Roadside Rock Climbing: Hwy 33

 

Rappelling From the top of "Black Wall", aka "Sespe Gorge" or simply, "the gorge".

I had a good couple of days over the weekend, both originating off Highway 33, the road to good things. Davi Rivas and I spent Saturday clipping bolts and climbing lines at a couple different areas off the highway: The Fortress and Sespe Gorge. Neither of us had previously climbed at this recently bolted area which the developer (the guy with the drill) named the Fortress. As for the Sespe Gorge ("Black Wall" for those who have a guide book), I've been climbing that wall, with and without ropes, since 1991. The place is classic, clean crack climbing on low-angle grippy sandstone. The wall gets you a couple hundred feet off the deck on easy breezy stuff.

David Rivas, starting the second pitch of "Ending Crack", 5.7, the gorge.

A couple of guys on "Tree Line", 5.5, the gorge. "Ending Crack" is the splitter at center left.

Davi Rivas starting up "Ending Crack".

Let's start with the Sespe Gorge. If you've ever heard me say that rock climbing in Ventura and Santa Barbara Counties sucks, then this wall is an exception. Now, understand that when I diss our local climbing, it's because I lived in Joshua Tree for years, and climbed and bouldered all over the western US. And yes, I have climbed just about every route in the neighborhood (San Ysidro, Fire Crags, Painted Cave, Green Dome, Mugu, Echo, Malibu Creek, etc...) So yeah, I think I've earned the right to opine on our deficiency of quality rock. In my opinion, the only local places worth climbing are Pine Mountain and this place, the Sespe Gorge. The rest is either contrived or junk, mostly both. I understand that some of you might get a little sensitive and territorial, so I will allow that the are a couple good routes sprinkled here and there; The Great Race, or T-Crack come to mind, but the best climbing for your gas money lies off the 33.

The Gorge is a large, low-angle face split by two crack lines which run from the creek to the top, making for perfect trad climbing ("trad"itional climbing simply means that the leader places his own gear in the crack, while "sport" climbing involves securing the leader's rope by clipping it to a bolt or some other fixed anchor). This wall is the obvious slab on the left at mile 31, and right now is the best time to climb the gorge, no bugs yet and the gorge is getting shade by 1PM. The two main routes, the ones that we typically climb, go easy: the aptly named "Tree Line" is 5.5 and Ending crack goes at 5.7. Both routes require 2 pitches (rope lengths) to reach the top, the belays are bolted and have rappel chains. This is about as low stress as multi-pitch climbing ever gets. We fired off both routes in the usual fashion.

David Stillman, Davi Rivas, re-racking for more.

Natural pro.

The Fortress, a big name for a handful of "whatever" routes. These climbs were established within the past few years by a local climbing guide, the fella that does "Earthworks Climbing". Now, I don't know the guy or understand his motives for bolting this unspectacular formation, but he did and therefore it is now on the map. Most of the handful of climbs at the Fortress are too easy for the average climber to have any fun on, but  the ones that have a quality move or two are sort of worth roping up for, once. I wasn't impressed. To get there, continue past the Black Wall to mile 32, on the left you'll see a triangular formation on the creek (this is Potrero John Wall, four short but fun moderate bolted routes) and 1/10th of a mile later you see a stack of triangular formations well above the creek, this is the Fortress. Potrero John Wall is shadier, steeper, more intelligently bolted (like, on lead), and much more fun.

The Fortress, kind of a silly place.

Davi tying in at the fortress.

The Fortress doesn't have much that I'd call fun.

The Fortress, seen from Hwy 33.

A big pile of expensive stuff.

So, in brief, Highway 33 has a number of places to climb. It starts at the tunnels near wheeler gorge, then the Black Wall at mile 31, then Potrero John Wall and the Fortress at mile 32, a few boulder problems up the road at the Snakepit and also at Munsen Canyon, and of course, saving the best for last, Pine Mountain, the road to which is still closed at this time.

Self portrait from hanging belay.

Hwy 33 from high on the Black Wall.

Winter must be over because Ventura's fog bank is back, probably until next October. Taken from Casitas Springs.

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.

Chief Peak, 12/06/10

Just another gorgeous SoCal day. I decided to make a run up Chief Peak, mostly because the approach via Horn Canyon is long, steep, and unpleasant (which is where my head's been at lately). I'm glad I've put some miles down these last few weeks because it's looking like I'm going to be working overtime for the foreseeable future as a result of a co-worker's two herniated cervical neck disks (and the surgery to fix them). Which just sucks all the way around.
It's good to be specialized in the workplace unless there's not enough other people qualified to do your job, in which case, you're hosed, especially if you're very selfish with your free time, as I am. It appears that I'll be seeing a lot less blue sky for a while and that makes me sad.

I got going a bit later than I usually would, which may have been a good thing because just minutes into the walk I found myself following a very (as in, still warm) pair of mama and baby bear tracks. I decided to stay alert and unconcerned. I never did see the bears and shortly before The Pines Camp (below) the tracks left the trail (note: bear clawed tree in foreground).
Up on the ridge, I had traded "bear country" for "grand vista country". Unlike my last trip up Chief, which started and ended in the rain, the rain had come through the night before leaving behind endless miles of crystal clear views.
Another difference between this and the prior outing was the approach to the summit, which I'll call the SSE Ridge. This is actually the most direct way to the summit from the Horn Canyon approach. Pretty simple really, follow the obvious cat-track at the SSE flank of the peak until it ends, ascend the rocky ridge to the summit.

Below: Hines & Topa from the west

I had a great day, didn't see another soul all day, got some good mileage (15), and generally enjoyed being by myself. See, most of the time I am my own best company.

Below: Horn Canyon

So, I suspect there will be fewer posts for the next however long it takes to get some replacement help for my injured colleague, which makes me the second-most bummed person in that equation. Maybe I'll just have to write a few essays I've been storing away.

Horn Canyon Trail and Chief's Peak, 04/28/10

This morning I committed to a trail I've never hiked, and I gambled that the much talked about high winds would blow the clouds off the peaks. On the former, I hiked my ass off! As to the later, I lost that bet and spent the whole day slogging through clouds.

Man, that Horn Trail is steeeep! Much of the Horn Trail is a bit overgrown, which wouldn't ordinarily be a problem. However, because of some early morning showers, and combined with a thick fog, all the grasses and branches along the trail were dripping with moisture. I was dry for the first 20 minutes of the day. The next 3 hours I spent drenched to the skin. I'm a bit finicky about being wet and cold. This did not work for me. Sadly, I had told the Geezers about my plans and they will expect photographic evidence of my achievement. So I toiled on through a forest that had more in common with the Olympic Rain Forest in Washington than it did with SoCal.
The low clouds obstructed Chief's Peak from view for the entire day, and was completely socked in clouds as I approached it. I had only the GPS to show me where the peak actually was. Unfortunately, the device did not indicate a summit trail which explains why I must have just walked right by what passes for a route to the summit. This also explains how a new summit route was pioneered on Chief's today:

Chief's Peak, Direct Northwest Face; Grade II, Class III.
This unpleasant route starts from Nordoff Ridge road and ascends the northwest face. Climb directly up the northwest face making sure to go in a straight line up the mountain regardless of obstacles. Deviating from the route is not advised. This route is characterized by thick brush, prickly plants, scree, loose rock, brush tunnels, and several sections of Class 3 climbing. This climb is not recommended. First Ascent: the author, 04/28/2010.
Upon the summit I was pleased to find a real summit register (last entry: 04/08) and a USGS marker. As you can see in my summit entry I was not impressed with the views (clouds), and I was still pissed about being soaked. The summit is narrow and rocky but I found a sheltered spot to get off my feet and devour my PBJ. I reached the summit at 12:05, 4:20 minutes, and 4,400 feet gained over 7.5 miles.
Lord 'ave mercy! I was able to find something resembling the trail off the peak! It was steep, rocky, and reminded me of a common military colloquialism describing goats fornicating. But it pointed down which is a good place to start. Being in a cloud I was a bit concerned about my direction until I popped out onto Nordoff Ridge and quickly located my earlier tracks. After that I pounded out the remaining 6 miles of grueling downhill.

Chief's Peak from the Ojai Valley.