Hines Peak, Topatopa Bluff, 1 day. 11/24/10

The day before Thanksgiving I went back to Ojai and had a second go at the Sisar Rd>Hines Peak>Topa Topa Peak>Sisar Rd loop. Last week's attempt was called on account of the weather, but this day was ideal and I was feelin' mustard.

Below: the end of Nordoff Ridge Rd., entry to the wilderness.

As you can see, it was cold: 32F@07;30, 33F@11:00, 38F@12:15, 35F@14:00. Cold yes, but the dire warnings of high winds in the mountains and passes never materialized, and not that I was under-prepared, but I'm not a big fan of wind, so I was very pleased that I wasn't getting blasted by freezer air the whole day.

I decided that, unlike the last time I did this hike, I would take a more moderate approach to this hideous trek. In other words, I took more breaks on the ascent. Last time I was feeling pretty worked for several days post-slog. Not this time. By adding on 45 minutes to my prior time of 8.5 hours I was able to get back to the truck in pretty good shape. No delirium, no nausea, and with considerably more energy than on my prior go.

FYI, some years ago I gave the Topa Topa trail the name "Suffer Machine". I had time to think it over and have decided to call this Hines/Topa loop "The Unrelenting Bitch".
I encountered snow early, about half-way between White Ledge and the ridge road. By the end of the day I estimated that I had spent at least 50% of it trudging through the stuff. Snow is good for tracks and I saw a whole range of them: coyote, weasel, rodents, deer, birds. The critter tracks gave me a good idea of the amount of wildlife in the neighborhood, most of which one never actually sees.

Below: the approach to Hines Peak

Above: I secretly hope my sticker genuinely confuses someone
Below: looking southwest toward Topa Topa Peak

Below: The summit ridge up Hines, usually 2nd Class, but not this day!

I reached the Hines Peak/Lady Bug Trail junction at around 11:30 and after refueling went after it. In my mind I was already behind schedule and only half way through the day. Also, some rather dark clouds had started building up on Topa Topa just a couple miles away, which can be a cause for concern. I kept a close eye on those clouds as I ascended the summit of Hines and after a while I realized that the clouds weren't really doing anything I needed to worry about, so I just concentrated on what was in front of me.
Like I mentioned, what route exists up the west ridge of Hines usually feels like a tough scramble. Not so today. I spent a good amount of time kicking steps upward. A few spots, even if just for a few moves, were fairly dicey. In other words, not a great place to fall. Once in a while, when I'm on uncertain terrain with an elevated degree of danger, the voice of my guardian angel will pipe in with a friendly warning. It is the voice of veteran actor Sir Michael Caine. He says to me, in his calm and deliberate voice, "Now, mate. Don't muck this up.". Words to live by when kicking steps up 45 degree snow in trail-runners, with a long slide to the rocks if you choke.

Above: Hines Peak Summit
Below: Hines Peak, 6,704 feet

I arrived on the summit of Hines at 12:15, took a few pictures, checked on the ominous clouds over Topa (no real threat), adjusted a couple of things, and started down. The descent was a bit easier than the up because I had already done the hard work kicking steps. I raced down the peak, picked up the trail, and enjoyed walking in the sun before entering the shadow of the aforementioned clouds. It took exactly 1:30 hours to reach the next summit on this torture loop, Topa Topa Peak.

Above: dead manzanita on Hines
Below: dead manzanita under Hines

Below: Tracks of animals, myself included.

That final trudge up the north side of Topa was the last significant uphill for the day, which suited me fine. The summit of Topa was cold, dark, and icy, which was not fine, which explains why I spent even less time on top than I did on Hines. I signed the book for the 20-somethingth time, fired off a text to Ruth, shot the pics below, and turned my sights on getting back to the truck.

Above: Topa Topa summit bivy, Hines Peak in the background

Below: rather chilly on Topa's summit

I have noticed, numerous times, the phenomena of a stray cloud bank just seeming to find it's way to Topa Topa. They have the entire atmosphere to explore but some clouds just want to smash up against Topa's Bluffs, where they park for the afternoon. This usually creates some great light shows as the afternoon progresses. Today was one of those days.

Below: The view north toward Pine & Reyes Peaks

Below: God-rays over Upper-Ojai

Below: Afternoon light on the bluffs

Like I said, I made it back to the truck in one piece and better. Make no mistake, this is a hard hike. It's just about at the limit of what I'm willing to put myself through for a day-trip. As a comparison, consider that a marathon is 23.6 miles over generally flat terrain. Here's the stats on this hike:

• Miles: around 22
• Elevation gained over the course of the day: over 6,000 feet
• Number of steps: don't ask
• Calories burned: would be interesting to know
• Advil consumed: 1,000 mgs
• Start time & elevation: 07:30, 1,700 feet
• Max elevation: 6,704 feet
• Total time for the day: 9:15 hours

Rainy Day Hike. White Ledge Falls, 11/20/10

Hey, folks. I've survived another round of poison oak. The moment I got home from Agua Blanca creek I dropped a pharmaceutical atom bomb on my system. I have refills of the prescribed meds on-call lest I blunder into a thicket of doom, as I did last week. Talk about better living through chemistry. Without the aggressive treatment I am certain that I would have had to miss work and would still be wallowing in a pruritic pit of pain. It could have been much worse.
So I had this grandiose, overly ambitious and generally stupid idea to do Topa Topa Peak and Hines Peak in a day, in a storm. I threw together a pretty good kit for that kind of venture and drove up to Sesar road in Upper Ojai. At the trailhead I sat in the truck listening to the rain pounding down. After a few minutes of this, and some second thoughts, I suited up and got going.

All it took for me to revise, edit, and abbreviate my plans was a few thunder claps somewhere up the mountain. That, and the persistent volume of rain was all that was needed to take some of the wind out of my sails. I decided to settle for getting as far as White Ledge camp. An eight mile rainy day loop was about all I could really muster the heart for.
Having been relieved of my self-imposed plan to flog myself through endless miles of sodden misery I was able to just settle back and stroll up to White Ledge. The whole dynamic of my day changed, for the better. By the time I reached the camp I was thinking completely differently about the day. I was out in the hills, enjoying a nice walk in the weather, and in the mood to take a few pictures.
I explored down-stream from White Ledge, saw the falls, had some food while sitting under a big stone overhang. Just so you know, the falls at White Ledge aren't really anything special except in the early spring, which is why I haven't included a picture here. After lunch I just strolled back to the truck, taking pictures the whole way.

Above: a dead yucca

Below: clouds in Sesar Canyon

Below: macro shot of fern & moss

Below: bear food

Below: heart of manzanita

Below: Topa Topa obscured by clouds

Below: poor dead lizard, would appreciate help with identification

Below: ancient oaks

The Big Narrows, Los Padres NF, 10/14/2010

Another of life's big questions is now resolved...I know what the hell the Big Narrows is! It's a big, narrow gorge. Knowing the answer to that particular riddle helps me sleep better, except for the poison oak reaction I'm enjoying. Speaking of poison oak, a disclaimer; I'm writing under the influence of my patented poison oak pharmaceutical cocktail: Atarax, Solu-cortef, Valium, Zyrtec, Zantac, Benadryl and Vicodin. So if this entry seems a little hazy, I beg your pardon.

This last weekend I went up into the Los Padres on a recon, the purpose being to unravel the mystery of the Big Narrows, a place about which nothing has been written since the early 70's, no pictures, no trip reports, nuthin'. There once was a trail down Agua Blanca Creek but that has long been lost and forgotten. Every inch of the Southern Los Padres is straight up, straight down, and mean, but a such an impressive collection of topo lines is suggestive of a significant gorge (well, that and the fact that the place has a name but nobody knows what's there). Obviously the place needed to be rediscovered, if only briefly.
I set off Friday morning from Squaw Flat in the company of Eric & Frank of Ventura County Canyoneering Club. The grade climbing out of Squaw Flat ain't fun but we blasted through it in just two hours to the Alder/Ant Camp junction, after which we knee-banged down the hideous slope into Ant, arriving in about three hours from leaving the truck.


The last time I visited Ant Camp I was 12 years old, 26 years ago. Not much has changed in that time. The mighty oaks in the vale still stand tall, massive, and proud. The grassy meadow is a little slice of pastoral heaven, and the place just has an all-around good vibe. Very quiet and peaceful. The nearby Agua Blanca is the water source for the camp and it's waters are as pure and sweet as any I've had.
After getting settled Frank dug up some horseshoes and posts that had been left at the site. This was an interesting diversion, but as the sun set, the dinner stuff came out. Grilled animal (brats with mustard and sourkraut in my case) and a conspicuous consumption of coffee and firewood sealed the deal. We sacked out to the owl hoot, crickets, and the rustling of various critters that inhabit the night. In other words, I got the best sleep in weeks.
I stayed in the sack until the sunlight convinced me it was warm enough to venture forth. Coffeed up, apple in hand, I threw together a kit for the day's struggles. I had no illusions about how overgrown and unpleasant the lonesome Agua Blanca Creek would be. Any place that has been that abandoned for that long was bound to be a hideous trek and knowing that, I came prepared for a struggle.
Our pleasant jaunt in the creek turned evil in about 10 minutes after leaving camp. A rock shifted under me and I ate shit into a bunch of brush... an inauspicious start to the day, but the tough get going. We picked our way down the canyon looking for the first point of interest, the Tin Can Camp. This was a cabin constructed long ago using pounded out water barrels for siding. Eric showed me a USFS report that slated the cabin for removal in 1974 and indeed, for once our local boys in brown seem to have done what they said because we could find no sign of the place.
The farther downstream we progressed, the longer forward progression seemed to take. There were remnants of trail that had been commandeered by wildlife for travel purposes of their own, and therefore we spent alot of time meandering into and out of the brush choked, deadfall ridden creek. At one point we encountered the deer remains of a mountain lion kill, and ran across plenty of bear sign.
Route finding on the way to the Narrows was a joke and try as we might we couldn't avoid scrambling, burrowing, and crashing through miles of goatf**k brush. At around 4-5 miles of this (my estimate) we started entering an area of progressively tighter gorge, the walls of which rose an estimated 500 feet from the creek. The actual Narrows was long, I would say about 3/10's of a mile of twisting, turning ancient gorge. Spectacular yes, worth getting there? If it weren't for the venomous oak, that deciduous plant that's so difficult to ID this time of year after the leaves have shed, I'd say you'd have to have a burr up your ass to attempt it.

As for the question of which way to approach the Big Narrows, having done the Devil's gateway route from the Lake Piru side just this year, I'd suggest taking the downstream from Ant Camp route, especially if you're brave enough to through-hike the Agua Blanca to Piru Lake.

Somehow we were able to return upstream to Ant Camp in almost half the time it took us to get down to the Narrows. By this time we had gotten a feel for how the creek worked and our route finding improved dramatically. Sometimes things just work out.
So, to recap, the trip down to Ant Camp is no big deal (though the hike out is a calf burner). The scramble to the Narrows is poison oak city, overgrown, and generally unpleasant. But do-able. I would question my motives before heading down there, unless, of course, I just had to see a remote, off-trail place that you know ahead of time will suck to get to.
Despite the discomforts I had a great weekend, enjoyed the company, ate great food, and really enjoyed the Ant Camp valley. Follow up with the vccanyoneeringclub for more info on this trip.
Above: A brand I left on the picinic table at Ant Camp (that's a "three peaks" sigyl)

Below: Somebody else's clever "dino-rock" campsite art.