We survived the windy night on the edge of Mt. Baden Powell, as did the tent, though the wind threatened to break the poles at any given moment. We waited until mid-morning for the snow to soften up before we tackled the summit. Luckily, some Japanese climbers with crampons had broken in some steps in the snow up to the top. The climb was really slow going, at some points we were ascending straight up a staircase in the snow. The view of the Mojave increased with every step, a totally different environment than the one we were standing in. Chris had his mojo going that morning, and at points I swore he was running up the mountain in the distance ahead of Ryan and I. I slipped at one point, but dug in quickly with my hands and shoes. We reached the false summit, plodded along the windy ridge, and shortly after 11 AM we reached the top of the 9,407 foot peak, dedicated to Lord Baden-Powell, lieutenant general of the British Army and the founder of the Scout Movement. Getting to the summit was definitely a confidence boosting achievement, and the view of vast desert to the north and the smog covered basin to the south was quite the prize.
We dropped down after a brief break to the ridge running west off the mountain. We lost the trail in the snow, again, and worked our way down into a burnt, sloping chute where we knew the trail was. We weren't sure if we were above or below the PCT, and, frankly, didn't really care where it was at this point. We carved steps into the snow around to the next bend, a tiring, slow process. We worked back up to the ridge, finally, and relocated the trail shortly thereafter. We lost it a few more times, but reckoned over the snow patches and worked our way into a forested area where Little Jimmy Spring and Trail Camp was. After refilling on much needed clean, fresh water, we stumbled into camp, exhausted and wet from all of the snow hiking. Despite going at it hard all day, we only made eight total trail miles. Luckily, Little Jimmy Camp Ground was just snow free enough for us to set up our tents. There were little wood ovens set up at the camp as well, which Chris got light to dry our socks and shoes. I accidentally burnt a pair of socks so badly that they were no longer usable, so I just tossed them into the fire. Less to carry in my pack.
The next day we found our way down to HWY 2, where we had to take a road detour around threatened frog habitat. We passed several decrepit, small time ski hills that didn't seem to have much of a window of operation. After approximately three miles we regained the trail off of the Angeles Crest Highway and descended along an old road. For the first time in a few days I actually felt hot again, and shed my coat, which had been on for over two days, even while sleeping. We took a wrong turn at one point and ended up in the middle of a paint ball park. Fortunately, paint balls were not flying, and we found the trail again shortly thereafter. We were back in the desert at that point, winding up the side of a slope into another burnt area. We accidentally passed our intended campsite, which was unrecognizable after the fire, but camped a mile and a half up ahead on a flat saddle, with a few of the lights of Palmcaster below, and fresh water not too far away. We put around 28 trail miles under our belts that day.
We awoke early for a long day, and realized that we were actually in the middle of a closed section of the trail when we got to the intersection of the road below. The trail had been closed following the Station Fire two years ago. We didn't have much choice at that point, and pressed on to Acton. The recovery of the desert ecosystem after the fire was fascinating for me, however. At one point we were hiking through a grove of burnt trees, but the flora below was blooming with healthy green grass and vibrant pink flowers. A deer pranced down the ridge and across the trail no more than fifteen feet before me. It was clear how wildfires were just a part of nature's course, and that patch of trail was among my favorites so far. We camped that night next to an empty fire cistern, and I waited to go under for the night until the sunset faded to black that night. I was reminded of how lucky I was to be on this adventure.
We practically snuck through the rest of the closure the next morning down to the road to Acton. The last patch of trail went right by a ranger station and winding frustratingly around and over every ridge and rise it could reach, without discernable reason. We were hoping to hitch a ride on the road into Acton, but ended up walking the entire 5.5 miles into town. We passed by Tippi Hedren's (Famous for Hitchcock's 'The Birds') Shambala Wildlife Preserve, and were treated to the roaring of African lions. The road walk was both miserable and exciting, as we reached the much anticipated 49er Saloon in Acton for a much needed departure from freeze dried food. We caught a taxi ride into Palmdale to spend a few rest days after the long 110 mile section. Our driver, Salvador (From El Salvador), dealt in more than just transportation, we learned. We finished the day off with In'n'Out and the NBA Playoffs.
Our first rest day in Palmdale was spent resting and resupplying. The city is quite spread out, and we rode the bus out to East Palmdale, and then across to West Palmdale. Being in the middle of swarms of preteens at the Antelope Valley Mall made us feel as if we had traveled over a million miles from the slopes of Mt. Baden-Powell. Overall, however, our impression of Palmdale and nearby Lancaster is that they are perhaps modern day Sodom and Gomorrah. As a rule, we will not look back as we catch back up with the trail tomorrow, lest we turn into pillars of salt like poor Lot's wife in the Bible.
Sunshine, Afroman, cheap property, hamburgers. Righteousness?
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