A Tale of Two Canyons

Mountain Lion kill. Fresh. Sketchy situation.

Interesting day. On the agenda was a recon of two adjoining canyons which branch off of Sierra Madre/Buckhorn Road. These two little ravines have always caught my eye as I've blown by them on the way elsewhere, but today was the day to spend some time in this neighborhood. I had no idea what I'd find up there, nor did I start the day with any preconceived expectations. It turned out to be an "interesting" day of off-trail exploring.

Click any image to enlarge.

I started off with the nameless canyon to the west of Alamo which I dubbed "Fossil", for reasons you'll see below. The bottom end of this ravine was narrow, rocky and steep, and shaded by mature oaks and maples. The first water I encountered was a milky sky blue and smelled strongly of sulfur. Continuing upward I ranged back and forth along the walls of the ravine, giving special attention to the towering rock walls on the left (E) side. No rock art. No mortars. After discovering the sulfur seep I immediately concluded that the natives wouldn't have placed much value on at least this lowest portion of "Fossil" Canyon.

I continued upward, scrambling up dry waterfalls and jumbled creek bed. Standing pools of water remained iced over in this perpetual shade. I soon cleared the steep scramble and emerged into a close and overgrown ravine, still narrow but widening incrementally. I found numerous animal trails and began moving upstream with little difficulty. On my way up I discovered numerous fossils of clam shells, some quite large. I continued up paths parallel to the dry creek and ranged back and forth from one side of the canyon to the other in a loose zig-zag pattern, just keeping my eyes open. High in the canyon I spotted a large grey fox before he spotted me. That was kind of a treat. Parts of the upper canyon retained healthy oak trees but further upstream the scars of the Zaca Fire became more obvious. Eventually I was getting thrashed in long thickets of wild rose and spiky manzanita. It soon became clear that there wasn't much more to see in "Fossil" Canyon and that it was time to back track and find a way to climb over the eastern ridge of this ravine and descend into Alamo Canyon.

A view back down the lower (N) portion of "Fossil", from high on the east wall of the canyon.

Animal track, better than many of the SLP's "trails".

I located a steep gully which climbed in the direction I wanted to go. Following animal tracks I bypassed a wall of dry waterfalls and continued upward through brush and charred trees. Higher up this gully I discovered more sea shell fossils. Eventually my route narrowed and I was able to see daylight at the top of the gully. I scrambled out of the gully headed northeast and soon found myself weaving through low brush and grasses on a rounded hill (4805). From the top of 4805 I had line-of-sight views to both Sierra Madre Rd and to portions of Buckhorn Rd. I could also see directly down into Alamo Canyon and beyond that, into Santa Barbara Canyon. Cuyama Peak seemed a short distance away ENE.

The top of the gully I chose to get from "Fossil" to Alamo. Note the excellent animal track on the right.

Sierra Madre Rd from Hill 4805.

Alamo Canyon, Cuyama Peak on right, Cerro Noroeste and Mt Pinos in the distance.

I made my way over to the rim of Alamo Canyon and followed a precisely cut and inherently logical deer track which switch-backed down to the creek. In the canyon proper I turned right (S) and headed upstream for quite a while, passing through multiple groves of mature oaks. This was a pleasant park, which alternated from one side of the dry creek to the other. I found a very old and abandoned bush camp but little else of interest. Animal tracks were everywhere, deer, bear, and I happened across several hairy twists of old mountain lion scat. Far up the canyon and under some tall old oaks I disturbed a very large great horned owl. As with the upper portions of "Fossil", this canyon had also been scorched by the Zaca Fire, and I encountered similar problems with prickly scrub. I turned around and headed back downstream, paying attention to aspects of the creek I hadn't travelled on my way up. 

View from the western rim of Alamo Canyon.

Alamo Canyon

I descended the creek and eventually moved past where I'd dropped in from the western ridge. Continuing, I meandered through rocky creek bed fringed with elephant grass and wild rose, dead reeds, scrub oak and poison oak. At some point I rounded a boulder in the iced over stream and saw a fresh, wet and muddy lion print on a mossy stone. At about the same moment my nose caught the bloody scent of raw, red meat. As all this was registering in my mind, my eyes were drawn further around the boulder to a bright red, shredded and gnawed deer carcass. "Uh oh. This is not good." was the first coherent thought that I could put together. This kill was fresh. My hackles rose and a shower of ice particles peppered my gut. My heart rate spiked and my eyes dilated. I turned in several tight circles and thoroughly scoped my surroundings. Nothing. This did not make me feel any more at ease. Another finger of cold awareness trickled down my spine. I knew I was being watched. I slowly backed up into the boulder behind me and searched the reeds, the trees, the rocks, everything, but I just could not shake the feeling that I was not alone, a feeling that needed no imaginative urging. I knew I was being watched. This was the real deal. I slowly unslung my pack, retrieved my camera and snapped two quick shots. It was time to E&E outa here. 

The beginning of Sierra Madre/Buckhorn Rd, from the western rim of Alamo Canyon.

The further I got away from the scene of the kill, the better I felt. Eventually the feeling passed altogether and I was able to relax a bit, though I remained on high alert. As I descended the last hundred yards of the canyon I encountered a sulfur seep similar to that at the bottom of fossil falls, another indicator that the water in this canyon wouldn't have necessarily invited the Chumash to reside at this immediate location. As the cat had demonstrated though, the hunting must have been pretty good. Soon I climbed up onto Sierra Madre/Buckhorn Rd and the adventure came to a close. To finish the day I drove up to Cuyama Peak LO for the sunset (see previous post). 

Like I said, interesting day.

Sulfer seeps abound in the lowest portion of both these drainages.

Samon Peak... I think? I'll explain. 11/16/12

Evening in Cuyama Valley

Okay, well here's a weird one. I thought I had summited Samon Peak while out and about last Friday. The GPS said I did, and I believe it, but by that time I was so deep in a cloud that I couldn't find the summit marker or the register. And that's the sucky truth. I'm not at all confused about where I was, just that I didn't, as they say, get the t-shirt. Aside from that I had a very nice 25 mile day in the rain.

Madulce Ridge with the summit lost in the clouds.

A sunrise laser beam aimed at Madulce Peak

When I took to the hills on Thursday evening I was well aware that the forecast was not favorable for the type of day that I had planned on. I decided instead to take a crack at Samon Peak. To that end I pre-positioned myself up Santa Barbara Canyon for an early morning start. I parked at Willow Flat instead of at the eastern gate for Buckhorn Rd. Willow Flat is a lot like Grassy Flat on the Sespe in one respect...the names are no longer relevant. See, Grassy Flat is neither grassy nor flat, and Willow Flat has only a nappy old juniper tree. I guess things change. Anyway, I parked it here instead of another half mile up the road in case I decided to link Samon with Madulce and come out through SB Canyon. It didn't work out that way but whatever, I had a great day.

Here's the "meadow" that's mentioned in route directions for Samon Peak.

I crawled into the bed of the truck and knocked out early under cloudy skies. When I woke at 0300 the first thing I noticed after killing the alarm clock was the rain. Oh good. Crawling out of a warm bag and into shell gear at 3AM isn't anything new for me, but I'd rather it was snowing. I have a feline nature and part of that is an antipathy for being cold and wet. I don't enjoy those two things when combined. And especially without coffee. Already 2 strikes on the day. No coffee to be had so it was Go Go Gadget Gore-Tex! time. I got myself put together pretty quickly and was out the gate at 0330. In the rain.

It was a black morning. And did I mention it was raining? After a mile of chasing the beam from the headlamp I was pretty warmed up and feeling about right. I hit the gas and started trucking up Buckhorn Rd. This road is one of those routes that I prefer doing in the dark. The road is smooth and foot friendly with very few rocks, which makes for easy walking. Also, it's just better to not be able to see how steep the first five miles are and how far away the various loops in the road are. I have heard that this long and tedious grade can be bad for morale. I know this route pretty well and I let the miles fall by while listening to the rain fall on my hood. It was a peaceful walk, quiet. I enjoyed the climb for what it was.

Anybody know anything about an old telegraph? wire strung on the high south shoulder of Samon Peak?

At the top of the grade I headed south, following Buckhorn Rd. The sky began to lighten in the east but overhead was a solid ceiling of ominous clouds coming in from the west. Now that I was up above the canyons I was greeted by a persistent northerly breeze that came on at 10-15mph and never seemed to go away. The wind and the rain seemed to get along like old friends, lucky me. At sunrise the first rays of light cut a straight line under the cloud ceiling which was a neat, if too brief show. Soon enough the sun was behind the clouds and my day returned to dripping grey. As I neared Chokecherry Spring I started keeping an eye out for the use trail which leads to the summit of Samon. That junction is currently marked by twin yellow hazard tapes, 1-2/10's of a mile north of the spring.

I couldn't make out much from the start of the summit trail. The clouds ceiling was now less that a hundred feet above my head. Wind, rain, and pretty soon I'd be up in that cloud. How damn exciting is that? Up I went. The lowest portion of the summit trail ascends the northern side of the ravine that drains to Chokecherry Spring. After a brief, steep and brushy climb I traversed WNW across the small meadow that's mentioned in all the guides, and continued climbing the route up the NW side of the ridge. So far so good. I was soon in the clouds, drenched on the outside, breathing water, huffing up this steep and muddy track. I finally popped out on a high saddle with one arm of the ridge heading south and the summit ridge a short ways up and right. I waded through the cloud until I ran out of places to go up, and this might have been a little comical to an outside observer. I wandered all over the top of that thing, looking everywhere for the marker, but the cloud was so thick that I couldn't see more than a foot or two. As I mentioned above, the GPS said I was there. What I remember of the summit (and I fully expect to be told by some of you that I may or may not have actually been there) is a rocky pile of broken brown rock, about 8 feet on a side. West of that pile, and down hill about 15 feet is a second, smaller pile of the same rock. If this ain't the top of Samon Peak then I need a new GPS.

Samon Peak. I was somewhere up in that mess.

Buckhorn Road.

Buckhorn Road.

Buckhorn Road.

 

After wandering around in the cloud a bit I headed over to the south pointing shoulder I mentioned before. I followed a bear track out that way for a while, and was surprised to find the old wire and glass insulators strung along the ridgeline's length. As for the summit, I'm completely comfortable with the idea that I have to go back in better conditions. I liked the peak but I just couldn't find the marker in all that cloud.

I abandoned the peak and descended back to Buckhorn, hit the gas and got outa there. From below the clouds I could see patches of sunlight to the north. That's where I wanted to be...out of the rain dammit. I just rolled on out to the long grade back into SB Canyon and the end of the day. I had a great time out there despite the weather. Some days are just wet and windy and you can't do anything about it except stay home. I guess I'm not that guy.

I figured my exertions at around 25 miles for the day, which took me 10 hours to accomplish. I'll be back to sign that summit, next time I'll wait for a clear day.

Santa Barbara Canyon and Madulce to the Upper Sisquoc River Valley and out via Judell Canyon, 04/07/12

Did you ever get the distinct sense that you are in a place that nobody else ever visits? A place that is actively erasing all evidence of man's passing? If you haven't, and wish to, visit the Upper Sisquoc River Valley. Or, try.

I'll explain.

I seldom carry a handgun, but for this one I did (a Sig Saur .40cal, high velocity, big punch).  This place is too remote, too wild, and I was too alone. It's a safety device. They say you never need a gun until you need one...

This little excursion began at around 8pm last friday when I drove over the mountains to north side of our coastal range, to the shining metropolis of Cuyama. From Cuyama I turned south and headed into Santa Barbara Canyon under the full moon light. I spent the night in the bed of the truck, and it was cold. Around 5am I just couldn't stand it anymore and, cursing myself for not using a bivy sack, I jumped in the truck and ran the heater high. Later, as I brewed coffee in the pre-dawn light, I listened to KNX 1070 tell me why I had been bashing a layer of ice off my sleeping bag. I could have told them all about the NOAA frost advisory for the high deserts. By 07:50 the caffeine was doing it's thing and I got started on a rather long and difficult day.

Trail, SB Canyon

Santa Barbara Canyon and the trail to what used to be Madulce Station are still popular enough that this route is reasonably un-brushy (at least there is a trail to follow). The trail gently ascends the canyon floor for about 6 miles, passing through chaparral and cottonwoods. Several portions of the route pass through large thickets of chokecherry, a nasty plant whose thorns are the envy of de-clawed cats everywhere. At about the 6th mile in, the trail jacks up steeply and ascends an unpleasant but short hill. I do not know why, of all the evil hills that exist in the SLP, the map has a name for this one, but it does, and that name is "Heartbreak Hill". Bullshit. I can name a dozen more deserving hills without even thinking. In fact, I am insulted for those other hills! But then it is possible that such a name was coined by some true event. Possibly an older guy had an aortic aneurysm and the hill diagnosed it and killed him at the same time. Or perhaps a young couple, out on their first romantic backpack together, discovered that half-way up that hill was about as much as their relationship could bear, and one of them was left in tears while the other went for the car. Who knows? But it's lame. Strike it from the map, I say!

After cresting the so-called Heartbreak Hill, my trail wound around the top of said hill and then dropped into Madulce Station. This site used to be a pretty cool place, and until the early nineties, an old cabin and a USFS structure for trail working tools stood under tall pines. The cabin was intentionally torched by a crazy person who had made it his home. The USFS shed burned down in the Zaca Fire of 2007, but it may as well have been burned down by the US Forest Dis-Service themselves, because they long ago divested themselves of any trail maintenance responsibilities, and since they no longer use tools, the rangers don't need a shed for them. Madulce used to be a key stop for horse packers headed down the Don Victor Valley. Now it's a boring little camp with too much sun and too little water. After a short break I strapped in for the grind up the north side of Madulce Peak.  

Real trail or animal Trail? One, neither, or both? It was like this nearly all day

Trail? 

As you can probably tell from the pictures above and below, the day got hard. It seems that of those who do make it as far as Madulce, few continue up the mountain. The route is steep and sustained, and overgrown to the point that trail-finding became more than just a passing "Hey, what the hell?". This issue with route finding became the all encompassing theme of the rest of the day. For the most part, this entire route passes through Zaca Fire territory, and five years later the recovery has begun. All the grasses and shrubs are aggressively vying for sunlight, and the matchstick trees, charred and bare, are falling everywhere.  It was like barging through a skeleton forest. Happily, the undergrowth thinned a bit as I gained elevation but clearly, these trails are going to seed. Example: I found a 3 foot tall pine sapling growing right in the middle of what used to be a well used horse trail. 

Trail losing and finding became the primary motif for day one.

Some remnants of snow hanging on in the shade.

The Alamar Saddle and Madulce Peak. Views to Santa Cruz (Island).

Madulce Peak is center right. Taken from Buckhorn Rd.

Two thirds of the way up Madulce Peak the trail splits, one way continuing up the peak, the other follows the Madulce ridge to the Alamar Saddle. I was already 10 miles into my day and was having way too much fun just staying on route to detour another mile (+) and 500' up to the summit. It was across the spiny ridge and up onto the road at Alamar for me. From here I headed south on the road for another mile before stepping off to descend into the upper Sisquoc River Valley. 

Now entering the Upper Sisquoc.

The first half mile down the Sisquoc River trail is very nice.

Here's where the day started getting really interesting, the Sisquoc. First, I noted that there were no human foot prints on this trail. As the path slid down through oak and pine forest it occurred to me that the trail was unusually springy (un-tamped), and that great drifts of fallen leaves blanketed the trail inches deep. I soon realized that nobody ever comes here. Within a mile I had renamed this place the "Forgotten Canyon".

As soon as I rolled into Upper Bear Camp that last thought was made abundantly clear. This little hollow was a sweet campsite in the not too distant past. Though the historic ice-box stove is still intact, nothing else about the camp is the same. There are saplings growing in the best tent site. Fallen trees are strewn about the site, and grasses have reclaimed what was once hard-pack. Upper Bear camp has gone native through complete neglect.

Upper Bear Camp used to be a nice little place to camp. 

Speaking of going native, the valley below Upper Bear Camp has gone completely to the wild side. These miles were just ridiculous. Forget any idea of trail. The valley floor has become a laboratory for what grows strongest fastest. Manzanita, sage, a billion types of weeds. Every passing animal has made a better trail than the one I keep looking for. I have climbed over so many charred deadfalls that I soon find myself streaked with greasy soot. This forest of tree bones is very much alive. Numerous birds call out warning of my passing, which the grey squirrels pass along. A large red-tail circles.

Oh yeah, I did manage to find find remnants of trail, a fragment here and there, but nothing that lasted for more than a few feet. I stuck mostly to the compass and made my own path of least resistance. I passed Bear Camp, which isn't much of a spot, though it does have an honest to god picnic table. I ruled out stopping here because there was very little water this high up the creek.

Bear Camp. Poor water right now.

Between Bear and Lower Bear Camps is a neat stretch of creek-side waterfalls. This is a very pretty section of trail, forested, with the pleasant sounds of water. To the right is the Sisquoc, which tumbles down several 40 foot ladders, with a few smaller falls in between. At the bottom of this series of falls lies a small pull out with a fire ring, a log bench, and a sign which indicates that one is now in Lower Bear Camp. I decided that I'd gone far enough for one day. This had already been a 8 hour trail day, 8 hours to go 12 miles. That is highly unusual for me, taking that long to get anywhere, and speaks to the day's difficulty in route finding.

Above and Below: water falls of the Upper Sisquoc

Lower Bear Camp is no garden spot. The site was covered in a thick blanket of leaves and I had to clear a number of fallen limbs before I could set up shop. Again, nobody ever goes here, or so it seems. All day long I'd had been seeing fresh bear sign, and the prints of every other local critter, and I was counting on getting "beared" in the night. Using the fallen branches I set up a kind of brush corral around the perimeter of the camp. I figured that might give me a little warning if a bear came wandering through. After an uneventful evening I banked a big, smoky fire for the night. I just wanted everybody in the canyon to know that I was here, that there was a stranger in the neighborhood.

Lower Bear Camp, remote and forgotten.

Below Lower Bear I ran across several faded pink ribbons, someone's attempt to reestablish trail. 

Bear Prints, they were everywhere.

 

More trail hunting between Lower Bear and Heath Camps.

My night at Lower Bear passed without incident and I was up and headed downstream for Heath Camp by 08:00. This next 3.5 miles into Heath were, again, all about trail finding. More bionic plant life, more fallen matchstick trees, more time lost while route finding. About a half mile from Heath Camp the trail opened up and before long I rolled into the place. Heath Camp is named after a polygamist Mormon guy who retreated from public scorn by setting up shop in the wilds with his small tribe. There is some interesting history there. 

Heath is basically a flat at the junction of the Sisquoc and Judell Canyon. The Sisquoc runs east>west while Judell ascends a rugged little canyon to the north. Somewhere up there, at the top of Judell, lies the Buckhorn Road and  way back to Santa Barbara Canyon.

Kittie Print.

After a nice break at Heath, spent lounging in the morning sun, it was time to find out what Judell Canyon was made of. As it turns out, this is a pretty enjoyable canyon this week, by which I mean that everything is green and the creek is running. Some parts of this trail are shady and quite pleasant, the trail in nice shape. I did encounter the tracks of 2 individuals, though the prints were weeks old. After a few easy miles the trail gets down to the business going up, but even then the route is pretty easy and the switchbacks up the canyon are intelligently designed. It didn't seem like very long before I was looking at a distant, rolling ridge. And, even better, Buckhorn.

Trail?

You just have to love this bear clawed sign. I wanted to take it home.

This little 18"er was my first rattler of the season. I did not want to take him home.

The last real switch backs ascending Judell Canyon. A nice route.

Having ascended Judell, and looking at Buckhorn, I traversed a rolling field of flowering weeds. Soon I ambled past Oak Spring and continued up to the road. Once there, the rest of the day was a long roll down the hill into Santa Barbara Canyon where I'd started the day prior. This part of the day went smoothly and before long it was all over.. 

Just to hammer home the difference between the two days, let's look at the times. Yesterday I'd murdered myself, taking 8 hours to muddle through just 12 miles. Today, 16 miles took just 6.5 hours. That ought to put things in perspective, should you all have a desire to repeat this route.

Old tanks at Oak Spring.

The rolling high country of Buckhorn Rd. Serious cat country.

The long grade down to Willow Flat in SB canyon. Cuyama Peak, center left.

The historic Santa Barbara Canyon Ranch. No trespassing.

 

 This turned out to be a great trip. This route is a journey through a wild place reverting to a primordial state. The real satisfaction though, stems from the nature of the hike: tough, rugged, remote and forgotten. It's a long way from anywhere and isn't on the way to anything. Just another lost canyon. I had a great time.