddle separating Murietta and Juncal Canyons, and the divide between the coastal front range and the interior. This junction is unmarked. There are no signs denoting the Divide or the trails that split from the junction, so don't expect signage cuz it ain't there. I figured there'd be a sign and since there wasn't one I figured I ought to share a photo of the Divide with it's attendant trails (see below). I walked right by the completely unmarked and un-obvious take-off for the summit ridge, so maybe this will spare somebody a few minutes of head scratching. 

Juncal Canyon and Jameson Lake.

Once I'd straightened out where to start climbing out of the Divide it was time to take on the gnarliest climb of the day. This 0.8 mile, 1,200ft grind is just un-fun. We just put our heads down and blasted up the damn thing. I am super impressed with my wife, she don't have any quit in her. I "love" big hill climbs and this one was no different, except that Ruth got in on the act. We made it a "Mmmm Good! Get Some!! Fuck Yeah!!" kind of climb, and she just blazed it. I love it. We just put that hill behind us and we were soon atop the coastal ridge. I instantly remembered the numerous rocky outcrops that decorate the ridge, sprinkled here and there across the small summits of this astounding crest (and if you ever get a chance to ride the motorcycle trail as its meant to be ridden, jump on that opportunity: link: A Ride in the Clouds.). As we continued west on the ridge trail we enjoyed a coastal breeze and endless views in all directions. This is one of those views that very few will enjoy, and if you live in this neighborhood I think this is one hike you should do.

I've got one more thing to add regarding that brutal climb from the Divide to the crest. The trail itself isn't difficult to follow, but the brush is most definitely trying to wipe the trail off the map. I wouldn't call the brush bad yet, but in a couple more years it will be. It is obvious that the trail gets little human use, as in, I saw zero people tracks on it. I did, however, see mountain lion, bobcat and bear prints on it. Bears doing trail maintenance.

Ruth high above Murietta canyon, which is the green valley low and right in this photo.

The view on the crest, looking west toward Divide Peak, in the distance.

Views! Looking toward Ventura and the Pacific.

The motorcycle trail heading west to the summit of Divide Peak.

Divide Peak, at least where they put the marker, from the actual high point of the ridge. The motorcycle trail continues west above Montecito and Santa Barbara.

Click Me!

One of two Divide Peak ironies: there is no USGS marker that actually says Divide Peak. The other irony is that the true apex that should be called Divide Peak is 1/10th of a mile back to the east.

Ruth and I continued west on the moto trail, ascending two minor, but steep hills. The second of the climbs put us on the actual high point on this 20 mile stretch of coastal ridge-top. This is the true summit of Divide Peak, however, 1/10th of a mile and 100 feet below and west is where the USGS marker can be found. It actually kind of makes sense because the angle of the ridge makes this lesser summit more amenable to the 360 views. This point is easy to spot and is capped by a pair of water tanks. In addition to playing with the "summit locale", the USGS marker that can be found atop the "peak" doesn't actually say "Divide Peak" but instead says simply "Juncal".

We enjoyed an hour's worth of recovery on top, taking in the endless views of the Channel and coastal towns and lakes. The ridge itself, looking west toward Santa Barbara, and the views into the San Rafael Wilderness are worth the walk.

Ruth atop Divide Pk.

We finally turned back the way we'd come, picking our way down the steeps until we reached the road and then it was just a long roll down into the 100 degree heat of the Matilija backcountry. This days' adventure was a good piece of work, surprisingly tough, and very satisfying. I'd like to see some more traffic on this route and I highly recommend taking a walk up to Divide Peak.

Hot, hot, 100 degrees hot all the way down those long miles back to the truck.

Topatopa Bluffs, 09/01/2012

It's been a while since I've hiked The Suffer Machine without adding some other peak to the day. My wife Ruth is getting pretty good on the trail but hasn't done a day quite like this, and I figured it'd be a good test piece. We were met by Cliff Griffiths, a long time friend of this blog, who hasn't had the summer he would have liked on account of somebody else's poor planning. This was his first real opportunity to stretch his legs in months. We started walking at 06:00.

We couldn't have picked a nicer day for this sixteen mile meat grinder. The day started clear and cool, chilly almost. We didn't feel the sun until about five minutes above White Ledge camp, and after that the temperature rose steadily. The entire day felt nice, warm, with a cooling breeze. We paced the long uphill out, summiting shortly after 10. Not bad at all for Ruth's first run up this thing. She just hiked it, and at one point I even heard her saying one of my mantras for a grinding uphill, "Burn baby, burn...". This hike is most definitely a burn. Cliff stepped aside a bit below the summit and, with a gentlemanly gesture, let Ruth by so she could take us over the top.

Ruthie, first time up Topa! 

Cliff Griffiths and I on top.

We spent an hour on top. It was a great day for sightseeing. All the islands were visible, including Catalina. I took Ruth on a tour of the summit and pointed out many of the major SLP landmarks. Eventually it was time to lace the shoes tight over the arch, harness up, and head down. Down, down, down every damn step we walked up. My left knee doesn't much like this downhill.

I gotta say, that after the summer I've had, it was kind of refreshing to just spend a day on an honest-to-dog trail. And Ruth earned that cold beer. She tough.