02/25/26
A whole assortment of menial, boring errands ate up the next couple of days after the half marathon. Necessary car maintenance, a tax appointment, stuff like that. As such, I only had three more days to explore, socialize, observe, contemplate. Had to get out there and see the sticks, touch some dirt. Wanted to see some place I ain't ever been, so I decided to check out Montecito Peak in the Santa Barbara front country.
Not wanting to do something terrific that would destroy my already tender legs, Montecito Peak seemed like the perfect idea. I had spent the night at Liam's place, leaving somewhat late the next morning for the Cold Spring Trailhead off of East Mountain Drive. Not a whole lot of people were parked in the pullouts along the road. Perhaps that's what it's always like on a late Wednesday morning in February. I found a spot, parked the car, packed up my valuables, grabbed half a liter of water, and then set off on the trail.
Warm air, cool breeze, rushing water, green grass, miner's lettuce, purple flowers. Everything green and bright; looked more like April than February. I walked along, enjoying the phenomenal weather and lush scenery. Gaining elevation, the views began to materialize, as well as the sweat. Sweat on my head, sweat on my back. Before long, I was nice and soaked, my mind racked with flashbacks of all those times I trudged up Arlington Peak without enough water. Ah yes. The good ol' Santa Barbara front country. It was good to be back.
I hit a junction with the Ridge Trail (or something like that, I wasn't paying much attention), hooked a left, and continued up to the peak. I could see it clearly now, a brushy, pointy lookin' summit that stood not too far off in the distance. I saw the trail cutting across the mountain, taking the long way. I considered cutting the trail and just going straight up the south ridge, but I'm a lazy bum and a trail purist so I put one foot in front of the other and kept on trucking up the path.
I passed some young folks making their way up; they seemed to be enjoying themselves, talking about everything and everything. I kept on walking and walking, not stopping until I found some shade in a small group of eucalyptus trees. I chugged my water, sat for a bit, and then carried on, the peak getting closer with every step.
Before long, I reached a junction with a well-worn and obvious use trail that branched off towards the peak. A short and steep moment later I was staring up at the pointy summit, the trail directly ascending its northern side. I continued along, smaller use trails branching off from the main one in a few directions, all of which were viable options (although a tad brushy). The grade eventually mellowed out and the trail wound its way to the east of the summit before wrapping around south and spitting me out on top.
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| Montecito Peak |
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| Montecito Peak Summit |
No register, no benchmark to be found (although I'll admit I didn't look too hard). A small gravestone was placed on the summit; didn't read it, didn't look at it. The views were much better a bit farther to the south, so I waved a slight wave to the summit and went off in that direction. A short while later and I was sitting on top of a bunch of sandstone boulders, staring at some of the best views of Santa Barbara and the Channel Islands I've ever seen.
Nice skies, crystal blue water, mild haze, green country, shining city. Close enough to see civilization, far enough to be deaf to its existence. Anacapa, Santa Cruz, Santa Rosa, and San Miguel all within frame, all of them obscure, isolated, mysterious. Oil rigs in the channel, a boat here and there, microscopic cars moving like blood cells through a vein on the 101 freeway, clouds in the air moving slower than a stoned sloth, sunshine, fresh air and the mighty Pacific, all there before my eyes, blazing the scene upon my overstimulated retinas. I forgot how good the views are in the Santa Ynez Range. On a good day, they're truly something else.
The young people reached the summit; their muffled voices and footsteps breaking the silence. They didn't stay too long, just long enough for a few pictures, a snack and some light conversation. They packed up and left, and so did I, slowly making my way through the light brush back to the use trail. I took one last look at the gorgeous view, said my goodbyes, and then trotted off the summit.
The young folks were taking their time on the way down. I became impatient almost immediately and took one of the side routes, zig-zagging down the the mountain until meeting up with the main use trail. It spit me out at the junction, which meant it was back to trukin'. I skipped and hopped on the downhill, walking occasionally to save my wobbly knees. There was a woman with eight or nine dogs resting at the eucalyptus trees, all of them leashless, all of them extremely well-behaved. Down, down, down, the sun in my face, my water supply holding steady, the lighting and the scenery growing better and better as the day wore on.
I reached the junction with the Ridge Trail (or whatever it was called) and decided to follow it the rest of the way down. Part of me thought that it would save me some distance, but really I was just curious to see what it had to offer. And offer it did. About halfway down I nearly stepped on a big ol' gopher snake sunbathing in the middle of the trail. I looked at it and it at me and then it slithered away into the bushes, quite vexed at having its sunbathing session so rudely interrupted. I trotted the rest of the way, finishing the whole hike in a little over three hours.
Three hours was much longer than I thought it would take. Oh well. That's what happens when you do zero research on a route. For some reason, I thought the hike was only 2.5 miles. It was closer to 7. Oopsie. Now I had to make a decision: bag another peak or relax and grab a bite to eat in town. I had to meet my Dad for dinner at 5:30pm, which was four hours away. The closest peak of interest, Gaviota Peak, was about 40 minutes away, the hike to the summit a fairly steep 6 mile roundtrip hike. I'd have to be finished with the peak by 4pm, 4:15 at the latest in order to make it to dinner on time. It was currently 1:05pm. I'd have to climb the whole thing, up and down, in 2 hours. Oooh brother. This would be close.
The wise choice would've been to relax and grab a bite to eat, maybe even go to the beach and read a book, but of course I didn't do that. I like me a good challenge, and the time crunch made it all the more exciting. I jumped in my car, started 'er up, and drove straight to the trailhead for Gaviota Peak. Only two cars were there, one of which was a parks service vehicle. Not wanting to be an easy ticket, I reluctantly payed the $2 parking fee in quarters, dropping the envelope in the little metal box by the trailhead. And then it was on!
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| Heading up to Gaviota Peak... |
I began the thing at an easy jog, which was a mistake. I jogged and walked, jogged and walked, following the wide dirt road up and up and up through a forest of typical Southern Californian foliage. I payed no mind to the trail for the hot springs; didn't have no time to see those today. Just kept on jogging and walking, jogging and walking, down a little bit and then up and up and up pretty much the whole rest of the way to the summit.
My legs were on fire, my heart felt like it was gonna jump out of my neck. I was completely drenched in sweat, big fat globs of it plopping on my sunglasses ever minute or so. I took them off, wiped 'em on my shirt, and kept going. I was panting like an overworked sled dog, my breath heavy and labored. I started dry heaving and then I was like, "hey, this is completely optional by the way" and I sat flat on the ground and took a five minute break, just enough to get my heart rate back to a more agreeable rhythm.
I didn't jog anymore after that. No sir. Just found my groove and kept on walking up the dirt road, up and up, until it finally reached the summit ridge. I pushed onward, kicked it into another gear, and finished up the last little push to the summit in no time.
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| Last bit to the top |
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| Gaviota Peak Summit |
It had taken me a little over an hour and ten minutes to get to the summit. No time for dilly-dallying. I took a few pictures, a little tinkle, and then immediately started heading back. It was windy up there anyway, and my soaking wet shirt didn't help much in making me comfortable. So I trotted on down, taking a few more pictures of the Pacific Ocean and Santa Cruz Island in the distance.
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| Headin' back... |
I jogged until my legs screamed "no thank you" and relegated me to walking for the rest of the afternoon. A few others were making their way up, all of them much more relaxed and a heck of a lot less sweaty than me. Down the road, down the curves, through the green, across the mud, under the oaks with the Spanish moss, past the poppies, past the miner's lettuce, down down down. I reached the parking lot. There were a lot more cars there now, with no parks service vehicle to be seen. I walked up to my car. Threw my bag in the back. Downed some electrolytes. Sat down. It was 3:52pm. Hahaha. I had time to spare.
The drive back into town was uneventful. Typical Santa Barbara traffic didn't surprise me one bit. I took Highway 150, stopping at an overlook of Lake Casitas to stretch my angry legs. Met up with my Dad at Boccali's. Had me the pasta primavera. 'Twas very good. My hamstring only cramped up once during dinner, which was nice. Coulda cramped up a thousand times. Always gotta look on the bright side, you know?
