It’s already been 10 days, but worth flashing back for what may have been the hardest physical day of my life.
Friday April 14th: I was camped a mile off the PCT (leaving the trail at mile 163) at a peculiar and beautiful oasis of cedar trees, 6,500 feet above sea level that just appeared out of the high desert shrubberies and had survived a July 1994 fire that decimated most of the rest of this pocket of sky forest. The high country of the San Jacinto’s (mile 168 to 191) still had several treacherous spots unwise without crampons (not part of this journey for me) AND an ice ax (which I did have in the car, to use on the next leg). A handful of PCTers had made it through by mid April, but most hiked a lower route via the town of Idyllwild (west of San Jacinto) to continue north.
But something no one was doing was going east of San Jacinto via Palm Springs. In fact, most PCTers vaguely noted that Palm Springs was over there somewhere, just not part of the PCT ecosystem. Strange for me, as this is probably my favorite non-wilderness part of California the past 2 decades and especially the past 5 years when I’ve upped my regular visits. So quizzical looks from all, including the 5 people thru hiking I camped with at Cedar Springs. They thought I was weird heading the opposite way in the morning and I wasn’t even sure this was viable.
After some hesitation and a leisurely breakfast under cedars, I decided to give it one hour to scout and then would make the call. I had an out back the over the PCT and 5 miles to another trail head near Hwy 74 where Ashley could pick me up after she wrapped up work at her San Diego AirBnB. I followed the vague trail I’d scouted the night before and a few weathered colored ribbons on bushes, losing the way at least 6 times and glad I was wearing long pants through the post-forest-fire brush. I had my eye on a rocky knoll with a view of the Coachella and after 45 minutes, made it. The iffy cell signal made it there too, but I saw zero sign of a trail heading further down and was fully 6,000 vertical feet above the valley floor.
This was the the crux, and I used that cell signal to pay for yet another trail mapping app (All Trails) and after some playing with the name (Jo Pond, Cedar Springs, Indian Canyon) I found the trail I was looking for, which in turn I could download for offline use! The last trip report of any kind was from 2009, but I remembered from a day hike out of Indian Canyon in January 2020 that there was a (not-too-weathered) sign 2 miles from the Indian Canyon trailhead that said ‘PCT 7.5 miles’ and I had the picture in my phone to prove it (also just 6.5 miles from Cedar springs to that junction). The freshly downloaded map showed the clearing I was in was directly on top of the old trail, even though there was no evidence on the ground and there was a conspicuous lack of any trail reports from any source for over a decade. I used that signal to update Ashley, my family at home, and my friend Lee who was staying not far from the Indian Canyon trailhead for another day, and then around 10:30am, it was time: the Bomb Descent of 6,000 feet.
The first 1/2 mile from the crux was open and gently sloping and I felt confident, nigh on cocky with a good map, sufficient water and an extra day of food in case something happened. My legs felt ok, but my feet were complaining a bit after the 62 trail miles I put on them the previous 4 days, and that 4.5 lb tent on my back on its last day of this journey was… noticeable.
After that nice start, I of course had barely lost any elevation, and still had seen no sign of an old trail, whipping out my phone/nav every few minutes as the slope tipped into more angle. I was able to see a ridge line finally that I could follow to about 4,000 feet, but the trick, as always in the mountains, was in the minute details. I small rocky cliff here, impassable desert thorny shrubs there. As it got steeper, I was able to find more trail sign, a bit of flatter ground, an old switch back. But I realized that no one had walked this abandoned trail for years, and while desert flora may grow slowly, grow it had. Then, this wet winter and the resulting ‘desert bloom’ that made this slope so pretty from Murray Hill way below me and across the valley made walking a veritable nightmare. I would mix route finding with my eyes and checking the nav for the old trail bed where the brush was slightly less intense, often finding myself less than 10 feet from the flatter trail in a sticker bush of some kind. There was a unique symbiosis between a softer, but more prodigious shrub pushing me into the sharp-as-dagger yucca absolutely everywhere. I was careful with each step but was jabbed for blood a half dozen times.
Then the fauna as well: scorpions and tarantulas didn’t pose too much concern and the endless ants were busy moving grains of sand, but the rattlesnakes were top of mind. More than a hundred times I had to put my foot down among shadows of brush I could not see. I was however extra cautious in each drainage/ravine where I understood the snakes especially like and after 5 hard hours, in just such a place, my first encounter with a live rattler. I was maybe 6 feet away and it exploded in a fury of hiss and rattle, zero doubt what was happening and also no problem rapidly giving it 10 more feet before I looked back and could safely look and snap a photo. I moved along pretty quickly and the thing kept going until I was long out of earshot. Despite the mental prep, my heart did leap at the moment of contact. I doubt this will be the last (in fact a PCT hiker was airlifted off the trail in the last few days near where I’m at now in Big Bear after being bit on trail), but hope they are all as loud as this one!
This lower section flattened out again and there were dozens of former cairns, deteriorating to one or two rocks, still helpful in avoiding obstacles. I finally hit the junction sign I’d seen 3 years ago around 3:30, totally spent after 6 hours of desert mountain bushwhacking. I also knew there was a beautiful cool stream that supported the native palms of Indian Canyon, where I filtered another liter of water for the final stretch. Although I’d hiked this trail before, I had completely forgotten how much UP remained to get out, crossing another ridge some 700 feet back up making the gross descent over 7,000. This was more of a trail but the very pretty desert bloom had grown over large swaths, grabbing at my exhausted legs and slowing the last 4 miles to a little over 1 mph. To think I’d told Lee and Ashley I thought I’d could be in the valley by 2 or 3pm…. The final stretch had endless grasses growing all around and on the trail. They looked soft, swaying in the breeze but each blade of grass was covered with little barbs that I had no choice but to allow them to coat my lower legs with barbs until I was free of the trail.
I finally stumbled onto the flat road on the valley floor as the last light of the day was casting alpenglow on the mountain wall I had spent 9 hours descending. I had hoped to be done before the Aqua Caliente tribe locked the vehicle gate (at 5pm) for these lands they govern, but not even close. So I ambled the last mile to the gate where I found they had added barbed wire since my last visit with stern warnings about trespassing outside of the 9 to 5 hours and security cameras all about. Ashley and Aspen were waiting after their own long day just outside the gate. Luckily the vehicle gate had just enough room I could slide my pack through and then slither through myself. I waved to the cameras and mouthed ‘sorry, I just walked down from the PCT.’ About 3 minutes later 2 collared guard dogs arrived on the scene and we quickly jumped in the car and skedadeled.
Exhausted just doesn’t adequately describe how thrashed I was, this insane descent capping 75 pack-loaded miles walked Monday to Friday that week. Never have I been so grateful for a familiar home base after such exertion and another huge thanks to Tri and Asher for the periodic use of their Palm Springs oasis between segments! This was the finale as after a weekend recharge, I will rejoin the PCT 10 miles north of their pad at mile 210 where I-10 blows through San Gorgonio Pass, a 1,300 foot gap in the two ranges with peaks over 10,000 feet.
All the while, in this same valley I was fighting to return to on my own 2 feet, the legendary Coachella music festival was happening, where 99.9% of attendees could not fathom what madness I just completed. However, since I like stark contrasts, I toyed with attending Sunday after a day of rest, food, and showers. But the $550 weekend ticket cost put an end to that even crazier idea…. Instead, I stared at the ridge I had descended poolside for a couple days while I gathered strength for the next Big Up phase and a farewell to my home base (people and place) so precious this opening month.