Relentless

About 21 years ago, I quit smoking on the last day of August. I felt euphoric for the first few days, then I had to move, and I mean move, constantly. At my office job I offered to deliver mail, run errands, do the heavy lifting. In my car I chewed gum, sang with the radio, rolled up the windows and screamed. With friends I opted for things like dancing, babysitting, swimming--anything active.

But I still had down times that had to be filled. The best thing was walking. I lived in the Fairfax district of Los Angeles, and I did all possible errands on foot. One day, I got the idea to drive up to Pasadena to a hiking trail I'd read about.

I don't know how hot it was, but it was hot, and it was noon, and I had no experience with mountain hiking. About three miles up the trail, when I saw no cover from the sun and I was so thirsty I could have chewed a cactus, I noticed no one was out there but me and decided maybe I had picked the wrong day. I stopped, looked out over the San Gabriel Valley and told myself I didn't have to kill myself to quit smoking. In fact, that was missing the point.

Years later, hiking the Sam Merrill Trail, recognition tapped me gently on the shoulder and I realized I was on the same trail, in the same spot where I'd turned around that day. It was not three miles, not even one mile up the trail. With the shape my lungs were in back then, it had only felt like I'd gone that far.

21 years later and by no means an athlete, I can still outdo my younger, smoking self. I'll prove it when the weather cools.

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Echo Means Comeback

Yesterday was a spectacular day, so John and I went hiking. John's been up the Sam Merrill trail several times in past months, but I haven't hiked it in almost a year. It's such a beautiful trail that I don't go on weekends because every cute family and dating couple and gaggle of teenagers in the San Gabriel Valley agrees with me.

Mid-week, though, it's dreamy. Karin, the Altadena Hiker, calls it "my mountain." She shares the mountain with me and the gaggles, of course, but she's not really kidding and I know how she feels. You climb switchbacks, steep scree and stretches of relentless sun, up, up, always up. In rest stop shade you can feel the faeries watching you (except on weekends, when they fly to higher ground). And all the time you revel in the smells, the light, the sound of your breathing and the beating of your heart.

Some of you may remember I decided to take up running last spring, which was fun until I injured my hip. After the MRI, months of physical therapy, several setbacks, miles of walking, endless podcasts, boring stationary biking and colorless cussing, it was time to take my mountain back.

Atop Echo Mountain after a 2.7 mile climb, which I used to do in just over an hour, you'll find traces of the Mount Lowe Railway and ruins of a hotel that burned down in the early 20th century. You'll also find views of the San Gabriel Valley, with Los Angeles beyond. On a spectacular day like yesterday was, you can glimpse the Pacific Ocean and Santa Catalina Island.

I didn't get that far yesterday. John could have made it, but he was nice enough to stick with me. I got about a mile and a quarter and decided it was enough for my first trip back up the hill. I won't be having more setbacks. I'm going forward from now on. Make that upward. A mile and a half next time. A mile and three quarters the time after that. And so on, until I can do 2.7 miles in just over an hour, just to glimpse the ocean on a spectacular day.

High Strung

How does the saying go? "The best laid plans go to hell in a hand basket," or something like that. You think you know how things are going to go. They don't. C'est la vie, dammit.

A good way of looking at surprise chaos would be to greet it as though it were welcome serendipity. "Why hello, pain in the butt, you're as welcome as a million dollars!" I'm constantly working on my brain in that way, trying to twist the negative into a positive, trying to have a "good attitude." This is probably why I need a massage. I mean always, even right after I've had one.

Taking things in stride is easier some days than others. I don't know why this is, do you? There are times when a medical emergency wouldn't phase me. Sure. I'll just bring reading material. Then there are times when I can't even imagine seeing a good movie if the opportunity arises. I've got my mind set on my best laid plans. No matter if that hand basket is on its way to something heavenly, I can't twist my attitude that far to the plus side.

Notes on the Sam Merrill Trail

We've had cool weather for a few days and the sky is clear. I took this shot from about a mile and a half up the Sam Merrill trail, looking out from alongside one of the electric towers. If you enlarge the photo you can see Century City and Santa Monica. That glow is the sun setting over the Pacific Ocean.

Just looking at the photo makes me want to get on the trail--any trail. Each has different merits. The Sam Merrill trail is so popular I rarely use it on weekends. John and I like it for exercise because it has some steep parts and it gets your heart going, not to mention your lungs and thighs. And the views are great. Other trails in the area might be less well traveled and therefore better for bird watching, finding wild flowers or thinking.

I wrote a lot of the first draft of my novel on the Sam Merrill trail. John and I were living near the trail head while I was writing it, and I would stomp up the hill with a note pad in my pack, letting the characters talk to me. Whenever they said anything worthwhile I'd stop and write it down.

Most of what they said may have worthwhile, but not worth keeping for the final draft. But you have to write that first draft in order to get to the second, third, fourth, etc.

Walking is a great writing tool. I walk a lot, and I always have a note pad and pen with me. Camera too, of course.

Resolve

Do you make new year's resolutions?

I do. My reason for making them is to keep them, so (here's my logic:) I make resolutions that are possible to keep.

2010's new year's resolution was to finish my novel. It's done done done.

Of course just because the book is written doesn't mean it's published. I have a lot of work yet to do. But in 2010 I spent an inordinate amount of time sitting at my desk, which brings me to 2011's resolution.

A book doesn't get written without one's butt in one's chair at one's writing desk, but admittedly, this is not the best thing for one's butt. In 2011 I resolve, among other things, to de-stress and to exercise. There's nothing like a good trail for killing those two goals with one mountain.

Did you make a 2010 resolution? Did you keep it? What do you resolve for 2011?

Good Cardio

Last week John and I climbed the fire road across Las Flores Canyon from the Sam Merrill Trail. It was his idea. With no shade on the mountain we had the perfect overcast day, he wanted to try something different, and why not?

I had all sorts of reasons why not. There's no good trail. It's not a hike, it's a climb. And it's rocky over there, with gravel and scree loose enough to roll you down ten feet for every two you go up.

I didn't think I could do it.

"Sure you can," said John. "You're strong enough."

I begged to differ. I complained a good part of the way up. It was steep. I was scared. For some of the climb we had to resort to our hands and knees just to find something to hold onto. It was most undignified.

I finally gave up, afraid to go on.

"I'm going to see what's around that bend," said John, obviously not the least bit worried.

He was gone for a little while. I found a place where I could sit without having to hold on and busied myself taking pictures. Finally, I crawled up after him.

Not too much farther along he'd found the wider road. He helped me over a few tough steps and we walked. It still wasn't easy; our legs were tired and our lungs were hungry. But we kept going and we made it farther than either of us could have gone alone.

At the top we gazed out over exhilarating San Gabriel Valley views we'd never seen before. We congratulated ourselves for making it so far. We discussed the great gobs of lunch we'd eat when we got back down. And I thanked John for insisting I could make it (the climb, not the lunch).

Happy Valentine's Day, sweetie. Even mountains are no match for us when we climb them together.

Nobody's Walkin' in LA

You've heard of "getting away from it all." If you enlarge this photo, in the distance you can see what-all people around here like to get away from.

iPhone Wednesday #1 - Panorama, Sam Merrill Towers

Okay, hikers, I'm sure this looks familiar. Click on it to enlarge it. Familiar, but...not.

John's still creating panoramas with his iPhone. I got the app but haven't used it yet. (Sometimes I'm slow to make use of new technology, but once the technology is passe I'm more comfortable.)

A few City Daily Photo bloggers are doing a thing called iPhone Wednesday. It's casual. Kim at Seattle Daily Photo's doing it for sure. Chuck (One a Day - Mostly Seattle) might do it. Ming the Merciless at Bangor Daily Photo might do an iPhone shot today, too. I won't know 'til after I've posted. But whatever they post today I trust you'll find it interesting.

Probably won't be a panorama by my husband, though.

Back on the Mountain

I love the Sam Merrill Trail. Depending on the switchback, civilization seems near...

...or very far away.

Until you get a ways up the mountain. Then everything below disappears into your note pad, your camera, your thoughts, your breathing, your stride.

The trail is open now, as is the Cobb Estate. J and I went about halfway up Echo Mountain yesterday and the skies were downright blustery. It felt good to be back on my mountain. (I share it with the Hiker.) I don't know how far you can go. Most of the Angeles National Forest is still closed (call 626-334-7582 between 7am and 7pm for specifics). But you can go for a good while.

None of Echo Mountain burned. Have at it. Pack out what you pack in. And no smoking. It's brittle as sun-dried bones up there.

Revisiting an Old Flame

While firefighters continue to target hotspots in the Station Fire, I thought it might be interesting to revisit a small brush fire area I've photographed before to check in on the progress of regrowth. I took this photo on August 13th before the Station Fire began. Though this area (viewed across Las Flores Canyon from the Sam Merrill Trail) was unscathed in the recent fires, it remains closed to hikers.

This small area burned almost exactly two years ago in August of 2007. The fire was very quickly put out by our local firefighting heroes. Click on my March, 2008 post to see how the burn area looked this past February, then again a month later, after some rain.

In today's photo you can see much more growth. I don't know if the burnished brown scrub is dried from lack of water, or if that's the color of the healthy plant. Maybe one of you can tell us.

One of the hotspots the firefighters have been working on the last couple of days is almost directly north of this area. John and I met some of the guys as they came off the mountain Wednesday night. They were tired and dirty and gorgeous and sweet. I'm saving those pictures to post Tuesday, 9/22. That's when they said they'd be coming to the end of their deployment and have a chance to check the web.

I know we can never thank them enough, but if you get the chance, give it a try. They like it.

The Litterin' Low Life

The Sam Merrill Trail gets a lot of weekend trash. So does the west end of the Gabrielino Trail, north of JPL. These spots also get a lot of graffiti, especially on the lower reaches. The preponderance of litter and graffiti on the low paths is because getting up high on the mountain requires effort and agility, and these are activities of the lazy.

Here's a sampling of what Boz and I found on a short walk Sunday from the west end of Altadena Drive to the ranger station, a 30 minute walk if you're not in a hurry. As you can see, our litterers are athletic (Gatorade), watch their weight (light beer), care about their skin (Neutrogena lotion) and occasionally indulge in candy. I notice one wrapper got out of my little arrangement. Perhaps litterers like to follow their Bliss.

The litterers might disagree with my low opinion of them. Obviously, they have a high opinion of themselves. But I'm right and they're wrong. They're lazy, slothful and stupid. How do I know this? Slothful: self-evident. Lazy: I found a good deal of this trash within about thirty feet of a garbage can. Stupid: See the cigar wrapper in that pile? And I didn't even pick up the cigarette butts. CIGARETTE BUTTS. WHAT ARE PEOPLE THINKING? (At first I thought, oh gee, maybe it was the coyotes, but wait, no, coyotes are too smart to smoke cigarettes in the middle of a forest full of dry tinder, which is more than I can say for some people.)

There's no sense complaining to you, you don't litter. You don't paint meaningless code words on rocks where only lizards can read them. Yet I want to vilify these trash-dropping mofos. Do they decorate their homes in early twenty-first century Garbage Dump? (Yes.) I'd like to scream and swear at the halfwits who think their spray-painted gangspeak--the secret language of morons--actually enhances a rock or a bridge or even so much as a pile of dung.

But I also call myself a writer and writers are supposed to be inventive with language. Supposedly we don't need to swear to express ourselves (though The Seven Words come in handy).

Let's see what we can do. Today I invite you to invent incendiary invective in the comments. Rail! Accuse! Vituperate! Tell the litterers how big a pile of offal you'd like to force them to sort, by hand, at gunpoint. Let the taggers in on your plans for their edification in a federal facility. Or perhaps you'd have them clean, under the hot sun, with a toothbrush, every inch of wall they've ever defaced. See how vicious you can be--without using The Seven Words. In fact, if you use one (or a variation of one) I'll delete your comment. But anything else goes. And I do mean anything.

And while you're at it: tell the Station Fire arsonist what painful punishment you have in mind for him (or her?). Heated words are welcome, my friends. Go ahead and get mad. But please: no swearing.

High Chaparral

It's funny how a girl from Illinois corn country becomes a woman of the San Gabriel chaparral.

I want to get up into the hills right now but for reasons of my own I can't go. I'm afraid the trails don't look like this anymore but that's okay. I still love them. I still want to be there. I still want to photograph them, and I will.

Until then, others are photographing the trails and the hills. Larry Wilson. Altadena Hiker. Keith Durflinger, for Pasadena Star News. Gem City Images. Mount Wilson Tower Cam. Rose Magazine. And oh, man, LA Daily News. Many more. I'll add today as I find them, or I encourage you to link to more in the comments.
The Truant Muse

Take time, if you will, to read Nancy Steele's post, How do we do nothing after the fire?
I think it'll help you begin to come to terms.

Tinder

I was offline most of the day yesterday. Karin, Tim, Deb and Greg will be good blogger sources for what yesterday felt like in Altadena. It sounds to me like it was tense and scary. But people supported each other and helped each other face the tasks they had to face.

We were kind of doing the same thing here in the old 'hood, except it didn't require aircraft. We had a bon voyage party for our friends who are leaving Pasadena.

Yesterday in the comments here on PDP, USElaine said, "When we love nature, we have to accept all of it as a package." Yes, I think so. I think we have to accept it all in order to love it.

Life has such sadness sometimes, such hardship. If we embrace the hardship, might that enable us to find life's goodness? Is that how we locate happiness, by slogging through pain with our eyes and ears and hearts wide open?

"Accept all of it as a package"?

Yes, I think so.

They say some of that brush up in the hills hasn't burned for 60 years. Well, it's a process of nature. That brush has got to burn.

(Update: Thanks to Bellis for reminding me to check LA Creek Freak. Always excellent information there from Jessica and Joe.)

Rattled

This photo has layers. In the top right corner you see Altadena in the distance. I think of the next layer as the row of sagebrush that lines the path. Then there's the sunny part of the path, then the shady part. Then, in the shaded foreground, see that curved mark like someone took a wide stick and marked the dust? It's the path left by a rattlesnake. You may have to enlarge the picture by clicking on it to see it.

This time of year if you want to hike during the warm times of day you have to watch for snakes. It's just the way things are. They live here and so do we. They watch for us, too, and avoid us just as we avoid them. Case in point: John and I were walking Boz last week when we saw one on the path after it had seen us. The reason we hadn't seen it at first was because it had stopped moving to wait and allow us a wide berth.

What you don't want is the situation where neither you nor the snake is paying attention. Whoa! Surprise! Biting! Excuse me! Ouch! Poison! Sorry, man, I didn't realize it was you. Too late.

I never saw the snake who left this mark on the Sam Merrill Trail. Another hiker told me, breathlessly, that she'd seen it go into the underbrush. She was afraid it would turn around and come back. But I'm pretty sure once that snake got wind of us, he wasn't coming out until until every last hiker was long gone.

(This one's for AmyR.)

Nature's Bounty

This was part of our haul on a short hike up the Sam Merrill Trail Monday. Most other days there isn't much trash. But after the weekend, when the non-regulars, dilettantes and drinkers have been there, you don't have to go far to find this much—about a mile and a third, what locals call "to the towers".

The photo doesn't include three more plastic bottles and an oreo cookie we found on the way out of the park, perched next to the "$1000 Fine For Littering" sign.

You, my dear readers, do not litter. Of course not. So ranting here will be lost on you. I'll be grateful, though, if you'll allow me to get it off my chest.

Why do you suppose people litter? What makes them think it's okay to drop a plastic bottle just anywhere, when it's going to take a thousand years or more for the thing to biodegrade? Why can't they take it with them and recycle it, or at least put it in a trash bin? Surely a person strong enough to hike up a steeply graded hill still has the strength to carry an empty bottle to the trash. I'm especially amazed by runners who charge up and down the hill and toss bottles into the bushes when they're finished because carrying it might interfere with—what? Rhythm? Speed? Pace? Which is more important, the planet or one runner's perfect mile?

If you'd seen us coming down the trail Monday morning, our pockets full of plastic bottles and paper cups, you'd have thought we'd been up there on the mountain hydrating all night. We have to leave behind the stuff that's too precarious—either too far down the escarpment or stuck high up in branches. The park rangers, or nature, will have to deal with it.

There you go, your tax dollars at work cleaning up after some lazy #%$& who can't be bothered to carry a teeny weeny plastic bottle. Well, you know how burdensome an empty bottle can get. I carried two or three of 'em the other day myself. Whew.

The Climb Begins

Saturdays are busy on the Sam Merrill Trail, but yesterday was the first time I ever saw a troop of U.S. Marine Corps recruits take to the path. The sergeant (front row, center) was amenable when I asked if I could take a photo, but now that I look at it I'm not sure all the recruits wanted their picture taken. However, they were ordered into formation and they posed with their mascot, Banzai. This group is from the Pasadena Substation.

They're at the beginning of a learning process and it's not going to be easy. Already things were tough on the trail. One recruit had trouble keeping up; it was hot, the recruit wasn't in shape and the sergeant had to yell. It was going to be a long hike.

John and I did a short hike, part way up. On the way down we passed a brief altercation between the sergeant and a civilian hiker who thought the sergeant was being too harsh.

Archetypally, it was an argument between protector and protected.

That sparked a discussion between me and John about whether or not the Marines should have been training in public view on the Sam Merrill trail. It's clear we need a military, as unfortunate and medieval as that may be. And the training can be tough, it can get ugly. And although we well-protected, well-to-do, insulated non-military types benefit from it we don't want to be exposed to it, do we?

If you read my blog you know I'm one of those lefties who despise war, but I can tell the difference between the fight and the fighter. The young people I saw on the trail yesterday may end up as supply officers, soldiers, engineers, recruiters... Regardless, they volunteered to serve their country, our country. I don't know what sent them, whether they're escaping something or seeking something. I only know I'm grateful and I hope they find what they need. That recruit who struggled up the hill was struggling with more—with self and with Self. And there are bigger battles to come.

I wish them all safety and success.

Sunbaked Hero

I admit this picture doesn't look like much until you click to enlarge it. I hadn't planned to post it at all, but after reading yesterday's comments I decided to go ahead. I mentioned the man who dug stairs into the path above Las Flores Canyon. Altadenahiker said, "I've been told the stairs were originally dug by the fire fighters several years ago. But my hat is off to the gentleman who is doing this renovation in the heat of summer. Wonder who he is."

I've often seen L.A. County park rangers on the trails with their maintenance equipment. The area trails I know are well-maintained; it must be a constant project to keep them clean and passable for hikers. Most regular hikers are respectful, but I take a small bag when I hike so I can pick up what trash I see. It's worst after a weekend.

The Sam Merrill Trail, which I was hiking when I took this shot, is across the canyon from the stairs in question. That day, the shoveling man and I were the only ones crazy enough to be out in the infernal heat. I could hear the dig and scrape of his shovel. He was working his way uphill.

Who is he? No park ranger uniform. Just a dark T-shirt. No hat. I hope he was wearing sunscreen.

Summer Colors

These would be fall colors in the Midwest, where I grew up. Here, as seen from the Sam Merrill Trail, browns and golds are summer colors. Bits of gray, green and orange enhance the palette of the scrub's subtle beauty. It's not what I'd call a riot of color but it's hugely varied. Along the many nature trails here you'll also find wildflowers any time of year: red, yellow, even bright purple.

In the background of the photo a path leads uphill through the area that burned almost a year ago. I don't know if the path is new or if it was always there and was revealed by the burn. Lately a man has been out there shoveling in the hot sun, making the path into a stairway. I tried to get a picture but he was far away, and it was crazy enough for me to be there. The scrub is beautiful but not as tall as trees, and it doesn't provide much shade.

Watcher Among the Rocks

It's not yet officially summer, but you don't need a calendar to tell you it's hot. I spied this family cooling off yesterday in the stream beyond the bridge north of the JPL parking lot. (Click on the photo to enlarge it.)

The stream's a safe place for a family during daylight hours, even considering the fact that a mountain lion was photographed mere yards from this spot in January. In drought time, deer and small animals come farther downhill for water, and predators come after them. But it's rare for mountain lions (aka cougars) to attack humans. They don't like to mess with people. As one person said in an online discussion about going for a run near where the JPL cougar was sighted, "Some folks take pepper spray...but that is as much for roaming big dogs and looney people as cougars or bears."

I think I was very close to a cougar once. High on the Sam Merrill Trail I came upon a dead fawn. I stopped to examine it; there was no visible wound and the animal was newly dead. I wondered about that until my brain said, "Ack!"—meaning the fawn was prey, and the predator was most likely watching in the nearby brush for me to move on—which I did. When I passed again on my way down twenty minutes later the path was clear, but the underbrush was disturbed where the carcass had been dragged up the hillside.

It's good to be vigilant. Sometimes when I'm walking with Boz, I wonder who's watching us from high among the rocks.

SAD

We've been having gray days.

I looked up Seasonal Affective Disorder. I don't have it, but I can still complain. When the sun ceases to shine, the only symptom they list that I regularly exhibit is lethargy. A good hike would cure me, and a cool day is perfect for hiking.

Alas, not today. A person's gotta make a living. I suppose there are people in the world who get paid for hiking, but I'm not one of them.