Sunset on Chief Peak

04/10/24

We were at the 15 minute stoplight, a few twists and turns past Bellyache Springs. Diego was enquiring which shoes would be best for the hike at hand. The heavy boots? Or the busted HOKAs? Neither seemed to be ideal, but after much deliberation he decided on the HOKAs. The tread had long been stripped away, the support and cushioning nonexistent, but they were nice and light. Those boots would be like two dumbbells duck-taped to his feet. Very inconvenient.

We pulled up just outside of the Rose Valley Campground. Our destination was Chief Peak. The plan was to walk up the dirt road all the way to base of the false summit. From there we'd take the use trail the rest of the way to the true summit. It would be about an 8 mile hike roundtrip, taking no more than 5 hours to complete.

We started walking around 4:00pm, noticing a few campers spread out in the various sites. One guy was in a van. A few others in tents. Everyone was very quiet. Respectful. No loud music, no kids running amok, no drunken louts stumbling around yelling profanities and shooting off a few rounds into the sky. Rose Valley Falls was still flowing nicely in the distance, and the remnants of some snow could be seen on the higher peaks of the Topa Topa's. 

After hitting the road it was basically all uphill until we reached the ridge. It's about 2 miles, but the elevation gain is quite significant. Driving this section would've been the ideal thing to do, but neither of us knew the code to the gate nor had the desire to acquire it. 

Diego, who had been very talkative on the drive up, was suddenly very quiet. He hardly uttered a full sentence until we reached the ridge. At first I thought this was due to the strenuous grade. Talking can be a waste of breath, breath that can be used to fuel the muscles with much needed oxygen. However, this was not the case. I came to learn that he had had an extremely delicious meal at good ol' Jolly Kone no less than 2 hours ago, chowing down on some of the greasiest grub that money can buy. Chili, ground beef, saturated fat, and a great deal of carbohydrates were busy bumblin' around in the confines of his stomach, not entirely digested and causing quite a ruckus. It took grit, determination, and a whole lotta focus to keep that food down. Talking was a distraction. Silence was key.

Once we reached the ridge the grade became more agreeable, allowing Diego's stomach to settle. Somewhere along this portion of the road we came upon a miniature slide. Huge sandstone rocks littered the road, creating an impasse for any vehicle larger than a motorbike. We tried moving some of the larger boulders, but they proved to be too heavy. Instead, we each took turns chucking the smaller ones over the side of the road, seeing who could throw the farthest. Finally, we worked together to roll some of the medium sized boulders, some of which must have weighed more than 300lbs. After many duds, we finally managed to get one to roll several hundred feet down the side of the mountain, watching as it plowed through dead chaparral until it finally exploded after hitting another boulder hidden in the brush. Ahh, the joy of rolling a rock down a hill. One of life's simple pleasures. 

We eventually made it to the base of the false summit. It was there where we took our first real break of the day. I remember telling Diego that we were almost there, to which he seemed confused. We had only walked about four miles. He thought we had another four to go. As it turns out, I could've been a little better with communicating how far this hike would be. Diego thought is was 8 miles just to get to the peak rather than 8 miles roundtrip. The dude had prepared for a 16 mile day, which would explain why he ate enough food to feed a family of four to just a few hours prior. 

After 10 minutes we donned our packs and continued on our journey, reaching the false summit in what seemed like no time. We stopped for a bit, Diego reminiscing about the last time we were here all those months ago on that stupidly hot and stupidly long day in late August. Soon he would be stepping on new ground, determined to properly summit the peak that had eluded him for so long.

We reached the summit a little before sunset, Diego happy that he finally made it to the top. We sat up there, soaking in the views as the sun slowly sank in the sky. It was one of the better views I've had the privilege of witnessing. No clouds, hardly any marine layer. Visibility was excellent; the air possessed the crispness and clarity of something that had just been cleaned with a vacuum. 

We stayed long enough to watch the sun disappear behind the mountains. As it did, the surrounding territory became awash with this subdued pink color. I've seen this phenomenon before, on the valley floor, but never on the mountains themselves. It was cool to experience this moment as it happened, both of us being bathed in the same pink light as the surrounding mountains. It only lasted for a few minutes. One minute it was there—then it was gone. The mountains had absorbed all of the remaining color. Now they were dark, flat, dim; no longer illuminated by the rays of the sun. The ocean, too, had dimmed, turning from a brilliant orange to pink to grey. 

Our voices carried across the sky and down the canyons. The silence was extraordinary. We fed the silence our screams, belting words and phrases and emphatic exclamations, listening for the inevitable echo. We joked that the peaceful campers down at Rose Valley could probably hear us and were wondering what the hell was going on up there. I'd been able to hear the sounds of construction coming from Ojai while on the summit of Chief Peak so the idea wasn't too far fetched. We stayed a little while longer, taking several photos of the sunset, each one better than the last. 

At twilight we decided it was time to head back down. By the time we made it back to the ridge road, most of the lights from Oxnard and Ventura and Ojai became visible, illuminating the low lands with an artificial yellow glow. The light on the horizon had turned from a gentle pink to and angry red; the sky from a deep blue to nearly black. The moon was now visible, a tiny crescent wayy up in the middle of the sky. As night fell several nocturnal creatures began to stir. Bats, bugs and frogs made their presence known, squeaking and chirping and croaking away. 

We cruised the rest of the way back, Diego stopping every time he found a frog on the road. Some were up on the higher sections of the road, far away from any water source of which we knew. By the time we got back to the campground we had already exceeded our expected return time; we were nearly an hour late. Most of the campers had hunkered down for the night, but a few were still up, bundled around flickering campfires. We could see our breath in the air but it didn't seem that cold. The car thermostat read a temp of 44 degrees, but that just didn't seem right. We hit the road with the windows down, enjoying the cool night air. Drove from Rose Valley all the way to In-N-Out. Saw "The Mountain Man" along the way. Mysterious fellow that guy. 

We chowed down on some good burgers. Chatted with a cross country coach I hadn't seen since graduating high school. That was unexpected, for sure. There we were, getting our grub on at 11:00pm on a Wednesday, when all of a sudden he just walks in out of nowhere. What are the odds of that? Regardless, it was an interesting way to end an interesting afternoon spent in the mountains. Wouldn't have had it any other way.