The Forty-First

Seldom am I in Southern California for my birthday. I knew that after spending last year in the Blue Ridge Mountains, nothing I could do this year could possibly top that. That’s the downfall to doing a big thing for your 40th: the rest of your 40’s pales in comparison.

However, my annual quest remains the same regardless of where I am: to find Fall. In Los Angeles, I worried autumn may never come. After a hot summer, the fall wasn’t looking any cooler. Leaves change color when the kiss of frost is touched by the morning sun. We had sunshine aplenty, but frost was nowhere to be found.

An online search for where to go to see autumn colors in Southern California brought up a trail called Ice House Canyon in part of Mt. Baldy—a mountain I had yet to explore. It was listed as 7.7 miles up and back which is a bit long for Tuck and me, but with an elevation gain of 2637 feet, I thought the length might prove in our favor as it would be less of an incline. I honestly was going for the parts that touted the fall colors near a stream on the canyon floor, so if we didn’t make it all the way up the mountain, so be it. At least I’d see fall.
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Autumn in the Golden State is exactly that: golden. Seldom do you get the reds and oranges and other colors that blanket New England. It’s all a yellow-gold.

In that way, the trail did not disappoint. It only disappointed me in comparison to last year’s North Carolina’s adventure.

After less than an mile of hiking, I figured out that this trail was named Ice House Canyon not for the chill in the air, but because the giant white rocks gave an illusion of bricks of ice tossed into the valley.
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For Tucker, this was instant agility heaven.

A stream ran along the trail for quite aways, a bubbling brook for our auditory pleasure.

And then the ascent began…

​The ice blocks petered out, and what was left was a sandy trail. But up above, the sky was a stunning rich blue, unmarked by clouds.

Down below, the trees clung to the steep land, still reaching to the heavens.

A fews hours after leaving the canopy of gold on the canyon floor, ​we did indeed reach the Saddle. However, my GPS had clocked us at 5.5 miles, not 3.6—a hefty difference in space and time.

The thing about the saddle is that it’s the low point, not the pinnacle. The best views were right before we dipped back into the saddle. But I still longed for Blue Ridge Mountains. Here the mountains are majestic and high—but also often bare from the climate. I am, afterall, in a desert.

I made it a point to still find some green:

​Tucker decided he needed a rest having reached our goal, without concern that we now needed to go back the way we came. Since he is always courteous when I need a rest, I allowed him his and waited.

​I don’t know what dreams Tucker was having, but I think what I was seeing beat anything he saw behind his closed lids.

It wasn't the Blue Ridge Mountains or the rolling hills of New England, but it was still beautiful. It's just a different style of beauty. Mother Nature is diverse, and as I sat there looking out over the thorny plants and harsh landscape, I felt blessed to be able to visit so many of her different, yet equally stunning, galleries.

We had been hiking for over 3 hours, and although I wanted to let Tucker rest more, we needed to get back down the mountain. I assumed the descent would be significantly quicker than the ascent, but I was wrong.

Tucker is very goal-oriented. He will push through to reach the finish line (i.e., the top of a mountain), failing to realize that we aren’t actually finished; it’s just the first goal. The second goal is to make it back to the car.

Less than a half mile into our descent, Tucker held a sit in… then a lie down. I waited five minutes, uneasy that this portion of journey could extend into nightfall if we continued at this pace.

As I watched him nap, I realized I need to add a rescue harness to my backpack—something to carry him out should he become injured. He wasn’t injured. He wasn’t suffering from a life-threatening incident. He was just too dang tired to keep walking.

I urged him on and when we came upon three boys in their twenties taking a break on their way up to smoke some pot, Tucker decided these guys were totally his speed. He lay down beneath one of them who was sitting on a rock in the middle of the trail.

I enjoyed conversation (and a slight contact high) while Tucker took another ten minute nap. Once the boys were done with their break, Tucker and I resumed our downward journey.

Every time Tucker stopped, I wished I had something to carry him in. Back on the canyon floor, Tucker came across a family who had stopped to eat lunch among the golden leaves. With no formal invitation, Tucker let himself into their circle off the trail and lay down as if this was his family now and promptly fell asleep.

It hadn’t been since Mt Shasta that Tucker had been this exhausted on a hike. I had wanted to wear him out some so I didn’t feel guilty leaving him behind for my birthday dinner in the evening, but I guess we went a little too far.
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​One of the boys had questioned if perhaps Tucker’s hiking days were over. I exclaimed No! Absolutely not, he’s only six. He’s got at least five more years left. As he ages, I know our hikes will need to be shorter and less strenuous. But I’ll never go hiking without him. And if he needs to stop, then I’ll stop with him. Because I’ll never leave him behind. And he’ll never leave me either.

So I didn’t get a New England Autumn this year; I had one last year. So I didn’t get an easy hike; I still got to explore nature. And ultimately, the greatest gift of all is with me every day: my constant and loyal canine companion. Whether we’re hiking to the highest mountain peaks, strolling through meadows, or stopping to take in the fresh air and view, we’re on this journey of life together, side by side... even if I can't manage a proper selfie together to prove it.