Modern Hiker

A single-day distance record hike. Other than the length and leg-burn, this hike has just about everything that makes hiking in Southern California great. Stream crossings and boulder scramblings, sycamore groves and chaparral, shady canyons, waterfalls, mountain peaks and more. And you don’t even have to hike the whole way to see it.

Over the last two weeks, I’d done some great - but short - hikes. Two weeks of trails less than four miles long starts to drive my feet restless, and they made it clear they wanted to hike something especially nasty this week.

Looking at my map of the Angeles National Forest, my eyes were drawn to the western section. An area I rarely visit, I noticed a long loop trail that hit up two peaks and came tantalizingly close to a third. Judging from the map and several different website reports, they looked to be between 16 and 17 miles round trip.

Far longer than my previous single-day distance (just under 12 miles on Mount Baldy), I didn’t know if I’d be able to hit any of the peaks, let alone all of them. But if I wanted to even come close to it, I’d have to start crazy early.

Somehow, I managed to convince Will - the only person I know who won’t balk at a 16 mile hike with a 6AM call time - to come along. I like to think of it as the First Annual Screw the Super Bowl Hike, because I think I got over that particular Cultural Phenomenon a few years ago. Or, more positively, it’s Our Super Bowl - a massive physical and mental challenge for nothing but the glory of telling people We Did It.

Shortly after 6AM, we were suited up and cruising through the otherworldly trafic-less-ness of the San Fernando Valley. We’d reached the trailhead by about 6:35 - much earlier than I’d expected - and made our way in as the first beams of sunlight illuminated the peaks around us.

I realized as we made our way around some of the old Forest Service cabins near the trailhead that this path was actually the very first trail I ever hiked in the Angeles National Forest. Waaay back in the by-gone days of 2006.

I cut my teeth on some simple hikes in the Santa Monica Mountains and an easy summit in Joshua Tree earlier, and I heard there was a nice waterfall up on this trail. My first stream crossings were overly cautious affairs, and I didn’t do much other than hike about 3 miles in, lounge around the waterfall for a while, and hike out. 6 miles was a very big deal back then.

Not anymore.

The light was low, but the trail came back to me as we crossed the small-but-steady Trail Canyon Creek and quickly made our way over a handful of stream crossings (current-day me goes over these things much faster), the stream providing a gentle gurgling white noise that accompanied us for most of our way along the canyon floor.

Every once in a while, as we slowly gained elevation, we had to turn back to see the mountains unfolding before us in the daylight. You usually only get that treat when you wake up on time after camping.

The hike from the trailhead to the falls is a pretty clear, easy-to-travel route. In the spring, the 40 foot waterfull gushes and tumbles, almost out of nowhere. It’s a surprise when you first see it, because you’ve just come up out of some hot, dry, canyon sides - far from the cool water. For us, the waterfall was light, but still flowing. We pledged to stop on the way back, because we didn’t want to use up any time or get lulled in by the water, which is very easy for us.

I get the idea that most people just hit this waterfall and turn around - partially because they probably think there’s nothing else of interest, but mostly because the trail past the waterfall is heavily overgrown. Not impassible, by any means, but it travels a bit slower than the clear trail that preceeds it. We were happy to be wearing long sleeves and pants as we deflected branches and brambles flying from all directions.

Dingo, of course, had none of these concerns, and took off into the brush firing on all cylinders.

After one (of the many) stream crossings, we came upon a tiny campsite by the water. It looked like it was fighting a losing battle at keeping back the forest:

"Lazy Lucas" is what’s left of the old Tom Lucas Camp - a single stove, a makeshift shelter, and maybe room for one small tent. The homemade sign helpfully pointed out that the actual camp was just a bit further down the trail, and after peeking around a bit, we were back on the trail and boulder-hopping again.

The trail along the way was almost completely shaded by sycamores hugging the creek, so it was nice to hit a small clearing near the actual Tom Lucas Camp. This camp had several stoves, as well as picnic tables and room for a small group of tents, but even parts of this camp looked like they’d lost some ground back to the wilderness. Inevitable, I guess.

We sat at the picnic table and had a short breather before moving on through a small, sunny field …

… and into a dense green canopy of trees. Will mentioned the tree cover felt like something out of his old Southern stomping grounds, while I noticed the rocks along the stream had the cracked, layered, glacial look of New England boulders. Either way, it sure didn’t feel like Southern California.

Soon enough, though, we were out of the shade and into the chaparral, the sun now getting more overhead and direct. This felt more like the low San Gabriels - hot, sunny, and full of Spanish Bayonets. After some painful inclined hiking through thick brush, we reached the saddle, gasping. But it was great to turn south and look at the full length of Trail Canyon, conquered. Even if you could see the Valley cities, too.

At the saddle, we could see the reddish-brown Iron Mountain to our immediate west. It looked a few miles away, and we’d tagged it as a potential side trail if we were feeling especially frisky. But Condor Peak was the Main Event.

Most maps mark the route between this saddle and Condor Peak as ‘cross-country,’ which usually means an unmarked path, uneven ground, and unkempt brush. While this part of the trail was marked as such, it was a clear-cut, wide open route that clearly snaked along the ridge between Iron Mountain and Condor Peak. It’s not a gentle trail by any means - it’s relentlessly uphill with little shade and even fewer stretches of level ground. Needless to say, our legs weren’t thrilled about this.

Walking along the ridge did provide some beautiful views of the valleys around us, though. Visibility was great, so we could even clearly make out the buildings and streets of the Valley cities. Without the gentle gurgling of the creek, though, the air up here was unbelievably silent. It’s a bit surreal to see millions of people going about their City Lives down below you, and not hear them making any noise.

It does make cities a lot more peaceful, though. That’s for sure. And being able to turn our heads slightly to the left and get healthy visual dose of nature’s empty goodness helped, too.

Trudging up the exposed trail, we got our first view of Condor Peak, still off in the distance. Is it just me, or do those peaks always look a lot closer than they actually are?

At this point, we’d been hiking for about four hours straight. All we knew about the path up to Condor Peak was that we were supposed to see a use-trail somewhere off the main drag, and we hadn’t seen it yet. We continued as the trail wrapped its way around the north face of Condor Peak, which was much too steep and jagged for any sensible ascent.

We were starting to get a bit disheartened. Exhausted, hot, tired, and without a trail ascent in sight, we were losing our energy and had reduced our usually steady hiking pace to a halfhearted shuffle.

Even Dingo, who is a reliably never-ending source of energy, looked like she was ready to call it quits. While we were making our way up, she’d run in front of us, find a tiny spot of shade and fall to the ground, panting.

On a shaded spot on the north face near the saddle we theorized would have the use trail, we all joined her in the dirt, eating a mini-lunch and taking in the sweeping panorama of mountains before us.

I kept my meal light, just an apple and banana - and a quick swap of hiking socks. Because there’s only so much punishment a tube of SmartWool can reasonably be asked to take.

It’s amazing what a little fructose will do for your attitude. My sagging energy was completely restored, and I was ready to tackle the rest of the hike … I’m gonna have to start packing more apples from now on.

Well, the good news was the use trail to the summit of Condor Peak was right around the corner from us. The bad news was the use trail was a nearly-vertical rock scramble, which our battle-weary legs weren’t necessarily very excited about taking on just then.

The prospect of a good ol-fashioned scramble did break up the monotony of standard trail hiking, though, and we ended up making pretty good time up the side of the peak. And once at the top, we took in the expansive views - from the Pacific, Channel Islands, and snow-capped Los Padres in the west, to the rolling peaks of the Angeles in the north and east, and south toward Catalina and the Cleveland National Forest.

Like I said, visibility was incredible.

And after taking in the view (and I taking off my shoes), we lounged on some of the peak’s rock outcroppings and indulged in a bit of peaknapping. Incidentally, the only other time I’ve ever done that was at the summit of Mount Baldy.

Rocks have never been so comfortable.

After getting lightly sunburned, we made our way back down the mountainside. We spotted a mountain biker perched on the saddle to our immediate east - the first person we saw since we passed a small group near the trailhead. If you’re looking for some on-trail solitude, this is definitely the place to be.

The way back down was a bit easier than the way up, being mostly downhill and all. We didn’t even stop to consider mounting a trek to Iron Mountain at the saddle. And even if we wanted to, I don’t think our legs would have let us stop and talk about it.

By now, the sun was out and in full force, and it really illuminated the darker sections of the riparian canyon. The shade and cool air near the creek were a welcome respite from the sun-baked temperatures near the peak.

And the small breaks of sunshine that got through warmed up a section of the upper canyon enough to call out the dormant ladybug swarms:

We made good time coming back down, stopping once in a while to let Dingo take a dip in the creek to cool off, or dipping our heads in to achieve the same effect. The mountain biker we saw near Condor Peak passed us on the way down, but other than that, the only other people we saw were at or going to the waterfall.

When we reached the falls, we kept our promise to do a bit of exploring. Hopping across the boulders and carved rock, we followed the stream down a few smaller falls before it reached the big one. The water was much lower than it was the last time I was there, so most of the rocks were dry and left plenty of room to hop across and lounge on.

Will took his spot perched on the very edge of the falls, on a rock that split the flow of water into smaller streams to each side of it. I scrambled up alongside the edge to try to snag a shot of the falls and the pool below. It looks like it’d be quite welcoming on a hot summer day, and a bit less accessible (and therefore less crowded) than the more well-known and heavily-heeled Switzer Falls.

Will was digging his perch at the falls’ edge, and invited me to swap places to check out how amazing it was.

He was right. The split stream provided bubbling white noise in stereo, and when a breeze came up the falls, I’d get a light spray of cool mist from below me. A perfect way to pass the time … although obviously I wouldn’t recommend it if the water levels were higher.

After getting our fill of the falls, we were back on the trail and made it back to the parking lot to sign the register, take off our shoes, and head toward the nearest 7-11 for some replenishing Naked Juice. Dingo passed out in the backseat.

In our Super Bowl, we always win. And we don’t have to deal with lackluster commercials.

The Basics:

- Distance: Apx. 16 miles. My GPS claims 15.5, but there were some odd waypoints I had to fiddle with when I got back home. Everything else I’ve read gives a distance of 16-17 miles for this trail.
- Elevation Gain: 3800 feet
- Time: 8 hours, with about 2 hours’ worth of breaks and peaknapping
- Trail Condition: Very good from the trailhead to Trail Canyon Falls. After that, it gets significantly more overgrown, but still passable. I’d recommend long pants and sleeves, unless you’re a big fan of scratches. Along the ridge near the peak, the trail clears up again.
- How to Get There: A bit tricky, this one. From Foothill Blvd. in Sunland, turn north onto Oro Vista Road (there’s a 7-11 at the corner, where you can buy an Adventure Pass if you don’t have one yet). Drive through a residential area (watch out for unmarked dips in the road), until the road turns sharply right and becomes Big Tujunga Canyon Road. Stay on this road until you see a dirt road on your left that rises sharply above the canyon. Take this dirt road, and stay right at the fork. You’ll reach a gated dirt parking lot near some Forest Service Cabins. This is the trailhead. The dirt road is rough, but passable by 2WD passenger car. My old Honda Accord made it just fine. Display your Adventure Pass.

- Map It

The Notables:

- This hike, more than most, has just about everything Southern California has to offer to hikers. A secluded canyon, sheer mountain walls, dozens of stream crossings, a waterfall, sycamore groves, chaparral, and rock scrambling.
- Incredible seclusion and silence, especially past Trail Canyon Falls.
- If you don’t want to destroy your legs, the hike to the Falls and back is about six miles round trip, and is a great trek by itself.

Extending Your Stay:

- Not really necessary on a hike like this, to be honest. But you can take a side trail to Iron Mountain and add about 3 miles to your distance. You can also continue past Condor Peak to Fox Mountain and descend via the Condor Trail. You’ll end up near the Vogel Flats Campground. You’ll want a car shuttle back to Trail Canyon, or be able to handle hiking on the side of the road.

More Pictures:

- on Flickr.