Year in Review 2022

Whelp, it's the end of the year. Time for charcuterie boards and Martinelli's Cider and party hats and champagne glasses. And while we sit and wait in anticipation for the strange new year of 2023, I'd like to spend some time reflecting on a few interesting things that defined 2022 in my eyes. 

It started off quiet and smooth. Memories of grey January weather and long drives up to San Louis Obispo and Bakersfield come to mind. Little Feat and John Prine provided much of the soundtrack during this time. I recall taking the scenic route on a drive back from SLO. Up the 101 to Santa Margarita and then on to the 58. Turned on West Pozo road and took it all the way to the Carrizo Plain. Super quiet back there during that time of year. Nothing but the sound of the tires crunching on bumpy dirt roads and the wind blowin' through the open windows. 

Soda Lake in January

In February came that sweet transition of winter to spring. The sun was a little higher in the sky, and the natural surroundings were beginning to glow with a special pre-spring brilliance. School started up again and I was back the grind. Fortunately, I had a three hour break between two of my classes. During this break I would often venture into the Santa Monica Mountains, because, why not? I climbed Mugu Peak more times than I can remember, drove up Yerba Buena rd, sat on that crazy sand dune along Highway 1 and ran around the trails of the Rancho Sierra Vista/Satwiwa. I'd get pretty sweaty on these micro adventures so I tried hiding the smell by rubbing my skin with sage and California bay leaf. I didn't have any deodorant so what else was I supposed to do you know? Alas, it did not work. I'd always walk into class smelling like sage and B.O. 

Mugu Peak trail in February 

The semester kept on chuggin' along and before I knew it it was spring break. Went to Billings. Visited Daniel. Drove around in the mountains, walked on frozen lakes, and ate a lot of good food. Drove on down to Zion. It was packed. People moved around like ants. Parking was egregious. It was hard to get away and find somewhere quiet. Even the "secret" spots that I knew of were crowded with a few people. Guess the secret's out. But my oh man oh my—what an excellent trip. First time I'd ever gone on a trip such as that. It offered a brief respite from the craziness and business of living in the 21st century. A break from the news, from social media, from school and work. Definitely one of the highlights of the year, and a trip I'll never forget.

Zion in March

The year sped up from there. Spring was in full swing but it seemed short lived because it got stupidly hot stupidly fast. The mountains offered some relief from this heat, and it was during this time of year where my family and I ventured on our awesome journey from Mt Pinos all the way to Piedra Blanca. Goated trip that one. Walked through some of the most beautiful country I've ever seen. And it was during this trip where I read Viet Thanh Nguyen's "The Sympathizer" for my American Literature class. Definitely my favorite read of the year. Absolutely fantastic novel; one of the best I've ever read.  Spring kind of went by in a blur for me. Other than that epic backpacking trip, I didn't really do much. Lotta school, lotta papers, lotta assignments. In late April though, my mother and I fulfilled our dreams of eating High Street deli sandwiches at Hi Mountain lookout on the top of Hi Mountain—so that was cool. 

Hi Mountain Lookout

Summer was long and strange. And hot...very hot. This time of year brings memories of swimmin' in the Sespe, backpacking trips in the Sierra, and micro explorations of the Ojai front country. Weyes Blood, Alice In Chains, and Cali Life Style provided the soundtrack for this time of the year. The days were long and the nights were warm. Memories of crisp, dry air and the smell of gasoline and faint citrus. Working for the music festival, eating subs from the Ojai Pizza company. Long nights at Libby Park with nothing but my thoughts for entertainment. Got to know that park real well this year. 

It was a dry, desiccated dehydrating kind of summer. Not a good time for eczema, I can tell you that. Summer of 2022 marked a definite change of pace. Late winter and spring exhumed a general feeling of easiness and simplicity. Summer kicked that pace up to Mach 2. The incredible summer skies were something to behold, with cirrus clouds and brilliant, powerful sunsets. Everything was big and grand and overwhelming and in your face. The year was accelerating at a breakneck pace, and it was already halfway over. But there was something about this year's summer that inspired me to start reading for fun again. Managed to read 14 books between June and August, all of which that were things that I actually wanted to read. It was nice to read just for the fun of it. Reminded me of my early youth. A very nostalgic summer indeed.

The Sespe in June

A balmy July evening

Fall brought a new semester of school and a new semester of school is always interesting. I took a ceramics class; first time I'd worked with clay in almost two years. I was a little rusty at first, but eventually the muscle memory kicked in and I was back to throwin' on the wheel. Managed to throw a "perfect" donut so that was nice. 

In terms of adventures, I didn't do all that much. My Uncle and I finally managed to spend the night at this one spot that we've dubbed "Blair Witch Camp." It's a pain in the neck to get to this spot. Involves a lot of uphill and downhill and angry chaparral. But it's worth it. A small forest of Jeffery Pines provide shelter from the elements. An ancient lean-to, half crushed by a fallen pine, serves as the only evidence of humans ever having been to this spot. The silence that surrounds this spot is a little unsettling. Seems like it's haunted or something. That night in the camp was one of the quietest nights I've ever experienced. Just the two of us there in our hammocks, swingin' in the nighttime breeze, with a massive spread of stars above our heads. And the best part? We didn't get killed by no witch!

After this brief overnighter came the infamous trip to Santa Rosa Island. I ain't gonna talk about that trip though—already wrote too much about it. And after that came a small excursion to the Sierras were Liam and I climbed Mt Gould. Probably gonna write a post about that trip—it was a classic shirt and tie adventure. 

"Blair Witch Camp"

Mt Gould Trip

And that's about it. It was an interesting year to say the least, with a lot of stuff happening between January 1st and today. But after all of the things that happened throughout, all of the things I witnessed and experienced and observed, I always find myself coming back to four specific moments. It's these four things that I will always remember from this year, and will hopefully remember for the rest of my life. 

Cara Blanca

Climbing Cara Blanca was absolutely insane. That's a bucket list thing for sure. Nobody climbs that mountain. And Liam and I learned why pretty quickly. Successfully reaching the summit was like a dream. It didn't feel real. Looking back at it now, I still can't believe we actually climbed it. Nevertheless, it was climbing Cara Blanca that inspired me to start this blog in the first place. A truly epic adventure indeed. 

It was also in February where I experienced a genuine miracle. Way back in 2021 I lost my pocketknife while climbing Cedar Peak. Almost a year later, just for the hell of it, Liam and I decided to climb back up there again to try to find said knife. Long story short, he found it. I mean, what!? How!? It could have been anywhere on the mountain. We even took a different approach on the summit ridge. And for some reason, just walking along, there it was—BAM. It was just laying there in a bed of pine needles, bleached by the sun but otherwise good as new. Thank you, Liam. Thanks for findin' that blasted knife. 

The Find of the Century

In late October of this year I finally managed to see the silly pyramid of CSULB. I don't know why it exists but it does. It was smaller than I imagined. But the pyramid is not important. Visiting Adam and meetin' his roommate was one of the highlights of the year. Something about driving down the 405 freeway, at night, bumper to bumper traffic, all the way down to Long Beach was incredibly interesting. It put me out of my element. It was like traveling to a new reality. That evening there was much conversing, laughing, and catching up. Ate one of the best home cooked meals of my life at his place. Stir fry. Chicken, vegetables, baby corn and rice. Partied that night. Went to a bar that I will likely never see again. The bouncer was some old fellow that sounded like he was midwestern or something. Funny dude. His name was De Winters, and he kept saying that in a few months he'd be "De Springs" and then "De Summers." Met a comedian who was not funny. Met a guy who really liked to dance. The next day we were all a little tired. Spent it in a daze. Got a late breakfast with Adam's roommate. He bought these really nice kitchen knives. Great food. And then Adam gave me the tour of CSULB. It was empty. Weird. The whole place was like a liminal space. It seemed familiar yet so foreign. A little eerie, but beautiful nonetheless. 

And then, finally, there was the trip down to San Diego. This was the highlight of the year. My favorite moment. Don't know why exactly—it was just so peaceful. It was early March. Early spring meant brilliant blue skies and green grass. Driving down Highway 1, the ocean looked so blue. And the mountains, instead of their familiar brown color, were full of greens and reds and oranges and purples. It looked so alien to me. Never would I imagine Southern California looking as spectacular as this. There were clouds in the sky, and later on that day it even rained a little bit. We were visiting a friend of Benny's; she plays rugby. Home team. We watched her game. It was cold and wet, but there was much jubilation standing on the sidelines cheering on the team. Despite the rowdy nature of the game, I found the whole scene to be quite amicable. It was tranquil, serene. There's just something about standing on a field watching a rugby game at night in a light mist that's so interesting, you know? Home team won the game. It was an important win. But the celebration was a mild one. No insane party. No insane noise. Just a small get together at the house. And in the morning I sat outside in the sun and watched the clouds. They were low in the sky, big and fluffy and moving like turtles. That's how I'll remember this year. That warm, content feeling of sittin' in the chair, in the sun, watching the clouds in San Diego. Doesn't get much better than that! 

Anywho, here's to a happy new year. In Omnia Paratus!

Chief Peak

12/04/2022

Clouds, cool temps, and brief, heavy rain defined much of early December. This weather, something that is seemingly very alien to the sun drenched, scorched and desiccated arid waste of Southern California, served as an interesting backdrop upon which to explore the local backcountry. In order to enjoy as much of this wonderful weather as possible, me and a few friends decided to spend the day climbing Chief Peak by way of Horn Canyon. With the car parked on McAndrew Rd, we began our journey hiking on the relatively new access trail. The going was easy, the conversations were light. The sounds of small, ephemeral streams met our ears, yet the steady drizzle of rain drowned out most other noises. As we began making our way deeper into the canyon, the rain kicked up, and the weather became more interesting. On our way up the dizzyingly steep switchbacks out of the canyon, our view became shrouded with misty clouds. It looked a lot like the chunks loading in a newly developed Minecraft world. 

When we eventually got to the Pines camp, the clouds had settled in, significantly restraining our field of vision. Couldn't see more than a hundred yards in either direction. The camp itself was very nice; it's obvious that a lot of hard work and effort has been put into sprucing up the place. Beyond this camp, the trail became a little more brushy. For someone who expects a clear trail with an arms length of space between them and brush, this trail would be a nightmare. But by Los Padres standards the brush wasn't that bad at all.  We moved through it with ease. The only downside was that the brush was soaking wet. The chamise, yerba santa, black sage, and laurel sumac that lined the trail all acted like one giant wet sponge. We got more soaked walking through this brush than walking in the rain. The wetness seeped right on through our rain jackets. They were useless.

Once we made it to the ridge road the wind kicked up, and with the addition of the rain, it made for a slightly miserable ridge road walk. The road itself had turned into a giant mud path, and it was fun navigating around the slippery sections and the ubiquitous mud puddles. The visibility had gotten much worse; couldn't see no more than 50ft in all directions. We hoped that maybe the top of Chief Peak was spared from the clouds, although I didn't have high hopes.

We saw the use trail, marked by a nice little trail duck, and then began our ascent of Chief Peak from its southwestern ridge. Despite the horrific visibility, the navigation was quite simple: just go up! The wind chilled us right to the bone, but the strenuous grade helped warm us up a little bit. A little too much. Before we new it we were sweating our brains out. Eventually, after slogging our way through the misty void, the tip of Chief Peak came into view. And huzzah! A sliver of blue sky could be seen poking through the clouds. We rushed to the summit, making sure to watch our step on the slick boulders and rocks. At the top, there was little jubilation. Much to our chagrin, that sliver of blue sky had vanished. There was no view at the top, and the wind never ceased in intensity and the mist burned our cheeks. But it was fun nonetheless. It was nice to realize our goal of climbing this mountain. Plus it was cool to see it in the strange backdrop of grey opaqueness. 

Signing the register 

Sittin' there on the top reminded us of how cold it actually was. As a result, our stay at the summit was brief, and before we new it we were shivering our way back down to the car. Our descent off of Chief Peak was a little different than our ascent; we decided to take the northern route out of fear of missing the turn off on the southwestern ridge. We wouldn't of gotten lost or anything, just would've had to deal with a lot more brush and nonsense. The northern route added another two miles or so to our overall trip, but they were downhill and they went by relatively quickly. Of course the visibility drastically improved the second we hit the ridge road again. Chief Peak popped the cloud balloon, and suddenly we were gifted with sweeping views of the Sespe to the North and Hines Peak and the Bluffs to the east. Everything south was still buried beneath clouds, clouds that looked like a sea of fluffy mashed potatoes.

Chief Peak

lookin' south(west)

By some miracle, we somehow managed to find a hidden geocache. Just stumbled upon it, all willy nilly. Weird how that happens. Placed in 2010, it didn't have that many signatures. Unfortunately, the ancient pen had run out of ink, and since none of us had brought a pencil we couldn't immortalize our names in the epic register. Oh well. Gives incentive to go back!

The miles passed quickly. It was all downhill, and the going was very easy. The longer we walked the more we sank back into the clouds. Eventually we were level with them, observing the surrounding world that was half in, half out. The clouds were like an ocean almost, carving out fjords and bays into the side of the brushy hills. At this point we took a small break, enjoying the truly spectacular scenery. It's crazy how much a simple thing like clouds can drastically change the beauty of an area. We were likely to never see Horn Canyon in this same light again, so we took some time developing our mental pictures. 

Saying goodbye to the sun

Eventually the sun disappeared behind the clouds and we were back in the familiar opaque grey void. For a moment, whilst resting at the Pines camp one last time, it seemed as if the sun would finally burn through. But it never did. The world was covered in a soft, fuzzy, cold light.  Observing the clouds and then looking directly at the horizon, near the setting sun, the world appeared almost like a Monet painting or something like that. I was glad the sun never burned though; it would disrupt the peaceful ebb and flow of this world beneath the clouds. 

The Pines Camp

After our brief rest at the camp the weather became moist once again. Visibility worsened significantly, almost as bad as it was on the ridge road earlier that day. The switchbacks went by in a blur and before we knew it we were back at the car. It was a good hike, with good views and good company. We only saw four people over the course of the whole day. I guess a lot of people don't like hikin' in the rain.