Through the Clouds and Back
Over the course of three hikes into the Topatopa Range outside Ojai, I've discovered that the toughest part of hiking these mountains is getting to them. If you have a four-wheel-drive vehicle and can get National Park Service to let you through the gate onto Nordhoff Ridge Road, visiting the peaks is easy. You can do several of them in a day. But everyone else has to hike up several miles of canyon - which can be nice, but it takes a lot of time and can really wear you out.
Back in April, I made my first trek into the area, going up Nordhoff Peak. Then last month, I hiked up Chief Peak, which was longer and tougher than I expected, but that was a good thing. It prepared me for the main event - Topatopa Bluff, a massive mountain with large, prominent rock outcrops, visible from thirty miles away in Oxnard where I work. I've looked at Topatopa on my lunchtime walks for years, and I've been thinking about hiking it since last spring. But it's a tough challenge, at least fifteen miles round trip and four thousand feet in elevation change. Another blogger I read calls it "The Suffer Machine." But I'd done my homework and practiced for that level of exertion. This past Saturday, I was ready.
But Mother Nature threw me a curve ball. I drove to Ojai under cloudy skies, with stretches of drizzle. That's not unusual this time of year, and I expected it to burn off later in the morning. I was in for a surprise - but I didn't know that yet as I parked my car and started up Sisar Canyon Road. After a couple of miles, the trail really started to climb, and it quickly took me into the clouds. I later told Emma that it was the kind of hike she could expect where she is in London, if London had mountains - walking through miles of fog. After about four miles, I reached the White Ledge Campground, which others have described as creepy looking. It was even more creepy looking shrouded in mist.
After about three and a half hours, I finally reached Nordhoff Ridge Road - and had no idea where to go next. I couldn't see the mountain peaks because of the clouds! After checking both directions, I finally settled on one and started walking, and soon enough, Topatopa came into view. It still looked massive. It also looked wrong, because the clouds were completely covering the face where the outcrops are. But I figured that had to be the right mountain, so I continued on the road, looking for the route to the top. That took a bit of doing, because the sign marking it - as seen on several hiking blogs - had been knocked down. Eventually I found the right spot and started making my final ascent. I looked back as I climbed, and saw the clouds rolling in across the landscape behind me, even threatening to envelop the pointed tip of Chief Peak, where I'd been just a month before.
Up until that point, I hadn't really felt like the route deserved its "suffer machine" nickname - but that last mile-and-a-half stretch convinced me. It would have been a challenge even if I hadn't already hiked up Sisar Canyon. Coming at the end of that long trek, it was a killer. About halfway up, I stopped to rest and decided to leave my backpack there instead of carrying it the rest of the way. Even then, there were several points when I was sure I'd gone as far as I could. And this was a relatively cool spring day - I'd never even think about trying it in the heat of summer. In the end, I got to the top mostly on stubbornness. Plus I'd already recorded some bits for a video of the hike, and I didn't want to erase them or record an embarrassed admission of defeat.
Coming back down, I had a momentary panic when I couldn't remember exactly where I'd left my backpack, but it was still waiting where I'd left it. When I made it back down to Nordhoff Ridge Road, I found an older couple sitting in a truck. They had driven over to Hines Peak, a slightly taller summit next to Topatopa, and were getting ready to visit Chief Peak next. I watched them cruise away, leaving dust in their wake. With seven miles or so left for me to hike, I couldn't help wondering briefly if I was doing things the wrong way. But then I had to get moving. It was mid-afternoon and I wanted to get back while there was still daylight.
Just before I got back to the Sisar Canyon trail, I found another couple setting up their camper next to a picnic table where I'd already planned to take a break. I sat down at the table, said hello to their two friendly bulldogs and talked for a while about the clouds rolling in. They were planning to hike up Topatopa the next morning, which was probably a good idea. Then it was time for me to head back down into the clouds, where I soon discovered something I hadn't expected. Spending all day in the clouds had left every bit of vegetation covered in water - nice to look at, but stomping through it quickly had me covered in water as well. For two and a half miles, there was nothing I could do but plow forward and take it. At that point, I finally reached a wider dirt road and could walk in the clear, but by that time my clothes were soaked. My shoes weren't completely dried out until Monday, and unfortunately I also caught a cold. That's the first time I've ever experienced the cliché of getting sick after being cold and wet. Who knew?
I finally made it back to my car around 7:00, nearly ten hours after I started. One of the longest hikes I've ever done, though except for the last part I didn't think it was terribly difficult. I don't think I'd want to try that last segment up to the peak again, but I'm curious to know what the canyon looks like in sunny weather, and I'd love to see the outcrop up close, so I may go back sometime when I'm assured of a little more sunshine.
As I set off toward home, I drove down Route 150 and came upon a pair of vultures sitting in the middle of the road, picking at some roadkill. They were stubborn, too, holding their ground even after I beeped my horn at them. I wanted to get a photo, but then another car pulled up behind me, so I had to roll forward slowly until the birds got the message and retreated to a nearby fence. Just another day in the Southern California wilderness. May there be many more.
Back in April, I made my first trek into the area, going up Nordhoff Peak. Then last month, I hiked up Chief Peak, which was longer and tougher than I expected, but that was a good thing. It prepared me for the main event - Topatopa Bluff, a massive mountain with large, prominent rock outcrops, visible from thirty miles away in Oxnard where I work. I've looked at Topatopa on my lunchtime walks for years, and I've been thinking about hiking it since last spring. But it's a tough challenge, at least fifteen miles round trip and four thousand feet in elevation change. Another blogger I read calls it "The Suffer Machine." But I'd done my homework and practiced for that level of exertion. This past Saturday, I was ready.
But Mother Nature threw me a curve ball. I drove to Ojai under cloudy skies, with stretches of drizzle. That's not unusual this time of year, and I expected it to burn off later in the morning. I was in for a surprise - but I didn't know that yet as I parked my car and started up Sisar Canyon Road. After a couple of miles, the trail really started to climb, and it quickly took me into the clouds. I later told Emma that it was the kind of hike she could expect where she is in London, if London had mountains - walking through miles of fog. After about four miles, I reached the White Ledge Campground, which others have described as creepy looking. It was even more creepy looking shrouded in mist.
After about three and a half hours, I finally reached Nordhoff Ridge Road - and had no idea where to go next. I couldn't see the mountain peaks because of the clouds! After checking both directions, I finally settled on one and started walking, and soon enough, Topatopa came into view. It still looked massive. It also looked wrong, because the clouds were completely covering the face where the outcrops are. But I figured that had to be the right mountain, so I continued on the road, looking for the route to the top. That took a bit of doing, because the sign marking it - as seen on several hiking blogs - had been knocked down. Eventually I found the right spot and started making my final ascent. I looked back as I climbed, and saw the clouds rolling in across the landscape behind me, even threatening to envelop the pointed tip of Chief Peak, where I'd been just a month before.
Up until that point, I hadn't really felt like the route deserved its "suffer machine" nickname - but that last mile-and-a-half stretch convinced me. It would have been a challenge even if I hadn't already hiked up Sisar Canyon. Coming at the end of that long trek, it was a killer. About halfway up, I stopped to rest and decided to leave my backpack there instead of carrying it the rest of the way. Even then, there were several points when I was sure I'd gone as far as I could. And this was a relatively cool spring day - I'd never even think about trying it in the heat of summer. In the end, I got to the top mostly on stubbornness. Plus I'd already recorded some bits for a video of the hike, and I didn't want to erase them or record an embarrassed admission of defeat.
Coming back down, I had a momentary panic when I couldn't remember exactly where I'd left my backpack, but it was still waiting where I'd left it. When I made it back down to Nordhoff Ridge Road, I found an older couple sitting in a truck. They had driven over to Hines Peak, a slightly taller summit next to Topatopa, and were getting ready to visit Chief Peak next. I watched them cruise away, leaving dust in their wake. With seven miles or so left for me to hike, I couldn't help wondering briefly if I was doing things the wrong way. But then I had to get moving. It was mid-afternoon and I wanted to get back while there was still daylight.
Just before I got back to the Sisar Canyon trail, I found another couple setting up their camper next to a picnic table where I'd already planned to take a break. I sat down at the table, said hello to their two friendly bulldogs and talked for a while about the clouds rolling in. They were planning to hike up Topatopa the next morning, which was probably a good idea. Then it was time for me to head back down into the clouds, where I soon discovered something I hadn't expected. Spending all day in the clouds had left every bit of vegetation covered in water - nice to look at, but stomping through it quickly had me covered in water as well. For two and a half miles, there was nothing I could do but plow forward and take it. At that point, I finally reached a wider dirt road and could walk in the clear, but by that time my clothes were soaked. My shoes weren't completely dried out until Monday, and unfortunately I also caught a cold. That's the first time I've ever experienced the cliché of getting sick after being cold and wet. Who knew?
I finally made it back to my car around 7:00, nearly ten hours after I started. One of the longest hikes I've ever done, though except for the last part I didn't think it was terribly difficult. I don't think I'd want to try that last segment up to the peak again, but I'm curious to know what the canyon looks like in sunny weather, and I'd love to see the outcrop up close, so I may go back sometime when I'm assured of a little more sunshine.
As I set off toward home, I drove down Route 150 and came upon a pair of vultures sitting in the middle of the road, picking at some roadkill. They were stubborn, too, holding their ground even after I beeped my horn at them. I wanted to get a photo, but then another car pulled up behind me, so I had to roll forward slowly until the birds got the message and retreated to a nearby fence. Just another day in the Southern California wilderness. May there be many more.
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