The hot weather kept us inside and off the trails for the rest of the summer. Triple degree heat just isn’t good for Tucker or me. But in October, on one magical day when the weather looked to be under 80 degrees in the mountains, we headed northeast to Big Bear.

Big Bear was my birthday destination some twenty years ago, back when the 100 mile trip took only an hour and a half. But with traffic, over the years the mountain venture was just too tedious to take often. I had found my home in San Francisco, and if I was going to spend half a day on the road to get to the forest, I’d rather it be to end up among the redwoods.

But now with traffic patterns across the Southland being Pandemic-Light (something akin to “Tuesday-Light” traffic from the westside to the valley in Before Times), a jaunt to Big Bear truly was just a jaunt.

I chose Castle Rock and Bluff Lake for our hiking adventure. Castle Rock was rather popular, not only for the Stephen King reference but because the trailhead was right on the main road. However, one could start near Bluff Lake, up in the mountains, and reach the same peak of Castle Rock minus all the crowds.

And crowds there were indeed. Here the stewards of nature had blocked off roadside parking and the main parking lot, which just meant that people were walking a mile or more from up the road to get to the trailhead. Never underestimate the determination someone has to go for a walk when they’re told they can’t.

I found the back way to Bluff Lake, and Tucker and I took took some not-at-all-trafficked forest service roads up the mountain to reach what seemed like a camp, now abandoned from summer and from a global health crisis.
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We parked (the only car in what I assumed was the lot for the trailhead), and while we saw a couple of people and dogs exiting the trailhead, there was no one else nearby.
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The trail was a beautiful, socially distant, lack of human experience.

​There was a sparkling lake,

Some woodland area to walk through,

A meadow,

Some autumn colors to enjoy,

And even a small house to check out.

We then found our way along forest roads to the trail that would take us to the back door entrance of Castle Rock.

There were some amazing rock formations which made me feel like we were on a set. (How did Mother Nature make these??)

And some stunning textures on the fallen trees.

Our travels took us along the trail that eventually started to drop in elevation. We were two miles into our walkabout, and I wasn’t quite sure how much further we should descend before ascending later would prove problematic—for Tucker or me. We saw Castle Rock, but the way there looked to be a few hundred feet downward and then a few hundred feet up again to reach the pinnacle.
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I felt the view of Castle Rock was enough for what we came for: a walk in the mountains.

So we sat for a spell, and enjoyed the lake, Castle Rock, and our strategic avoidance of other people.

Tucker got to gnaw on a branch.

And I got to enjoy the view—of both the lake and my boy.

When we had had our fill of relaxation and stillness in nature, we headed back the steep incline, taking a few breaks along the way, and then onward to Bluff Lake again.

This time we stopped for a photo op with a Champion Lodgepole Pine. While no giant redwood, it was impressive in its own right. There was no other tree quite so large, and the fact that it had escaped human’s destruction was a feat to be honored.

Southern California does offer a wide variety of nature to explore—as long as the freeways are clear and people don’t ruin it. Whether it’s the oceans or the mountains, thanks to people working from home, people moving away, and people just not going anywhere, we can be with nature in under two hours in any direction. And we plan to explore every direction possible.

One week later we returned to the ocean. This time, just a little more north to Ellwood Mesa. I never think of mesas as near the ocean, but I suppose that’s the proper terminology for what a Bluff is: the top of a mesa overlooking an ocean.
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We walked through the field which felt a lot like Half Moon Bay, the trails criss-crossing the open meadow with trees on the perimeter.

We found our way down to the beach and once more, had it all to ourselves except for a few people. We walked over two miles on the edge of the sea, enjoying the cliffs (a.k.a the side of a mesa), and looking out into the great ocean.

Tucker might not have cared much, but I enjoyed the beautiful rocks, wondering how long they had been beneath the sea and what it took for the earth to create such beautiful masterpieces.

A few birds hung out by the pier, and allowed us to pass so we could get under the pier for a photo op.

And then back across the beach we went.

At what I felt was the end of our beach travels, we headed upward on a trail to get bluff-side again.

There was the majestic eucalyptus tree, akin to something from the Upside Down (not that Tucker got the reference, but if he had paid attention to my Netflix nights, he would have).

There’s just something about the view of the ocean from above that I like more than standing on the edge of the waves. Tucker isn’t a fan of actual ocean swimming (or any kind of swimming), so the panoramic view suits our needs.

It was as close to Half Moon Bay as we could be after such a long time away. Bluffs or beach, even this far south from the Bay, we are standing before the very same ocean. 

And so we vowed to come back again, to gaze out over the waves and to let them carry the love in our hearts northward to the bluffs of Half Moon Bay. 

The one thing I can say is a plus during a pandemic is that the traffic in Southern California is finally reasonable. The ninety miles to Santa Barbara now really only takes ninety minutes. This is in comparison to the Burbank to Culver City commute, which is a whole seven miles and takes forty-five minutes. Even the west side (Santa Monica) which used to take over an hour, now is a mere 35-40 minutes.

With that in mind by mid-July, I decided it was time to get out of the house and get to the beach. Tucker doesn’t like getting wet, but he seems to like the ocean: just being near it, sniffing the things that have been drudged up on the beach, and walking along the coast. He’s not going to go surfing or even go walking off into the waves. But he likes the olfactory view I suppose.

Our first try was to Rincon Beach. I followed the directions and ended up at a campground that bordered the ocean, but there was no way to get where the trail was supposed to begin. Fencing, boulders, and a lack of land made me think I was in the wrong place. So after twenty minutes of giving it my best go to find the trail, I gave up.
I looked back at the map, found another trail a few miles north and off we went.

The Carpenteria Bluffs is directly off the freeway. Literally. The parking lot is within spitting distance, but once you walk past the sign, you’d never know you were so near to civilization. Apparently someone made an imprint of the land like one of those ceramic paw print ornaments and shrunk it down.

The bluff itself was an easy walk and featured some nice climbable trees. But Tucker weren't satisfied with just this. We kept going, crossing the railroad tracks (which is usually not a good idea, but I suppose it depends what side of the tracks you start on).

We ended up on the right side of the tracks. The view from that side of the tracks put me in mind of being a few hundred miles north.

We walked down the slopped trail to the beach below and found that we had the beach almost all to ourselves.

Tucker climbed on boulders, sniffed the air, and got a good noseful of seaweed.

The hour and a half drive was well worth our three mile walkabout.

​I won’t be making the drive every day, but with the Bay area in my heart but 300 miles away, we’ll be back here for our ocean fix whenever we need it. Knowing it’s this close makes this isolation thing a whole lot easier to handle.

Stough Canyon finally finished being “maintained” and opened back up to the public in mid-May. Stough Canyon is my go-to hike because it starts at the bottom, meaning there’s no risk to venturing too far. Go as far as you can, and then it’s all downhill from there.

So for the month of May when the skies were grey, or when the day was cool enough, we took a drive to our old stand-by rather than walk again the same two mile stretch of bike path that is our evening walk.
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Being in the canyon meant if we went late enough in the day, we’d be in shade the whole way up and the whole way down.

Our usual end has always been what I term Three Corners—the “top” for most in which you could turn around or head west up to picnic table and watch the sun set (or the planes take off—depending if you’re looking skyward or landward), or head east further into the mountains.

I had never ventured much east, so with time and cool air on our side, Tucker and I explored further up the mountains, hoping to find the end of the trail one day.

We often found the ravens and other inhabitants who were seeking the quiet as much as we were. Seldom did we see any other humans up this high.

It was still upward momentum, and unfortunately the first time, I mis-judged the angle of the sun and the trail around the mountain tops, so we were in sun a little too long. But I eventually figured out the geometry and time coordination, and we were able to trek up further than ever before.

The trail winds upward, and oddly ends up winding back where we can almost oversee the original parking lot, a few hundred feet down below.

We never made it beyond the cell towers, as I wanted to get back before dark. Perhaps I’m a bit paranoid, but when parks close “half hour after sunset”, I don’t want my trusty steed to be fenced in because I took too long to come down off the mountain.
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Sometimes we explored some maybe-not-trails when we got bored of the obvious wide trails.

Tucker and I spent a good amount of time up here in the hills, mostly under overcast skies. With June comes hotter weather, so our ventures up mountainsides would have to come to an end for a bit. But at least we have somewhere worth going back to once weather is on our side again. And honestly, with views like this only minutes from our basecamp, I can’t really complain.

But in the end, it's not the views I'm truly after. It's all about spending time and having adventures with this smiling kid. No matter where we go: up mountains, across meadows, walking along the beach, or driving coast to coast across the country, as long as we're together, every trail worth taking.

Los Angeles City went back and forth from closing nature completely to opening trails but not able to figure out how to reduce the number of people actually using them. That alone, kept me off their trails. The city of Burbank, however, decided to give people a chance and opened a few of their trails in May to see if we could handle it, or if they needed to turn the whole bus around on account of a few lousy kids in the back shooting spitballs. Having off mid-week while many others were either working from home or schooling their children, I took a shot on a cool day.

Stough Canyon has been a go-to for many years—even before Tucker Time. When I arrived to give it a go in May, I found that it was closed “for maintenance.” So I tried “the other trail” in Burbank. The other trail, Wildwood, was beyond my capabilities some years ago. I had gone just once, and discovered that the first 50 yards of the trail was straight up. I thought my heart was going to explode within the first 20 yards, so I descended, defeated, never to return—until now.

I had read that this wasn’t the only trailhead to get to the top. I could take a meandering, less inclined route up the road with switchbacks, and find the other trail head (or trail end) to begin our hike.

Tucker and I took to the road (which was uneventful) but at least shady so the pavement wasn’t hot on Tucker’s feet. We passed a few picnic areas where some people were sitting, reading books or enjoying a snack. Checking on my app, I found the trail off the pavement, and up we went.

It was a narrow path, but significantly less difficult that those first few yards from the bottom. It was also completely deserted. It wasn’t until we hit the ridgeline where human life became evident again. Not many people have ventured at this hour—only a couple hours before sundown and the end of an at-home-work-day.

The mountains were still a crisp a green from the winter rains, and the wildflowers were in bloom.

Tucker wasn’t overwhelmed by heat, and I wasn’t overwhelmed by people. All and all, a good hike for having been my second choice and spur of the moment substitution.

The way down was indeed steep, and I was grateful for taking the advice of others who had come before and pointed the way to an easier, more enjoyable experience. Those we passed on their way up were huffing, puffing, and heaving, hardly able to turn around and check out the view.

It just proved that while we don’t always get what we believe is the best option, we can still get what we want in unexpected ways.