7.5 (ish) miles on the Icehouse Saddle trail, in the Angeles and San Bernadino National Forests, and Cucamonga Wilderness.
Awesome.
This hike could convince me that living in Los Angeles ain't so bad. Just awesome. The lower two miles were full of L.A. folks, taking their kids up to the mountains to experience snow and sledding and snowball fights. Scouts on a weekend campout. And lots of middle-aged Asians. There were rental cabins, too, perched along the roaring and tumbling creek. Definitely a place to take the family some day.
The upper 1.75 miles, into the Cucamonga Wilderness now, were busy with PCT hikers, daytripper snowshoers, and backcountry skiers. I stopped alongside the creek and filled my water bottle. Delicious mountain snowmelt water, inexplicably fresh. The going was hard, with the snow deepening with every step forward, but the scenery egged me on.
I made it probably 3.5 miles up, with 0.25 miles to go, when I stopped and, thinking I was alone, said out loud, "I don't know if I can go on."
To my surprise, a German or Norwiegan accent responded: "I knooow. I goot theese faaar, and deecided to stop."
A handsome blond-haired fellow was sitting on a rock, about 20 yards off the trail, soaking up the sun and getting ready for his descent back down the canyon.
Well, in his attempt at empathy, he was in effect DARING me to go on, and my American pride wasn't about to let a foreigner see me chicken out in the last half mile.
"I'd be mad at myself, coming all this way, if I didn't at least try for the top," I said.
"I calcuulaaate that it is time to turn around. But you can do what you want," said the nihilist, I mean, the German.
He was right: it was about time to hike back to the trailhead, to avoid stumbling down the mountain the dark. But pride aside, I knew I needed to at least reach the saddle. I really would have felt cheated to turn back so close to the saddle.
I am very glad I pushed on. The next half mile wasn't easy, but I've walked harder miles. The pictures speak for themselves. I enjoyed some Toblerone, a smoke, and a few handfuls of gorp in the presence of God's San Gabriel masterpiece. The view was spectacular. My only regret is that I didn't start sooner in the day. If I had, I could have bagged Cucamonga Peak, Timber Peak, or several other high-elevation points in the vicinity.
The walk down the canyon required some care, especially in the narrow, snowy sections, but the hardest part was done in the remaining daylight. I stopped at Columbine Spring to again sample the living water from these mountains, and again it was quenching in more than a merely physical sense. By the time it was dark, properly, I was again in the lower section of the trail, with its wide and well-worn path.
Upon a blogger's recommendation (thanks to Mr. Schreiner for his very helpful blog), I ate dinner at the Mt. Baldy Lodge. The food and beer were great (especially the potato soup), as was the big fire and lodge-ish atmosphere.
I wish I'd seen some bighorn sheep, and I wish I had my Darlin' Companion with me, and like I said earlier, I wish I'd had more time to stay and meditate on the grandeur. But as a taste, I was satisfied. Lord, would that I may return someday.
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