Mr Trail Safety Speaks!

USFS Bobcat Fire Closure Map   As of October 7, 2020 at 6:00 a.m. Mandatory evacuations for the Bobcat fire burning in the Angeles National Forest have been downgraded to warnings, the U.S. Forest Service said. ... The fire has burned 115,769 acres and was 89% contained as of Tuesday, Oct. 6. [ Mercury News ] The course is charred from Chilao thru Chantry, then up and over Mt Wilson [prevented from incinerating the telescope complex] to Idle Hour, and down to Sierra Madre. In short, a shit ton of burn. Winter will bring mudslides and more downed trees on trail washouts. Those familiar with the course know that in many places the trails are 'notional', ie stapled to the side of the slope in the best of times. Now that the manzanita has burned off, be prepared to welcome The Purple Poodle Dog Bush [ Eriodictyon parryi ], which is a native recovery species. For those not familiar with it, it makes poison oak seem like a bad coffee date. T his is the likely end of the Angeles Cre...

Just below Newcomb's Saddle on the Gabrielino Trail, with Sri Roshi McLeod. Photo courtesy Dominic Grossman Today was a very good day to set aside the camera, and swing a McLeod with the AC100 Trail Crew. And no, the trail did not get magically shorter. It took about an hour to realize that I was keeping the McLeod from doing its job. All I really had to do was raise it high overhead, and guide it as it fell towards the brush. The blade severed branches and twigs with far less effort than before. Only problem was that I had about 90 minutes juice left. The memory of what I had been able to do years ago was trumped and punked by ass-time in front of a computer. The McLeod is a brush-clearing tool of great simplicity. A long ash-handled cutting, raking, and clearing implement, with a 9x9" hoe-blade/coarse tooth rake 1/4" steel plate at the end. Chop with the blade, clear with the rake. The simplicity requires much study and devotion before it reveals itself fully. ...

Jim O'Brien setting the course record in 1989. This iconic photo was taken by Stan Wagon, then editor of UltraRunning Magazine. We once asked Jim O'Brien if he'd ever bonked on an Angeles Crest training run. He said "on every section". GEAR FETISHES The current gear-item to have right now is a bladder-pack. Originally designed by and for guys-n-gals who were running long distances in very hot places like Arizona, Utah and so on, where there was no water for big miles. Look at what Jim is carrying. Nothing except for 2 small bottles. Doesn't that tell you something? He's a racer, not a freight-hauler. [Just a thought for all the racers out there humping along in their multi-pounded vests with the petri-dish bladders...] Training is one thing. Race day is another. People get used to carrying all that stuff. I remember Jimmy saying on each stage "carry only what you need". I know that on my first AC, my fannypack was 20lb of junk—and I wasn't c...

A Touching Forward Last summer I'd staggered to the top of Mt Wilson from Sierra Madre. I wasn't having an especially good day, but the water fountain was reason enough to continue. When I got there, there was a doe-eyed, hairless punk with half-unzipped leathers slumped on the retaining wall. "Ride to live, live to ride" was tattooed across his chest in big letters. There were at least six bikes dumped in a cluster around him. I was curious. "Where's the rest of your crew?" My curiosity was about to be rewarded. The boy looked up and said morosely "…uh, [Bobby] was trying to get some air, but he landed badly. We had to call a paramedic. We were going to ride down to Chantry, but now we're waiting for a ride.…" Dead silence. The flies were unconcerned. Outwardly, I was solemn. Inwardly, I was flippin! Stoogin' going whoop- whoop- whoop- whoop- whoop!, while spinning on my shoulder on the parking lot asphalt! It doesn'...

  That was then, this is now. I remembered I had an ice axe and hammer. They were at home. I also had crampons. They were in the car. It would've been nice to have them. I was front-pointing a 30' section on a 45-degree slope of hard-crusted, packed snow. In snowshoes. Welcome to my world, late Saturday afternoon, on the chilled north-east face of Mt Lowe. A Priori: The Back Story All this was far in the future when Big Snow finally arrived in the San Gabriels this week. I pulled my straight-outta-1978 Fischer metal-edged cross country skis from their dreamless sleep. What the hell—I pulled the '89 Black Diamond Espressos too. I had hopes on getting them cleaned and waxed, but that was a long shot. And the snowshoes came out too. I wanted to have a full choice for winter fun. CalTrans saw fit to close the Angeles Crest Highway right above the blanco-y-blanco village of La Piñata. Snow? Landslide? Accident? I wasn't about to wait for a re-opening, so I busted a U and ...

Straight outta 1965. And hunting season never closes on signs either.

This morning (being Saturday, May 26, '07) I awoke to a large spatula, gently peeling me up from my bed, and turning me over. I was pounded flatter than hammered dog shit. I didn’t feel this way yesterday before I started my planned overnight fast-packing/camping trip. The original goal was go into the Middle Range of the San Gabriels, spend the night at West Fork, and then come back over via the Rattlesnake Trail back into Chantry Flats. The insertion went well. Sweating like a pig, no biggie, normal. Up and over Newcomb’s Pass, east to Newcomb’s Saddle, and then down the Rincon-Red Box Road to where the road crossed the West Fork of the San Gabriel River. I had the whole place all to myself. At the road/stream crossing, I turned south up the streambed and began to follow it up to the DeVore Campground. Rockhopping up the stream-bed was very straightforward, as the water levels have dropped precipitously in the last two months—almost a foot if not more, leaving fresh boggy mud-...

Late Saturday night I knew. I’d caught a whiff of my special self. I had scored big on the "Smells Like Ass" Sweepstakes. All I had to do was get back to the trailhead and claim my prize. I'd taken a three-day fastpacking trip into the West Fork of the San Gabriels. The itinerary was to camp out for 2 nights in the Middle Range, all before the bugs woke up and hopefully before the Forest burned down in this epic dry year. GOOD FRIDAY I left Chantry Flats Friday mid-morning under a blue-white overcast marine layer. I was above the overcast in less than 4 miles, but it’s persistence into the early afternoon was noteworthy. After a desultory check-in with Chris at Camp Sturtevant, I’d exhausted my supply of lies and falsehoods. I then made for Newcomb’s Pass and Saddle, into the crystal bright. From there, it was a hard left turn down into the West Fork Campground, which was completely empty. Rinse off, build a fire, eat dinner, watch Caveman TV, fall asleep. Life...

Seeing as I desperately needed it, and knowing this for several months prior, I took a fast-pack overnite camping trip out of Chantry to West Fork CG. The route is Chantry--->Mt Wilson-->Kenyon Devore Trail to West Fork. Started late around 11am. Made top of Mt W in leisurely time by 130-2pm. Saw a few day hikers primarily on the south-faces. Once over the top of the Mt Wilson parking lot, nada. Dropped down K-D Trail [empty] for 3 mi. Right turn to West Fork CG, made it sometime just before 4pm. Nobody was there. Saw that fires were OK there, and got to thinking. Gathered wood, got out my magnesium fire-starting bar that I've carried for years and decided to use it. Shaved some off the bar w/ my knife onto tinder. Not quite. Reshaved several grams into a cupped leaf, added teeny micro twigs. Struck as spark from the spark bar on the other side--whoosh! fire!! Did the log-cabin layup with incrementally larger kindling, happy-happy fire. Made dinner in the gathering night. Wa...

My life is complete--I'd put the 40" spinner rims and rear-deck deflector on the Squirrel. The mountains beckoned. This story begins in a desultory manner. It was a cold and dreary night, Heather Locklear was on the sofa eating bon-bons, pining somewhat over the priapic departure of one Richie Sombrero, when suddenly...a shot rang out! She shivered as the flimsy peignoir slipped provocatively down, revealing what to my wondering eyes! but a copy of Dr Geo Sheehan's "Running for Dummies". Oh. My. God. There it was--the oft-thumbed chapter on What To Do After Boston . People often ask me about my training methods. My answers are Delphic in their delineations. Here is an instance. Last weekend, Dr Casino Bingo and I did a Circuita Minora, a Mini-Me Transect if you will, a diet-slice portion of the San Gabriels. After duly fortified by a Grade-B Breakfast, we made it to the Trail Head at Clear Creek, the crossroads where the Angeles Forest Hwy crosses Highway 2. T...

It made sense at the time. Rollin' Away the Stone: Year Zero-Six I: Alles Kaputt The bungee cord of recovered memory took me back. Back to the opening scenes of the powerful film "Das Bööty" , where the lanky Herr Kapitan G of U-812 was studying the world through the powerful ZeissOptikon Periskop. He'd been stalking the elusive "Convoy Odalisque" for several days--the round-bottomed freighters were tempting, but he had to wait for the proper moment. Little Dieter the radioman was monitoring the convoy signals. Suddenly he began to pick up the cluster LS-MFT...LS-MFT...LS-MFT. A distress call broadcast in the clear. Herr Kapitan G 's commands were curt, with no schwitters. "Es ist total alte Schule...senken Sie den Periscope" The periscope retracted swiftly to the deck as the klaxon brayed its 2-note "Muff-diving! Muff-diving!" alert. The Bosun bellowed "Prepare torpedoes!" The swift and deadly Mark VI...

Sierra Madre: The Insolvent Village That Could Diamonds and Dust Redefine The Future By Beville P. Flexworth SIERRA MADRE, CA [AP] The unincorporated village of Sierra Madre, CA declared itself insolvent February 1, 2007. This was a chastening development for this seemingly prosperous enclave nestled in the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains, immediately below the majestic bulk of Mt Wilson. The insolvency was first announced at the City Council meeting January 15, 2007. Rumors had been swirling like Santa Anas through the famed wisteria vines for many weeks prior, and fiercely competing lawn signs had been cropping up like Algerian ivy in the bucolic tree-shaded neighborhoods. Residents were bitterly divided as to how this unfortunate turn came to pass. Municipal debts totaled $18m against available assets of $4m. Immediate cuts were made in fire services, the police department was virtually shuttered as all law enforcement duties were assumed by the Los Angeles Count...

Guillermo Medina, 2005 winner. AC100 finish line. Johnson's Field, Altadena CA. 050925_9079_01 Angeles Crest has never failed to amaze and surprise. What is canonical received wisdom at 30 miles was turned inside out and abandoned at the finish line. Everything you thought you knew was wrong. Guillermo Medina won it in a personal best of 19:33. By carefully picking and choosing his races for this last year, he saved his mojo for the Big Show. In front of him was Jorge Pacheco, three-time winner. Behind him were two of the fiercest no-brakes downhill runners this race has seen in the last ten years, Tom Nielsen and Andy Jones-Wilkins. Tom's won it twice before . The first time was a remarkable come-from-behind assault on Scott Jurek's  "unassailable" lead in 1999 where he caught Jurek at 83 miles in the black hole that is IdleHour. By the way, that lead was nearly an hour. That was also the year Ann Trason had her head handed to her, and she dropped at ...

The memorial service for John Davis was yesterday in Claremont. I had written the following, and then Stan Davis asked if I'd read this at the service. I was honored, and said so. There was a large turnout, I was sitting with Andy Roth & Liz Boyd on one side, Kenny Hamada & "Uncle" Hal Winton on the other. There were 5 speakers. In relay terms, I was the anchor. Earlier that day Andy & I had taken a memory loop over the top of Baldy, where we covered all matters sacred and profane. We took the short route up the mountain, using the Helen Klein Memorial Offramp up to the Sierra Club Hut. The streams were running full, and the Bighorns were smoking Pall Mall straights and shitting in them, despite the wails of the Sierra Club dorks who were doing their first solo unaided summit bids. I hope you are doing well! Eulogy for John Davis This eulogy is for John Davis, from a man who met him late and knew him not well enough. This tribute is seen through the prism of...

A Seasonal Prelude to Probable Magnificence DATELINE: LOS ANGELES 2004 While 22,000 Road Gerbils were getting their multi-figured money's worth out of the XIX Bill Burkathon here in the Great Satan By The Sea, I was a wee scampering Karma Squirrel skittering over the bosky flanks of Mt Wilson Phillips. Alone. Nearly naked. Cougar bait. And nary a Barking Duck [Torrence, Bingo, 1999] in sight. I have raised my sights to being a Sunday ultra-trail pest this summer. Not that I'm interesting in running ultras, but tagging along as a whoopie-cushion while others are training strikes me as worthy. It's like watching a slo-mo circus train wreck, where clowns are ejected from overturned box-cars, only with dorky hats and hairy butts. But I get ahead of myself. The weather had shifted from winter to spring in a few short days. Last week's chill and damp had given way to festive tendrils of happily buzzing flies, outriders to the hordes that will rise up and greet the rosy-finger...

Random cryptic image irrelevant to training runs Sun Jan 25 07 1354  We milled at the start at Fabled Chantry Flats. The air was well-hung with the ghostly echoes of Barking Ducks.  Hal "Clark Kent" Chiasson watched us from the safety of his car, and expressed relief he wasn't coming. After signing some forms, he maintained a straight face while backing away slowly.   The Holistic Ocarina sounded a plaintive note. We were off--a three-way struggle for Massive World Domination. Mr Trail Safety, Dr Casino Bingo and the cryptically tagged Micah "218 Koi" White were raging up the blacktop towards the Upper Winter Creek Trail, leaving naught but molten tar and .38 Special tunes in their wake.  The Massive World Domination [MWD] contest was off, and waddling. Each playah claimed a special disability.  "I've only run 10 miles this week"  "My Knee is still fucked up--but I want to keep my streak alive"  "I've been watching STYX informerc...