This is the largest Southern Pacific Rattlesnake track I’ve seen in 20+ years of running at Upper Las Virgenes Canyon Open Space Preserve (Ahmanson Ranch) — or anywhere else.
The repeated cries of a falcon called from high on the north face of Strawberry Peak. Along the sandy trail, lupine, paintbrush, penstemon and yarrow bloomed in a profusion of blues, reds, and yellows. Tracks from running shoes, bikes, boots, and a black bear proclaimed the trail to be truly multi-use.
I sighed and took it all in. I’d been doing this classic 16-mile route for more than 20 years. A favorite of mountain bikers and runners alike, the loop can be broken down into the following segments.
Josephine Fire Road Climb
From the Clear Creek Trailhead, Josephine Fire Road climbs about 1250′ over 2.5 miles to a divide connecting Josephine and Strawberry Peaks. At the junction, the route turns right (east) onto a trail along the divide that goes to Josephine Saddle. A left (west) turn goes to Josephine Peak.
The route joins the Colby Canyon Trail at Josephine Saddle. A large cistern is found here. Just past the saddle, the climber’s trail to Strawberry Peak branches off the main trail and goes up the ridge. The Colby Canyon Trail contours along the left (northwest) side of the ridge and traverses a steep slide area. After that, it works around the shoulder of Strawberry, then turns east and descends, winding in and out of the small canyons on the northwest and north slopes of Strawberry.
On this stretch, the large rock face on the north side of Strawberry Peak comes into view, and shortly after, the trail passes a huge boulder. The flattish area that follows is Strawberry Protreo. The “meadow” reminds me of lower elevation areas of the Southern and East Side Sierra.
Beyond Strawberry Protreo, the trail descends along the margin of a moraine-like landslide. Then it turns south, reaching a flat, sandy area just before the Colby Canyon Trail – Strawberry Trail junction. I’ve often seen bear tracks on this stretch of trail. The loop takes the right fork onto the Strawberry Trail and climbs to Lawlor Saddle.
Climb to Lawlor Saddle
The Strawberry Trail gains about 750′ over two miles on its way to Lawlor Saddle. As the post “Trail Games” mentions, this stretch will tell you a lot about how your day is going. It dips in and out of side canyons, passing Strawberry Spring along the way. Today, Strawberry Spring was running, but the spring was dry during our recent drought. It is generally not a dependable water source.
Lawlor Saddle to Red Box
The 2.5 miles to Red Box are enjoyable single-track trail. Most of it is flat or downhill. On the weekend, numerous hikers are on the trail, heading up to climb Strawberry Peak. It is by far the busiest trail on the loop.
The 4.4 miles down to Switzer’s include some fast-paced stretches and some of the most technical sections of the loop. It is popular with mountain bikers and V-ed and rutted in places. At one point, the trail drops down to the stream (if it’s running) and crosses the creek twice.
The Nature’s Canteen Trail is roughly half a mile long and connects Switzer’s to Clear Creek. It starts a third of a mile up the steep access road between Switzer’s and Angeles Crest Highway. The trail is sometimes overgrown.
Strawberry Peak Variation
There is a more adventurous variation of the Strawberry Peak Circuit that goes over the top of Strawberry Peak instead of around it. This variation requires good route-finding and rock-climbing skills.
Running south in upper Las Virgenes Canyon, I’d passed the connector to Cheeseboro Canyon and was nearing Las Virgenes Creek. Before reaching the creek, I turned left off the main road onto a path that has a log bridge across the creek.
As I stepped onto the berm at the edge of the road, I caught a glimpse of something small and furry moving at my feet. I stopped and stepped back.
That’s when the vole poked its head from a burrow. I could almost see it squinting as it assessed whether or not I was a threat. Deciding to continue foraging, it emerged from the hole as far as it dared, and worked to free a small clump of grass at the margin of the burrow. Mission accomplished, in a flash of fur it returned to its burrow.
Had they not dislodged some rocks, I doubt I would have seen the three bighorn sheep in the photo above. They are easier to see in this zoomed-in photo of the sheep descending the rocky slopes just below Windy Gap (7,588′) in the San Gabriel Mountains. They crossed a brush-covered rib and disappeared from view.
A few minutes after seeing the sheep, I reached Windy Gap and stopped to put my arm sleeves away. It had been cool at the trailhead — about 40 degrees — but the temperature had warmed as I worked up the trail. As its name suggests, the wind can be fierce at Windy Gap, but this morning there was almost no wind, foretelling nearly ideal weather for today’s adventure.
Windy Gap was still in shade, and the sun was just peeking over the ridge to the east. You couldn’t tell, but the eclipse had already begun. The eclipse would be nearly total in parts of Oregon, Nevada, Utah, New Mexico, and Texas. In the Los Angeles area, the moon would obscure more than 70% of the sun’s disc.
From Windy Gap, I headed east on the Pacific Crest Trail toward Mt. Hawkins. From time to time, I would stop and check the progress of the eclipse using eclipse sunglasses. In sunny areas, I looked for lensed images of the sun in the shadows of trees but didn’t see any. Having needles instead of leaves, conifers don’t produce the myriad images of the eclipsed sun seen under trees with leaves.
With nearly three-quarters of the sun obscured, the light from the sun had become enfeebled. The feeling was more than that of a cloud passing in front of the sun. I stopped and listened… to nothing. It was eerily quiet. No birds called or sang, and only chill zephyrs of wind wafted about the area. Somehow, the sun was broken.
As the eclipse slowly waned, I continued east in the corrupt light, past Mt. Hawkins and Throop Peak, to the PCT’s junction with the Dawson Saddle Trail. In what seemed fitting for the day, instead of continuing to Baden-Powell, I turned left and headed down the trail toward Angeles Crest Highway (Highway 2).
Why? Angeles Crest Highway was closed from Red Box to Vincent Gap, transforming Dawson Saddle into one of the more isolated areas of the Angeles National Forest. I hadn’t been on the Dawson Saddle Trail in years, and with Highway 2 closed, it would be a quirky way to climb Mt. Lewis. Instead of having one of the shortest approaches in the San Gabriels — a few feet from the CalTrans shed at Dawson Saddle — it would involve a trail run of nearly eight miles just to get to the base of the peak.
The eclipse was nearly over when I reached the bottom of the Dawson Saddle Trail on Highway 2. From the trailhead, I ran up an empty Angeles Crest Highway a short distance to Dawson Saddle. Mt. Lewis’ south ridge was accessed from here.
Only about a half-mile long, the south ridge isn’t technical, but the first third is steep and rocky. The elevation gain from the saddle to the summit is about 500′. Offset from the crest of the San Gabriels, the flat summit of Mt. Lewis has unique views of the crest extending from Mt. Baden-Powell to Mt. Islip and beyond.
After a few minutes enjoying the summit, I turned southward and began working my way back down to Angeles Crest Highway, up to the PCT, over to Windy Gap, and back down to the trailhead in the Crystal Lake Recreational Area.
Wait a minute… I stopped running down the hill and walked back to look at the sizable pile of scat.
I was on Rocky Peak Road, at about mile 3 of an extended version of the Chumash – Las Llajas loop, and just past the top of the Chumash Trail.
No doubt about it. It was bear scat. The bear had been eating holly-leaved cherries, and the scat was full of cherry pits. Over several decades of running Rocky Peak Road, this was the first time I’d seen evidence of a bear in the area.
This morning, I looked for bear tracks around the scat, but thunderstorms and bike traffic had erased them. After taking a couple of photos, I continued toward the high point of the loop, “Fossil Point.”
What had started as a very foggy morning was transitioning to a cool Fall day with a mix of sun and clouds. From the cairn at Fossil Point, Oat Mountain was still partially shrouded by clouds. Below the overlook, I spotted a couple of mountain bikers working up the road. The ride up Las Llajas Canyon has become a popular e-mountainbike ride, and e-bikes would be the only type of bike I would see on my way down the canyon.
The run down Las Llajas Canyon was pleasant and fast-paced. Lately, I’ve been doing a variation of the loop that jumps over to the Marr Ranch Trail using a trail that splits off the Coquina Mine trail. This route gets you up and out of the canyon and onto a ridge with good views of the surrounding terrain. It’s a bit more adventurous and adds a little mileage and elevation gain to the usual loop. The Coquina Mine trail is easy to miss — it branches off Las Llajas Road after passing the towering cliffs.
I saw a flash of brown through the bushes on the trail ahead. I stopped as a deer emerged from a switchback. The doe was walking slowly up the trail with her mule-like ears turned back toward me. I said something like, “Where are you going?”
She turned toward me and stared quizzically. As I slowly pulled the phone from my pack, I continued to talk. Her expression was a mix of caution and curiosity. It was as if she couldn’t quite make up her mind what I was about.
This was peculiar behavior for a deer in this area. It wouldn’t be so strange if I was at Trippet Ranch. The deer there graze around the oaks and grasslands near the parking lot and are used to seeing people. But in decades of running the Chumash Trail, I’ve only occasionally seen deer, and they have always been skittish and quick to react.
This doe watched me as I slowly walked around the bend and toward her. I was reminded of a friend’s experience, when he was hit on the shoulder by a spooked deer. Not wanting to force a reaction, I stopped. The deer casually stepped off the trail and disappeared down the ravine.
Later, running down Las Llajas Canyon, I was startled by the sound of something large moving in the brush. This time I got only a fleeting glimpse, as the deer bounded uphill through the trees, rocks, and brush.