Hi Mountain Lookout

 05/08/24

On May 1st I found myself driving along West Pozo Rd, no itinerary in mind, moving at a leisurely pace while listening to some John Prine with the windows down. The grass was just beginning to turn brown, pollen from the oak trees dusted the road, the weather was cool with a little bit of spice, and I had a whole lotta time to kill. So I figured that the best way to go about it would be to head up to Hi Mountain Lookout. It had been over two years since the last time I'd seen it. Would it look the same? Most likely. Those lookout towers don't change all that much. But it had been a while and I was in the area so I might as well, you know?

Well, I soon discovered that the road was closed. Bummer. Would have to come up some other time. I carried on with the drive, turning on Parkhill Rd and continuing from there all the way to Highway 58, enjoying the rest of a lazy afternoon in an area of which I was unfamiliar. 

One week later and I was back up there, this time with a mountain bike. I assumed that the road would still be closed so I brought one along just in case I was right. On the drive up I nearly ran over a big ol' snake that was skirting across Highway 150. Never seen a snake move that fast. Looked like it was floating across the asphalt. 

Made it to the gate just before 1:30pm. And guess what? It was still closed. Good thing I brought the bike! I walked it through the gate, hopped on, and then set off down the dusty road, not looking forward to the inevitable steep grade.  

The first bit of the road was actually rather pleasant. Oak trees stood silent along the sides of the road, the tall grass bobbed and weaved in the breeze, and patches of purple lupine could be seen every now and then, disrupting the overwhelming palette of green and brown. The noisiest thing there was the sound of my tires crunching through the dirt and the occasional chirping of birds hiding in the oak trees. If I was an ornithologist, I'd be able to tell you exactly what kind of birds they were based solely off their chirps and describe them in detail and give excess information about their eating and mating habits and all the other scientific information that you could possibly hope for. But as fate would have it, I am not an ornithologist and I haven't a clue what kind of birds I heard. They were just noise, just a small part of the soundtrack of the area. Rustling leaves, trickling water, crunching dirt, and labored breathing. If I'd brought a tape recorder it probably would have made a great ambient record, something that people who wear expensive straw hats and designer overalls and drink kombucha would listen to while doing yoga on Meditation Mount. 

I crossed Pozo Creek, peddled across a section of road that was inhabited by ground dwelling bees, and then began the climb. I remembered from the last time that I'd been up there that the climb to the lookout was no joke. Now that I was there, it seemed steeper than I remembered. It reminded me of the first section of Sulphur Mt Rd, the only difference being that it hardly let up in steepness. There was one instance of downhill, and this was much enjoyed. But before I could even catch my breath it started up again, my bald tires not helping much. 

I rounded a corner and almost ran over another snake. Wow, two close calls in one day. Unlike the first snake, this one was just chilling in the middle of the road, soaking up the heat of the sun. It didn't even move as I got off my bike to take a picture. I thought it must be dead, what with it being so still and all, but then I saw it's tongue flicker and I jumped back. It stayed motionless for a while, and continued to remain motionless as I got back on my bike and continued along the steep road. 

The Motionless Snake

Eventually, I reached a junction where I took a quick break. Despite the somewhat cool weather, I was drenched in sweat, having severely underestimated the strenuousness of the road. I only had three more miles to go, but I knew that they would suck. By the way things were going, I'd probably have to walk my bike. 

After the junction, I caught my first sight of the lookout tower. To my relief, it didn't look too far. Riding along a straightaway I caught sight of a white object laying in the middle of the road. Upon closer inspection, I discovered it to be a water bottle. It was an opaque white color, with streaks of red, and written with sharpie was the name "Monica" and a smiley face. It was completely full. The water was warm, so it had probably been there a while. It's position in the road and the fact that it was full was a little weird, and I couldn't help but wonder how "Monica" lost this bottle. I picked it up and took it with me, not wanting to leave any litter. 

I peddled past the campground, which was empty. I've never stayed there personally, but it looks like a decent place. Lots of shade, picnic tables, flat spots for tents. It's even got a pit toilet. I continued past the camp, my bald tires spinning out from under me every minute or so. 

I rounded another turn and saw the first and only people I'd seen all day. Three middle aged women, jogging down the road, each one leading a horse in tow. Don't know why they weren't riding them but I didn't ask. I had just enough breath to say, "hi" and that was that. Our paths crossed rather quickly. 

I made it a decent way before taking another break. I could feel my heart beating out of my neck so I figured that a break was needed. There was no shade where I was so I just stood there in the sun, motionless like the snake. I got back on the bike and peddled a few hundred feet before calling it quits and walking. Yup, got tired of my tires spinning out and the sweat dripping through my eyebrows into my eyes. Thankfully, it wasn't a very long walk. I made it to a ridge where I got my first great view of the south. From there it was a short way to the lookout, so I got back on the ol' bike and finished the remaining distance with dignity. 

View South(ish), Lake Lopez in the distance

The lookout tower looked exactly the same as I'd remembered: lonely, boarded up, and extremely quiet. The little stage directly north of the tower had some tire marks on it; looked like someone was trying to do donuts on a dirt bike or something. There's a life-size painting of a condor on the west wall of the tower. Man, those birds are huge. I walked around the perimeter, then climbed up the stairs. The views were pretty good, not a lot of haze down near the ocean and hardly a cloud in the sky. The only major landmark that couldn't be seen was Santa Margarita Lake as it was hidden behind a brushy hill. I strolled around the tower, took some pictures, and then walked back down to the stage for an extremely healthy lunch of potato chips, cookies and a cheese sandwich. 

View Southeast

View Northwest

View Northeast

There are a few notable structures that are spread around the lookout tower. The most important one is the pit toilet. It sits to the north of the lookout tower, accessed by a little trail with stone steps. It looks unassuming. It doesn't have a door. It doesn't have a roof. But by golly, it's got to be the best toilet with a view I know. You can sit there and take the most scenic dump of your life. 

Southeast of the tower is a scratched up sign marking the border for the Santa Lucia Wilderness. There aren't many signs like this one left; they're practically antiques. Usually, they are stolen or vandalized or just replaced. I'm not sure if this one's been replaced or not, but it looked old and it was cool nonetheless.

heck yeah

After lunch, I hung around the tower for a while, resting my legs and catching lizards. There were two of them that kept darting out from under the stage. I caught the bigger of the two, marveling at the intensity of its hyper-blue belly. I let it go and didn't see it or it's friend for a while. Eventually, they both came out on the other side of the stage and made their way for the pit toilet. I caught the smaller one, its belly a little less blue but still beautiful. I let it go and it looked at me with its beady little eyes before darting off toward its friend. They disappeared into the grass. 

Soon it was time to go back, so I packed up my belongings, hopped on the bike and said my goodbyes. The ride down the mountain was a little scary. I stood the whole time, my legs bent in a perpetual squat, my hands white knuckling the handlebars. I learned very quickly that the breaks needed to be tightened. I would grip them and they'd almost reach the handle bars. If they reached the handle bars they'd be useless. I almost spun out in a few places, my bald tires helping me even less on this downhill than they did on the uphill. I blew past the camp, past the junction, and past the spot where I saw the motionless snake. I expected to see it again, but it was gone. 

I reached the last bit of uphill, blew through it, and then finished the rest of the downhill without issue. I rode the rest of the way back to the gate at an unhurried pace, enjoying the peace and quiet of the shady oaks and wavy grass.

The gate came into view, and before I knew it my adventure to Hi Mountain Lookout was over. There was a group of forest service folks sitting at a picnic table at Pozo Station. The horse ladies were nowhere to be seen. I put the bike back in the car and drove off on Parkhill Rd, repeating my journey from the week prior. This time, however, I decided to check out Las Pilitas Rd. Never been on that road. Sometimes it's just nice to go for a drive. And the best part: I never saw any more road snakes!