We got up around 1:30 in the morning. We packed up and headed out of camp and up the hill at 3:00. Around 4:00 we stopped and took a rest. As we sat there we watched meteors streak across the sky. This was the only enjoyable part of the entire trip for me. After that we slogged out the rest of the hill. The sun started peeking up over Hopper mountain as we making our way toward Squaw Flat. By the time we made it to Dough Flat it was sunny and hot as hell again. Craig and Ned took off to grab the vehicles and the rest of us rested in whatever shade we could find (or make). Soon enough Craig rolled up and we headed back to civilization. We stopped and got Mexican food and drinks with ice, lots of ice. After that we headed home. So to sum things up, this trip sucked. However, I will probably try it again some time in the future. It'll be at a time of my choice though, that's for sure.
Including son Ned,
who ‘fore leaving said,
“It’s hiking, not
riding mule weather.”
This hike’s a
request, from Los Padres’ best,
To check out some
trails and old camps;
Leader Craig Carey,
responded fairly,
Let’s wait ‘til it
turns cool and damp.
Replied headquarters,
“those are your orders,
We need it ‘fore
September ends;
In this fiscal year,
your tale shall appear,
Though we shall pay
you NO stipend!”
So gathered the crew,
(the ‘fore mentioned two),
Plus Jonny, Eldon,
Eric and Nick;
Craig writes books
and blogs, Eldon, expat photog,
Jonny’s a teacher and
takes pics.
Nick’s the best
hiker, Ned, horseman, biker,
Eric blogs, “County Canyoneering”;
And this group, you’d
say, on this year’s worst day,
Would choose not
hiking, but “beering”.
Ninety-four the stat,
when they left Dough Flat,
A thousand foot climb
without shade;
Though Squaw Flat was
dry, as Bucksnort drew nigh,
A cool spring sip
they’d have it made.
The spring’s dried to
scum, and all the six chums,
Scoffed choosing the
creek down at Ant;
The Agua Blanca,
fills the barranca,
And a pool awaits us
extant.
By yuccas frizzied
and heat stroke dizzied,
The last drops of
water sustained,
‘Til camp where they
saw, no pool in the draw,
Not a drop to drink
‘til it rained.
Ned checked upstream,
just found a bad dream,
Of horse nettle and
poison oak;
And so Nick carried,
hopes of heat harried,
His five mates
approaching sun stroke.
With two hours gone, the
boys settled on,
Another fifteen
minute wait;
‘fore leaving their
perch, and starting in search,
Of the lost comrade
and his fate.
Then Nico appeared,
with better than feared
Reported a small sad
bug pool;
They filtered his
brew and then three set to
With filters and
bottles and tools.
The tired scout
confessed, the trail was a mess,
And Craig said “take
flashlights to see”;
Off the three muddled
seeking the puddle,
In the creek choked
with willow trees.
A line was set up,
Ned, using a cup,
Poured it into
Jonny’s kerchief;
Screened out the
jigglers, crawlers and wigglers,
And Eric had the
filter brief.
With all bottles
filled, an hour uphill,
Through brush,
willows and poison oak
Upstream they’re
tramping, worn out and cramping,
And no place at Ant
for a soak.
Then they saw headlamps
lighting the home camp,
Craig heated freeze
dried in a pail
Then the benighted,
six zip decided;
To turn back o’er
three Fat Tire Ales.
They left Ant at
three, used headlamps to see,
Told Eldon, he’d
better not fall;
They’re too tired to
rescue, he’d be food for fescue
A condor feed fest
free for all.
Back at the trail
head, Craig Carey and Ned,
Drove Ned’s car back
to Lake Piru;
Called Dispatch to
say, that they were OK,
And asked them to
tell Heidi too.
For she planned to
seek, a meet in the creek,
With them near the
end of their trek;
Dispatch dropped the
ball, said nothing at all,
To Heidi about their
train wreck;
To sum up I fear, the
moral is clear,
A twice bitten
hiker’s a fool;
Should he venture
out, though wise horsemen shout,
“It’s too frigging
hot for a mule!”
-Jim Clark
One of many house sized boulders
Our classes have always started underneath this centurys old oak dubbed, "The Tree of Knowledge"
