Video: The Ojai triple Crown

To view a taste of the Triple Crown: vimeo.com

The Ojai Triple Crown, a 28 mile masochistic odyssey

Welcome to the 2nd (apparently) Annual Ojai Triple Crown. Take Hines Peak, Topa Topa Peak, and Chief Peak, and do 'em all in a day. Here's the stats, and I'll fill in more below:
Miles:  28.9
Elevation gain for the day:  >7,000 feet
Time from start to finish:  12:40

I start walking at 04:30, an hour made even more distasteful by the time change. It is cool and very dark. Patches of luminous moonlight filter through the trees overhead, but the trail remains a black tunnel extending before me. My headlamp is not necessary, but I employ it anyway. The last several times out I've seen cat tracks and this is on my mind in this darkest hour before dawn. Cat eyes reflect light, thus the headlamp. I feel I am moving at a glacial pace, easing through a black world of small rustles and faint breezes. My surgically enhanced night-vision is voided by the headlamp. Every few minutes I pull a "Crazy Ivan", check my six, sweep my backtrail and the surrounding forest with the light, sometimes stopping just to listen. This is not paranoia, this is prudence.

Last year, on the inaugural slog, I didn't quite know how I would feel or how long the day would take, and as a result, I was more concerned with time. I prosecuted it like a war. On that occasion, I felt like I did myself a disservice, like I rushed the day and consequently paid for it in post hike shin-splints and fatigue. Today I choose not to worry about it. I note only the main points, the start and end times and the summits. I strictly ignore my watch for the rest of the day. Time doesn't matter. I concentrate on efficiency, taking constant systems readings, fine tuning my gait, focused entirely on how I feel. I realize that, if I do this "wrong" I could be paying for days afterward. However it turns out, I have to be able to work tomorrow. There is a real world and today I walk it's trails, for tomorrow I pay it's bills in an alternate, less enjoyable reality.

Above and below, Chief Peak at sunrise.

I shiver for a moment in the dark hollow of White Ledge. So far I am feeling this. This crazy thing I've set out to do. I strap into my pack and tackle the stretch before me. Some time later I take off the headlamp and restore my knife to it's usual location on a back pocket ( I had had it clipped to a glove). I'm warmed up now and my pace feels normal for me and, though I don't care, I am sure that I'm already an hour behind last year's time. I pause for a moment under Topa to stash Gatoraid and a PB &J sandwich. No sense carrying these items up Hines if I'm just coming back this way in a few hours. I leave a similar cache at the saddle that separates the two peaks. I am in the weak morning sunlight now. Hines peak is obstructed from view by a lesser hill but that is where I aim myself and that is what I'll climb.

The moon sets on the flank of Topa Topa.

As the miles unfold before me, and Hines Peak gets larger in the windshield, my mind travels down various paths of it's own. I am in synch with myself and my environment. Things are clicking now. Samadhi. My life's true soundtrack sings to me, the crunch of soft footsteps and the whisper of a breeze in my ear. The trail is a lonely space, a laser line through my immediate universe. Where it leads, I go. Soon I stand before the steep slope of Hines. I imagine myself on that unremarkable summit of sticks and stones. I will myself there and I am.

An ancient bit of detritus, found on Hines.

I sign the log atop Hines for the nth time and remind myself that this place needs a new summit journal. The sun is higher now, but brings little warmth. The Stillman apparatus is running at all systems nominal. I note the time in my journal and exit the peak. On the trail again, my mind wanders it's myriad planes while the legs pump and the eyes rove. I retrieve my cache No.1 and move south toward the summit of Topa. Three crows pinwheel across the summit as I roll up to the stone bench. They call to one another as they swoop and dive. I am not alone here. I ingest the contents of my cache, converting carbohydrates and protein into glucose. Installing fresh reactor rods. I take in the view, which, given today's aims, is somewhat dispiriting. The conical summit of Chief Peak is so very far away. The chance to turn back, to call it a day and be self-satisfied, to retreat, lies just below. So easy to return the way I came and stop this madness before someone gets hurt. Clearly I have sat upon this bald summit long enough. My mind is trying to kill me.

A look back towards Topa taken from afar.

Regulation Time Out. Topa Topa.

Rehydrating the organism. Chief Peak.

As I descend Topa the breeze stiffens and my crows are kiting away. It is just me and the winding vagaries of the Nordoff Ridge. I retrieve my second cache of food and fluids. The miles unwind below me. I am well into this now, having long since passed any egress that would allow an easy out. I pass the radio towers, and a little later I turn a blind eye to the junction pointing down Sisar Rd and Horn Canyon. I will be there soon enough, yet there remains business to conduct. The way lies west now, across the great, looping turns of the road. Chief is before me now, seperated from me by a deep cleft. The road continues it's inane series of twists and turns, doubling the distance between me and my omega point, the zenith, the last of the up. I soon stand below the ragged scar which ascends Chief's southern ridge. Soon after I stand above it looking down, down to the Ojai Valley which is obscured in a gauzy haze of moisture. I enjoy my break on the summit. I realize that I feel remarkably good. I have benefited from a disciplined approach to water and calories, reaping the rewards of experience. Many more miles to go, though, before my distant terminus.

My friends, the crows, have returned to honor me with their croaking seranade. My mind again wanders where it will while I trudge down the long slope. The crows have now startled a large red tailed hawk and are harrying her across the sky. I am descending quickly now. I pop my ears. The trail wends its rocky route and I follow. Down low, less that a mile from the truck, I encounter the first humans of the day.  I catch their scent, smell their shampoo and deodorant long before I see them. They are loud and shuffling creatures, enjoying their brief foray into the woods. They are entirely oblivious to my presence until I am already upon them. I see them through cat's eyes. They behave like prey. They are those who do not see and cannot hear.

Here's what helped cut the mustard:

Water {3.75 Litres}

Gatoraid {1 Litre}

5 Hour Energy {2}

PB & J Sandwiches {2}

Tiger Milk Bars {2}

Cliff Bar {1}

GU or Accel Gels {6}

Advil {1600mg)

and as always, everything I would need to survive for 24 hours if I had to.

By the way, that whole "not looking at the clock" thing paid off. I knocked 20 minutes off the last time I did this, probably because I wasn't even trying to. And by the way, I feel capital.

Further examination of the Topatopa Bluffs, 08/31/2011

I can think of no reason that a human being would have for going where I went today. And I have the cuts, scrapes, and bruises to prove it. I guess I should back up a bit and explain.

Below: click on the pic to see where I went, and will not need to go visit ever again.

Back on the 27th of July I went up Topa for a preliminary recon of the top of the Bluffs. This was to be the first step in a plan to find a way to the bottom of the bluffs, and then establish a climbing route back to the top. This was actually a serious idea to me, for some time. I have now been thoroughly disabused of that notion (hubris?). Suffice it to say, that after today that plan has been scratched.

Yesterday I drove up to Ojai and the overweight bureaucrat behind the desk at the USFS office gave me a permit and the gate combo for Nordoff Ridge Rd. This morning I drove up and hiked all over the top of Topa. I can now say that I know the top of that mountain as well as any and better than most. I descended to the edge of Topa Topa's three major prominences and descended the two drainages that bisect them. I can assure anyone with the same crazy idea I had that just getting down the bluffs will end in bloodshed and frustration, as it did for me.

Below: back in 1983 an equestrian club put this UFO looking water trap up on top. I'd known about this for years, even though it is now off the beaten path and can be difficult to find.

Below: Every way I tried to get down became a brush fight that I eventually lost, and I'm a tenacious guy. Who is now covered in scratches.

Below: Just one of the day's numerous insults.

So what did I learn today? First, I'm not doing that again. Second, and obvious (now), I am not going to put up a new route on the face of Topa. And third, all deer trails end with you wondering what the hell the deer was on when they went there. This is an apt lesson, and the irony does not escape me.

Topatopa Recon, 07/27/2011

Okay, kids... all the griping I do about not having enough time to do the trails, peaks, and climbing, yeah. It's one of them summers. You may recall (though I hope don't care) that a couple months ago I was a busy boy...hammers, saws and other implements of destruction directed at my laundry room. That project is done, but it only got me a third of the way to the finish line. For the past month I've been tearing out my kitchen, floor to ceiling. New everything. Now we're down to about three weeks until installation of many thousands of dollars worth of new stuff. Very exciting, disruptive, expensive. I need this to end so I can get back to doing what I love.
Bear with me, I'll be dialing up the mountain stuff as we get into September. For now, I'm stealing away when I can. Today it was up the Suffer Machine (Topa Topa) for a brief recon.

I made it to the summit of Topa in my customary 3:15hrs. After a nice break up top I started ambling around the top of the bluffs. I was looking for an easy-ish route down the bluffs from the top. My purposes for doing this may develop into a substantial blog entry of it's own so I won't spill all the beans yet. I'll put it this way, I have a good reason for plotting and planning a trip to the base of the bluffs. It doesn't look like getting there will be all that difficult.

Interestingly, the front side of the bluffs is riddled with deer trails. In fact, it was a good day for wildlife. I saw 3 deer, 2 hawks, a fox , and many other smaller critters. I did not, however, see anyone else for the entire day.

Above:
Deer trails abound on the face of the Topa Topa Bluffs.
Below:
Hines Peak from the Topa Ridge

Below: Looking down a large gap in the Bluffs.

Below:
Further proof, if needed, that any time you might think you are on a road untravelled, you will encounter a beer can with a bullet hole in it.

Above: The Bluffs. I got plans.

Topatopa via Rose Valley, 05/24/2011

Amazing. I had a day off without any constraints or responsibilities, so I fled to the hills. I hadn't ever taken the Rose Valley Connector trail end to end so I decided to start at Rose Valley campground and end up on Topa Topa. By the time I got back and added another mile for a detour to East Lions falls I put the day at about 20 miles.
As I reported a few posts ago, Lion's Canyon is pretty neat, a worthwhile trip in itself, but I just blazed on through and attacked the long grade up to Nordoff Ridge Rd. I was on top of Topa Topa in 3 hours flat, which I suppose is a pretty good pace. The summit was blustery so I didn't hang out for long.
I decided that I'd take my time on the return trip and do a little exploring. I did brief excursions up several small side canyons just to see what was there. Not much. I wandered back into East Lions and spent an hour at the falls before banging out the last 3 miles to the truck.

Here's some new news: I'm getting geared up for a big trip to the Sierra. This year's trip will, weather willing, produce some good stuff for the blog: five 14,000ft peaks. Stay tuned.

Hines Peak/Topatopa Bluff, 04/09/11

How about a long hike in decidedly un-April like conditions? Cliff and I hiked the Sesar>Hines>Topa>Sesar 22 miler on a day that ranged in temperature from 25-55 degrees (depending on where the clouds & wind were), half of that time spent travelling on snow. We got going at 06:45 and rushed through the cold, early miles. The sunrise cast a silver haze on the frosted brush. The creek is high and we heard a chilly roar as we passed above White Ledge falls. We had reached the snow by the the time we passed the picnic bench on the ridge.
We trudged through the long miles, sometimes in shade, sometimes in sun, always on snow until we finally stood at the foot of Hines Peak's steep summit ridge. I sensed that Cliff was a bit apprehensive about the angle of the ridge in relation to the amount of snow. In other words, I think he was wondering how much risk this would entail. I remember having the same sort of feeling a long time ago when I was less familiar with climbing on snow. I threw on my Yaktrax and assured him that we'd make the top. After all, we weren't contending with black clouds, atomic lightning, or flesh eating wind, all of which conditions could have been present.
We quickly opened the Mountaineering 101 Handbook to the chapter on "cutting steps" with excerpts from "understanding your trekking poles" and "basic rockaneering". I cut the steps and Cliff did just fine following in my steps. He got through some of the rocky and exposed stuff without difficulty. He was wall to wall grins on the summit. It was a good summit and a good climb on a cold and breezy day. The down climb went smoothly and we headed back towards Topa Topa which was obscured by clouds.

*Hines is definitely Class III in real snow conditions. Class III can be described as "scrambling with the opportunity to really hurt yourself".






We rolled over to Topa, stopping for a good sit at the saddle junction before facing the last big "Up" of the day. As we approached the summit of Topa we beheld a strange phenomena: fins of ice clinging to manzanita. Clearly, the cloud bank roiling by just a hundred feet from us had receded just minutes ago. Very neat.

As for the summit of Topa, that weird occurrence with the clouds butting up against the bluffs that I've mentioned before was in full effect. It wasn't the kind of day to linger. Down we went and a couple hours later rambled back to the truck.

Let me take a moment to share with you a new found hope for an ambulatory and active future. The inspiration for this brain-bulb comes from hiking with these really great older guys. I ran into Rick Bartell, a friend in his early 60's, on the Arroyo Verde trail. He was charging up some sick hill right beside me. And how about a tip of the hat to Mr. Cliff Griffiths, electrician of the first order, 59 years old, and can hike 22 miles, climb up an icy summit, etc... and be able to do again next weekend. How's that for tough.