“Damn it. Did I
seriously just go in a circle?” I asked myself out loud. After a few seconds of assessing the
situation it occurred to me that the answer to my question was “yes, I
definitely had”. Great. I was less than a mile up the trail and I was
already getting lost. To add to the
complexity, it was 3:45 in the morning and this trail was notoriously difficult
to navigate in the dark. The path was rugged,
and the scattered rocks and boulders created a setting that loosely resembled a
maze, making it difficult to stay on course.
But I had been here before. I had
first visited this trail three and a half years earlier during which my friend
advised us that if we followed the white dots painted on the rocks, we’d stay
on course. This area wasn’t maintained
by any government organization, but over the years, fellow hikers and
volunteers have generously marked the route by painting large white dots on the
rocks that lay strewn along the path. Remembering
my friend’s words, I plodded along from the trailhead following the dots until I
took a wrong turn, banking left instead of right, following the terrain as it curved,
and taking a right instead of going straight, effectively ending up exactly
where I had been a few minutes prior.
After gathering my thoughts, I decided to back track, heading back the
way I came to determine where I had gotten off track. After a few short minutes, I realized my
blunder and once again began seeing big white dots on the rocks every hundred
feet or so as I resumed forward progress.
The moon was only casting off a sparse amount of light so I mainly
moving forward with the power of my flashlight.
What was I doing out here all alone at 3:45 in the morning? Great question. Most people are at home sound asleep during
this time on a Saturday morning. Not
roaming around on a trail in Palm Springs up the side of Mount San Jacinto
trying to find their friends.
A week prior, my friend Edith had organized a group event in
which a small handful of us would be attempting one of the most challenging
hikes in the United States. The route
begins at a trailhead behind the Palm Springs Art Museum and climbs 10,300 feet
over sixteen miles to the summit of Mount San Jacinto. This route is respectively referred to as
Cactus to Clouds, the name deriving from the route beginning at the desert
floor and climbing up above the clouds at 10,834 feet. Mount San Jacinto is a popular attraction for
tourists visiting Palm Springs. In late
1963 the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway was created as a means of transporting
people through Chino Canyon up to Long Valley and Mount San Jacinto State Park,
which lies 8,300 feet up the mountain.
Long Valley offers a variety of outdoor activities and there are gift
shops and two restaurants near the tram station. Many hikers ride the tram to the station in
Long Valley and hike to the summit, which is an eleven-mile roundtrip trek with
about 2,500 feet of elevation gain.
Rather than taking the tram, those who hike Cactus to Clouds climb up to
Long Valley, where the Skyline trail ends.
From there, they proceed up another trail from the tramway station to
the summit. When Edith created the event,
I jumped at the opportunity. However,
due to my work schedule, I was going to be starting three hours later than the
rest of the group. Many Cactus to Clouds
hikers begin their trek well before sunrise not only to avoid the intense heat,
but due to the length and difficulty of the route, an early start is needed to
finish at a decent hour later that day. The
group was planning to start around midnight on Saturday morning. Meanwhile, I would leave work, get some
sleep, drive out to Palm Springs in the middle of the night, and begin around
3:30 AM. The plan was for me to haul ass
up the trail and catch up with my friends somewhere along the path before we
reached Long Valley. It was quiet and
still as I sat in my car in the vacant parking structure outside of the museum
with my driver’s side door open. I was
making my final preparations when I heard the sound of a vehicle approaching. A white F-250 pickup truck pulled into the
structure slowed down considerably as it approached my car. The windows on the truck were dark and I
couldn’t see inside. I then remembered
that my friend Dave, who was attending this hike, drove a white F-250, but the
group had started hours ago. The truck
stopped behind my car and cut the engine.
What was going on? There was a split second where I wondered if some
psycho was going to jump out and come at me with a shotgun, but just then, the
door opened, and Dave and Christina hopped out.
“Hey guys!” I said with great relief.
They had started hiking with the group but promptly turned back due to a
nagging Plantar Fasciitis injury that Christina had been battling. She was an accomplished hiker having tackled
many challenging climbs over the years, but in the last few months her injury
had temporarily sidelined her. They
advised me that the group had started around 12:45, a little later than
planned, which was a good thing because that meant I’d likely catch them more
quickly than anticipated. They bade me
farewell and drove off to park the truck and get some sleep for a little while.
As I continued onward, the trail cut further into the
mountain range and became easier to follow.
The path was initially composed of rock and loose stone but had now
softened into smooth dirt with occasional rocks littering the path. Even though the sun hadn’t risen, it was very
warm outside, and perspiration began dampening my shirt and bandana. I gulped water from my camelback to stay
hydrated. The good news was the ranger
station at Long Valley offered access to potable water, so we could fill up
once we arrived and have enough water for the remainder of the hike. I marveled in the surroundings as I ran
along. The sky was filled with stars as
I followed the trail east with the towering mountain range sitting above me to
the right and the city lights of Palm Springs to my left far below. Rocks and desert plants continued to line the
path and there were no trees as far as I could see. Periodically I’d see lights from other hikers
well off in the distance and wondered if it was the rest of the group. As the trail weaved and turned westward, the
crack of dawn began lighting up the sky behind the San Bernardino Mountains above
the city lights of the Coachella Valley.
There were several points along the way where there were “short cuts”
which would cut uphill through the rocks past the switchbacks but for the most
part, I stayed to the designated path.
As the sun began lighting up the sky, I was enjoying the tranquility of
the quiet trail and making pretty good time, running and speed hiking. By the time I passed the second water stash
box along the trail it had been about three hours since I began moving and
there was still no sign of the group. I
was listening to music and in between songs it was dead quiet with no hikers
were in sight. Was I still on the right
path? I kept moving forward hoping that
I wasn’t traveling in a huge circle as the trail rolled along. Finally, I looked up to my left and saw a
line of hikers moving up the switchback.
I instantly recognized my friends and was ecstatic that I had finally
caught up with them. “Morning guys!” I
shouted out. Finding them was a big
relief that I was on the right path all along and having the camaraderie of other
hikers, especially my friends, brought me comfort. We all said hello once I caught up to the end
of the pack. “Why are you so happy?”
they jokingly asked me. I had my hands
on my knees and when I looked up I could see that the heat and challenging
terrain was getting to them as well. The
sun had now made its way into the sky and my clothes were wet from
perspiration. “Because I found you
guys!” I exclaimed. “It was getting
pretty lonely out here”. Among the group
was Juan Carlos (JC), Janet, and Felipe, who were all attempting this hike for
the first time, Jose, our hike leader, Tuyet, who had attempted Cactus to Clouds
once prior, and Edith, the organizer of the event. After
a few brief minutes, we pressed on with about three miles ahead of us before we
reached Long Valley. The trail had
rolled for a while along the ridge and was now beginning an increasingly steep
ascent that would lead to a series of switchbacks during the final push. Along this challenging section of the trail the
group grew quiet and we took frequent breaks to sip water, delayer, and
eat. Most of the group was going on very
little sleep and Tuyet was struggling to stay awake. There was a lot of discussion about how much
more distance we had left and how long it would take. Some people said it was two miles, some said
a mile and a half. Some people said we’d
be at Long Valley in an hour and a half, others said it would be an hour. There were a lot of conflicting responses. “We have about two more miles until Long
Valley, right?” Jose inquired as he looked at me. I had been quiet in the discussions about
mileage and time up until this moment.
“I think we should not worry about how much distance we have left and how
long it’s going to take” I said. “No one
knows for sure how much further it is or long it’s going to take so we might as
well just enjoy it and not worry. We’ll
be there before you know it”. I’ve never
questioned the mileage or used a GPS tracker during hikes and
ultramarathons. Psychologically, a GPS
is my biggest enemy on the trails. When
I’m hiking with a group and other hikers use audio GPS, I just tune it out
because I’d rather not know how much longer it is until we get to our destination. If the distance is on my mind the whole time
it distracts me from why I’m there in the first place; to enjoy nature and
spend quality time with my friends. There
as a brief pause but then the group seemed to understand where I was coming
from. More miles were covered, and we
were soon making our way up the final push along the switchbacks. Over the last few miles the mountain terrain
had shifted from rocks and desert plants to pine trees and granite rocks. Occasionally we’d look up and see that the
horizon where the ground met the sky was getting closer. Finally, the trail leveled out and Long
Valley came into view. The entire group crested
the climb and we embraced each other, congratulating one another on our arrival. We had climbed 7,900 feet from Palm Springs
and the most difficult part of the trek was now behind us. As far as natural beauty goes, it doesn’t get
much better than Long Valley. The
mountain air was fresh, laced with the scent of pine, and considerably cooler
than Palm Springs. All around us were
dirt trails leading to campgrounds, tall pine trees, pine cones, granite rocks,
and sawed up tree logs. The group seemed
to come back to life as we walked along the trail. From the end of the Skyline trail it was about
a half a mile walk to the ranger station in Long Valley where we would pick up
another trail that would take us an additional five and a half miles to the
summit of Mount San Jacinto. After
refilling our water and taking a quick break at the ranger station, we began
our push to the summit. Compared to the Skyline
trail, this section was much more maintained and orderly. The topography had completely transformed
from an exposed, rocky trail to a dirt path surrounded by alpine forest. Even on this more modest terrain, the sleep deprivation
was catching up with us and we took frequent breaks. When we reached the saddle, it was clear that
the mounting drowsiness was having an adverse effect on some of the group. Hiking through extreme sleep deprivation can
be dangerous especially on trails with long, steep drop offs. Judgment is impaired and one wrong step could
end in disaster. I advised the group
that if anyone felt that they were too tired to continue to speak up. The mountain will always be there, and no
summit is worth dying trying to reach.
Making our way out of the saddle, the views were remarkable. A field of pine trees rested below us to the
side of the trail with the tram station visible in the distance below. As we reached the last quarter mile to the
summit, Janet and Felipe began falling behind from the group. As Janet sat on a rock, she calmly announced that
she was feeling the effects of altitude sickness, specifically dizziness. We advised her to take deep breaths and drink
some water, and eventually she was able to stand and move forward. We moved together as a group as the trail gave
way to a pile of boulders. We proceeded very
slowly, scrambling over the boulders for about a hundred feet, until the summit
came into view. The whole group was
together and after sixteen miles and 10,300 feet of elevation gain, we had
finally made it. We were overcome with
joy and accomplishment and Janet immediately came back to life once we reached
the summit. We sat at 10,834 feet of
elevation on the highest peak in the surrounding area, admiring the panoramic
view.
The trek down from the summit back to Long Valley was about
as close to a celebration hike as we could have gotten at that time. We were exhausted and hurting, but that was
all irrelevant. We had displayed mental
and physical strength along the way, helped each other as a team, and
accomplished what we set out to do; another successful Cactus to Clouds summit
was in the books. By the time we arrived
at the tram station the challenging terrain had gotten the better of me and my
legs were on fire. As we approached the
station I took off my backpack and flopped onto a bench, stretching my
legs. Relief was instantaneous. After riding the tram down to Palm Springs
and arriving at our cars we rendezvoused at a Mexican restaurant in town for a
hot meal. The restaurant was crowded,
and it took forever for our meals to arrive, but when the waitress finally set
our plates down on the table we were in comfort food paradise. Dinner was full of laughs and stories, and
shortly after, I was on the 10 freeway back to Los Angeles. The hike was fun, but the company was better. The whole group was connected by a common
goal of reaching the summit. We had broken
through mental walls, fought sleep deprivation, given each other support, and accomplished
our goal, all while having fun along the way.
These are the factors that create deep bonds and friendships within the
hiking community. You could leave us
stranded in the middle of the frozen tundra and we would still make the best of
it. As long-distance hikers and
ultrarunners, that’s how we’re wired to think.
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