Took a trip up to the Angeles Nat'l Forest today via Sand Canyon Road and the Santa Clara Divide, to introduce my 2 year old son to the wonders of snow. Little Tujunga Canyon was closed, but a Jedi Mind Trick on the CalTrans dude got us through (These aren't the fat guys you are looking for...), and we were up the mountain and in the mud in minutes.
Turned a corner and ran into two beautiful, white alpacas. Yes, I said alpacas. Y'know, like llamas, only smaller and less cantankerous. They must have wandered up from the Andes Mountains, avoiding human sight for thousands of miles to settle on an entirely different continent. Or maybe they were domesticated strays, set loose during the recent fires, eluding capture by avoiding human contact and staying off the main roads. Either way, I was a little surprised to see them, even if they seemed wholly unsurprised to see me. Not too excitable, those alpacas.
We stopped just shy of Indian Canyon Road to play in the snow. My son's reaction to the stuff was pretty hilarious. We placed a snowball in his hand.
"Jack, this is a snowball."
"Isss cold!"
"Yep."
"Isss ah wet!"
"Yep. What do you think?"
"YAAAAAAYYYYY!!!!"
And he was off, kicking the stuff. Throwing the stuff. Rolling around in it, shivering and yelling. Then we sledded and he went absolutely mini-ape. It's amazing, what effect snow can have on a kid.
After a short while, he was shivering uncontrollably and even though he kicked and screamed in protest, we had to get him into the car. We pressed on, hoping to meet up with Highway 2. We came across a brand new rented Jeep Cherokee, all alone, parked on the trail. No one around. I got a strange feeling about the car. You know the story, I thought. Out of towners. City folk. Rental Jeep. "Let's take a trip to the mountains!" Rutted snow. Spinning tires. Axle snap. "Oh s***." Silence. Cold wind. "What do we do?" No cell phone reception. Gotta hoof it. Long walk. "This looks like a short cut!" Steeper. More slippery. Ankle snap. "Oh s***." Silence. Cold wind. "What do we do?" Tears. Goodbye. Film at eleven.
We reached the North Fork Station about thirty minutes later. There was a group of very athletic-looking hiker types sitting at a picnic table. "Can't be far now," I said, "those people got here all right." We waved. They waved back, and rather enthusiastically, I thought. We drove on, noticing the sign saying that the Angeles Crest Highway was 14.5 miles on, and the road became much muddier and more rutted within a few hundred feet. If the road worsened, I'd be late for work, so we decided to turn around and ask the people how the road looked coming in. Good thing we did, because as we headed back, they were running towards the truck, waving. A rather official looking guy in a Forest Service uniform said his name was Todd, and that he was the caretaker of the North Fork Station. He said that the road had huge drifts, some slides, had washed out in a couple of sections. It was possible, but dangerous. Some other guys had tried and failed, returning with their tails between their legs. Considering I had to be in my office in a couple of hours, we decided the way we came in would be fine.
The people with him were there for a meeting. They were with some academy that trains volunteers on the PCT how to maintain and repair trails and some other stuff. It was their rental Grand Cherokee that we had passed further down the mountain. They had flown down from Washington state and rented the Jeep to get up to the North Fork Station. It had high-centered on the road in, and wanting to play it safe, they parked the Heep and hiked in a couple of hours to the North Fork. They asked if I would ferry them back to their car, and I happily obliged. They were cool people, obviously stoked on the outdoors and lucky to work in such beautiful environs.
After we dropped them off, we headed home without incident. The view of everything the Agua Dulce fire had destroyed was breathtaking. The size and scope of destruction is just awful. Burnt and black as far as the eye could see in some places. But, amazingly enough, low green bushes and grasses are sprouting up everywhere, and even some seemingly completely burned bushes and trees are displaying vibrant green leaves on blackened branches. The rains did some amazing work. The water in the creeks was raging, we saw some amazing waterfalls, and everything was lush and verdant. A nice, early morning run.
Pics to come...
Turned a corner and ran into two beautiful, white alpacas. Yes, I said alpacas. Y'know, like llamas, only smaller and less cantankerous. They must have wandered up from the Andes Mountains, avoiding human sight for thousands of miles to settle on an entirely different continent. Or maybe they were domesticated strays, set loose during the recent fires, eluding capture by avoiding human contact and staying off the main roads. Either way, I was a little surprised to see them, even if they seemed wholly unsurprised to see me. Not too excitable, those alpacas.
We stopped just shy of Indian Canyon Road to play in the snow. My son's reaction to the stuff was pretty hilarious. We placed a snowball in his hand.
"Jack, this is a snowball."
"Isss cold!"
"Yep."
"Isss ah wet!"
"Yep. What do you think?"
"YAAAAAAYYYYY!!!!"
And he was off, kicking the stuff. Throwing the stuff. Rolling around in it, shivering and yelling. Then we sledded and he went absolutely mini-ape. It's amazing, what effect snow can have on a kid.
After a short while, he was shivering uncontrollably and even though he kicked and screamed in protest, we had to get him into the car. We pressed on, hoping to meet up with Highway 2. We came across a brand new rented Jeep Cherokee, all alone, parked on the trail. No one around. I got a strange feeling about the car. You know the story, I thought. Out of towners. City folk. Rental Jeep. "Let's take a trip to the mountains!" Rutted snow. Spinning tires. Axle snap. "Oh s***." Silence. Cold wind. "What do we do?" No cell phone reception. Gotta hoof it. Long walk. "This looks like a short cut!" Steeper. More slippery. Ankle snap. "Oh s***." Silence. Cold wind. "What do we do?" Tears. Goodbye. Film at eleven.
We reached the North Fork Station about thirty minutes later. There was a group of very athletic-looking hiker types sitting at a picnic table. "Can't be far now," I said, "those people got here all right." We waved. They waved back, and rather enthusiastically, I thought. We drove on, noticing the sign saying that the Angeles Crest Highway was 14.5 miles on, and the road became much muddier and more rutted within a few hundred feet. If the road worsened, I'd be late for work, so we decided to turn around and ask the people how the road looked coming in. Good thing we did, because as we headed back, they were running towards the truck, waving. A rather official looking guy in a Forest Service uniform said his name was Todd, and that he was the caretaker of the North Fork Station. He said that the road had huge drifts, some slides, had washed out in a couple of sections. It was possible, but dangerous. Some other guys had tried and failed, returning with their tails between their legs. Considering I had to be in my office in a couple of hours, we decided the way we came in would be fine.
The people with him were there for a meeting. They were with some academy that trains volunteers on the PCT how to maintain and repair trails and some other stuff. It was their rental Grand Cherokee that we had passed further down the mountain. They had flown down from Washington state and rented the Jeep to get up to the North Fork Station. It had high-centered on the road in, and wanting to play it safe, they parked the Heep and hiked in a couple of hours to the North Fork. They asked if I would ferry them back to their car, and I happily obliged. They were cool people, obviously stoked on the outdoors and lucky to work in such beautiful environs.
After we dropped them off, we headed home without incident. The view of everything the Agua Dulce fire had destroyed was breathtaking. The size and scope of destruction is just awful. Burnt and black as far as the eye could see in some places. But, amazingly enough, low green bushes and grasses are sprouting up everywhere, and even some seemingly completely burned bushes and trees are displaying vibrant green leaves on blackened branches. The rains did some amazing work. The water in the creeks was raging, we saw some amazing waterfalls, and everything was lush and verdant. A nice, early morning run.
Pics to come...
