Into Darkness

If there was ever an album that was specifically created for me to crank in my headphones while running on a snowy trail through the mountains, in the dead of night, under a star filled sky, it would have to be Motley Crue's Theatre of Pain.  The album is crafted in such a way that it is a perfect blend of fun, pop-oriented, country/blues influenced riffs and down-tuned, energy infused guitar playing, with a menacing sound to it.  This is the kind of music you play at night in the wilderness, with the exception of "Raise Your Hands To Rock" which, to me, is more of a "sunrise" song.  I was enjoying the fulfilling sounds of this record as I ran down the snow covered trail under the midnight sky back to Manker Flat, where my car was parked.  As I ran under the ski lift that transported skiers up to Baldy Notch, I was having fun, and all was going well until the music abruptly cut out.  I held my iPod in my left hand and when I looked down, the screen had gone blank.  The only sounds to be heard now were the sounds of the snow crunching under my footsteps, and the light whistle of the wind as it blew through my earbuds.  That is until I heard the sound of a male voice yelling something in the distance off to my left.  I turned my head to face the direction of the sound, but all I saw were snow covered mountains glowing in the moonlight.  No headlamps or lights.  Thirty seconds later, I heard the high pitched cry of a wild animal in the distance in front of me.  I looked up at the mountains in search of a pair of glowing eyes.  Nothing.  I was alone out there.  I kept pushing buttons on my iPod, hoping it would come back on so I could finish the last couple of miles of this run without having to hear the creepy sounds of the wilderness, but the screen remained blank.  This was weird.  I had charged it earlier that day, and when I took off from Manker Flat,  I had almost a full battery.  So why had it died?  Something very odd was going on here, and this situation was quickly shifting from fun and exciting to very unsettling.

Earlier that morning I rolled over in bed and saw on my Fitbit that it was 7:00 AM.  "Damn it" I whispered.  I had set my alarm for 4:00 AM that morning, with plans to go for a trail run at Mount Baldy.  The mountains in the area had just received heavy snowfall, and I wanted to go enjoy it.  My alarm went off at 4, but I shut it off and overslept.  I was disappointed, but I planned to get some good sleep that night and head out there the next morning instead.  But as the day went on, I wondered if I would oversleep again.  It was Saturday, and if I overslept again on Sunday, I wouldn't get my chance.  And then I had a wild idea.  After I attended the family gathering that I had scheduled for that night, I would drive out there and go for a night trail run.  I had never been there at night and I was wanting to try something new and step out of my comfort zone.  Plus I was concerned that I would oversleep again and I'd miss out on my chance.  This was going to be epic.  When I arrived back home that night, I changed into my running gear, grabbed my flashlight and headlamp, and headed out to the mountains.  After I exited the freeway and began driving up the winding road to Mount Baldy, the city lights and traffic gave way to enveloping darkness.  Driving on mountain roads in the dark is drastically different than during the day.  Often, there are no light poles, the road makes abrupt turns and curves, and beyond the beams of your headlights is just darkness.  I drove by several cars parked along the side of the road as I made my way to Manker Flat.  One car had a guy standing in front, all alone, with a hood on his head, just looking at the ground, with neither a smile or frown on his face.  When I arrived at Manker Flat, shut off my car, and turned off my headlights, it was pitch black all around me.  A rush of cool, refreshing mountain air came pouring in when I opened my car door.  As I made my final preparations, an L.A. County Sheriff SUV rolled up the road, about twenty feet away.  When they noticed my presence, they slowed down and shined their spot light in my direction.  They quickly realized that I was harmless, turned off the spot light, and continued up the road towards the ski lifts.  As I walked up the road that would eventually lead me to the trail, I wondered if I should really be doing this.  I had been here over a hundred times to go running and hiking during the day, but it was approaching 11:00 PM, and I had never been here this late at night.  I was used to the parking lot being crowded with cars and people, but I was all alone out here.  The presence of the sheriff SUV brought me some relief, but unfortunately they could only patrol the back country roads, not the trails.  After passing by the gate, I began running up the road.  The lights of a couple of cabins off to the side and down the hill from the road glowed as I ran by, but other than that, it was completely dark.  I put on some music, and soon the road took a sharp right hand turn and gave way to a narrow, graded dirt road.  I plodded along and shortly after passing by the junction where the Baldy Bowl trail flanks off to the left, I came around a bend and what rested before me blew me away.  "Holy shit" I said out loud.  Surrounding me in all directions were dazzling, snow covered mountains.  The mountain tops were bare with pine trees growing on the slopes.  They were prominent and the steadfast, as they glowed in the moonlight under the star filled sky.  The further I progressed, the more scenic the view became.  A light shined in the distance up ahead in the mountains.  The light was the Mount Baldy ski area at Baldy Notch, which was my destination.  I wore a headlamp and carried a flashlight, but given how bright the stars and moon were, I put my flashlight away.  The view was so breathtaking, I had to stop and look around for a minute.  "Wow" I said out loud.  I had been here countless times and I'd never seen it like this before.  This was Mount Baldy in a whole new version.  Not everyone will admit this, but at some point in their childhood, everyone was afraid of the dark.  Our fear of the dark as children plants a notion into our minds, even as adults, that the dark brings a certain element of danger.  Maybe that's why we as human beings, do things like go to clubs and bars, or parties at night.  We know subconsciously, that the element of danger that comes with the dark and the nighttime adds to the allure of partaking in an activity that is frowned upon in a traditional, old school world.  For me, outdoor activities are no different.  The dark is menacing.  It makes hiking, camping, snowboarding, running, just about anything more fun to do a night.  It freaks some people out, and it even freaks me out a little too, but I like that.  It keeps me on my toes, and creates a sense of empowerment because I'm facing my subconscious fear of the dark.

When I finally made my way up to Baldy Notch, the Top of the Notch restaurant and ski huts were closed up and darkened.  The ski lifts rested in the night, and the area looked like a ghost town, except for two flood lights that cast an eerie glow on the snow covered ground.  I made my way up the quarter mile path that led to the junction where the Devil's Backbone trial flanks off to the left, and the Three Tee's trail to the right.  As I approached the trail sign, I pulled out a roll of gold garland I had brought with me, and wrapped it around the top of the sign.  Nothing like spreading a little holiday cheer in the wilderness.  After snapping a couple of pictures, I made my way back to the ski lodge and back down the trail towards Manker Flat.  The trail was covered in snow and it took heightened concentration on the way back down to keep from slipping.  The snow was packed down and iced over in some areas, and I jumped back and forth on the trail, favoring the side that had better grip for my shoes.  The view of the snowy mountains continued to carry me along pleasantly, and in front of me, several thousand feet below off in the distance, the lights of the San Gabriel Valley illuminated the distant sky.  Motley Crue's Theatre of Pain album was pumping in my headphones as I ran underneath the ski lift.  The tone of the music was a perfect fit for the aurora of running on a snowy trail in the wilderness in the middle of the night; fun but also menacing.  But once my iPod abruptly died, and I began hearing the strange, eerie sounds of the midnight wilderness, the situation was becoming a little too menacing.  After hearing a voice and an animal cry, but seeing nothing, I began to question whether I had heard anything at all.  It was likely just my imagination playing tricks on me.  It wouldn't be the first time.  The first time I ran alone in the midnight wilderness, I had no music and it was just me and the great outdoors.  My imagination was running wild and I couldn't wait for the sun to crack the sky.  The strange distant noises continued as I ran down the trail past San Antonio Falls, but by the time I returned to my car at Manker Flat, I knew I was safe, and I was likely imagining all of the funky noises I had heard.  The experience was truly unique.  Not only had I never witnessed Mount Baldy wrapped in a peaceful blanket of starlit night, but I was another step closer feeling more comfortable running through the wilderness alone at night.  We all have that subconscious fear of the dark and running through remote terrain at night allows me to conquer that fear, and knowing that I'm flirting with danger it makes the experience all the more fun.  The very first time I ran alone in the middle of the night, I felt very isolated.  I grew apprehensive, and it freaked me out, but I wanted to do it again.  It was all very exciting to me.  2019 is going to be the year that I attempt my first 100 mile footrace.  Because the race will take at least twenty-four hours to complete, there will inevitably be a period of time where I'll be running alone in the wilderness at night.  Part of my training was going to be conquering my fears and getting used to the trails at night, and I couldn't wait to get after it.  "That was awesome!" I thought to myself as I drove off.