Bright green highlights new growth on a Big Cone Douglas Fir (Pseudotsuga macrocarpa) in the San Gabriel Mountains near Josephine Peak and Strawberry Peak.
These peaks are popular lower elevation summits, that can be snow-free in Winter, or a blast furnace in Summer. Josephine Peak (5558 ft.) was once the site of fire lookout, and a fire road leads from Clear Creek Station to its summit. From the west, via Clear Creek or Colby Canyon, Strawberry Peak (6164 ft.) is a more difficult ascent that requires careful route-finding and rudimentary rock climbing skills. Many hikers prefer to do Strawberry from the east, starting at Red Box.
Practically any objective can be a good excuse for an adventure. Each time up or down the Chumash Trail, I pondered the prominent rock formation northwest of the trail and wondered what I might find there.
My first thought was to find a direct route across the deep canyon that parallels the Chumash Trail. Recons from a couple of points on the trail revealed this was a bad idea. Sections of the canyon that looked passable from above were incised, with crumbling, near-vertical walls. A Plan B was required.
A look at a topo map suggested it might be possible to access the formation from Las Llajas Canyon. An advantage of this approach was that, if it worked, it could be part of a loop. On a cool January morning, I decided to give it a go.
From Las Llajas Canyon, an old, overgrown roadbed led up a side canyon to a point where there was no obvious route. The canyon bottom did not look promising, and steep slopes bounded both sides of the canyon. After scrambling several hundred feet up a south-facing slope, I found a deer trail that seemed to be headed in the direction I wanted to go.
This game trail was the key. It reflected the cumulative experience of many deer dealing with the terrain issues I faced. It was remarkably efficient and appeared to be the path that expended the least energy to reach the main ridge. That is, if you’re a deer. At one point, I was forced to backtrack when the trail crossed a steep, exposed slope better suited to those with four legs and cervid hooves.
Chumash Rock
Once on the main ridge, it didn’t take long to reach the rock formation.
Near the summit of the formation I found some chiseled inscriptions. They were very weathered. The most prominent might be either a “93” or “33” over the top of a “W,” and another is perhaps a “DH.” It’s hard to tell.
Chiseled inscriptions near the summit of Chumash Rock.
Of the three high points comprising the formation, I scrambled to the top of two. The easternmost summit (on the far right when viewed from the Chumash Trail) involved climbing on loose cobble, and looked like an accident waiting to happen. Here’s a photo from the middle tooth, looking down the ridge.
As I climbed down from the summit to a saddle northeast of the rock formation, I spooked a deer, and it bounded into a brush-filled gully.
Continuing up the ridge, it eventually intersected Rocky Peak Rd. at its high point near some bivalve fossil beds. According to the Dibblee map, these are much younger than the rock formation’s cobble and may have been deposited in shallow marine conditions or lagoons a couple million years ago.
At Rocky Peak Rd. I had the option of returning via Las Llajas Canyon but decided to complete the approximately 8-mile route using the Chumash Trail.
Olancha Peak (12,123 ft.) is the prominent, pyramidal peak seen on the Sierra crest from Hwy 395, south of Olancha. Its rocky summit is above tree line, and in some years snow can persist in the east-facing summit gullies and other sun-protected areas into late June, or early July.
There are better choices for a run in the Sierra, but early in the summer when the passes on other routes are blocked by snow, Olancha may be passable. Views from the summit of Olancha Peak are expansive, and the running on the PCT was enjoyable. Round trip, the distance is an arduous 20 miles, with over 6300 ft. of elevation gain and loss.
The trail starts at Sage Flat, at a relatively low elevation of 5800 ft. As a result, in warm weather it can be hot and dusty. In addition, the trail segment up to Olancha Pass (9200 ft.) can have a lot of pack train traffic. To lessen the chance of encountering horses or mules on the trail, I opted to follow a very steep and rough “cow driveway” that shortcuts 1.3 miles of the trail up to Olancha Pass. It’s hard to imagine driving cattle up this swath, and judging from the cow femur I saw sticking up from the rubble, the cattle don’t find it so easy either.
Beyond Olancha Pass, the aesthetics improve, and a spur trail is followed northwest along Summit Meadow to a junction with the Pacific Crest Trail. The PCT eventually leads to the west slopes of Olancha Peak, and from here the summit is a short second class scramble. Here’s a Google Earth image and Google Earth KMZ file of a GPS trace of my route.
This summit panorama is from a run on June 26, 2005. The view shows the headwaters of the N.F. and S.F. Kern River, and the high peaks of the Southern Sierra. From south (left) to north (right) are the Little Kern, the N.F. Kern near Hole in the Ground, Kern Peak, the Great Western Divide, the Kaweah Group, Junction Meadow, Mt. Whitney, and Mt. Langley.
A snow plant and other forest floor elements highlighted by a shaft of sunlight. The photo was taken on a rambling out and back run of about 25 miles from the lower McGill trailhead to Mt. Pinos and Mt. Abel on July 24, 2005.
This photograph was taken early in the morning in the canyon of the Middle Fork of the San Joaquin River, on a solo trail run from Agnew Meadows to Tuolumne Meadows in Yosemite National Park, in the Summer of 1986 or 1987. My route followed the river trail to Thousand Island Lake, and then the PCT over Island and Donohue Passes, and down Lyell Canyon to the Tioga Road. It was a wonderful and adventurous run in a stunning area.
A runner descends the trail below Palomani Pass (16,600 ft.) on a Circuit of Mt. Ausangate (20,905 ft.) in the Peruvian Andes. Once acclimated, running at that altitude wasn’t as bad as I thought it might be, and when you return home, those 10,000 ft. trails feel like you’re running at sea level. The trip was arranged by my good friend Devy Reinstein of Andes Adventures and was unforgettable. (Photo taken July 23, 2003.)
