Talking about the Devil...

I finally used the Mt. Baldy Ski Lift tickets that I bought in July two weekends ago. It seemed like a good idea at the time: a ski lift taking you to the top of the mountain before the freezing temperatures arrived, using a $20 voucher for lunch on the mountain top, and then taking a hike. And boy was I right. I have to say that waiting for summer to come to an end had a lot to do with the success of this outing.
 

The drive to Mt. Baldy was nothing like driving to Big Bear. It's less green, more rocky, and way more winding. We practically had to come to a complete stop at each turn, or switchback, as Leo claims they are technically termed. Then, we couldn't find the ski lift because the website failed to state that it was located at the end of Mt. Baldy Road.

We passed through two tunnels on the way. Just like out of a scene from The Perks of Being a Wallflower.

After Leo exchanged the printed voucher for a pair of legit tickets, we headed up. The lift was about a ten minute ride, passing around ten towers on the way. There was a pair of ladies ahead of us dressed in casual attire and many more like them who looked like they belonged in a mall instead of a mountain. I guess they didn't know what to expect out of this trip. But Leo and I were ready. After our faux-pas at the Inspiration Point hike in Pasadena, we learned to pack three water bottles instead of two. I also packed my sweatshirt because I knew that it was bound to get cool and my hiker hat because I'd rather regret packing it and not using it than getting badly sunburned, again.

Up, up and away!

 

Two hooks, TWO HOOKS, are what holds people in place.

"You guys look like Jeep ppl"- Pops

 

We needed to fuel our systems before getting started so we headed to the restaurant to utilize the $20 coupon. We ordered two burger meals and Cokes which Leo couldn't get enough of. I, on the other hand, was kind of grossed out. The meat was leathery and tasteless. When I looked at the patty, I noticed that it was pink. Yuck! I don't do this rare/medium/medium-rare crap. I want my meat cooked until the edges are crunchy like a hard-core Mexican. So I drowned the almost string-fries in ketchup, which I never do, and immediately followed burger bites with them to balance out the nastiness. But if you're like Leo and don't mind eating raw meat directly off the cow you just shot down with your homemade arrow, then I recommend this place. I'd show you an image but I quit taking pictures of food a couple of months ago. It was part of the process to regaining my life back. I'm doing quite well now, thank you.

 

After a restroom break, we were ready to take on the mountain. But not before stopping at the scenic spot.

I want to take a deep breath just looking at this picture.

 

We started on a downward trail into the heart of the mountain. I started wondering why it was called Mt. Baldy. Leo said because there were a lot of boulders. Maybe there were centuries ago but they had all been reduced to rubble. I continued thinking outloud by questioning how places were named. I mean, one person could've called a location one thing while another something totally different. I told Leo that names probably stuck after someone put up a sign so they could start taking off. If you don't understand what I'm saying, imagine being inside my head.  

1st trail: Mt. Boulder

 

It didn't begin to smell like pine trees or Big Bear until we walked for a mile. Birds were also finally heard deep into the hike as well as physical proof of other life forms in the shape of squirrels. Something that wasn't missing in Mt. Baldy were cicaidas. If it hadn't been for their sound, we would've thought they were grasshoppers. One cicaida even guided us back up the mountain for a couple of feet.

"Into the woods, into the woods."

Leo suggested we turn back after one mile so we could tackle other trails that offered mountain top views. Hiking up to the starting point was just a little preview of what was to come. I stopped and chugged half a water bottle at the start of our next hike, Devil's Backbone Trail. While I caught my breath, I noticed that people were coming down the mountain instead of going up like we were about to.  I expressed my concern to Leo and he claimed that there was no other starting point to this trail. We had no choice but to take on what has been the hardest hike for me to date.

Going up the Devil.

 

As soon as I began to ascend, my stomach was at war with the water I had just sucked down. I thought for sure I was going to have to roll down to the restroom and rid myself of the pink hamburger. But I managed to get a handle on the situation by focusing on my breathing.

People looked like ants at the top of the mountain. When Leo said, "That's going to be us," I honestly never thought I'd make it. There were three folks coming down, one of them with a large white dog in his arms. I don't agree with taking dogs on strenuous hikes because I don't think they have the mental capabilities to endure such a workout. And the dog proved just that. As Leo and I crossed paths with the guys and the girl, the carrier put the canine down where it puked clear liquid. For that moment, I related to how the poor dog felt. The girl then took over the dog's leash and began pulling it so they could finish the hellish trail but the animal wouldn't budge. It looked sad, sick, and tired with its eyes halfway up its sockets. I think it eventually started walking, very slowly.

 

And very slowly was how I reached the end of the Devil's Backbone. The Devil  deprived me of oxygen at times, very appropriately, but I won in the end. At first, I walked on my toes in my constant attempt to gain calf muscle. But that didn't last long. I huffed and puffed when I stopped to rest quickly after I started. My heart pounded in my throat and the elevation  made it hard for my lungs to fill up with air since we had started at 7,840 feet. So I took on a different approach. I started taking long strides that squeezed my gluteus maximus instead, another area in need of help. But that was worse. One minute, I told myself, hike for one whole minute. It was an eternity waiting for the seconds hand on my watch to make its way around. I think I quit before a minute passed and almost bent over trying to catch my breath. It was like walking at a 90 degree angle. My body was practically parallel to the ground. Meanwhile, folks descending appeared to be walking at 25 miles per hour. I didn't believe they had gone up the Devil but Leo said that there was no other way up, quoting Google Maps.



Looking down from one of my resting stops. It hurts just looking at it.



I had to change my strategy if I wanted to reach the top. Taking it super duper slow seemed to be my only option. It was a strenuous mind game placing one foot in front of the other at zero miles per hour since it is very unlike me. But it was the only way I wasn't going to lose my breath anymore. And it worked. We reached the second chair lift where people will be skiing from in a couple of weeks and captured more views.

 



You can barely make out the restaurant in the middle of the picture. It's over 8,500 feet at this point.

 

Bird, a rarity up there. 



Bird, up close. I love my camera.





The end of the Devil's Backbone. Too narrow for me to continue.



Found thispicture of Mt. Baldy on the internet. It appears to be a snow-capped version of the Devil to me.

I was thankful when we found a different route down, the Turkey Shoot. I thought it'd be less steep than the Devil and was glad for a second that I was going to save my toes from bleeding. But it was pretty bad. The rocks and the dirt made the trail very slippery. I envied those coming up with hiking poles. Leo even took a run making me believe he was going to end up a rock and dirt ball. But neither one of us fell. We were back at square one with shaky legs, safe and sound after a total of only four hellish miles. We've done twice as much hiking in one day but never at that elevation. I was still very proud of myself. And ready for some soup. It had gotten cold and I was ready to sit for the rest of the evening.

 

The descend, a slip and slide of sorts.

Leo wants to head back to Mt. Baldy during the snow season to ski. I told him he's crazy. I'd rather make love to the Devil again. Who's in?