Mt. Baden-Powell is a mountain in southern California’s San Gabriel Mountains in the Angeles National Forest which boasts an elevation of 9,407 ft (2,867 m). It’s named after Robert Baden-Powell, a man who’d had a high ranking in the British Army and who later became the founder of the world scouting movement. It’s ironic that I found myself on this mountain without being fully prepared, and in doing so going fully against the prominent scout motto to “be prepared”. But more on that later.
In the days leading up to my venture up Mt. Baden-Powell, I felt like I’d hit a low point. I knew I had to keep going but it was tough. Without friends to accompany me or to get the targeted miles done in solidarity despite the pain, the everyday redundancy had eaten me whole. Everyday consisted of just walking, walking, walking, and every once in a while I would indulge in a break, and then walk some more. I cherished the moments of relaxation before going to sleep, only to wake up and do it all over again! After 4 weeks on trail, I’d already chewed through so many thoughts and ideas that I was now left in a state of boredom with nothing else for my mind to gnaw on. I found myself doing math equations in my head just to give myself something to do to pass the time.
The trail meandered among hordes of manzanita shrubs, grassy
meadows, and sandstone ridges. I hiked through long, creepy, dark tunnels. I
watched trains go by in rugged desert valleys, which felt like I was a
character in an old wild west film. I kept wandering among the ever-changing
scenery.
At a water cache I saw V8 and Jolly Rancher, two hikers I’d met yesterday, from Washington and Florida, respectively. V8 was short and strong with large muscular calves and two long blonde braids. Jolly Rancher was a tall man in his 40s with a cropped beard and a Floridian accent. Whatever was also there, I hadn’t seen him since Kenny’s Place in Big Bear. I also met a new hiker named Poi Boy, he had a sturdy frame with a bucket hat and had two balls on strings, called poi, that he would swing around in lieu of traditional hiking poles.
Shortly after the water cache was a trail register where I discovered that Davide (the bald Italian hiker who’d shared his food with me in Warner Springs) and Adam (the hiker I’d met at the eclectic Mike’s Place on Day 11) were 5 days ahead of me. I’d been trying to catch up to Adam ever since the Canadian siblings, Jenny and Michael, gave me his mala (meditation necklace) to give to him. But 5 days ahead is a lot of distance to cover…
On Day 30 I awoke to the most spectacular morning view on trail thus far. Fluffy peach and pink clouds shrouded the valley below, obscuring any indication of the desert underneath. I was high enough that I could see the other exposed ridgelines which looked like islands among a dynamic sea of cotton balls. I watched the scene unfold as the morning progressed. It was beautiful, but also cruel to see such abundant moisture meanwhile I only had 1L of water remaining for the next 13 miles of hiking.
I spent 24 hours in the little town of Wrightwood. The first stop was the Grizzly Café where I gorged on an extravagant Belgian waffle breakfast. It appeared that luck was in my favour, because when I went to pay, it turned out that someone had already paid for me! I couldn’t believe it! Such kindness from a complete stranger. I looked around the room wondering who it might be so that I could thank them profusely but they never made themselves known.
Mountain Hardware was a hiker haven. It was a regular old hardware store but they offered their back patio for hikers to congregate, recharge things, or a place to stow their packs while in town. V8 and Whatever were there along with Daddy Long Legs who I hadn’t seen in some time! I was also really happy to see Good Timing! She’d made it into town the night before. We laughed at the stark contrast of our “white shirts”.
The climb up to Mt. Baden-Powell was tough. Relentless switchbacks were followed by ice-encrusted snow mounds that were slippery and uneven. I was relieved when I finally made it to the top of Mt. Baden-Powell – 9,407 ft! But the relief was short-lived when I started continuing on past the summit and found myself carefully prodding over snow mound after snow mound. I decided to take a short cut in an attempt to avoid some of the snow, but it turns out that was an extremely bad idea. I meandered off-course and kept making detours to avoid the snow but that lead me to a huge patch of impenetrable shrubs. Instead of going back they way I came, I decided to follow the line of shrubs which lead me further downhill to a steep snowy section. There was no other way forward but across. I crawled across it on my hands and knees, terrified of slipping. Once across, I realized just how much elevation I’d lost in this “short cut” – I looked up to the steep slope that stretched before me. I knew the trail was up there somewhere, but now it was just a matter of getting back up there.
I scrambled up the steep slope (thankfully composed of dirt and rocks) with my heavy backpack. It was an arduous climb. When I finally made it back to the trail I almost kissed the ground in relief. I was dehydrated and tired. All I wanted to do was drink 5L of apple juice and sleep forever, but I had to keep going, I had to find the next water source which was still several miles away. I’m sure Robert Baden-Powell would’ve been very displeased with my decisions and preparedness. He probably would’ve advised me to have microspikes for my shoes (which did I tried to purchase in Idyllwild but they didn’t have any) and to have turned back well-before things got tumultuous. My biggest lesson was that: if it looks like a short cut, don’t do it, it’s most definitely a long cut!
I caught up to Good Timing one morning. It was about 7am when I was hiking by and saw her packing up her tent to my surprise. We walked together and recounted our stories of Mt. Baden-Powell… looks like I wasn’t the only one who took a detour and struggled. I met another hiker named Waldo. He had dark brown hair and a good sense of humor. He informed that the border for hikers to cross into Canada via the PCT had been re-opened! (it had been closed for several years due to covid). Such good news! But that day was still a ways away.
Good Timing, Waldo, and I spent our lunch break together, and then re-congregated in the evening at a deserted campground along trail. We had dinner together and laughed about our adventures so far, and pondered about the trail ahead. The next day, I made it to the LA RV park in Acton. V8 and Jolly Rancher were already there. Good Timing and Waldo trickled in some time after me. Everyone moved on except for Good Timing and I who decided to stay there for the night.
