East Fork of Big Santa Anita Canyon – Still Wild & Free

Posted on November 16, 2012 – Written by Chris Kasten
Bouldery stream bed, East Fork of Big Santa Anita Canyon

I was poking around up in the Big Santa Anita Canyon’s East Fork the other day.  It was morning and a flat, gray light lay all around me.  Jumping from boulder to boulder in a stream bed of dry leaves and sand.  Completely quiet all around – and cool.   It felt as if this time of year was still holding its’ breath for the storms to blow in and fill our canyons with roiling waters.

So, I hung out on a smoothy polished boulder about the size of a Volkswagen Beetle and just did nothing.  The more nothing I did, the more that came into view and the more that became audible.  Within a few moments, the soft hush of a down canyon breeze filtered through the boughs of some big cone spruce trees clinging to the steep slope above.  The tangle of leaves, downed trees and rock began to take on increasing detail and clarity.  The subtle variations of color in fallen leaves went from one to over half a dozen shades that my eyes could make out.  In the beginning of my stillness, my mind was doing its’ constant thinking thing with non-stop episodes of images and thoughts in words.  After a little while, the thoughts slowed down and my images were more about where I was and less about where I’d been.  The most significant part of all this is when the perceived – and I mean perceived – duality of I and Thou, me and you, self and scene….. begins to fade.  Being here right in the present for a short time.

Gray morning light on cobbles and dry alder / maple leaves. East Fork, Big Santa Anita Canyon.
Looking up into a canopy of dormant white alders. East Fork, Big Santa Anita Canyon.

The East Fork is such a wild place.  No check dams here and no maintained trails.  The breezes move up and down canyon just as they have for centuries.  Fish and salamanders linger in the deeper, perennial pools.  Rattlesnakes linger under shady ledges during summery months while deer and mountain lions traverse the higher slopes on ancient paths created by hooves and paws.  The stream dries up in places as fall progresses and then becomes its’ naturally wet and turbulent self once, again.  Over and over.   Every pattern here is in the form of a circle.  One can count on the return of the next season.  This canyon is only what it is and has been.  Just wild and free.

PDF Image of Trails of Big Santa Anita Canyon Map is Available

Posted on November 7, 2012 – Written by Chris Kasten
Late in the day on a summery afternoon at Sturtevant Falls in Big Santa Anita Canyon.

The pdf of the Trails of Big Santa Anita Canyon Map can now be downloaded from canyon cartography.com!  This image has a resolution of 300 dpi.  It sells for $1.99 and is compatible with all Apple IOS  phones and I Pads.  This is a great time to get out and experience the beauty of our front country canyons. Both Sturtevant and Hermit Falls continue to flow amidst the autumn colors of canyon maples.  If you’re looking at hiking, running or biking up at Chantry Flats, this map will provide you with an uncluttered, easy-to-follow image that contains local place names, trail junctions, distances, elevations,  locations of restrooms, campgrounds and more.

If you’re looking for a paper map, this same map sells for $4.95 + tax and ships to you for free.

Please remember to see the HIKES page at www.canyoncartography.com.   This map, whether in the paper or pdf form is designed to be viewed in conjunction with the HIKES page.

Cool and Damp, Micro Climates Abound In Big Santa Anita Canyon

Posted on November 3, 2012 – Written by Chris Kasten

During the autumn months, just feel the rapidly alternating damp coolness and warm dryness, literally within seconds of one another,  as you’re hiking along the trail.  The other night while we were hiking into the canyon under the dark canopy of white alder, laurel bay and canyon live oak, the nearly full moon followed us.  Milky, white pools of moonlight settled into hollows ringed by the inkiness of canyon bottom darkness.  The pondering of my fleeting mortality surfaces, as it always does.  It is always as if there’s this mystery of visual intent, that something’s to be footnoted deep inside by this ghostly light that arrests our forward progress.  Maybe just stopping and fixing our gaze in a direction that we’ve never taken the time for is meant to happen right now and right here.  We’ll never see this, again, so drink it in.  The term beauty seems to fall way short for description.  All language fails to grasp it.

Fallen bay leaves amongst moss covered rocks. Big Santa Anita Canyon.
Last night’s rain still clings to delicate needles on this Big Cone Spruce bough. Upper Falls Trail, Big Santa Anita Canyon.

Also, there’s the temperature side of these hikes that is so distinctly felt this time of year…  Whether day or night, each little piece of the canyon has its’ microclimate.   The cool dampness of side canyons such as San Olene, Bear Trap, Fern or Step-On-My-Toe bring their enveloping chill all around us at once.  A moment later, you’re out on south-facing slopes and the dry heat mixed with scents of chaparral take you to another place.  Not much longer up the canyon and you’re in the shady, moist recesses of Falling Sign Junction or beginning your descent into Cascade Picnic Area.  That damp, spicy scent of bay leaves blending with grainy soils takes you one way and the dry blends of white sage and chamise take you another.  This back and forth is no different than the pull and push of the ocean’s surf, bringing her gifts to you and then taking them back out.  It’s as natural as breathing.  While out in our front country canyons, the cool and warmth, over and over, again –  instill their magic in us no less than the visual beauty of changing leaves.

Our Stream is Well and Alive, Big Santa Anita Creek

Posted on October 27, 2012 – Written by Chris Kasten
Coast Range Newt, Fern Lodge, Big Santa Anita Canyon.

“I’m digging this place!  Look at me and you’re looking back, way back.”

This Coast Range Newt (Taricha torosa torosa), also commonly known as a salamander, is loving the moisture from our recent rains this last weekend.  Look for these fascinating creatures along the streams during the wet months of the year, October through April.  Try to keep an eye out while hiking and biking just after storms, since they’ll often be crossing the trails and tend to blend in with the soils around them.

On Your Next Hike Out of Chantry Flats, Think About This….Adapting to Our Biology – The 2000% Rule and How Hiking Helps

Posted on October 19, 2012 – Written by Chris Kasten

Following mountain paths at the speed of walking or running is not only good for your head and your overall health, but may also be a way of reconnecting you to your natural pace and view of the world.  As I mentioned in the last blog, I had read “In Praise of Slowness – Challenging the Cult of Speed” by Carl Honore.  Not long after this reading, it dawned on me during one of my “commute hikes” to Sturtevant Camp, just how frequently we travel in our cars at 60 to 70 miles per hour without thinking a thing about it.  After arriving at Chantry Flats and heading into the Canyon, we’ve now dropped our speed down to a safe and sane 2 to 3 miles per hour.  If you’re running, then double or or even triple the speed.  In any case, the difference in percentage terms between driving and getting yourself around on foot is startling.  I chose 3 mph as an average walking speed for most of the trails that cover our front country canyons of the San Gabriel mountains.  If I’m driving a conservative 60 mph or so (better be in the slow lane), then I’ve increased my travel speed 2000% or greater!  Now, I’m not even talking about the speed of flying in airplanes or jets, which would bump this percentage increase to 10,000% or greater….  All this change is just land-based travel.

A Coral Mountain King snake makes her way along the Upper Falls Trail, Big Santa Anita Canyon. Those reddish fallen leaves are poison oak.

We’ve been driving mass-produced cars for just over a century now.  Henry Ford came out with his Model T for the masses in 1908 which isn’t all that long ago – really.   And the freeway / highway system as we understand it today in the United States didn’t exist until the Interstate Highway Act of 1956.  Prior to that, many good roads existed under their own numbering system, yet did not connect to any grand scheme for the cross-country traveler.  So, driving 60 mph or greater, was not a long distance assumption that could be made in the lower 48 states.  Even though I use the 60 mph speed as a benchmark of what we do all the time without really thinking.

Looking back over the development of humans as a species (Homo sapiens), the best we have to go on as of this writing is that our species evolved into “anatomical modernity approximately” 200,000 years ago.  This “Out of Africa” theory is widely supported and dates back to Charles Darwin’s book, “Descent of Man” from 1871.  DNA analysis now corroborates this theory.  Looking at our “behavioral modernity”, the current take on this is approximately 50,000 years ago.  See Stephen Oppenheimer’s “Out of Eden” for an elaboration on the development of music, religion and other human developments.  Wikipedia is a good place to start on both these themes of human origin.

Let’s say we take the 50,000 B.C. benchmark as the beginning of human development and social tradition.  That’s a good long time to discover and develop our view of the planet’s surface with all its’ variations in terrain and climate.  It’s also a good period of time for the development of certain forms of muscle development, navigational skills and memory for covering different landscapes and all the textures that come with it.  You could say that our collective DNA, a redundancy in definition, has compiled all these traits and skills as they relate to our relationship within the context of walking, climbing, running and swimming.  This is a collective conscience that we all carry and continue to develop.

Finally, all this takes us to another facet of the 2000% rule…..  Most humans, in developed nations, such as the United States – live approximately 72-78 years on average.  Pushing that number to 80 years, there are about 625 human lifetimes, back-to-back, in 50,000 years of time.  On average, human generations are about 20-22 years ion length (see:  Strauss & Howe’s “Generations – the Generational Diagonal”)  if you look at American generational theory for the last 500 years.  Therefore, in numbers of generations, that figure jumps to nearly 2,500 generations experiencing this earth and its’ myriad opportunities and challenges in 50,000 years.  For nearly all this time, we’ve been living at 2 to 3 mph on land, with the exception of running.

That said, we’ve increased our daily speed 2000% in 0.2% (1/500th) of the time we’ve developed into modernity!  There is no curve, just straight up.

This increase in daily speed is beyond striking, perhaps even challenging to the biology of a person.  Not that we can’t adapt, most of the time we have, however, it isn’t without its’ shadow.  It’s hard to stay present to the earth as our ancestral selves remember it when we’re ramping up our speeds routinely and our biology lagging far behind in the grand scheme of things.  We’re not even considering the effects of instantaneous forms of communication that we take for granted!   Hiking, walking or running, however you do it, pulls us back to the rhythm and pace that we’ve adapted to over the tens of thousands of years.  Spend part of your day on the trails up and down our canyons to reconnect to the expansive part of you that these modern times have yet to earn.  As the adage goes:  A person sees more in a mile of walking than 100 miles of driving.  You might just remember and enjoy more of it, too!

Autumn Splendor at First Water and the Winter Creek, Chantry Flats’ Trails

Posted on October 11, 2012 – Written by Chris Kasten

Autumn is a great time to get out and hike the trails out of Chantry Flats.  With the recent cooling temperatures and even a little rain on the way, this coming week should feel refreshingly fall-like.   The dust of the trails should be laying down and the spicy scent of fallen bay leaves will awaken you.  This last week I photographed a couple of the accompany scenes that evoked a sense of returning to my favorite time of year.

Looking skyward through a canopy of Big Leaf Canyon maples. Big Santa Anita Canyon.

Big leaf canyon maples, once referred to as “water maples” (see “The Southern Sierra”, Charles Francis Saunders)  are plentiful along stream courses in most of the front country canyons of the Angeles.  Occasionally, if you look high up the slopes, well above any stream bed, you might spot one of these trees that’s gotten a toe hold in a fold or shady nook that provides just enough water to eke out its’ existence.  Maples are deciduous, meaning that they drop their leaves and remain dormant until spring makes her return.  The maples you’ll see in the Big Santa Anita and Winter Creek canyons are all of the same species (Acer macrophyllum), are capable of producing really large leaves and produce shade throughout most of the year.  In the fall, their leaves begin to produce tinges of yellow in the margins, gradually becoming mostly yellow-gold by the time we’re approaching late October to early November.  By mid-December, most of their leaves have fallen to the ground, their smooth gray trunks often contrasting vividly against the dark green-blues of canyon slopes.

Big Leaf Canyon maple is backlit in the Winter Creek. Big Santa Anita Canyon.

One of the memorable sides to fall in our canyons is the wonderful, earthy scent of the maple leaves mingling with the damp soils.  Like so many of our long-term memories, scent is a trigger for reliving events and places.  There’s this eternal aspect to every year’s return to autumn.  Over the years, I’m drawn back to some place deep inside.  It’s as if hiking back to the same haunts that I visited when still a child continue to call me with the same longing, yet at a later time in life.  Is there any way of merging with this scene?  Will I ever consummate this relationship, dissolving once and for all the illusion of the duality of myself and the outdoor world?  Traveling throughout our canyons in the fall, regardless of how you do it, may be some kind of a timeless redux at wholeness and merging with this earth.  However, it takes time.  For things to stick, it may take both time and stillness.  A chance to absorb what’s going on between us and the scene.   A time to come home.

This makes me think of a book that I picked up years ago at Christmas time that I’ve continued to return to, again and again.  It’s entitled “In Praise of Slowness – Challenging the Cult of Speed, by Carl Honore.  Here there are great insights into the habit of occasionally slowing down our fast-paced lives in favor of becoming present to what is right around us, right now.  The fall season may be just that, a reminder to not only go inside ourselves, but to be present to this moment before us.  That somehow, being present to all this day is miracle enough.

Fall Is On Her Way In the Big Santa Anita Canyon

Posted on October 3, 2012 – Written by Chris Kasten

Dried flower stalks of Chamise, a fire indicator species found throughout much of the chaparral plant community.

We’re only about two weeks into the autumn season and the Big Santa Anita Canyon is giving us all kinds of hints of change.  When you hike by cabin #23, just above Roberts’ Camp, you’ll see an expanse of yellow-tan bay leaves all around the place.  If it’s later in the day, the scene seems to create a warm glow of its’ own.  Many maple leaves are on the ground as well, due especially to the extreme dryness of the soils.  Many of the plants here are members of the chaparral plant community, drought tolerant to say the least.  Just go a short distance upslope from any stream bottom and you’re quickly in a world of prolonged heat and dryness, especially on south and west facing slopes.  Pictured here are three examples of plants commonly found along our trails that radiate out of Chantry Flats.  Chamise, poison oak and buckwheat have been transitioning into their fall colors for a month or more.  If you’re bouldering down among the lower reaches of Big Santa Anita’s East Fork, the stream channel is choked with the delicate, crisp leaves where water hasn’t ran in months.  When a tree squirrel runs and jumps through this scene, it can startle you with thoughts of bears and deer ambling along.

The water flowing over Slider Rock is a narrow, slick thread of stream.  The creeks that still flow are only a whisper of their former selves.  Hiking along, even in the evenings, there’s hardly any stream sound at all.  Once in awhile you’ll hear a deep gurgling of water in nocturnal hollows, reminding you that our stream’s well and alive.  That this has happened before, perhaps thousands and thousands of autumns past.

Poison oak leaves turning crimson in the fall.
Buckwheat flower stalks. Soon, these flowers will turn to a rusty red color for the duration of autumn and winter.

In the weekend mornings, as droves of hikers and mountain bikers make their way up and down the main canyon, watch the talc-like dust hang in the sunlit air above and about the trail.  Motes of thick gold light illuminate and hold still in your mind the hanging dust particles that surround the hikers moving past.  Ivy leaves and blackberry bushes are covered in the dull patina of trail dust.  There’s only one solution for this scene…. and it’s coming soon I hope.  I gave up long ago forecasting the likelihood of a dry or wet winter on its’ way.  Big acorns, little acorns or no acorns at all make no difference to me.  So, no guesses here.  Yet, I can hope for the quenching drink of early winter rains.   There’s even room for the dreams of thick snows blanketing the dark, hidden slopes of the upper reaches of the Winter Creek and Big Santa Anita Canyons.

There are no Santa Ana winds gusting quite, yet….  They’re on their way.  For now, we’ll live in the still hush, the holding pattern, until the winds and rains come.

 

Chantry Flats Crank Telephone System

Posted on September 14, 2012 – Written by Chris Kasten

Phone line and insulator detail of crank telephone system. This location is at the top of Sturtevant Falls on the Upper Falls Trail.

Have you ever wondered what that green wire is running from tree to tree along the trails at Chantry Flats?  That green wire is part of the Chantry Flats crank telephone system over six miles in length.  This remnant phone system goes back to a much earlier time in the Angeles National Forest’s history; a time when the Angeles Crest Highway had yet to be built and trail resorts were thriving during the “Great Hiking Era.”  It was a time when much of southern California was still agricultural and hikers often took the Pacific Electric red cars (trolleys) to trailheads before embarking upon the multitude of paths in the San Gabriel mountains.

The crank telephone system connected most of the old trail resorts, such as Hoegees, Sturtevant’s, Roberts’, Fern Lodge and First Water Camps in the Big Santa Anita Canyon.  Many of the private cabins were also connected to the phone system, not to mention Guard Stations manned by the U.S. Forest Service.  The phone line also ran into the “backcountry” to places like the West Fork of the San Gabriel River and Coldwater Canyon near Strawberry Peak.  It went to Mts. Wilson and Lowe, up and down the Arroyo Seco Canyon and other canyons too numerous to include here.  In short, the crank telephone system was a vibrant, reliable form of communication for a time gone by.

Split ceramic insulator carrying the 12 gauge phone line. Upper Falls Trail, Big Santa Anita Canyon.

Nowadays, in canyons other than the Big Santa Anita and Winter Creek,  you’d never know where to look for evidence of this historical technology in the Angeles’ early days.  If you’re hiking up the Sturtevant Trail toward Mt. Wilson, look for a number of remnant split ceramic insulators still dangling on rusted wire from the oak trees not far up canyon from Sturtevant’s Camp.  In some cases, you can see where the white, round insulators that used to be nailed directly into tree trunks are now being consumed by the still growing trees.  Just a nubbin of an insulator still protrudes from trunks of oak and spruce, sort of appearing the way a white spool of thread might appear if you looked  at it “on end.”  It’s center attachment nail long corroded and missing.

The phone line in the Big Santa Anita currently travels between the Adams Pack Station at Chantry Flats down to First Water and  then up stream to Sturtevant’s Camp four miles north and west of there.  Another section of line branches off from Roberts’ Camp, which is where the hikers’ footbridge is located.  From there, the line goes up the Winter Creek to a spot just up stream from Hoegees Campground.  The line travels from tree to tree, supported by ceramic insulators.  The line itself is 12 gauge and uninsulated, its’ core being made of steel for strength with a surrounding jacket of copper for conductivity.  Connections between sections of wire are made with “butt-in” style connectors made of brass which are crimped into place.  These connectors look like narrow little barrels that the line slides into before it’s crimped half way in.  The next section of line is slid into the other half of the barrel and crimped as well for an airtight and, hopefully corrosion-free seal.

Crank telephone and battery in call box #8, Upper Falls Trail, Big Santa Anita Canyon.

There are currently nine call boxes located alongside the trails with crank telephones and batteries in them.  These call boxes are for emergency use, such as the reporting of fires or medical emergencies.  The locations of these call boxes appear on the Big Santa Anita Canyon Trails Map by canyon cartography.com.   A fair number of the cabins that you see along the trail also have crank telephones as well.  You might be wondering just how one makes a call from one of these antique phones.  Since there’s no dial at any phone, what you do is send a pattern of “rings” from your location that will tell the recipient of your call if the message is for them or not.  For example, the Pack Station is “one ring”, Sturtevant Camp is “two rings” and any private cabin would be “three rings.”  This is known as a party line and was quite common in rural areas of the United States up until the 1950′s and early 60′s.  A ring is created when the crank handle located on the phone is turned rapidly as possible to generate voltage.  (the crank handle is connected to a 2, 3, 4 or 5 bar magneto)  So, say you’re calling a private cabin owner, you’d crank the handle vigorously several turns, pause…., then crank several turns, pause…, then several more turns.  Now, stop cranking and just listen.  Be patient.  Chill out and wait a good minute for your party to pick up on the other end.

Call box #8, Upper Falls Trail, Big Santa Anita Canyon.

On a crank telephone, your voice is carried by battery power.   There’s no need to keep cranking a phone when speaking – only to ring someone.  Each phone is protected by a carbon block lightning protector.  You’ll notice that the call boxes along the trail also have a 6 volt lantern battery attached to the phone.  Originally, the phones were intended to operate on 3 volts, not 6.  The batteries were cylindrical, dry cell 1 volt types in series.   It seems that for decades now, we’ve been using the lantern batteries without damage to the phones.   Also another detail in regard to this type of system is that there’s only one wire traveling from tree to tree.  All phone systems have a circuit that must be completed, thus the wire pair we’re all so used to seeing.  So, where’s the other half of the wire pair?  It’s the earth.  Each phone or call box must be grounded some how.  Sometimes there’s a ground rod driven into the earth for this purpose, other times there’s a bare wire going into the stream or a ground wire’s attached to a cold water pipe.  Good grounding’s important if you’re going to have a clear pathway for your phone to work and to be easily heard.

The call boxes that you see along the trails were built by the U.S. Forest Service back in the 1940′s, just after World War II.  Each call box not only had a phone, but a water pump with a suction strainer and fire hose.  There were also McClouds, shovels and other fire fighting tools.  Back in the 40′s, 50′s and 60′s, it was expected that members of the recreating public be willing and able to fight wildfire if the need arose.  The Forest Service also maintained the phones and phone line, climbing trees and restringing wire as necessary.  Unfortunately, with budget cutbacks constantly hacking away at the Angeles’ operating costs, phone repair fell by the wayside.

Operating instructions for the Chantry Flats crank telephone system. Call box #8.

Fortunately, the Big Santa Anita Canyon Permittees Association, comprised of concerned cabin owners, took over the maintenance of the crank telephone system.   This rural phone system is truly a last remnant of an earlier time in Southern California’s San Gabriel mountains.

Chantry Flats Night Hike – Scorpion Sighting

Posted on September 13, 2012 – Written by Chris Kasten

Just last Friday evening, my wife and I were hiking between Chantry Flats and Roberts’ Camp when we encountered a healthy-looking scorpion crossing the pavement in San Olene Canyon.  It had been a long time since last seeing one of these fascinating creatures.  Also, I had forgotten just how fast they can run!  Fortunately, he/she stopped just long enough for me to take this picture.

A nocturnal photo of a scorpion in San Olene Canyon near Chantry Flats.

As a kid, I remember seeing an occasional scorpion out on the Lower Winter Creek trail during warm summer evenings back in the 1970′s.   Back then, it was usually our custom to sleep out under the stars on a tarp in our sleeping  bags.  Although I never had a scorpion get into my sleeping bag, I did once have one get into my bed up at Colby Ranch in the middle of the Angeles National Forest.  It was 1981 and I had just been hired as one of the summer staff at Camp Colby.  I lived alone in an old house on a hill above the camp’s swimming pool.  The walls were of knotty pine and the view out the large living room windows looked out across both Coldwater and Upper Big Tujunga Canyons toward Mt. Gleason and Mt. Pacifico.  No one had lived in that old house in a long time.  One day we moved a refrigerator than had been sitting in another building for some time up into my place.  Now I was really living!  Keep in mind, I was 19 years old and feeling VERY independent that summer…

The next morning after the fridge had been delivered, I was laying in bed and had been awoken to the raspy calls of Stellar Jays making a racket on the eves above my bedroom.  My “just awoken” vision was blurry as I lay there on my back and threw aside a single bed sheet that I had slept under.  Fortunately, I looked down and saw what appeared to be a potato bug resting between my legs…. My eyes said potato bug – my brain said scorpion!  Somehow I jumped out of bed instantly without getting stung.  As I stood there on the carpet, looking down at the bed, the scorpion spun around and ran off the side of the bed and onto the floor.  I managed to quickly run over to my little kitchen and grab a drinking water glass which I trapped him in.  For awhile I made a pet out of him before his release back out into the chaparral.  We must have inadvertently brought him into the house in the under carriage of that old fridge the day before.  I’ll never know.  I was so affected by my evening with the scorpion that to this day when we’re in the Big Santa Anita Canyon, the sheets are always pulled way back for a cursory inspection for companions before crawling under the covers for the night.  Some adventures stay with us for a long, long time.  As a side note, the house that I had this experience in was called the Hill House.  It burned to the ground in the 2009 Station Fire.  My zodiac sign is  scorpio.

Monkey Flowers in Bloom along the Upper Winter Creek

Posted on August 30, 2012 – Written by Chris Kasten
Scarlet Monkey Flower, Upper Winter Creek.
Monkey Flower as seen between Hoegees and Mt. Wilson in the Winter Creek.

These two photos were taken recently along the Winter Creek, between cabin #139 and Mt. Wilson’s summit.  Scarlet monkey flower (Mimulus cardinalis) and Common monkey flower (Mimulus guttatus) can be seen growing in moist sands along the stream bed, especially above 3,000′ in elevation.  These colorful flowers add a splashy beauty to the speckled granite boulders and light sandy stream sands.