No name jeep track ridge trail (aka Boronda Ridge Trail)

If you rely on the Wilderness Press map of Big Sur, as I do, you probably flashed a wry smile as you read the title of this post. There are untold numbers of no-name jeep-track trails off Route 1 along the Big Sur coast. I've wanted to check out the jeep track heading up to Boronda Ridge for many months, and a recent post by a guy whose adventures generally blow my mind only heightened that enthusiasm. The trailhead is a slight pullout just south of the Coast Gallery, big enough for a half dozen cars.

Do not attempt this route unless you enjoy, or at least tolerate, vertical terrain. A poetic post on the Ventana Wilderness Forums quips "This hike was so steep it made me want to gouge my eyeballs out with a grapefruit spoon."

I had a slightly different problem: this hike was so stunning, my eyeballs were popping out of my head. No grapefruit spoon required. At times you feel like you could swan dive off the trail, and land in the Pacific. Despite the fundamental jeep track nature of this trail, there are a few sections of luscious single track:

Towards the top, the jeep track dies away entirely and its just a thread of bare dirt flowing over the grassy spines of the ridge. The ocean, at this point, is probably 2500' (~770 meters) below. If you squint you can see two tiny hikers tracing that bare dirt:

The trail eventually relaxes onto the ridge line, at the Timber Top Camp. A nice enough spot to rest your head, though the nearby water tank is bone dry. A horse trough had some slimy ooze that could probably be consumed if one were truly desperate.

We headed off to the SE through a meadow of wild flowers, in search of the Coast Ridge Road:

...which we quickly found, along with a fair number of red velvet ants. I later learned that these are actually wasps, with a strong enough sting (female only) that they are nicknamed "cow killer."

From the Coast Ridge Road one can look east and see the Ventana peaks (and Aaron),

or look west(ish) and see all the way to the Fiji:

We camped that night at Cold Spring. As a camp, its not much to write home about, though Aaron found a tranquil grassy patch a bit farther down the trail with room enough for the tents. As a water source, well, its worth writing home about. For starters, there is a large metal tank over the spring. OK, sure. But then, WTF, Forest Service? A veritable Rube Goldberg array of plumbing emerges from the tank. Rigid tubes, flexible tubes, levers, valves with no handles, valves with rusted handles, the obligatory horse trough with a layer of slime on the bottom... and then the kicker: a big, ancient stencil on the side of the tank: "NON POTABLE."

To my eyes, this was the equivalent of stenciling "CAVEAT EMPTOR" on a used car windshield. To the rest of our crew, it was the equivalent of tattooing "DON'T DRINK THE FUCKING WATER!!!" on the forehead of a corpse.

Naturally, the iodine tabs, chlorine tabs, and ceramic water filter were all safely stowed in the trunk of the car. Why bring important stuff when its soo much easier to forget it?

I surveyed the situation. ping! The tank is mostly empty, but Cold Spring is clearly springing: the gurgling of the water (inside the tank) is easy to hear. I later learned I wasn't the only one puzzled by the non potable marking. As I write this, I am reminded of the silent bet between me and my trail companions: will I, or will I not, become violently ill from the several liters of untreated water I greedily consumed? Was I, or was I not unduly influenced by the seductive simplicity of Edward Abbey's logic: "if you live in a country in which the water is unfit to drink, its probably a sign that you should piss off and find a new country." [quote undoubtedly butchered, with the exception of "piss off," I'm certain he wrote that bit].

I love this country, I'm drinking the damn water! It has been a bit over 48 hours since contact. I think I'm winning :)

Just in case, Alexandra and I posed for a stately, old-time, last portrait:

followed by grilled pork (canned fish for the non-pork-eating contingent), wine, sunset,

The next morning we retraced our route back to the car. At the top of the ridge, Jay and Alison silently reminded us that sitting, like sleep, is for the week:

When we got back to Timber Top, I felt stuck. Unable to move. While my companions trickled down towards civilization, I lay down in the grass at the top of the ridge and watched the bees zip about. At some point, I began to wonder how quickly I could descend from the ridge. A kilometer high, to a bit above sea level, in about four miles. Could I do it in less than half an hour? It turns out I could. Never mind that at work the next day I needed the hand railings in order to descend the stairs ;p

Every great trip should end with a great meal. If it comes with a view (not shown, but awesome) and cold drinks too, so much the better.

High and dry in the shadow of Cone Peak

(delayed entry; adventures from 22/23 March)

Lately we're addicted to the Ventana Wilderness behind Big Sur. Turns out, a lot of other folks are, too: for the past two weekends, the campgrounds have been all booked up! Not to worry, a few gallons of water in the trunk and a sense of adventure are all you need to find lovely car camping down here. Four wheel drive doesn't hurt either, though you can get by without it if the roads are dry. Where? A fire road high up on the ridge, several miles from route one, off Nacimiento Road.

We rolled in kinda late as usual, and were treated to a pre-dusk view of Cone Peak, clouds ripping over the ridge from the Pacific and spilling into the canyons of the Ventana:

The next morning we drove up Cone Peak Rd to Cone Peak Camp, to the North Coast Ridge Trailhead. This was a decadent treat: the last time we were here, Cone Peak Road was impassable, gated and locked, and so we ran it. All 6ish miles of it. It wasn't bad, just a long climb up a rough fire road with great views of the interior. Not today! Today, we were able to start our adventure at about 4000', with fresh legs... 

We quickly skirted the peak and headed north on the Coast Ridge Trail. Lovely views to the south:

and to the north...

You can see the Coast Ridge trail in the center of the frame, and then again in the distance on the ridge at the top of the frame... this view in particular has me amped to run the entire Ridge Trail. Evidently, it makes a comfy day trip for the truly hard core :)

Canyons spilling down to the Pacific...

We didn't go too far, a couple of miles... just a bit past the junction with Arroyo Seco Trail. We realized we were going to run out of water, and turned around! The only refill option near us was Cook Springs Camp, a steep dog leg off our route (which we of course explored). The spring was wet, but barely flowing. I probably could have filled a liter bottle in a few minutes. Didn't pack the purification tabs, though, and didn't want to chance it :)

***

The next day, we explored Mill Creek Trail. It looks fairly ho-hum at the trailhead, but it quickly drops into a gorgeous canyon with towering redwoods and a swiftly flowing creek. Quite a change of pace from yesterday. After a mile or two, the trail becomes less of a run or hike, and more of a poison-oak-avoiding, route-finding exercise. Its hard to believe, since you are basically tracing a creek... but the canyons are steep enough that a few sections take a minute to comprehend. It was worth pursuing. Below are two shots of water falling over rocks. There is a primal appeal to this sort of thing..

This second shot shows root-like structures in the rock, evidence of some geological process I am happy not to understand clearly (that way, it retains all of the magic).

Having had our fill of fresh water, we finished the afternoon with a dip in the Pacific, at Pfeiffer Beach,

and a crisp, racey Austrian wine at a place called Nepenthe. I could see China from their deck. Woot.