Throop Peak Via PCT from Islip Saddle

Hikin' Jim's list of 23 San Gabriel peaks above 8000 feet has been mocking me relentlessly ever since I laid eyes upon it. So Sunday morning I got up not particularly early and headed out solo for the hills to scratch a few summits from the list. My initial plan was to ascend the PCT from Islip Saddle to Throop Peak and bag Hawkins and Islip on the way back down. As it turned out, I only made the first two due to an equipment malfunction on the return trip so I ended up missing out on Islip.

Anyway, I came at Islip Saddle along the Angeles Crest Highway from La Canada. The cops were as thick along the ACH as Poodle Dog Bush in the burn area. Arrived at the saddle about 9:35 a.m. to a half-full parking lot, clear skies, and reasonable temps. Slid into a pair of trail runners and was on the move by 9:45 a.m.

Less than a mile from the trailhead, I ran into a bazillion boy scouts packing out from a weekend at Little Jimmy. According to one of their leaders, they had used Little Jimmy as their base camp and then had ascended to Baden-Powell to pay homage to their founder.

After the deluge of scouts, I expected Little Jimmy to be hopping. Empty except for one guy waiting for his wife/girlfriend/sister/mistress to scale Islip while he lounged around in the shade. Past Little Jimmy, the trail was empty all the way to Throop except for a couple of trail runners that were making me look bad (which wasn’t difficult).

Given the empty trail, I was surprised when I arrived at the summit of Throop to be sharing it with about seven other folks. I jostled for position to get a pic of the monument, looked for the register without success, had a snack and some liquids, and headed back down. As I neared the Dawson saddle from the Throop use trail, I think I saw Hikin' Jim’s evil twin making his way up to the summit.

On the way down, I veered off on the use trail out to the summit of Hawkins. Once there, I looked for a register to document my monumental achievement but alas, I was rebuffed. I thus changed into a long sleeved shirt, turned tail and headed for Islip.

Midway down from the Hawkins ridge, another trail runner made me feel inferior by whizzing by me sans shirt. Candidly, I felt worse about Mr. Runner having the confidence to go shirtless without blinding folks than I was about his pace, but just to make myself feel better I deliberately passed two older Asian men right before Windy Gap. It was at that point that the stitching on the shoulder strap of my pack gave way. I also ran out of water (long story behind that one). Karma for my competitive little stunt with the Asian hikers I suppose.

So I decided to call it a day and come back for Islip another time. Being out of water, I dropped down to Little Jimmy Spring which was flowing quite nicely. I filled my bottle, drank deeply from it, and made the final descent to Islip Saddle all the while wondering how long it takes for Giardia to kick in.

All in all, a good day in the mountains.

Some pics:



Bad Dog- Poodle Dog Bush in the Burn Areas



Signage at Islip Saddle

Ascending to Little Jimmy 

Mt. Islip from Windy Gap

Crystal Lake Area from Windy Gap

Climbing to Hawkins Ridge

Flats Below Hawkins Ridge

Mts. Islip and Williamson from Hawkins Ridge

Mt. Wilson from Hawkins Ridge



Middle Hawkins(?)

Monument Atop Throop Peak

View South from Throop Summit

View North from Throop Summit

Descending the PCT

Little Jimmy Spring

Mt. Williamson from the PCT

Trois Pistoles: Apocalypse Now!

I have a love-hate relationship with BevMo! No need to go into the hate aspect of that relationship here when I can dwell so much on the love. A big part of that love is being able to lose myself in BevMo!’s beer aisles where I can fondle the substantial selection of brews that are not in the cooler at the local Quickie Mart. It’s like being in a library for beer. There are beers from the United Kingdom, Germany, Belgium, Italy, Australia, Asia, Mexico and all points beyond. There is also a big selection of American craft beers. Sigh. So much beer, so little time.

Lately, I’ve become fixated on the aisle featuring beer from Canada. Specifically, I’ve become enamored with the offerings from the French Canadian brewer Unibroue whose motto is “Drink Less, Drink Better.” One of the things I like about Unibroue’s beers, in addition to the amazing taste, is that they are all natural and contain no chemicals or preservatives.

So when I recently found myself on BevMo!’s Canadian beer aisle once again, I reached for a bottle of Unibroue’s Trois Pistoles which, categorically speaking, is a Belgian Style Strong Ale. The concoction comes in a big, dark 25.4 oz. bottle decorated with an artistic yet foreboding label with heavy apocalyptic overtones.

After I got home and had cooled my purchase, I re-examined the label and then hesitated a bit before popping the cork. What was Unibroue trying to tell me? Was I on the verge of unleashing the four horsemen here? Ultimately, thirst triumphed over fear for my everlasting soul, so I threw caution to the wind and unleashed the beast.

Out of the bottle, Trois Pistoles pours a deep and opaque mahogany color with a sturdy and thick cream-colored head. The aroma is raisins and spice and everything nice with a distinct whiff of coriander and subtle hints of caramel and chocolate. The taste is bold, sparkly and dry. Sweet malt infused with fruit and spice dominate the flavor profile with caramel and chocolate playing supporting roles. There is a pleasant warming the deeper you go into the glass and the beer finishes with a Port-like fade.

Despite its dark imagery, beer saints will rejoice upon sampling Trois Pistoles. It is surprisingly drinkable for a beer of its hue and strength, but it is definitely not a session beer. Instead, it is a beer to be smelled, sipped and savored like fine wine in order to appreciate its considerable complexity. In fact, it would be wonderful in place of wine either as an aperitif or as a Port or Sherry substitute.

So what’s the final judgment on Trois Pistoles? Well, if breaking the seal on this bottle unleashes God’s fury, then I say “Apocalypse Now!” 9 out of 10.

The vitals:
Beer: Trois Pistoles
Brewery: Unibroue
Style: Belgian Style Strong Ale
Alcohol: 9.0%
Size: 1 Pt. 9.4 oz.
Price: $6.49 (on sale) at BevMo!

A Visit with the Founder of the Boy Scouts

O.k., so it’s not exactly bikes, burritos or beer, but our recent pilgrimage to Mt. Baden-Powell in the San Gabriel Mountains did involve Fosters oil cans and burritos at Los Toros in Chatsworth so I think it qualifies. And in any event, after a four-month hiatus from riding brought on by a shattered right scapula, I need to post something as this blog is well past its stale-date and has become too beer centric.

If you don’t count Mt. Harwood (which is considered by some to be a pimple on Mt. Baldy), Mt. Baden-Powell (9,399 feet) is the fourth highest peak in the San Gabriel range. The mountain is named for Lord Baden-Powell, the founder of the Boy Scouts, and there is a monument to his honor at the peak’s summit. It sits just northwest of Mt. Baldy and just southwest of Wrightwood.

To get to Baden-Powell, we had to take the back way: up the 14 to Palmdale, across the Pearblossom Highway, through several weird little communities populated by desert rats, free thinkers, dropouts, fruit stands, Hungarian sausage houses, Mexican restaurants with hand-painted signs, and assorted shops hawking high desert kitch and items with which to pay homage to the wind, over the Pearblossom whoop-de-doos, through the village of Wrightwood and finally up over Inspiration Point to the Vincent Gap parking area. Ordinarily, we would have followed the Angeles Crest Highway east for 53 winding miles out of La Canada, but it is closed for at least another season from Islip Saddle to Vincent Gap due to slides.

It was a clear and warm June morning, and when we arrived at the trailhead around 11:00 a.m., the parking lot was already a hive of activity. Apparently, there was still a tongue of boardable snow a few miles up Highway 2 past the road closure gate a Vincent Gap, and a bunch of young bucks had gathered to take advantage before the remnants winter disappeared for good. As we prepared for our ascent, several of them strapped their boards on their backs, bi-passed the trailhead, and took off up the pavement. Others, who were either more creative, prepared, or lazy, jumped on their motorized scooters and zipped up the road.

The trail to the summit of Baden-Powell climbs immediately out of Vincent Gap at a fairly sustained rate of about 700 feet per mile. The gain really is not too bad, however, because the path switches back and forth across the north-facing forested slope of the mountain about 40 times. The stunning visuals, cool alpine air, and sharp pine aroma further blunt the impact of the vertical rise.

Not surprisingly, the trail was in heavy use that day. Although we’re all old guys, we passed several groups of hikers on our trek up. We also encountered a few stubborn patches of snow at the higher elevations. At the ridge just below the summit, at the junction where the Pacific Crest Trail continues its westward trajectory along the northern bench of the San Gabriels, we overtook a middle aged hippie in purple pants and a good sized pack on his back. He was so exhausted from the switch-backs that he literally collapsed from exhaustion. Smoking too much dope I suppose will do that to a guy. He told us he was soloing the Pacific Crest Trail and that he had started from the Mexican border several months earlier. Given the difficulty he was experiencing on the Baden-Powell ascent, and the relatively short distance he had covered in the 2-3 month time period he had been on the trail, I have my doubts about his ability to reach British Columbia this season. But props to the guy for trying.

The summit of Baden-Powell is fairly bare, save for a few Limber Pines that grow in the area. It offers fine vistas of the Mojave Desert to the north, the north slope of Mt. Baldy to the east, the Los Angeles basin to the south and the San Gabriel range (including Mt. Wilson) to the west. We found an isolated spot away from the hiking throngs to take in the moment and enjoy some food before retreating to the Vincent Gap parking area where a cooler of iced Fosters oil cans were lonely for our company.

Blackalicious

Something very different this week: Pizza Port Old Viscosity Ale brewed by Port Brewing Company out of San Marcos, California. How to describe Old Viscosity Ale. It’s difficult because it really doesn’t fit neatly into any one category. It’s been described as an American Strong Dark Ale, but I don’t know whether that is entirely accurate. It is certainly dark and it is certainly strong, but beyond that…… Maybe it’s just best to note that the label merely indicates that it is “Not Your Dad’s Wimpy 30 Weight.” True dat!

Out of the bottle, this brew pours chunky, dark and oily black. Even with an aggressive pour, you get only a small, dark tan head. The aroma is slightly sweet with coffee and caramel highlights. On the palate, the concoction is rich, bold, full-bodied and extremely boozy. The carbonation is well balanced. You immediately recognize strong coffee, dark chocolate and sweet caramel. There is also a slightly bitter aftertaste which dissipates the deeper into the bottle you go.

So what’s the verdict? This is the Barry Bonds of beer. This is Guinness on steroids. This is beer nirvana. In a word (or many words as the case may be), this brew is superb, outstanding, delightful, sublime, perfect. And as Iron Mike Tyson would say, “it kicks like a fuckin’ mule” to boot.

I sure wouldn’t have thought this when I poured it, but this beer is surprisingly drinkable for a dark ale that borders on a Barley Wine. But maybe that was just the alcohol kickin’ in. I don’t know and I don’t care. What I do know, is that this is no refreshing post-ride beverage. To the contrary, this is a 22 oz. full course meal. This is a beer that you slowly savor one night and then ride off the next day. So buy it today, drink it tonight and then ride it off tomorrow. Final rating: 10 out of 10.

The vitals:
Beer: Pizza Port Old Viscosity Ale
Brewery: Port Brewing Company
Style: American Strong Dark Ale
Alcohol: 10.0% (Pow!)
Size: 22 oz. Bomber
Price: $4.49 at BevMo!

Open the Cooler

In the cooler for this week’s post-ride refreshments is Fiddler’s Elbow brewed by Wychwood Brewery out of Oxfordshire, UK. The Elbow is a wheat-brewed ale that is hopped with Styrian Goldings hops and comes in a dark brown bottle with an appealing label. In the glass, the brew is light copper colored with a small head that leaves little lacing. It has a subtle aroma of honey and citrus that becomes more pronounced the deeper into the bottle you go.
The Elbow is lightly carbonated with a moderate malt taste and a bitter, hoppy aftertaste. There are underlying hints of fruit, nuts and honey which give the beer an almost sweet character the more of it you drink. From my perspective, it is surprisingly drinkable and light-bodied for an ale of this hue.

Did I like Fiddler’s Elbow? Yes, I liked it but did not love it. I appreciated its coloring, its complex taste and its drinkability. It is a beer that can definitely be enjoyed after a ride. On the downside, I’m not a huge fan of wheat ales and this one is no exception. And although I enjoy hoppy beers as a general proposition, the aftertaste of Fiddler’s Elbow was a bit bitter even for me. Lastly, I didn’t find the taste of Fiddler’s Elbow to be bold enough for my likes. That’s not necessarily a negative, just a preference.

I would certainly drink Fiddler’s Elbow again, but if the money is coming out of my wallet, I’d probably reach for something else first (like Ballast Point Brewing Company’s Calico Amber Ale). Rating: 7 out of 10.

Here’s the vital statistics:

Beer: Fiddler’s Elbow
Brewery: Wychwood
Style: English Ale
Alcohol: 4.5%
Size: 1 Pt. 0.9 oz.

Price: $3.49 at BevMo!

Plural Rides in the Land of Plural Brides: Gooseberry Mesa and Bearclaw Poppy

Pink Elephants

American Beauty played in the background as I circled the Las Vegas airport terminal once again looking for my erstwhile riding buddy. I was in Sin City for a weekend of debauchery and we had decided to take advantage of its proximity to southern Utah and its endless riding opportunities. Specifically, we were headed for Gooseberry Mesa, with its famed slick rock riding and stunning visual panoramas. We had ridden the Goose twice before in the summer heat when the mesa was deserted, so we wanted to see what it was like later in the riding season.

I finally spotted my fellow traveler and swerved to the curb. It was mid-afternoon and we both decided that a beer or two was just what we needed to fuel our adventure, particularly since we were headed for Utah. After all, this might be our last real opportunity to find a decent pint. So we headed to a place I had read about called the Freakin Frog which is located near UNLV.

As far as bars go, the Freakin Frog itself was nothing to write home about. It had a college beer hall type feel to it and it was virtually empty save a couple middle-aged guys at the bar and a college kid who had to be continually propped up by his girl because he was mixing pills and booze. But what the Frog lacked in décor and ambiance, it more than made up for with its mind-bending selection of beers, several of which, remarkably, were on tap. I’m not really certain how many beers the Frog serves, but I do know that we had to plow through a menu (and some taste tests) before making our choices.

In the end, we threw caution to the wind and opted for Delirium Tremens on tap, a Belgian-style Tripple that carries an 8.5% alcohol kick. After a couple of DT’s, we spied some bottled Canadian ales (Tres Pistoles, La Fin Du Monde, both 9% alcohol) in the refrigerator across the bar and were pleased to discover that during happy hour, they were two for one. So in short order, we cleaned out the Frog’s supply and then left for Utah with an astonishing bill of only $37 and Pink Elephants for road dogs.

Since we’re on the subject of Las Vegas and beer, Terribles is worth a mention. Terribles is a convenience store/ Chevron gas station just off the I-15 at Russell Road. It sells Foster’s oil cans in singles and cases for the unbelievable price of $1.79. Needless to say, Terribles was a mandatory stop for us. It should be for you as well if you are heading to Utah to ride. Hell, it’s a mandatory stop on your way home as well.

A Hunter S. Thompson Moment

About 45 minutes north of Vegas lies the Valley of Fire and the Moapa Indian Reservation. To the casual observer, there is not much there to see. Sage brush here, parched earth there, and the convenience store operated by the Paiute Band of Moapa Indians which specializes in hawking fire water, tobacco, explosives of every imaginable stripe and Indian kitsch. In our fear and loathing state of mind, we of course were drawn to the convenience store like lemmings to a cliff.

Once inside the store, we giggled like school girls as we combed the aisles and fondled the tribe’s substantial inventory of explosives. When the clerk behind the counter became visibly annoyed with our sophomoric antics, we made our selections (which included a liter of Don Julio) and raced into the parking lot for a tribute to Hunter S. Thompson.

Just as we were striking the match, a security guard approached. While he oogled a female patron entering the store, he informed us that the designated launch site was around the side of the building near the pumps for the gas station. The potential danger of lighting fireworks near a gas station was evident even to us in our altered state, but was completely lost on the security guard. Nonetheless, we dutifully obliged and rounded the corner with another group of explosive laden shoppers to terrorize the desert night.

Hustled in Beaver Dam

The night was wearing on and we were finally in the home stretch when Beaver Dam, Arizona came into view. The old highway runs through Beaver Dam then crosses the desert, passes through the Shivits Indian Reservation and runs right into Santa Clara, Utah. Back before I-15 was blasted into the Virgin River gorge, this was the only way the Mormon faithful could get from St. George to the slot machines in Las Vegas. We were staying in Santa Clara so we exited off the freeway here since the old highway route shaves about fifteen or so minutes off of the drive.

There is not much to see or do in Beaver Dam. It’s an odd collection of old desert rats and new golf retirees. The only place of real interest along the main drag is the Beaver Dam Bar which is a convenience store stocked with shitty beer on one side of the building and a bar stocked with shitty beer on the other side. Normally, the parking lot of the Beaver Dam Bar is packed with pick-up trucks, many bearing Utah tags. This is the place where Gentiles and Jack Mormons alike can drink a real beer, shitty as it may be, without having to endure the disapproving glares of their more faithful neighbors. Tonight, however, the parking lot was empty and the place was quiet.

As we entered the bar, three middle-aged women seated at the bar looked up from their beers. In a partially obstructed back room, a young cowboy peered at us through the darkness and then returned to whatever it was that he was doing. The two haggard pools tables sat unused, beckoning to us. We ordered drafts for the surprisingly low price of $1 and hit the tables which were beer stained and not the least bit level.

Not long after we began playing, one of the women from the bar plopped two quarters down on top of the rail and claimed next. She appeared to be of Native American descent with saddle bag hips, a Michelin mid-section and as used as the table we were playing on. I immediately felt the hustle coming on.

Turns out, I was wrong. Although she was pleasant enough, this lady was as challenged at pool as my riding companion for whom I think she had the hots. She kept sticking her ass in his face when attempting shots. When he asked her if she wanted him to move out of the way, she demurred. This was a different kind of hustle than I first imagined. After two or three turns on the table, we drained our beers and beat a hasty retreat.

Getting Goosed

Gooseberry Mesa is a tabletop mesa that sits just east of Hurricane, Utah and west of Zion National Park. It offers a variety of technical slick rock opportunities together with stunning vistas of the surrounding red-rock country. The riding here is as good as anything you will find in Moab, but it’s easier to access from Southern California. You can get to the Goose from either the north (by taking Bridge Road south from Rockville) or from the south (by taking UT 57 southeast from Hurricane). The latter alternative is by far the best route.

The last time we visited in the dead of summer, we had the entire mesa to ourselves. Now that the scorching sun had been replaced with cooler autumn temperatures and long afternoon shadows, the place was crawling with slick rock junkies. They were camped all along the dirt road leading to the trailhead and the parking lot was near capacity. Word about the Goose as a premier riding destination was obviously out.

We had ridden the South Rim Trail on previous visits, so we decided to follow the Bowls and Ledges trail to the North Rim Trail and then out to the point. The Bowls and Ledges trail is accessed from the Practice Loop. It meanders up, down and across the slick rock offering some technical but extremely fun riding. Eventually, it joins the North Rim Trail, a less technical but exhilarating single track that winds through pinon, juniper and manzanita and clings to the edge of the mesa. We rode the North Rim to its terminus with the White Trail (the main jeepway running through the middle of the mesa) and then veered off on the Yellow Trail, a short slick rock loop, for some advanced riding that challenged our technical abilities. We then followed the last portion of the South Rim trail out to the point where we were joined by throngs of riders, including one self-impressed asshole who was so loud, obnoxious and full of himself that we (and other riders) promptly turned tail and started back for the car.

For the journey back we rode the South Rim Trail. Like its counterpart on the north side of the mesa, this trail skirts the mesa’s cliff edge and offers incredibly fun single track and grand vistas. We rode up and down slick rock spines, dodged in and out juniper gullies and passed beneath towering sandstone outcroppings as we rode sublime single track to the parking lot where we washed down peanut butter and honey sandwiches with Don Julio straight from the bottle. Viva Gooseberry Mesa!

Three Fingers of Death

The next morning we made the short drive from Santa Clara to Green Valley where the north end of the Bearclaw Poppy trailhead is located. The Bearclaw trail is an out and back single track the runs beneath the red bluffs of Bloomington Hill from Green Valley to Bloomington. It can be done as an out and back or as a loop using paved surface streets.

The trail climbs gently up a well maintained dirt road from the parking lot and then passes through a gate. Here, the trail becomes a single track which immediately drops down to the 3 Fingers of Death, a series of red dirt BMX-like drop-downs that take you to the base of the adjacent mesa. Although some of the many possible routes down here are challenging, we thought the “death” moniker significantly overstated the difficulty of this section of the trail.

At the bottom of the 3 Fingers, the trail enters a sandy wash for a spell and then approaches the Acid Drops, another series of “steps” which offer a variety of routes. Not long afterwards, the trail hits Clavicle Hill, another series of fun drops which I can only imagine got its name after a wayward biker took a tumble here.

Once you reach the bottom of Clavicle Hill, you have two options. You can continue left on the Bearclaw Poppy Trail to its terminus in Bloomington, or you can head right on the Stucki Springs trail (which we were told eventually loops back into the Bearclaw trail after a fairly tough climb). We opted for the left branch and entered the “roller coaster” section of the Bearclaw trail.

Here, the trail continues its gentle descent to Bloomington. It is fun, fast and furious riding on a well maintained trail that snakes and undulates over and around a variety of features, including whoop-de-doos, banked turns, jumps, hills, drop-offs and other obstacles. Before turning tail and heading back to the car, we spent some time in this MTB playground goofing off and acting like the immature middle-aged men that we are.