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Mt. Laguna
to Rattlesnake Valley |
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April 27, 2010 Morning came too fast as I pulled the covers over my head and tried not to think of leaving. Eventually I got up and thumped across the cold floor to the daybed and nudged Amber to life. I would have returned her frozen glares if I thought it would make any difference. Eventually, we stuffed our packs and walked over to drop off our key before heading back up the road towards the future.
The day was fine, but there was talk amongst hikers of another storm rolling in, much like the one we started in. We were nearing the half-way point, so I really did not care much about getting rained on. Amber and I walked side-by-side when we could, while whistling. I remembered this area with fond memories and slowed my pace to reminisce while strolling.
We crested out above Flathead Flats and wandered to the other side for gawking. Storm Canyon's belly was filled with yellow blotches, giving the beastly desert a more inviting look. Amber reached into her pack and pulled out some beef jerky, stuffing a slab into her mouth. She asked where we were headed next, in some kind of muffled speech before I answered, "down."
We thumped our way down as I remembered how hard this was a couple years ago. I was tired then, having arrived here in a day and a half from the lake. Today was pleasant, fast, and the weather cool and comfortable. Due to another cold night, we had to watch out for all the wildlife along the trail sunning in the morning's light.
After bottoming out near the Shrine Camp, Amber and I stopped for a while to rest and chat with Meadow Mary. She offered us some packets of Emer'gen-C, explaining the benefits of mineral balances while on the trail. We laid out the Tyvek before throwing down our packs to greet Candy and Caramel. We all talked about life on the trail as I mixed the electrolytes in my Platy.
I took my shoes and socks off to let everything air-dry. The day was nearly perfect except for the wind that was picking up with gusto. Looking upwards, I noticed the white, puffy, cumulous clouds were now just hazy smears of their former selves and prayed the rumors of another storm were just that. Things were going too good for such a thing to happen here, now, I thought.
We shouldered our packs and made our way up into the increasing winds. I was a little concerned at where we would camp tonight, especially if the weather got much worse, but reassured myself things worked themselves out along the trail if given enough time. I just prayed we had enough.
We continued along the edge of Storm Canyon, admiring the views. Amber was still in good spirits and was feeling fine as we shuffled along at a leisurely three mile per hour pace. We gave up looking for wildlife as there wasn't any to be found, at least, on the trail.
As we approached my old camp site, I could not help but to stop and replay some mental images. I waved Amber on to pass me as I took my time to reflect. Just two years ago I was wading though the thick, tall, faded grass, looking for a spot to set up the tarp in the fading light. After a 20+ mile day in a sweltering 95+ degrees, the evening was cooling off quickly. After finding the perfect site, I made dinner and slowly ate while coyotes serenaded me for most of the night. The memories were followed by more as I recalled the most incredible morning sunrise introduced with song from the local inhabitance. These recollections were amazingly vivid as I stared at the location of where they took place.
I caught up to Amber, passing the spur trail to Garnet Peak. After remembering times past, I wanted to climb it. I wanted to enjoy my time here instead of following stupid logistical requirements. But the wind was now constant and blowing quite hard. Hard enough, in fact, to turn my hat into a flapping machine that covered my eyes constantly as I walked.
We rounded the mountain for a momentary break from the wind. I did not mind the wind so much, but it really was not that hot and the wind made even hiking quite chilly. I took a quick stop to snap a picture of a burned tree. It's colors of black and white were a beautiful contrast to the royal blue in the background.
We made great time to Pioneer Mail picnic area and was quickly greeted by my friend Jim. Jim let us know about a case of Vitamin Water left by trail angels, so we hobbled over to grab a couple before a quick nap. In a hole in a bush next to us, I made some more ramen with barbecued chicken before sprawling out on our Tyvek. We cuddled up in the open sun, shielding our faces from the howling winds, and drifted off to sleep for an hour.
I awoke to our stove and some other gear skipping off. The winds had now become something to worry about, because our next couple miles was on an old road bed at the edge Garnet Mountain overlooking Cottonwood Valley 2000 feet below us. The winds at the picnic area were calm in 2008 and, yet, I still got nailed by 40 mile per hour gusts. We thought it better to leave sooner than later as the trees were starting to sway heavily above our heads. We tanked up on water at the trough before spotting our first snake of the trip, bummed it was only a California Two-striped Garter.
I asked Amber if she thought she could make it all the way to Chariot Canyon. I thought if we could make it there we would be safe from the increasing winds. I had fond memories of the canyon as it provided water when reports said there was not a drop to be had. I remember how thirsty I was on that 98 degree day after 18 miles. I remembered how two people at the canyon told me it was waterless, just before Jeremiah and I stumbled down to find two springs flowing liberally. Fond memories, indeed.
After reaching the summit, Amber was three feet away from me and I could not hear what she was saying. The winds were now sustained at a estimated 30 miles per hour as it was actually pushing us around while we tried to hike.
It was true. The storm everyone people thought would hit us was here as the skies turned a hazy grey. Even with the threat of bad weather, I could not help but notice how much the foliage had grown in the last two years. Our hiking poles were almost useless as the edges of the trail closed in with brush. I glanced back at Amber every few minutes to gauge her energy level. I usually rely on her constant chatting, but could not hear a thing over the wind rushing past my ears. Daylight was fading and, with it, my hopes of making it to Chariot Canyon.
The weather turned to shit in a heartbeat. I was near panic mode as I looked at the sky to see massive cyclones, directly in front of us, and here we were. To protect us from such a sight, we had a tarp made out of one-ounce-per-square-yard fabric. I felt it was about to handle toxic waste with an oven mitt before I looked in all directions to see if there was any break in sight.
There wasn't. We were stuffed. We hiked as fast as we could, finding not a single flat piece of ground. I looked at my map and remembered an area that was fairly flat, sporting a huge, single cottonwood tree in it's center just a half mile away. We rounded the next corner to see it just left of the trail. I ran down towards the tree and darted around for just four minutes before I had my tarp out of it's stuff sack. The site sported an open wedge in thick brush, protecting the tarp at least 290 degrees. I pinned the tarp to the ground before helping Amber take her pack off. The winds hit sideways as tiny raindrops smacked against my cheeks, stinging the sides of my face. Bushes whipped as if hit with a baseball bat by some adolescent kid, but the tarp barely fluttered. I smiled with pride at my site selection before diving in with Amber, tired, but safe.
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