A fourteen mile jaunt said the run host Lambert Timmermans.. with about 4500' of climb. No problem said the Dawg - five hours max... Being wrong never entered my mind! After all, I have been doing this for almost 30 years. The Trail Headz group that had signed up for this run, LT, Beiyi, Shelli, Michael, and I left the Marian Ridge trail head at 1:30 pm. We had all of the basics covered with one small exception - the dawg left home without his headlamp. And instead of taking a little over two hours to reach the summit of Mt. San Jacinto, it took closer to three... which meant we'd have to be off the trail in two hours or we'd be on the trail in the dark... again, No Problem. I used to eat rocky downhills for breakfast...
Michael and I led the way back down - not quite as fast as the old days but respectable... until we dropped down into a canyon, I rolled an ankle, and went down! After a long string of profanities, I dusted myself off, took inventory (spectacles, testicles, wallet, and watch), and apologized to Shelli. (It would be the first of many apologies).
The sun set behind Saddleback and the glow on the trail was gorgeous... Other than stopping for a photo we continued down. Shelli dropped back to turn on her head lamp, but Michael and I continued in the fading light. The shadows distorted my depth perception. I stepped on the side of a boulder and my foot slipped sideways. Trip-fall-profanity. It got darker, the trail was getting harder to follow - Michael turned on his light. Now I stayed as close to Michael as reasonable as we navigated over rocks, roots, and an exposed pipe. Trip-fall-profanity. It went from being dark to being black. Trip-fall-profanity. I could no longer see the trail and relied on watching Mike’s feet as he maneuvered around obstacles, following in his footsteps where I could – stumbling when I couldn’t. At times the only thing that stopped me from T-F-P was lunging into Michaels back.Clearly - we made it back to the vehicles. I, filthy from my six encounters with the trail, and chagrined that I had violated one of the basic rules of Mountain Trailrunning - be prepared for everything including having to spend the night. Luckily I was with a group of friends who tolerated my whimpering... that is when I wasn't inventing new swear-words.
As the bard said, all’s well that ends well – the only lingering injury from the multitude of tumbles was my reputation for being the voice of experience and a gentleman. I'm going to REI ASAP - the next time I leave a trailhead I'll be carrying everything including the kitchen sink, a bar of Ivory soap to wash out my mouth, and a six-pack of Fat Tire - OK maybe not the sink!
