Modern Hiker

A lengthy trip from the high desert to the high peaks of the San Gabriels. This trail will take you through several California Climate zones - from Joshua Trees to Jeffrey Pines - and show off some weird and wonderful geologic features along the way. A great, rarely-used path, nice for a long day hike or backpacking trip deeper into the mountains.

We’d gotten a healthy amount of rainfall here in Southern California over the past week, which usually translates into snow in the higher elevations. I was feeling a bit nostalgic for winter and wanted to try to get up and into the white stuff before too much of it melted away.

At the last minute, I picked out a trail on the far east end of the San Gabriels - the Burkhart Trail. It rises up from the fault-inspired oddworld of the Devil’s Punchbowl and up to the Burkhart Saddle. From there, it looked like it’d just be a short distance to Will Thrall Peak and Pleasant View Ridge - both on my peak list. The skies looked great Sunday morning as I made the long drive to the high desert, and there was virtually no traffic.

People must have been sleeping in to prepare for the Oscars…

The trailhead is right at the parking lot to Devil’s Punchbowl State Park, and is clearly marked with little fanfare.

I suited up and set out just as an interesting-sounding lecture on Zen and Western Thought was firing up on the ol’ public radio (my iPod’s in the shop). The lecturer used the saying, "we must taste the water to know how cold it is." Appropriate, as here I was about to climb a peak to see how high it was. Or at least until I got blisters.

The trail started out winding south through some low trees before reaching the edge of the Devil’s Punchbowl.

I’d been to the Punchbowl a while ago. Even though I couldn’t hike to the Devil’s Chair due to fire hazard, it’s still a fascinating place to explore. And no, pictures really don’t do this place justice - these slabs of rock are hundreds of feet tall, twisted and folded in impossible directions by the nearby San Andreas Fault. You may be tempted to leave the Burkhart Trail and crawl down inside, and no one would blame you. But me, I had snow to see. And thankfully it was clearly visible behind the broken landscape.

The trail turned away from the Punchbowl and moved toward the southwest, following the rim before meeting up with a dirt road and forking away from the trail that heads toward the Chair. The Burkhart Trail turns north here, heading distinctly away from the mountains.

I had to actually stop and check my map here, as it just felt wrong to be going away from the mountains … but it looked like my eyes were set on the peaks a few miles east of my target, so on the north trail I went.

Very quickly, this trail curved around a ridge and began a steady climb upward. I was climbing up out of the ‘high desert’ environment and into the low alpines, as the trees grew larger and thicker around me.

The ridge ran parallel to the San Gabriels, but most of the closer mountains were hidden from view on this section of the trail. I could, however, see very clearly into the desert to the north, which provided some great views of the San Andreas Fault at work … even if its movements are mostly imperceptible to us, you can clearly see the bent ridges and valleys tearing through the otherwise flat landscape.

The trail reached a plateau, and with a few minor gains and losses stayed relatively level for a few miles as it passed through some of the manzanita found on the upper elevations of the front range mountains. The scenery was pleasant but unremarkable, until I came upon the east bank of Cruthers Creek and saw this beautiful and awful sight:

Beautiful because it was my first glimpse of Will Thrall Peak and the Burkhart Saddle, dusted with snow and beckoning from a distance. Awful because I could also make out the trail on the other side of the stream, and I could see that it dropped down a pretty significant distance before coming back up again.

There’s something extra nasty about a descent when you’re trying to make your way up a mountain. Not only does it feel like you’re being counterproductive, but you know that for every easy downward step you’re taking now, you’re going to be hating it tenfold on the way back up. Especially when the trail you’re doing is over 15 miles. As I snaked down the east bank of the creek down to an elevation lower than the trailhead, I knew this area was going to put me in a bad mood on the return trip.

… and it was even worse seeing the clear, unobtrusive path I could have taken to this part of the trail, had a rancher not fenced it off from all forms of movement. I mean, I guess it’s his right as a private landowner … but seriously, if you don’t want to deal with hikers, don’t buy land right next to a trail in a national forest. Or leave a little path for us to get through. We won’t trash your property, we promise. Most of us outdoorsy types are very considerate of the landscape by default — especially those of us who are attempting to peakbag remote mountains.

But I digress …

I dropped down to the creek bed, which had a good amount of flowing water from the recent snow, and started another long, hard slog up the side of a ridge. As this part of the trail rose, all the residual grumpiness from the chain link fence - and the knowledge that the return trip wasn’t going to be fun - melted away as I passed through a large grassy meadow in full view of the peaks before me. Pallett to the left and Will Thrall to the right, the Burkhart Saddle in the bullseye center.

Eventually, I climbed back out of the desert haze and onto another ridge that branched up into the mountains. It was still very much scrub and brush, but there were a few scattered pine trees starting to carve out homes for themselves.

Further up the trail, the oddball geology of the Punchbowl below was mirrored in the sides of the mountains, as large sheets of bent and cracked igneous rock snuck their way out from beneath the dirt along the side of the trail. It’s always humbling for me to think about all of the countless slow planetary processes that had to happen to get the trail into the state it’s in today.

As the ascent continued up the north face of the mountains, the temperature cooled, and I started seeing snow on the trail. Nothing too bad yet.

But as the trail continued, the snow got thicker and deeper, and the drop offs on the side of the trail got steeper. Or at least they seemed to …

The single pair of day-old footprints I’d been following up looked like they put on snowshoes around here. I, however, was not so prepared, and instead did my best to stomp through the snow just above the trail, reasoning that if I slipped there, I’d still be able to land on the flat trail instead of tumbling down into Cruthers Creek canyon. That’s a better option, no?

I will admit that my heart started pumping a bit faster than it necessarily needed to around this point in the trail. But I still thought I had my situation under control.

Then I saw this:

A faintly snowshow-printed trail, covered by more than six inches of slippery powder and dropping fairly quickly down a long snow-covered stretch of canyonside. I looked ahead. The saddle was tantalizingly close. I looked down. The canyon floor was quite a ways away.

I took a deep breath and told myself I didn’t come all this way to not even reach the saddle and - against better judgment - pressed on.

I fell a few times on the steep incline, but managed to steady myself by burying my ungloved hands in the snowpack. Thankfully, this was the worst of the snowed sections, and when the trail rounded a bend into a more well-lit west-facing slope, the snow disappeared again … but I did have to stop for a few minutes afterward to calm myself down.

Also, I was getting what felt like giant blisters on both heels.

After that harrowing cliffside adventure, the trail wound up through some more lightly snowed switchbacks to Burkhart Saddle. As the wind whipped around me from all directions, the sweeping views were 100% worth the trouble of getting up there in the first place. Looking north, the entire flat Mojave spread out before me, vanishing in a distant cloud of haze.

And to the south, the snow-capped alpine summits of the San Gabriels, with windswept clouds brushing up against their southern faces. It still blows my mind that I’m able to see these two incongruous landscapes standing in the same spot.

It’s for scenes like this that I go hiking in the first place. The fact that I had to fight my way up the mountain to see it only made it more rewarding.

I sat down on a fallen log and tried to shield myself from the wind as I downed some granola and a Clif bar. After a few moments’ rest, I looked at the steep slope directly to my west. A faint use trail led up the side, partially obscured by snow and ice. I was about a half mile away from the summit of Will Thrall Peak, and I wanted it badly.

It took a lot of effort to stand up, and even more to signal my blistered feet to shuffle forward, but I began up the summit slowly but surely. I sure as hell wasn’t going quickly, with the trail gaining several hundred feet of elevation in very little distance. The snow and ice started to thicken, and I started slipping again.

As the trail rose, so did the angle of the slope. Each potential slip got more and more dangerous, and with the ice on the ground getting increasingly sheer and solid, more likely, too.

And so, after crawling up a few hundred more feet, huffing and puffing the entire way, I stopped. It may have been my tired legs, painful blisters, or some residual common sense that was catching up with me from the snowbanks, but I didn’t think it was safe for me to keep climbing up the icy peak. I let out a deep sigh, turned around, and started back down.

The mountain beat me.

Or, if I want to look at it in a less defeatist attitude (and I do), Will Thrall Peak was giving me some clear signals that I wasn’t supposed to climb it yet.

Say what you will about the perseverance of man, and I’ll counter with my healthy respect for the cold indifference of nature. Also, I’ll bemoan my crampon-purchase-procrastination.

On the way back down, though, I did get to pass several marks I’d made in the snow while slipping and falling. That was more than enough evidence to let me know I’d made the right decision.

… I’ll be back when it’s warmer.

The seven mile shuffle back down to the trailhead went a bit slower than usual, due to the blisters, the soreness, and the extra incline on the way. But I will say that getting back to my car and taking off my boots ranks as one of my favorite parts of this hike … even though I had trouble walking later on that night.

The drive home into the low desert sunset wasn’t bad, either.

The Basics:

- Distance: About 15 miles roundtrip to the Saddle. 18 if you go for Will Thrall, too.
- Elevation Gain:
From trailhead to saddle, the straight gain is 2193ft. But the ridge trail adds 500 feet each way, so it’s actually 3193. On this hike, I scrambled a bit up the side of Will Thrall, so my actual elevation gain was 3637 feet.
- Time: This took me 7 hours, with time for rests and snacks along the way.
- Trail Condition: Well-marked and easy to follow up to the Saddle. The use trails past the saddle can be tough to spot. If you’re aiming for Will Thrall, look for a fallen tree directly to the west of the saddle marker.
- How to Get There: The address of the trailhead is at the Devil’s Punchbowl State Park. 28000 Devil’s Punchbowl Road in
Pearblossom, CA 93553. Parking is free, but the park does close at sunset.

- Map It

The Notables:

- Incredible range of climates and environments - from Joshua Trees at the bottom to Jeffrey Pines at the top.
- Fascinating geology at the Devil’s Punchbowl and on the rocks of Will Thrall.
- Long-distance solitude. I didn’t see a single soul when I was hiking.
- Access to several peaks from the saddle, as well as an opportunity to through-hike to the Angeles Crest Highway.

Extending Your Stay:

- If you’re begging for punishment, a trip to the summit of Will Thrall Peak and nearby Pleasant View Ridge will add three miles round trip to your distance.
- Pallett Mountain, directly to the east, will add under two miles round trip.
- You can also continue on the Burkhart Trail to Buckhorn or Cooper Canyon campgrounds, near Mount Waterman on the Angeles Crest Highway.

More Pictures:

- Lots on Flickr.