Modern Hiker

A leg-buster from Big Tujunga Canyon to the highest point in the Los Angeles City Limits. A river crossing, stony trails, and long winding switchbacks lead up to a fantastic view of the city and the surrounding landscape.

Every time I’ve tried to convince someone to try hiking to Mount Lukens, the conversation goes like this:

"Hey, do you want to try Mount Lukens?"

"What’s there?"

"It’s the highest point in Los Angeles."

"Oh! Sounds cool. Is it wilderness-y?"

"Nah, it’s got some radio towers on it."

"…"

"Alright, we’ll go somewhere else."

And so it has gone, at least four times, that a potential assault on Mount Lukens has fallen by the wayside.

But today was different. Due to a late night at Boogaloo’s (in distant Hermosa Beach, but well worth the trip) and snarling traffic closures courtesy of the Los Angeles Marathon, I wanted a trail that was close but challenging and - ideally - on the Hundred Peaks List. And there was Mount Lukens once again, staring me in the face. So off I went, into the 80 degree summer-in-winter Los Angeles weather.

I arrived at the locked gate on Big Tujunga Canyon, parked my car on the street, sunscreened up, and commenced the hiking.

The road to the Wildwood Picnic Area was about a half mile paved descent to a mostly-empty parking lot. A few cars had managed to get down there, somehow, and a couple of scattered fishermen stood knee-deep in the Tujunga River, casting their fishing rods into the distance.

Looking up, I could see the distant antennae atop Mount Lukens. From here, it looked like quite a distance.

I walked through the parking lot and onto an unofficial trail that meandered along the riverbed. On the other bank, I could see a small piece of neon tape tied to a branch, but was having trouble finding a good place to try to cross the river.

I went back and forth until I found a line of large, dry-looking boulders sticking up out of the water. The early jumps looked a little tough, but after the first two, the rest looked like an easy walk to the other side.

I tightened up my backpack straps and took the first leap, landing squarely on a boulder. So far, so good. The second jump was the far one, though, and I had to give myself the mental countdown to force my legs into action.

"3 … 2 … 1 …"

Jump!

My feet landed in the center of the higher, smaller rock and then, after about two seconds, I lost my balance. Flailing arms didn’t help, and neither did an attempt to just quickly jump to the next rock. I ended up stepping backwards onto a waterbound log, soaking my boot before the log spun, taking me with it and dunking me completely.

When I tried to stand up, my boots gave way underwater, sending me tumbling straight into a large spiny bush at the riverbank. And from here - finally - I could get back onto dry land, extremely thankful no one was around to see the spectacle of uncoordination.

The first thing I did was take my camera out of its soaked case - tech-worry is an unfortunate side-effect of hiking in the modern style, and meshed effectively with the prospect of having to replace an imported digital camera. It was fine (phew!) and as I unlaced my boots and turned them over, a small stream of water fell out. The previously dry wool socks came off next, and after several tight wringings could be generously classified as "very damp." Then, onto damage control:

I wasn’t hurt too bad - nothing that would prevent me from going on - but my arms were sliced up nice, and the bush left a hefty thorn implanted in my right forearm. My back got a healthy cut to match, too. Wouldn’t want that part of my body left out.

I scrambled barefoot up to a large boulder and laid out my socks to dry in the sun. At the very least, the river water wasn’t cold and the temperature was too hot for me to complain about an impromptu dip. But I was definitely wet enough to consider giving up on this mountain. The blisters from last week’s 15-miler hadn’t fully healed yet, and I didn’t think doing another nine miles in wet socks would help much.

Fording the river barefoot was an option, but I was wary. The Wildwood Picnic Area is one of the National Forest’s most easily accessible areas. And with that easy access comes all the graffiti and trash you get when you give people the experience of the wilderness without requiring the effort to get it.

I’d passed over several broken bottles in the rocks on the way in, and saw old diapers, beer cases, and even a plastic pool raft wrapped around some rocks midstream. Quite sad.

And also, for my now bare feet, quite dangerous. A few thorns in the arm I can handle. A shard of glass in the foot, not so much. And so, for now, I laid out in the sun, enjoying the white noise of the river and the unseasonable warmth.

I was ready to give up and go back to my car, but I wasn’t about to have two weeks in a row where I almost made it to the summit. On Will Thrall, I didn’t have the right equipment. Here, I just didn’t have the right mindset. So I tied my boots around my neck, sealed everything in my pack, and walked back to the riverbed - keeping a sharp eye out for shards.

I managed, slowly and carefully, to balance on a row of mossy underwater stones, and made it to the other side in no time. It was embarassingly quick. I should have just done it in the first place.

But oh well. Now me and my wet socks were finally On The Trail, and off we scrambled toward Stone Canyon.

On other write-ups of the Stone Canyon trail, everyone complained about how difficult it was to find. There is no brown wooden trailhead beckoning you from a distance, but the actual trail isn’t too hidden if you know where to look.

Running into the Big Tujunga River is a large, gray stone landslide area. Hence, one would assume, the Stone Canyon name. The trail is on a ridge to the immediate east of this canyon. It’s not visible when you’re walking toward it from the west, but if you hug the water you’ll spot it quickly. Here’s a view from above, where you can clearly see where the trail is in relation to the canyon. Hopefully, that’ll help.

The early part of the trail makes a rocky bee-line toward the mountains to the south. After keeping up a steady but gradual incline along the rocks, it hits the canyon wall and starts its long, switchbacking journey to the summit.

If you don’t like switchbacks, you’re probably on the wrong trail. But at least you can still enjoy the scenery of the Big Tujunga Canyon as the views open up with each step up you take. Shortly after you round a few bends on the north slope, you’ll come across a large swath of burnt chaparrel, remnants of a fire that happened there in 2002.

Most of the low grasses and brush have re-appeared, but you can still see lots of burnt branches from some of the larger plants. And, due to our recent rains and warm temperatures, some of the plants have been tricked into thinking it’s spring. The blooms and burns make for a nice contrast.

As the trail continues up the mountain, the brush gives way to low manzanita and some small pines. There are even some moss and ferns hugging the especially shaded sections of the north side, which I don’t remember seeing very often on the lower San Gabriels.

Although you stay within earshot of Big Tujunga Canyon Road (and the especially loud motorcycles that tend to drive it), the further away you get, the better views you’re given. Right across the street, you can easily make out Condor Peak and Fox Mountain, two of the more secluded San Gabriels.

The way up offers little in the way of vertical rest, but plenty in the way of views. It was fairly hazy when I went up, but I still had clear vision to the east as far as snow-covered Mount Baldy, framed here by Strawberry Peak and Mount Lawlor.

Soon, the trees and brush gave way to a windswept, dusty ridge, with the trail offering quite the cinematic reveal of the L.A. sprawl below:

While the haze doesn’t play well with my pictures, I was able to clearly make out the peaks of Boney Mountain and Sandstone Peak to the east, and see south past Palos Verdes. And this wasn’t even the summit!

The trail met up with an alternate ascent trail and finally a fire road, where a use trail was scratched into a small meadow near the radio towers. If you were expecting a peaceful wilderness summit, I’d imagine this would be quite disappointing. But if you know it’s coming, you can just have a seat on the summit marker and enjoy incredible views of the cityscape while you have a rest and snack. And the only thing you’d notice would be the slight humming sound coming from some of the technology.

And hey, at least you know you’d get cell phone reception … if that sort of thing matters to you on hikes.

Which, for the record, it shouldn’t.

 

The Basics:

- Distance: 9.2 miles, roundtrip. About 8 if you start from the parking lot.
- Elevation Gain: 3500 feet. About 3200 if you start from the lot.
- Time: 5 hours with breaks. 3 hours and 38 minutes without stopping.
- Trail Condition: Excellent, once you find it. From the parking lot, continue east along the rocky river bank, looking for a brown metal post. Ford the river wherever you’re most comfortable doing so, then stick close to the river and continue east until you see the clearly marked Stone Canyon Trail.
- How to Get There: It’s at the corner of Big Tujunga Canyon and Doske Roads in the Angeles National Forest, about 6 miles from Foothill and Gleason in Sunland. An Adventure Pass is required.

- Map It

The Notables:

- Highest point of elevation within the Los Angeles City Limits.
- Evidence of fire damage.
- Nice views of the western San Gabriels and sweeping panoramas of the cityscape from the summit.
- Due to lack of significant elevation gain rests, this makes a good training hike for bigger adventures.

More Pictures:

- A small set is up on Flickr.