Arlington Peak, Cathedral Peak, and a Lesson in Dehydration

 05/08/25

I ripped off my toenail when I returned home from Bluff Camp. The thing was stupidly loose, like a baby tooth barely clinging to the gums. Fluid leaked out from the nail bed; sounded like some air was escaping. I squeezed the sides of the nail, stuck my thumb underneath the top, lifted it, and then ripped it clean off. A sensitive membrane was now exposed to the world, ready to grab life by the horns. 

It had been a little over two months from the time that I blackened the nail to the time that I ripped it off. And when I had that nail on my toe, I was doing things. Climbing mountains, crossing creeks, busting through brush. Long miles, sunny days. When I lost that nail, I lost some drive. The nail seemed to be the only thing saving me from sloth. Now that it was gone, I had no motivation to do anything, especially if it related to the outdoors. 

I didn't do anything for almost two weeks. Maybe I did it to let the membrane harden a little bit. I don't know. What I do know is that I needed to get back out there and do something I've never done before. Enter Arlington Peak. 

I've known about Arlington Peak for a few years now. I've seen it many times while driving up and down the 101 freeway, its rocky summit beckoning adventure. It looked like a relatively easy peak to reach, short and steep. Additionally, when viewed on a map, it looked possible to connect a few other peaks as well, turning the whole endeavor into a nice little loop. It would go something like this: start at the Tunnel Trail, leave the trail and climb Arlington, walk over to nearby Cathedral Peak, and then ascend La Cumbre Peak. After that, follow Camino Cielo east down to the northern terminus of the Tunnel Trail, and take it all the way back to the trailhead. Staring at the map, this looked feasible, with relatively low mileage. So, on the 8th, I decided to give it a look. 

I left home around 9:30am with hardly any food and only one liter of water. I've brought the same supplies when hiking up to the Nordhoff lookout tower without suffering any issues, so I figured it would be enough for this hike, especially since it would be shorter mileage-wise. Hahaha. One would think I've learned my lesson about never underestimating the difficulty of a hike. Cobblestone Mountain was a prime example of that. But here I was, nearly a year later, making the same mistake. If I didn't learn it on Cobblestone, maybe Arlington would hammer it home (spoiler: it did). 

I made it to the trailhead a little after 10:30am. Lots of people out and about. Had to park in the overflow "lot" a bit farther down the road, requiring a bit of a road walk to get to the trailhead. I walked with a gait that was measured and fast, passing many people as they casually made there way to wherever they were going. Bikers, hikers, trail runners—everyone was there, a lot of them heading back down the trail. Those that were heading in were likely going to the waterfalls up Mission Creek. I don't blame them. The heat was already quite noticeable, only interrupted by a faint, cool breeze. Spending the day in a nice cold creek would be far more pleasant than slogging it up steep mountains. Takes a special kind of stupid to do something like that. Good thing I fit the bill. 

Mission Creek

I made it to Mission Creek in a flash, taking a little breather in the shade. The water was dirty in some of the more shallow pools, algae and muck covering much of the surface. The creek trickled gently down the canyon, lazy and carefree. I looked around a bit, absorbed the vibe of the place. It was here at Mission Creek where I would start the climb to gain the steep ridge that would take me to Arlington Peak. Only problem was that I had done zero homework on the route and had no idea which use trail to take. There were a bunch of 'em, all snaking in different directions. I'd take one and follow it for a ways, then it would fork and I'd go a different way. I figured that as long as I was going up, I would be fine.

Onward and upward

The use trails were well-worn but very steep. Sometimes they were clear of brush, sometimes I had to bend over and squat-walk up a brush tunnel. At one point my chosen use trail eventually spit me out on what looked like a defined path, so I stayed on that for as long as I could. I noticed Vans prints in the dirt and hypothesized that this was the proper route to the ridge.

I was correct, the thing took me all the way up to the ridge lickety-split. There were a few instances of mild class 2 scrambling, but for the most part the thing was pretty easy, albiet steep. Once on the ridge, I had tremendous views of the surrounding country and a clear picture of the coming slog to the summit. It looked steep, sunny, hot, but fun. I spent a few minutes catching my breath and then off I went, snaking in and around multiple sandstone boulders.

Arlington Peak

I found the ridge very interesting. Huge sandstone boulders, worn and rugged and covered with lichen, stood in stark contrast to the brilliant green of hardy chaparral. Holes, divots, bumps, hollows galore. The place was a scrambler's paradise. So much to see, so much to explore.

The "trail" was fairly easy to follow, marked with painted white dots and some black arrows. I'd weave in and out and around a bunch of formations, sometimes ducking under them, sometimes going off trail to inspect small caves. I was having a blast, but I was burning through my water supply too quickly. It was much hotter than I had expected, the sandstone absorbing the heat of the sun and then shooting it back out like a gigantic radiator. The strenuous grade wasn't helping much. My heart was beating out of my neck, my body drenched in sweat. I started conserving water, hoping to make it last. 

Some scrambling required

I followed the "trail" as it curved to the southeast side of the mountain. Here, route-finding was a little more difficult. If I wasn't paying close attention, I'd soon find myself scurrying up some class 4 boulders. No bueno. I turned around a few times, always searching for those Vans footprints. They were a good indicator of the path of least resistance. 

Arlington Peak Summit

I followed the Vans footprints to the summit, a rocky and brushy place with very little shade and a whole lot of sunshine. I had drank half of my water supply by this point and was just starting to feel the effects of mild dehydration. A bit tricky to swallow, some mild dizziness, fatigue, golden urine. Yup. Been there before. I knew the drill. 

I scrambled up to the summit block, a lone boulder that overlooked the whole scene. It had a little hole in the side of it where someone had placed a big ol' plastic insect. I didn't find a register, but then again, I wasn't looking for one. I sat on the summit and admired the views. The whole swath of Santa Barbara and Goleta lay before me to the south, the ocean hazy from the morning fog, the Channel Islands barely visible. Another boulder, carved with the names of those who had conquered the summit, lay in my field of vision. It looked like a work of modern art; so many names, all carved in different years, some fresh, some so old and weathered I couldn't even tell what they said. 

I pondered my situation. To the east I could see the Tunnel Trail snaking its way down from Camino Cielo. It looked far and hot. To the northwest was Cathedral Peak, a rocky knob in a sea of brush. To the north rose La Cumbre Peak, the lookout tower on its summit small and unassuming. I had half a liter of water left. I could possibly make it last to La Cumbre Peak, but after that I'd be SOL. Maybe I could just coast the downhill from La Cumbre back to the trailhead. Who knows. Not wanting to waste any more time and energy thinking about it, I got up, grabbed my stuff, and headed towards the second objective of the day: Cathedral Peak.

Cathedral Peak

The route to Cathedral Peak was very easy to follow. I lost some elevation on the way over but quickly gained it back as I approached the base of the climb. From the base it was a very straightforward hike/scramble to the summit. There was a big ol' ammo can on the summit full of multiple register booklets and another plastic insect. The views were much of the same as those on Arlington. I signed my name, took a few pictures, and then scampered off the summit in search of the route to La Cumbre Peak.

View east, Arlington Peak right

View west

Cathedral Peak is a popular spot for rock climbers. As such, there are numerous use trails that surround the summit, all leading to different places. I'd follow one, hit a class 4 obstacle, climb down it, follow a faint path through the brush, and then hit an impasse. Then I'd waste a bunch of energy climbing back up what I'd just descended. Each trail I followed took me to a dead end. Lots of backtracking, lots of wasted energy. Things weren't looking good. I sat down, scratched my head. 

I decided to turn around. It was a tough decision, mostly because it meant that I had to admit to myself I was super lazy in the preparation for this hike and that it was because of this laziness that I wouldn't be able to complete the loop. Ain't nobody's fault but mine. And that was frustrating. My legs felt pretty good, I was still fairly fresh, but I was definitely dehydrated. Dry tongue, a little nausea, and I wasn't sweating as much as I was earlier. I had enough water to make it back, maybe. But for the loop? Not a chance. Plus, I had no idea how to get to La Cumbre Peak anyway. If I had studied the route beforehand it would've been a different story. Since I didn't have a map, I was stuck to wandering. If I took my time, I'd probably find the use trail to the summit sooner or later. But I didn't have time to spare. And so, with my hubris crushed, I turned around and made my way back to Arlington Peak. 

La Cumbre Peak

I spent a good fifteen minutes on Arlington Peak, soaking in the view, drinking the rest of my water. Man, if I'd only brought just one other bottle, things would be different. But that's the way things go sometimes. Had to learn the lesson the hard way yet again. I was so bummed with myself that I promised to never make the same mistake again. No matter the hike, I'm always bringing more water than I think I need. End of story. 

After my self-reflective-summit-introspection-session, I gathered my meager belongings and slowly made my way back down to Mission Creek. For some reason, it was a lot trickier following the trail on the way down than on the way up. I got off route a few times, finding myself cliffed out on one occasion. I retraced my steps, searching for those ever-reliable Vans footprints. 

I stumbled along, the rough sandstone doing a number on my fingers. I nearly stepped on a medium-sized rattlesnake at one point. The thing was sitting in the sun, minding its own business. And then I came along and ruined its afternoon. It coiled up in the blink of an eye and was ready to strike, its rattle buzzing in warning. I jumped about 800ft in the air. When I got back down to Earth, I made sure to be extra diligent where I placed my feet.

After a while of scooting, jumping, sliding and hopping down sandstone, I took a break in the shade of a pine tree and guzzled down the last few drops of water still clinging to the inside of my bottle. I laid on a pointy rock covered in lichen and pine needles, listened to the faint breeze rustling through the branches of the lone tree. I could here voices coming from far away. I sat up, looked around. Way off in the distance, out on the Tunnel Trail, I made out three dots, all of them moving at a brisk pace. Them's were the chattiest dots I've ever heard. They never let up. 

Back on the trail...

I zigzagged down the ridge, the route now very obvious. I saw some folks hanging out at one of the many waterfalls up Mission Creek. I could hear their voices as well. Crazy how far sound can carry in the wilderness. 

I followed the well-defined path the rest of the way to Mission Creek. There were a few people milling about near the creek. One of them asked me if I was coming from the falls, wanting to know how much water was up there. I said I was coming from Arlington Peak and they didn't seem to understand what that meant. 

I made it back to the car after a little more than 3½ hours of total walking. Sometimes, that's all it takes to get dehydrated in these woods. I had left a spare bottle of water in the car and guzzled it down in one go. The drive home left me time for more introspection. I was happy to finally get back out there, to see something I've never seen before. But I was also disappointed with my lazy preparation. I'll have to attempt this one again someday. Earlier start, more food, more focus, and definitely more water.