Three years ago, I made a solo ascent of Grouse Mountain from town - a climb of about three thousand feet, arriving at the peak which weighs in at an elevation of just over eight thousand five hundred.

Actually, I caused a bit of trouble at the time.  Two friends, Teresa and Alan,  were cutting wood at the edge of the national forest, and I decided to go for a walk to kill the boredom of watching them work.

So, I started off down a familiar path that leads from the end the street right into the national wilderness area.  If you hang to the left, in about half an hour you encounter a seasonal waterfall that falls into a little grotto with a sheer rock face about twenty-five feet high.

Bob, Cynthia, Teresa and I arrive at the trail head

Well, this time I decided to see what was at the top of that waterfall.  I hadn't planned on this when I started out, so all I had along was a half a can of coke.

Can in one hand and grabbing the sharp rocks with the other, I slowly worked my way up the left side of the waterfall for a climb of about 50 feet almost straight up over loose rocks nested in loose gravel.

When I got to the top, it was a gentle upward slope, so I figured I'd go to the top of the rise and see what the view looked like.

Nice view.  But there was another small rise at the end of the meadow, and I figured as long as I was there...

I'm all smiles at trail head as I anticipate leading
my friends into my own private hell....

It went on like that, one ridge after another, each one more intriguing that the last, until I realized over two hours had gone by and my friends must be going crazy worrying about what happened to me.

Well, by this time the top of the mountain was in site, so I figured, what the heck, I'm dead meat already, I might as well finish this thing since I'm so close anyway.

I arrived at the summit - or so I thought - until I discovered there were 3 or 4 false summits on the way to the top.  Nonetheless, I prevailed, and eventually crested the top of Grouse Mountain.

Of course, by THIS time, almost three hours had gone by and daylight was waning.  Okay, so I had no water, no one knew where I was, it was getting dark...  time to start for home!

Going down was a lot easier (most of the slope is 30 degrees or more in grade, all the way from the foothills to the top!)  Therefore, I made better time on the return trip.  Still, it took me almost another two hours to return.

Teresa is also all smiles, having no idea
of what tortures lay in wait for them all!

Nearly dizzy with thirst, I could barely keep moving.   More than once I had to collapse on the ground just to catch my breath.  Fortunately, a Summer thunderstorm came up mid-way on the trek down.  I lay flat on my back and caught what raindrops I could - not enough to be refreshed, but enough to keep going.

On the way back, I cleverly made a wrong turn, took the ridge one-over from where I had come up, and came off the mountain in the wrong canyon.

By this time, it was almost dark.  I started back toward the original canyon by way of the roads in town.  And that's where I ran into Teresa who had been out looking for me for hours.  In fact, she had several of the townspeople driving around trying to find the "lost" Melanie.

Gave 'em quite a scare, I did!  The only price I had to pay, however, was my own guilt at putting them all through it.  But, I had such a wonderful time and saw such great sites that I tried for three years to get everyone - ANYONE - to re-do the trip.

If you look closely, you can see Cynthia
in the middle of this picture, just to the left 
of the dried up waterfall at the base of the climb.

Finally, Teresa agreed, and we also brought along the intrepid, Bob - wannabe mountaineer - and Cynthia, a friend from the flat lands. So, Saturday Morning (or actually about 1:30 in the afternoon by the time we all got going), we arrived at the scene of the crime.

The walk up to the waterfall was pleasant enough.  No surprises here.  But then we started to climb...

Rocks were falling everywhere.  I led the way with Bob and Cynthia coming up behind.  But with all the debris we were dropping, Teresa wisely decided to go the long way 'round rather than get hit in the head with a rock, and hiked up a side gully, meeting us at the top.

We all take a break at our first rest stop at the top the waterfall.
Keeters, the Wonder Dog guards our flank on camera left.

As it turns out, that was the EASY part!  From this point forward, there is no trail at all, and the angle of ascent increases with each passing mile.

You can get a good idea of the slope from the picture at right, in which Cynthia tries to keep her balance and avoid rolling all the way back down to town.

The views are breathtaking, though, if you are brave or foolhardy enough to try and turn around on that grade to take a look.

Eventually, we all dragged in to the next plateau where we stopped for a few bits of Power Bar and more liquids.

Cynthia just a hundred feet away from our second rest stop,
about halfway up Grouse Mountain.

Now I have to take a few moments to tell you a bit about Bob.  This is a guy who lives up here in the mountains and commutes down to Hollywood each day where he works at the studios.

Takes him about 90 minutes each way, five days a week.  But, he loves to hike, loves the mountain air and the scenery, so to him, it's well worth it.

Now that's an attitude I can admire.  In fact, it's something we can all aspire to.  So, I heartily recommend that you all do what we all did during this hike - try to get in touch with your inner Bob.

We all have an inner Bob, but we forget he's there, after enough people slap us upside the head for being that way when we're young.

Now Bob has some other qualities worth mentioning.  He's always got a new scam.  This week it's "Uncle Bob's Hot Spring in a Box."  Last week it was an emergency generator made from spare parts.  Before that, the build-it-yourself log home.  Well, you get the idea.

Bob in his natural habitat: Geeky Clothing

While we rested up for the final ascent, we tried a few new nutrition/sports bars I had ferreted up at the supply store.  Now, I know what you're thinking - these things are AWFUL!

Well, I think so too, but the second generation of nutrition bars just came out, so I thought I'd give 'em a try.  And you know what?  Some of them aren't half bad!

I have a lot more to test, but so far I recommend Power Bar "Harvest" in chocolate, Luna (for women) in Chocolate Pecan, and the Gatorade Wild Berry bar.

These are all more like rice krispy snacks, but with lots of good stuff, and they really keep your energy up!

Keeters, The Loyal, stands watch near Teresa as she
gathers strength and sustenance for the grueling climb ahead.

The last leg of the ascent was so steep and exhausting, I didn't have the energy to take any pictures.  It started out steep, then got steeper, and then it got steep!

And just like last time, you see the peak and it turns out to be just the first of four ridges leading to the peak.  But because you thought it was the top, you use up all your remaining energy hustling up it, only to have to dredge up some last reserve that is all that stands between you and a total collapse.  And you do this four times!

Part way through this final test,  you cross the "Peak to Peak" trail that rings our valley, linking the tops of four major mountains.

Using the camera's timer, I grab a shot of us all at the summit.
Keeters, the Intrepid, searches for fallen crumbs, grubs, and tubers.

Just on the other side of that trail is what I call the "Enchanted Forest."  Of all the terrain on all the mountains in the range, this is the only place that Spanish moss covers a whole stand of grand old conifers.

Overall, it looks like a cross between a primordial jungle and a scene out of Lord of the Rings.  Oh, and to complete the effect, we discovered a major bear trail in the deep pine needles, made, clearly, by a major bear.

Fortunately, the trail was heading down and we were headed up, so we didn't worry about encountering him until the way down.

After about four hours or the most taxing effort I've experienced in years, we finally crested the summit, and collapsed on the ground.

Actually, Teresa got there first, Bob second, and Cynthia and I arrived more or less together.  (Bob and Teresa had gone on ahead with less rest, and then split up, tackling to different approaches.)

Due to waning daylight, we started back down
just minutes after reaching the top.  Keeters,
the Invincible, keeps a wary eye out for the bear.

We only had a few minutes at the top before we had to start down due to the lowering angle of the sun in the sky.

Although less energy was needed, the downhill trek had it's own share of problems.  First of all, we had built up so much lactic acid in our muscles from the exertion that it was difficult to even raise our feet.  But, if we stopped to rest, the charlie horses would set in almost immediately.

In addition, the pine needle carpet and occasional gravel patches led sometimes to more of a ski run than a hike.  And, of course, there are the toe nails jamming against the front of your boots (leading to some really bruised nails!

The last rays of sunlight hit the San Emigdio Range
on the other side of the valley with town down below.

Eventually, we got off the steepest part of the mountain and back to one of the lower plateaus.  By now, everyone was dragging their feet, and low, guttural threats could be heard in the gathering twilight, describing in excruciating detail the tortures I was to suffer for bringing such a bane upon them all.

Now, we have a kind of walk we refer to as a "Bob Hike," also known as a "Bob Death March."  Simply defined it means a super-human self-inflicted near-death experience led by an effervescent, gleeful, and energetic Bob.  Further, said "Bob Hike," requires at least a full week of recuperation before one can walk again.

Last year, we had to add the "Teresa Hike" into the same category, as she had herself instigated such a travesty upon the rest of us.

I am proud to announce that I have now ascended to the ranks of the gods with the inclusion of the Melanie Death March in that illustrious and rarified environ.

Of course, now the competition is on to see who can come up with the most ghastly and excruciating trail.  God help us all.

Teresa blazes a new path in the attempt to find
a less tortuous way down.

By the time we reached the valley floor, seven straight hours of strenuous hiking had gone under our feet.

Toward the end of the trail, Teresa took off like a rabbit.  Now, normally, she hates it when anyone breaks away, especially as darkness is falling, and leaves the rest behind.

But it turns out that she was in so much muscle pain that she needed to walk even faster to generate some natural endorphins to block it.  If she stopped, she probably wouldn't have been able to make it all the way back!

As she bolted ahead, I led our remaining company in a rousing rendition of the Banana Boat Song with everyone joining in on the chorus.

Day-Oh, Day-Oh, Daylight go, and I wanna come home.

I climbed the steep and stinking mountain, (Daylight go, and I wanna come home)

I wish I had a water fountain, (Daylight go, and I wanna come home)

The husk of a burned out tree stands sentry
as we descend back to the valley floor.

Finally, we reached the car.  Teresa drove to keep the muscles working.  After we got her home, I took the wheel and brought Bob back.   Then, I returned home, fired up the barbeque and prepared a meal of beefy burgers (as Bob would call them), home made deep-fried French fries, spicy baked beans, fresh-baked apple strudel, a hot pot of coffee, and watermelon.  There was even a  Burger for Keeters (Canine Extraordinaire) on the grill.

Bob arrived in time for dinner, along with his roommate Shannon, and we all buried ourselves in the food trough, swearing (between slobbery mouthfuls) that we would never EVER do that again.

...until the next time....
Pictures and text copyright 2002