McDonald Peak and Environs

 05/22/25

We left in the morning, driving the three hours up the I-5 to Hungry Valley and beyond. A gentle wind was blowing dust across the road. California Poppies and other local wildflowers swayed to and fro. The sky was a hazy blue, thin little clouds darting high up above without a care in the world. I was driving, Liam sat shotgun. We sipped carbonated mineral water as we drove up the bumpy dirt road, gliding across bumps and ruts and rocks and stuff. The rest of the waters rattled in a box in the backseat, the glass jinglin' and janglin' like a avant-garde Christmas tune. Curvy road, lots of twists and turns and dust and such. I went slow, carful not to pop a tire.

There was a snake in the road. I stopped, got out. Liam said, "let him be" and I did. I've been on a bit of a snake craze lately. Every time I see one I try to catch it. But I get too scared. Don't wanna get bit. Don't wanna upset the snake either. I caught one a few months ago and haven't been able to catch one since. I've been thinkin' that I just got really lucky that one time. Who knows. I suppose I'll have to keep trying...

We reached a fork in the road. Turned left. We were now in the realm of the pines. The forest floor was a carpet of fallen pine needles, each gully filled with pinecones in various stages of decomposition. Gray ones on the bottom, brown ones on the top. Made for quite the crunchy step I tell yah. I bet that even a Mountain Lion would have trouble keepin' quiet on all that. 

We were driving around the southern side of Alamo Mountain, a large, gentle mass of earth and pines rising up out of the ground in the southeastern Los Padres. I'd been on the road once before, back when I climbed Cobblestone Mountain. At the time, I was so goal-oriented that I didn't pay much attention to the beauty of the area. Not today. Today was a day of calm observation. Windows down, cool breeze, birds chirping, the vanilla scent of the pines wafting through the air. Oh yeah. That's what it's all about right there.

We looked to the south. There was a mountain there, McDonald Peak. It didn't stand out much, just a minor bump along a pine-speckled ridge full of other bumps. I pointed at it and said, "There it is. That's where we're going." And so we went.

Another left turn, more rocks, more dust, more flowers and pines and crunchy cones. Lupine dotted the hills, soft on the eyes, purple, brilliant. We passed by the Little Mutau Trailhead and kept going. And then we lost elevation, going down the curvy road, my eyes screening the ridge right next to us, trying to figure out which one of these bumps was the summit. 

I found a spot to park. Put on the ol' parking break and then we were off, climbing up a steep little ridge to what I thought was McDonald Peak. There was a heat advisory for the day, but we never felt it. The mountain air and the shade of the pines protected us from the wrath of the sun. Mostly. Both of us still worked up quite the sweat sloggin' it up that steep little ridge. 

It topped out, exposed to the sun with nothing on the summit but a few rocks and some dry grass. McDonald Peak sat to the east, just a little ways off. Drats! Another false summit! Why does this keep happening? Perhaps it is destiny...

Liam and I took a little breather before making our way over to McDonald. It was a clear ridge walk, nice and open and grassy with a few minor uphills and downhills and some deadfall here and there. We walked slow and steady, taking in the tremendous views to the south. Liam said something like, "I thought we were just gonna walk today. What's this? What are we doing?" Yeah, the mountain turned out to be a little steeper than it looked. Got the heart pumpin' and the legs achin'. But it was a short walk, no more than a quarter mile. I had a bottle of carbonated water in one hand and a bag full of bolillo rolls in the other. No backpack, no survival gear. Didn't need none of that stuff. 

We reached the summit, sat down, looked around. According to the register, January 11th seemed to be the last time anyone was up there. Not a whole lotta entries in that booklet; the place doesn't get much traffic. Most of the entries were from HPS folks and the like. Peak baggers. All they do is climb mountains. I've also climbed a lot of mountains, but I've never considered myself a peak bagger. I'm a peak visitor is what I am. That's all there is to it.

The views from the summit were outstanding, rivaling those seen on Old Man Mountain. Almost the entire Sespe Wilderness could be observed, the views stretching from Sewart Mountain in the east to Haddock Mountain in the west and everything in between. I particularly enjoyed the close-up view of Cobblestone Mountain. Ah man, good times, good times. Looking at that mountain sent me right back to that hot and thirsty day that I climbed it last year. I traced the route I walked with my eyes. Ahh yes, there was Sewart, there was White Mountain Ridge, the 1000ft descent to the saddle, the 1,500ft incline to the summit of Cobblestone. I remember those places well. Sitting in the shade on the peaceful summit of McDonald, I was sure glad I wasn't out there sloggin' it up Cobblestone right then. No, no, no. I've had my time on that mountain I tell yah. Ain't gonna go back there for a long, long time...

Big Bad Cobblestone

We spent a good chunk of time on the summit enjoying the views, nibbling on bolillo rolls, sippin' fizzy water. Liam started throwing rocks at this little snag. This, of course, turned into a game of "who can knock over the snag with a rock?" We probably spent half an hour throwing rocks of various sizes at this rotten snag, again and again, the wood splintering, the trunk swaying. But the thing never fell. We soon resorted to the big stuff, working together to chuck 50lb rocks at the snag's midpoint. A crack began to form. Ahh yes—progress. Rock after rock, throw after throw, we weakened that thing until finally—KERRAK—half of the it came tumbling down. 

We inspected our handiwork. Liam got on top of it and bounced around as if it were a surfboard. Sweet success. Now that we had accomplished our goal, we walked over to the southern tip of the summit, took a few more pictures, and then headed back to the car. 

Improvised Surf Board

We took a different way down, not wanting to trek across the ridge all the way back to the false summit. I skied down a steep slope covered in pine needles. Liam followed suit, his cowboy boots offering no help whatsoever on the slippery ground. The slope took us to a gully filled with pine cones and deadfall. We followed it, one crunchy step after another, until it took us back to the road.

Back in the car, back on the road, Liam now driving, I riding shotgun. I popped open another mineral water. Liam swerved around a corner. The carbonation erupted into my mouth and down my throat. I leaned out the window, my mouth a fountain of bubbly water. Liam found that mighty funny. I did as well. We had ourselves a good chuckle over it, driving along the dusty road underneath the pines. 

Slow and steady was the name of the game. Birds were out and so were the deer. Saw three of 'em, all standing in a line. They saw us and immediately darted away out of view, probably because Liam leaned out of the window and pretended to shoot them with his fingers. Who's to say for sure though? Maybe they saw a ghost or something...hahaha.

Near Dutchman Campground

Another left turn and we were in Dutchman Camp. Ain't nobody else was there. Flat spots, a few tables, some old fire rings, a stinky pit toilet. Yep. Certainly wasn't no Camp Comfort. But it sure was quiet there, nice and relaxed and unassuming and placid. We drove to a little overlook, sat on some rocks. Spent a good long while staring at the western view, lookin' at Thorn Point and Mutau Valley and Haddock Mountain and the like. Strange country; it's a like a high desert but with pine trees. Ain't seen no other place quite like it. 

Liam took some photos, I finished another mineral water, picked up an old can, and then we walked back to the car. Didn't spend too much time lookin' around Dutchman Camp. Not too much to see. I had mentioned to Liam that we could climb Alamo Mountain. But why do that? Why not drive? It's much easier and a lot more enjoyable. So that's exactly what we did. 

The rest of the afternoon was spent driving around with the windows down, the bottles of carbonated water still jinglin' in the back, old school country music playin' on the radio. We checked out another campsite, this one in much worse shape than Dutchman Camp. Saw another deer. Saw more Lupine. All good things. 

It was nice to get out there for a minute, to slow down and really take the time to appreciate the area. McDonald Peak turned out to be a fantastic peak with stellar views. And the best part is that it required minimal effort to see 'em.