Day-tripping
Where to find higher ground and beat heat
Settlers in the low desert – at least those with the financial means – have always sought relief on higher ground once the summer heat crept in. These days, a lot of people are yearning to spend some time in the open spaces for another reason.
As the pandemic rages with no abatement in sight for Arizona, one option for escaping the confinement of home while avoiding the stir-crazy crowds in town might be to make that traditional day trip to the Laguna Mountains in California. We were lucky enough to do it recently, on one of the last cooler days of spring, but it will be worth further consideration during the coming months given the 25-degree temperature difference.
A widespread secret
We set off toward the distant coast range on that brilliant Friday morning, as early as we could manage in this era of seeming timelessness. The high winds out of the northwest meant we really did need to heed the signs along the freeway cautioning us to drive safely through the mountains.
The artery into the heart of the Cleveland National Forest is Sunrise Highway, which switchbacks up to a ridge above I-8 a few miles east of Pine Valley. Beyond 5,000 feet, in the province of pine forests, hiking trails abound on both sides of the route. We were tempted to pull over at every trailhead, but in most cases any available parking on or around the roadway
was already claimed by earlier birds than ourselves.
We coasted through the township of Mt. Laguna, where the log-cabin restaurants, though apparently closed, sported signs promising that meals could be brought out to the hitching posts for drive-by patrons. Shortly, the road began descending out of the dense pines and into a band of thick shrubs in full white bloom. Here in the open, we could see our destination, Garnet Peak, with its separate rocky ridges of light and dark brown.
Unspoiled nature
Even here, we had to park creatively, wedging the Prius in next to the rail blocking an overgrown track, long since closed to vehicles. We danced across the cattle guard on the highway to the Penny Pines trailhead, which offers a moderate four-mile round trip with 700 feet in elevation gain.
Most of the hike uses a stretch of the Pacific Crest Trail, which through this area follows the rim of the Laguna mesa. To the east, the landscape drops away steeply to the floor of the Anza Borrego Desert, offering breathtaking views into the Imperial Valley and beyond. At one point, I noted a side trail out to a rocky outcropping that I promised myself to explore on the way back.
Every couple of hundred yards along the trail, we passed a hiker or two or three, or maybe even a family with kids and a dog. Without exception, everyone but the pets was wearing a facemask, triggering a discussion concerning the substantive differences in regional culture.
The trail cut through a solid thicket of whiteblossomed shrubs, their overpowering sweet scent hanging on the breeze. Here and there, a stalk of creamy blossoms known as Our Lord’s candle stood proudly above the spiky chaparral yucca at its base.
I decided that this was an ideal terrain for snakes if ever there was one, especially with the lushness of the greenery. Sure enough, a couple of hikers warned us about hearing rattles just off the trail, a bit of information that brought our daydreams back to earth and slowed our pace considerably.
A diverse panorama
For the last half-mile, the path departs from the Pacific Crest Trail and ascends sharply to the east. The summit itself offers space enough for three or four small groups to enjoy the view and still practice social distancing. For our ritual meal of sardines, crackers and cheese, we found a rocky nook out of the wind, looking east over the fingers of desert that begin as narrow canyons in the wall of mountains.
From here, we could pick out landmarks from our many earlier explorations – the area of canyons known as The Slot, the badlands east of Borrego Springs, the Ocotillo Wells area, currently closed to vehicle traffic in the interest of public health.
From behind the flying buttress of a far-off mountain, we could see the tail of the Salton Sea, enclosed by the checkered green of irrigated fields that gradually dissolved into the haze.
When it was our turn to occupy the uppermost vista point, we knew we couldn’t stay long because the strong wind had a genuine chill to it. On the other side of the outcropping, facing west, we spotted one of our fellow hikers – a young woman, probably from one of the coastal cities, rewarding herself with a lasting image of the sprawling Laguna range while the cold breeze stung her eyes.
Indeed, the slopes that overlapped into the distance toward the invisible ocean beyond were a patchwork of varying plant species, and even large tracts that not long ago had been ravaged by wildfires were now lush and green. I resolved that the undisturbed patch of pine forest that spreads away from the bald crown of Monument Peak to the south would be the destination for an outing later in the summer.
All together now
As for now, having earned all this elevation, we were in no hurry to return to the heat, nor did we want to get this close to Julian without scoring a fresh-baked pie. So, after extricating the Prius from the weeds, we continued north along S1.
We passed a considerably shrunken Cuyamaca Lake, lying at the foot of North Peak. The smoke we had seen from our perch on Garnet Peak turned out to be a controlled burn here on the near slope – somewhat oddly, since this area has been essentially treeless since The Great Fire of 2011.
The town of Julian was certainly quiet for a sunny Friday afternoon, subdued like most places by the pandemic. Apparently, the café where we stopped for espresso was open only for takeout orders, and the barista, who lived upstairs, felt lucky to have made the cut when half the employees were laid off.
There were certain advantages to the peace and quiet, though, not the least being easy access to parking. Social distancing pretty much took care of itself, too, and the visitors strolling past the quaint storefront on the main strip were again wearing face coverings – all except for one well-heeled couple who felt a civic obligation to display their complete inventory of cosmetic enhancements.
No one had been in a hurry to clear off the bulletin boards announcing theatrical performances or live music at the local taverns. One timely message hung, however, in the place of honor at one corner of the main intersection, where state roads branched out toward Ramona, Temecula, Borrego Springs, Brawley, San Diego. There a large banner in an austere font read, “We’re all in this together.”
That reminder alone was worth the trip.