Flashback: The Topa Triple

05/26/2021

Last year, near the end of the month of May, I awoke in the early hours of the morn and groaned myself out of bed. I dressed quickly, grabbed the ol' backpack, filled up the Nalgene's and waltzed out the door. I had decided the day before that I would attempt to climb Hines solo. It was something I ain't ever done before. Walkin' by yourself in the mountains reveals things to you that you wouldn't see otherwise, or so I was told. Something along the lines of "discovering your inner cadence" or "seeing for the first time what kind of person you truly are." Stuff like that. Thousands of people hike alone every day. What causes them to do such a thing? Perhaps they're searchin' for some kind of peace or meditation or something like that. Solitude. Just them and their surroundings. Or maybe they just don't have any friends. That could very well be the case. Lots of loners out there. 

Being the curious little dullard that I am, I just had to try it out, you know? See if these rumors were true. The hike to Hines would be perfect for a long and deep meditation of the mind. The hike is stupidly long and it's stupidly up; over 5,000ft of elevation gain is required to reach the summit. But the trail is well trodden and there's good cell service and their ain't no grizzly bears to be worryin' about. Plus I'd already done the hike a good three our four times already so I knew what to expect. Sort of. Familiarity breeds peace of mind. Unfamiliarity breeds anxiety. This was a mix of the two: though I had done this hike many a time before, it was still the longest hike (at the time) that I had ever attempted solo. Knowing that I wouldn't have a friend with me should things go wrong, thoughts such as "what happens if you get bit by a snake" and "what happens if you break your leg" and "what happens, what happens, what if, what if, etc, etc..." invaded the back of my mind, never seeming to go away.

I pulled into the tight little dirt parkin' lot up Sisar and began the slow slog up to the ridge. The morning was cool and crisp. Its essence evoked a sensation within me that today's weather was going to be good. Sometimes when you wake up in the morning and step outside you can tell whether or not the weather is gonna be good or bad. It just works like that sometimes.

I passed the gate marking the original parking lot, splashed through a couple of creek crossings,  and continued my way up the canyon until I made a nice little left up and out towards the looming ridge line. This is where things start to open up and where you get a nice view of the bluffs and Upper Ojai and whatnot. It also marks the end of the shade, and with the sun slowly creeping it's way over the bluffs I wanted to get this portion of the slog over with as quickly as possible.

After doing this trail a handful of times I've discovered that there is only one way to really do it: just put your head down, stare at your feet, and march all the way up to the top. Looking up at the ridge only gives you dread. It appears to be so close, like you're so nearly there—yet you never seem to make any progress. It taunts you. It berates your conscious. It fills your head with doubt and uncertainty. So don't look at it. Easy as that!

I slogged past the second gate, maneuvered my way through some downed California bay leaf, marched through the tranquil White Ledge Camp, and then up and up and up up up. The section past White Ledge Camp is always particularly unpleasant. But there I was and there I walked and ain't no way that some stupid incline was gonna scare me! You gotta do what you gotta do. Don't count the switchbacks. Don't look at the ridge. Don't look behind you at the progress you've made. Just keep going and going and going. You'll get there eventually. 

I made it to the top when the sun had finally crept its way up and over the bluffs, slowly making its way off into the vast expanse of sky. The whole area was illuminated now. And it would only get warmer. But not too much warmer. The weather was kind to me that day. Thank goodness for that. If there's one place I don't wanna be it's on top of Hines in 120° temperatures. No thank you!

Once I passed through Elder camp and the gate that marked the "end of the road" the slog became much more enjoyable. From here to the top of Hines you get to see some pretty neat scenery. It's brushy and dry yet somehow pleasing to the eye. High chaparral country. And after a right turn from the fork in the road I began to walk along the ridge itself, able to gaze with unobstructed views into the remote backcountry of the Sespe Wilderness.  

The Sespe Backcountry. Thorn Point in the center.

It's quite lovely up there. And quite quiet. Nothing but the sound of the wind and the crunch of dirt under my feet. That paired with the awesome views left me with a restful disposition. I was beginning to see why some people enjoy hiking alone. 

Hines Peak

As I walked on the ridge I began preparing myself for Hines. No matter how much I tried to resist, I always found myself gazing up towards this behemoth. And in these moments of gazing upon this chaparral encrusted brobdingnagian, the memories of laborious scrambling rekindled their flame within my restive mind. Oh well. It was there, I was there—I was gonna climb it.

The climb up Hines ain't especially bad, but it ain't especially good. It's mostly class 2 with maybe one class 3 move depending on where you climb it. There's a good use trail to the summit so it ain't that hard to get lost. I mean how do you even get lost? There's only one direction you gotta go: up! I scrambled my way up the thing, not paying attention to anything else besides what was right in front of my face. I crested the false summit, skipped across some boulders, and made the final trot to that sweet sweet USGS marker. From the parking lot at Sisar to the summit took me just under four hours, 3:55:17 to be exact. That was and still is the fastest time I've ever climbed the thing. But it don't matter. There's no reason to go fast. I'd just lost track of time starin' at my feet is all.

The Summit

cool stuff in the register

After signing the register I made my way over to the eastern section of the summit to take in the views. Hines offers some of the best views the Los Padres has to offer. On a clear day you can see most of everything: Bear Heaven, West Fork Sespe, Santa Paula Canyon, Topa Topa Peak, Cobblestone Peak, Whitacre Peak, Sulfer Peak,  Dough Flat, Alamo Mountain, Johnston Ridge, a good chunk of the Sespe, a good chunk of the Oxnard Plain, Ventura, the Santa Monica Mountains and beyond. Lots of stuff to see, lots of stuff to see. It's an all-you-can-eat buffet for the eyes. And totally free of charge. 

The infamous ridge that Stillman traversed
back in 2012

After my eyes had had their fill I sat down on a rock and leaned back and closed my eyes, resting for a short little bit. Gazing upon the landscape had filled me with the inspiration to do something that I had never imagined doing before, and laying there on the rock allowed me to ponder if I even wanted to do it . I had read Stillman's post about something called The Topa Triple, a feat that involved climbing three summits in one day. You start from Sisar, climb the Bluff, climb "Cream Puff Peak" and then finish with Hines. But as long as you climb all three and start at Sisar, you can climb them in any order that you want. Having knocked out what is usually considered the most difficult summit of the hike, I finally decided that I would go for it. The weather was good, I felt good, everything was good. Hell yeah. Let's do it. Two more summits to go...easy peasy!

Descending Hines was fun as always, especially with that knife edged ridge near the base of the climb. It's always easier going up that thing than going down for some reason. Fun times, fun times. After I said my thanks to Hines I rambled on over to the base of what is known colloquially as "Cream Puff Peak." Why it was called Cream Puff was beyond me. Maybe the answer would be revealed at the summit.

"Cream Puff"

Cream Puff looked easy enough. Just a short 400ft slog to the summit. Easy peasy lemon squeezy, my lungs are on fire, please kill me. I don't know if it was the fact that I had done Hines or what, but Cream Puff was a mean little mountain. It's steep. It's covered in loose shale. It's like climbing a sand dune. An angry, sharp little sand dune. It ain't easy. It's a grind.

Lookin' back at what I'd just done

Once I reached the summit, lightheaded and winded, I immediately plopped down on the crinkly earth and took a little rest. The wind from early that morning had turned into a nice breeze, cooling my body and mind with its tender whispers. After about ten minutes I sat up and reaped the seeds of my labor. The summit of Cream Puff is, in my opinion, better that that of Hines. It's much more exposed, offers the same incredible views (this time including Hines itself), and has the largest register can I've ever seen. Plus it's an "SVS" summit, so it was real neat readin' the entries of the few people who had signed it. 

Hines to the East

"SVS" Register

Backside of the Bluffs

Mystery Solved!

I was pretty beat by the time I descended Cream Puff. It had taken me a full hour to get from the summit of Hines to the summit of Cream Puff. But whatevs. My spirits were high, the weather was perfect and I only had one more summit to go. I definitely wasn't going to waste this opportunity; everything was perfect. I knew that I may never get the chance to do this Topa Triple again, so I just had to do it you know?

It took another hour to reach the final summit, an hour of achin' legs and achin' feet and aching toes. The section between Cream Puff and the Bluff ain't that hard at all. It's just long. At least that's what my legs were tellin' me. I exclaimed a modest victory screech once I saw the little pile of rocks that marked the summit. And this whole thing, the climbing of these three summits all in one day—was it worth it? Was it worth the effort? I guess so. The whole day had been very peaceful. I had seen no wildlife except for some birds and what have you. No people either. Not a soul was up there except me, myself and I. Gazing down at the Ojai Valley and beyond, that same restfulness that I had felt earlier that day overcame my being, and as I sat down on the bench made of rocks I became overwhelmed with an immense feeling of quietude and accomplishment. Ahh, so this is why people hike alone. I guess. 

Lookin' back at Hines and Creampuff from a few hundred yards
of the summit of the Bluff

Hallelujah! 

The hazy Ojai Valley; Sisar Rd bottom left

After a thirty minute lunch on the summit I took in one last view before I began the quad crushing, knee-splitting, leg destroyer of a downhill back to the car. Not wanting to endure the downward incline any more than I needed to I practically jogged/race walked the entire way down, my head lookin' at my feet the whole way there. It was back in Sisar Canyon, back by the 2nd creek crossing, where I saw the only people I had seen the entire day. They waved, said hello, and continued on with their merry picnic by the babbling creek. I waved back, returned my fixed gaze to the ground, and trotted the last remaining miles to the parkin' lot. I got to the car. I sat in the car. I started the car. I drove out of there. I got home, threw off the shoes, stretched a little bit, showered, and passed out on the couch like a puppet cut from its strings. I had done it. It was done. 20+ miles, 5,000+ft of elevation gain, three summits, 8 hours, thirty-seven minutes, fifteen seconds. 

If I were to do something like that today I would die. I was in shape then. Not any more. These past few weeks, nay, these past few months have rendered me a pale, sedentary creature who only leaves the house for food and work, food and work. Who would've thought that taking five English classes would require so much writing, writing, writing! I've written a lot of papers. That's what I've been up to these days. Writin' papers. But I got no more papers no more. And posts will be coming in more frequently as a result. Adventure awaits!