The First Time-The Start of an ObsessionIt all began with a trip to Allison Gold mine in early November 2008 (that's where we were headed, anyways). My good friend Kyle and I wanted to go on a hike one Saturday, and I chose the mine as a good jaunt. We got a very late start, reaching the trailhead at noon, and so went up the Heaton Flat trail, on and on...the trail got steeper and steeper. Up over one large bump we went, back down, then up, up, up again till we reached what must be a helicopter pad: plastic reflectors glued to rocks on top of this hill.
"Whew! This is steep!" we both thought, "Did it say it would be this bad in the book?" For Trails of the Angeles is the San Gabriel's Bible, and we relied on it wholly. Being very inexperienced, I had no clue what to look for as the "saddle" the book described, where we would turn left and find the mine. But I could see the mountain hovering above us, a precipitous, immense gray face with stripes of-what could it be? Iron? along its flank. I knew what that mountain was.
"We're going to Big Iron!" I exclaimed. "Not today, but someday I'll be at your summit Iron Mountain!"
"Huh?" Kyle answered.
Time #2-What's more important?
Now it was an obsession. I had to make it. I had to beat this mountain, for I would not let it beat me, and I wanted to climb all over these mountains. It should not have been urgent, but the mountain was calling me. Ask others, it's no joke, this mountains draws you back, wills you to climb it. It was attracting me, pulling me there...if I could beat it, every other hike would be easy in comparison. And so on a sunny cool day, November 29th, 2008, to be precise, I called Kyle, George, and Jory, and we were soon at the trailhead at 9 in the morning.
The four of us climbed. That was the most painful and difficult experience of my life (thus far, remember, this article still has a way to go). After about a mile, George was in the back, laboring under a backpack with even the kitchen sink in it, dying. And that was the “easy” part of the trail, as it got progressively harder the further you went. We went on about another mile, and everyone was slowing down. We had only just passed the first of the "three hills" section, as I would come to know it, and I thought that perhaps we would not make it the rest of the way at this pace. So I ordered everyone to drop their packs. I let the others go on ahead, as I stayed behind and loaded all the food and water, and nothing else, into my pack.
We then together undertook the hardest part of the trail, a series of ridges. The path climbed an impossibly steep slope to the top of a hill, went back down a shorter one, and then climbed a higher one at an even steeper rate, each time inching closer to the great height, Iron Mountain, our goal. How tall could this mountain be? It still towered above us, and the time got later and later. In fact, it was past time to be heading back. We had to stop in a little saddle covered with the first substantial group of pines we had seen. We had, in actuality failed. We did not know at all how close we were to the top (it looked close) but we were running out of daylight, and had to turn back in order to make it out by dark. There was not enough time in the day to complete this hike!
We had failed. I was furious. How could we? We had tried so hard? I stood at the highest point we were to reach, looking up at the path, fuming. But then I turned around.
It was absolutely silent where we were: no cars to be heard, no airplanes, freeways, nothing. But the mountains were all around, silent, watchful, beautiful, increasing in gentle or precipitous folds in all directions. And to the South, where I was facing, beyond the mountains were the cities, all laid out, more than a mile below, small as ants, and beyond those, more mountains, and beyond those—forty miles from the coast of Southern California, I could see the ocean. Sparkling blue, and in the midst—Catalina Island, and other islands. I looked above, and noticed that the ocean seemed to stretch on forever. I must have been able to see at least a hundred miles into the ocean—so high up was I and such was the clarity of the day.
And then my friends joined me. I felt such a sudden burst of love for them—we had had so much fun along the way. We turned back, talking and rejoicing all the way. My anger had left. This confused me so much. Why was I not angry? I had failed; I had not accomplished my goal. But then I realized something very important, something that has stuck with me ever since. The goal was not to get to the top, the goal was the journey. The goal was to grow closer to friends, to nature and to nature’s God. I realized that it doesn’t really matter where you are on the trail, as long as you end going up. We had not given up; we had tried our best. And thus I had not failed at all: I had succeeded, and won the prize.
Attempt 3--A Good Place to Stop? I Think Not.
"You guys stopped at the saddle? You should've kept going. You were only 1900 feet below the top."
"1900 feet?!" I thought, "That's how far I was? How hard can this mountain possibly be?" that almost thoroughly discouraged me. But not enough to put out the fire, and the sparks kindled after and became a roaring flame, urging me to return...I spent so much time talking about it at school, you definitely would not want to be one of my peers.
The time finally came, the perfect day when there was not too much snow on the summit, a free weekend, on January 19th, 2009. I took Kyle and Chris, and we arrived at the trailhead at 8 AM. We had 7 1/2 hours of daylight, and my physically strongest group yet. Could we do it?
Up, up, up, the trail seemed easier than before. For both me and Kyle. Chris was having trouble, though. In fact, he seemed likely to do what George did: curse the mountain and vow never to go hiking again. (Chris did, in fact, curse the mountain and vowed never to hike it, but he will go hiking elsewhere, thankfully.) We reached Allison Saddle, and onto the hardest part--the last 2 1/2 miles. Actually, I think now is a good time for a more concrete description of the actual trail.
The Slow Rise and Two Hills
And in case you have not yet determined to never ever attempt this mountain, you may read on to the next section.
The Third Hill
And it does. At the bottom of this trail you are at Allison Saddle, where a small hard-to-find trail branches off to the left (West)and hugs the mountainside. But our trail now looks like scaling a wall. Yes, up that you go, hands and feet the entire way. When it seems like you are at the top of this particular hill, you are not. It still goes steeply up. But, I think I realized in a yell of frustration, when you are anywhere along this third wall, and yell to the mountains in the Southeast, your voice will travel West along Glendora Ridge road, creating a very nice travelling echo I have yet to hear elsewhere. Good bonus!
This third hill goes on for quite some time, levelling, then climbing steeply up again, and again. You lose track, and often times are consumed with inexplicable bursts of frustration and rage, and you really do want to stop and not take another step. But remember to look behind. By this point, if it is a clear day, you should be able to see the whole Inland Empire stretched out before you, including the diminuitive artificial peaks of LA. Look carefully. Beyond the Santa Monica Range in the South, you should be able to see miles and miles of sparkly ocean. No, it's not some smog effect. It's sparkly ocean. You should see Catalina Island, and other islands (what are they? Anyone know?) besides. And then, a harbor, buildings lining the ocean, docks, and, yes, if it is clear enough, you can see little boats, small as ants, clustered by the harbor. An unparalleled view. Big Bear and others to the East, Mt. Wilson to the West. The picture gets clearer the higher up you go.
The Longest Mile
After about a mile and a half you reach a clearing where the landscape is changed. Pine and scree replace the manzanita. It is a shady improvement. Depending on what time of year you go, snow should start turning up about here. The summit looks close...don't be deceived. There is only a mile left, but this is the about the hardest, longest mile you are likely to see in a long time. This was the longest mile I had ever seen. 1900 feet up in one mile. That's an average 36 percent grade. Completely ridiculous. Isn't it nice how the trail keeps getting harder the further you go?
This last mile will beat you up. Everyone goes at a snail's pace at this point, one impossibly steep slope after another. If this doesn't make you thoroughly miserable, at least for a moment, then you are made of stern stuff indeed. But if you do have the presence of mind to look around, you are traveling in some of the prettiest country yet. Pines everywhere, and rocks of every hue. White piles of rocks like a ruined temple; orange, red, brown, dusty stuff; and blue, sparkly, striped rocks. More snow too.
Thus went the third trip. We got very far, but the last mile was near impossible. Chris and Kyle had lost the will to go further, and were at a crawling pace, in a daze, ignoring my pleas to hurry. Time was running short, in fact it had already run out. I stopped a large hill ahead of my comrades, in a snow-covered meadow full of pines and purplish-grey spiky bushes. All I knew was that I could see one more hill ahead, and with the way things were before this, there were likely more behind that. I took pictures from there--beautiful view--rested a bit, then turned back, dejected.
On the way back, looking up at the mountain, I could tell where I had stopped at the last. A wide, flat place, and behind it, a very small bump, above which was the very summit. What?! I had come that close? I was 100 feet, max, below the top. How could I have stopped? Why didn't I continue? Couldn't I feel I was so close? This was my torment as we came down. And to top it all off, we were back a half hour early. There definitely was time to go to the top.
Number 4--All Odds Against
I found a new willing group: Alex, a Boy Scout, Edric, an enthusiast of everything, and Kalyn, whom I had told everything about Big Iron and she was not deterred--on the contrary, she wished to go.
And then more problems, of course. There was not a free weekend in sight, and March was advancing swif