Cream Puff Peak (SVS), with Hines Peak and Topatopa Bluff, 06/02/13

I've felt myself getting a little soft lately. Haven't felt like I've put down anything all that hard in a while. So why not make it 3 summit day? And while I'm at it, why don't I make it a time trial? I've kind of gotten away from timing myself but this route is always a great test of one's general level of toughness and stamina. The Suffer Machine and then some.

I'll get to the stats at the end. 

This is a route I know so well that it's easy for me to quickly settle in and bang out the miles, adjusting  my rhythm with each familiar grade. Not having to do much other than march up this thing. I left the trailhead at Sisar at 06:00, moved quickly up canyon and through the woods under White Ledge Camp where I stopped for a couple minutes. I sat in the morning half light under that little camp's green canopy of alder and sycamore. A couple minutes after my heart rate had normalized it was time to pace out the next two mile climb to the ridge. I knew I was firing on all cylinders when I glanced at my watch and did a bit of comparison arithmetic. The numbers were right where I wanted them to be. I blew by the tank trap at the end of Nordoff Ridge Road and followed the line eastward until I stood under Hines Peak.

Hines Peak (L) and Cream Puff Peak (R)

There are two different ways to approach linking these peaks, one of which was new territory for me. The way it was recommended to me was to top out on Topa Bluffs and descend over to Cream Puff, do that peak and finish with Hines before heading out. I prefer to knock off the biggest, baddest bruiser of the day at the outset so I used what I know works for me. Hines would come first and Topa would be the last. I shattered my record for Sisar to Hines by 20-something minutes. Next, a date with a pastry parlor.

Cream Puff Peak SVS is that steep sloped thumb off the starboard wing as you cruise east toward Hines. I've walked by it at least a dozen times and only a couple times did I consider heading up it, and then I found out that it was a claimed and named summit. Furthermore, that name was Cream Puff! Now I had to do it! Those of you who've climbed in more than a couple places understand our fixation with crafty and ridiculous names ("Hobbit in a Blender" or "Poodles are People Too" come to mind). There's often a story behind the good ones. In the summit register on Cream Puff is a plastic package lid from a big tub of yes, cream (not creme) puffs! While on the summit I meditated deeply on this mystery, cream puff wrapper clenched tightly in hand, eyes raised in prayer to the Great God Cream Puff of Arcadia California, prayed for an insight into nascent origins of this most lavishly christened crag. I had a vision.

Here's what I got: Two guys sitting on the summit. They have this tub of Costco cream puffs for some reason. They're also pretty stoned. I know this because nobody but stoners buy Costco cream puffs. One of them has a mouth full of cream puff. The half empty tub lies between them. The other guy exhales a cloud of blue smoke, coughs a bit, swats away a fly and asks the first guy "Hey man, what do you think we should name this peak? Like, nobody's been here, right? So it's, like...ours to name! Right?" The other guy's just crammed another cream puff in his face so he's trying hard not to suffocate on the powdered sugar coating while giving his friend a thumbs up. "Riiight! (nodding violently) That's what I'm sayin! Ours to name bro! So...umm, what do you want to name it?" Cream Puff face can't answer because he's just mastered the proper rate of nasal breathing required to stay alive while attempting to swallow another cannonball of dough. "So what do we name it? Hey, you okay?" Cotton mouth and cream puffs are a bitch. It doesn't go well, and the Heimlich maneuver is used to separate the man from the cream puff before order is restored to the name selection process. After all that they'd be obligated to call it Cream Puff. I wouldn't have named it Cream Puff. 

Zoltan's Throne maybe.

Hines Peak

Cream Puff Peak from Hines Peak

So getting back to Hines. A Class II slip and slide with some rocky nonsense at the top. Been here many a time. I didn't stay for more than a few minutes before turning back on my route and descending back to the Red Reef. Next up, Cream Puff.

Cream Puff Peak from under Hines

Bigelow's onkeyflower

Grinnell's pestemon

The climb up Cream Puff is even steeper and looser than the path up Hines. I would venture to say that trying to get up here without trekking poles would be frustrating. This is a 50 degree shale slide and there isn't really a route up it, more like a shadow of possible assistance left by those few who had come before. Basically you climb straight up the f**kin thing. Despite it's being only a 400 foot climb from the trail, this little peak makes you earn it, and by the time you top out you won't be thinking about is as a "afterthought" or "gimmick". This peak offers really neat perspective, a nice addition to my catalog of mental summit shots. I particularly liked the views of Hines and the north edge of the Topatopa Ridge. This peak is well worth adding to any linkup along this ridge. I liked it. 

This gives you an idea what passes for "trail" on this slope.

Cream Puff Peak (SVS) 6,486'

A view due north with the Red Reef in the foreground and Thorn Point in the distance.

After a few minutes with the register I skated down to the Red Reef and resumed westward travel. Back under the north side of Topa Bluffs I climbed the gawdawful steep track up to the summit of Topa. I didn't hang out.

Looking back from Topa at Cream Puff. Just the tippy top of Hines is visible behind cream Puff from this perspective. The massive Topatopa Ridge is jutting out in the distance. I didn't like that place.

Topatopa Bluff

I popped a caffeine tab and jogged off of Topa, kept jogging when I hit the road, and jogged all the way down to White Ledge where I dunked my head for a few minutes and let myself cool down a bit. So I was sitting on a log next to the main fire ring in the camp and I could swear I kept hearing little bird chirps! Not up in the trees with the other birds but right next to me! I was baffled, made a joke to myself about the seldom seen western pygmy voice-thrower finch. Couldn't figure it out until I finally stood up and looked straight down into the fire pit. There I saw a pair of scarcely fledged sparrows. They were in bad shape, had been hit by some kind of parasitic insect that incubates larvae in other organisms. The tops of these little bird's heads were just drilled with huge holes. These little guys were hosed and after trying and failing to get decent film or video I backed off and left them to their fate. There were what I assume was a father/son duo camped there. I spent a few minutes speaking with him before I was able to get moving again.

Barely a trickle from the spring at White Ledge Camp. Water is available in the adjacent creek but probably not for long.

I stropped a couple times for pictures but otherwise I jogged the whole way out to the truck.

Here's how the day went:

06:00 Left from Sisar TH

10:09 Summit Hines Peak (4:09)

11:19 Summit Cream Puff Peak (5:19)

12:37 Topatopa Bluff (6:37)

15:04 Sisar TH (9:05)

22-23 miles

>7,000 feet gained

Yellow Mariposa lily

Tick.

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.

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.

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