Since 1919, one of southern California's most-posh-yet-most-primitive vacation spots has belonged to the Wrigley family (of chewing gum and baseball fame). The land today is dominated by the
Catalina Island Conservancy, which controls 88% of the island to ensure it's never overrun by developers. This past weekend, I got to explore a portion of the primitive part with
an REI-sponsored group backpacking trip from Two Harbors to Parsons Landing and back.
Training versus the actual trip
My friend Mary and I began to train in earnest in early spring, when temperatures on trails were ideal in San Diego. Even into May and June, we typically had thick clouds to shield us from the enervating effects of full sun. This made it difficult to prepare for what the weather actually was over last weekend: hot and sunny.
We knew we'd be carrying heavy packs, and in the last two months we weighed down our packs to 32 (me) and 38 (Mary) pounds of water and gear for our 5- to 6-mile treks. The most difficult hike was a 6.6-mile hike to Eagle Rock via the PCT in Warner Springs, where it was already toasty when we started and hillier than anticipated. In hindsight, we should have done more trips like that one to prepare for what was to come.
Unexpectedly high temps is one thing, but in the days leading up to the trip, apprehensions ramped up after a 50-year-old woman hiking a popular trail near me with 100 others somehow got lost and ran out of water. Her body was found a quarter mile from civilization the following morning. I added more water, emergency supplies, electronics, and food to my final pack, which, when combined with borrowed and group gear added another 10 pounds to what I'd practiced with.
Before we began our 7.7 miles to Parsons Landing, a seasoned guide told us he could look in any of our packs and find items we don't need. Remembering his Boy Scout days, he told us: "An ounce becomes a pound, and a pound equals pain."
'This is flat?!'
The trip was billed as great for beginners because of the distance, elevation, and trail conditions. Maybe if you backpack a lot. Though not a beginner per se, I'd rate the course moderate. There were hills bookending steady inclines or declines with plenty of gorgeous views throughout the journey. We spent most of the time (after the first short 'n' steep climb) on a fire road that hugged the coves and coastline, including a scenic lunch break at Lion's Head, location of the only restroom on the trail.
Everyone was feeling more confident with their pack weights and in good spirits. We periodically stopped at points of interest and watched all the partygoers on yachts below. The sunshine cast the waters in a gorgeous teal blue. We searched for foxes and bison, though we already knew there was a fence to prevent them from getting too close to the dirt road. Still, there were warning signs letting us know to stay away from these beasts, especially if they start huffing and stomping in our direction.
Almost 6 miles in, I developed a big blister on the bottom of one foot and a hot spot on the other. I was by then at the back of the pack, the blister pain forcing me to slow my pace. Another woman also had foot issues, so we stopped with one of the guides on the side of the trail to apply some moleskin, only to realize I picked a place with a bunch of burrs. They clung to my wool socks, got all in my hiking boots and pierced my behind in numerous spots. I took the distraction in stride because I knew we had a hill to get up and over on our way to the Parsons Landing campsite.
Camping on an isolated beach
My favorite part of the weekend was cresting a short-but-steep single track of mostly ruts and rocks to find a field of wild fennel that kept us from noticing how dicey this section was. Poles would have certainly helped, but mine were packed away. I figured I could do this, forgetting what gravity also can do when you're carrying 40 pounds on your back and hips. It was comical to watch me try to stand upright after a misstep, but I also didn't care because no one was behind me.
Parsons Landing lived up to its billing. There are eight campsites with a picnic table at each. For $20 you can reserve 2 gallons of bottled water (because there is no potable water for miles) and wood to start a fire. I pitched my tent on the outer edge of our campsite, with my tent opening away from the others. It was set up in a way recommended by our guide to prevent the tent from falling over with stiff winds (which it did anyway when I left to use the compost toilets up a hill). The downside of this arrangement was clear once it was bedtime: All night I constantly slid to the lower end with all my stuff because of the angle and lack of traction between my sleeping pad and sleeping bag. I didn't mind though because I had a visit from a fox just after nightfall and that kept me awake for quite a while.
The ocean offered its version of a lullaby as I drifted into dreamland, cozy in my tent as temperatures dropped dramatically. At some point, the wind and the waves died down and a light fog rolled in. That explained advice to expect everything to be damp once morning arrived. I woke around 4 a.m and walked out of my tent to take it all in. A pelican stood vigil on a rock along the coastline. The fog encased everything in a cosmic light. I stood there, just soaking in the solitude and soothing imagery until I saw my tent being invaded by sand weevils I didn't want to bring back home to San Diego. (A few hours later, I also saw a scorpion among the weevils, so I made the right call.)
A couple of hours later, we were all finishing up our oatmeal and packing up for the long haul back. The hills were still as steep; the day's heat, even stronger. But a bond had formed, one sealed with silent acknowledgement. We knew everyone (even one of the guides) was experiencing advanced levels of ache from accomplishing something far more strenuous than first imagined. If we learned anything on this sojourn, it's to always remember an ounce becomes a pound, and a pound equals pain.
Me (forgetting to uncinch by hip belt!) and my good friend Mary near the start and at the end, waiting for the ferry at Two Harbors.
