We get out of camp by our usual time, and I’m almost giddy doing so. I checked over my map last night, and I know a certain mountain is coming up. One I intend to hike to the top of, regardless of what Grinder thinks. Though, if something really has shifted in Grinder, maybe he won’t get as aggravated by a quick detour. I’ll find out soon enough, I guess, I tell myself as we head out.
Our trail heads up into high elevation again, but this time I’m ready for it. Another week of hiking and a gentler climb above the eight thousand foot mark make it easier to acclimate to the thinner air. Nova confirms my lips stay pink, even though he insists on checking them with a kiss. Cheeky bastard.
We cross into the Angeles National Forest around midmorning, just past the cutoff down into Wrightwood. We pause at Guffy Campground to take a side trail down to a small spring where we’re able to fill up our water. Grinder’s a little taken aback by my eagerness to keep going, but obliges and soon we’re back on the trail.
We hike along the Blue Ridge, part of the San Gabriel mountains north of Los Angeles. They aren’t as alluring as the Virginian range of the same name, but there are several nice campgrounds, a couple of small reservoirs, and even a ski resort. It seems ludicrous to have a ski area this close to LA, but we keep crossing small fields of packed snow that haven’t melted off yet, so maybe not.
When we reach our first crossing of Highway 2, the Angeles Crest Highway, at a place called Inspiration Point, I catch my first glimpse of the next peak. While my heart skips a beat at finally getting here, my stomach dips at the sight in front of me. The peak I’ve been waiting for is covered in white. I suck in a deep breath and let it out. No worries, I tell myself. We’ve been crossing snow all day. It won’t be that bad. By the time we finish a quick break and start down the steep incline ahead of us, I’m almost convinced it’s a minor hiccup at worst.
With each bend and vista, I’m growing less confident. The snow on the next mountain is more than a minor hiccup. It’s a solid covering that goes all the way up and down its slopes. When we reach the next highway crossing, my suspicions get confirmed. I bolt across the empty two-lane highway and across the parking lot at the trailhead to the bulletin board with two large notices. “No, no, no, no, no,” I’m chanting as the guys hurry to catch up.
Grinder steps up next to me, looking at the notices. “There’s a reroute because of an endangered species. The mountain yellow-legged frog.” He looks up at the patches of snow covering the trail, growing thicker as they go up. “Not to mention the snow. Okay. Nothing serious. There’s a couple of options, from the looks of it.”
“No, that’s not . . .” My shoulders and my mood dropping in resignation. “I was looking forward to climbing this mountain.”
“Mount Baden-Powell,” Nova reads beside me. “Never heard of it.”
“It’s named for Lord Robert Baden-Powell,” I try to explain, but from their confused looks, all three are missing the meaning. “Baden-Powell founded the Boy Scouts in 1907. Then based on his program, Juliette Gordon Low formed the Girl Scouts of America in 1911. I wanted to get a picture up on the summit.”
“Were you a Girl Scout?” Bats asks.
“I was,” I confirm. “I joined when I was six and stuck with it throughout high school. It’s where I found my love of hiking and the outdoors.” I trail off, my disappointment weighing heavier than my pack.
“Still have the uniform?” Nova asks, a wicked but playful smile on his face.
Bats smacks him. “Really, dude?”
“Belle can tell us all about it while we’re walking,” Grinder says, bringing us back to the matter at hand. “There are a couple of options, from the looks of it. Twelve miles of road hiking to Islip Saddle, or we can stop at Little Jimmy Springs for the night in nine. It looks like it’s uphill for the first five miles, then down from there.”
Checking my watch, we’d be pushing against the sunset if we go that way. “Are those the only two options?”
“There’s also the High Desert Trail. There’s a campsite at South Fork, just under six miles from here. All downhill.”
“Sounds like a good option,” Bats remarks. “Easier on the feet than asphalt. What’s the downside?”
“It’s five miles uphill to reach Islip.”
We all share a wary glance at each other. Go up and downhill, long, and hard on the feet? Or downhill, short, and hard on the legs coming back? Great options there. “Let me guess,” I say to Grinder. “You want to take the road?”
He shrugs like it doesn’t matter, but he’s itching to get going either way. “We should be able to travel faster, and it’ll only be a short downhill stretch to the Saddle. We’ll be back on the trail in half an hour, not half the morning.”
Nova also shrugs. “Downhill and shorter always sounds good. We’ve already done a fair amount today.”
I bite my lip as I chew over the options. They know which way I’d like to go, and can tell how disappointed I am that we can’t, so they’re letting me decide. “A few hours tomorrow, an hour another, and pretty soon we’ve saved a day,” I muse. Grinder grins and nods, but not in his usual smug way when he thinks he’s won something. More like we’re finally starting to click. Starting to understand each other. “Or we’ll be able to take a different detour without Grinder complaining,” I say with a playful nudge at Grinder. “Let’s take the road. Maybe with the time we save, we can sleep in until six-thirty?”
This gets a hearty chuckle from Grinder as we turn back toward the highway. “We’ll see,” he replies.
It doesn’t take long for Nova to ask about the scouts again, and since we have to talk about something, I oblige. “My mom was a scout when she was a kid. She used to tell me about the different things they did. I was thrilled when I turned five and was old enough to join. The first few years were mostly arts and crafts and museums, but when I turned ten, we started doing more outdoor stuff. Short local trails, camping trips, things like that. As we grew older, the other girls and I were supposed to pick out our activities. Whenever we couldn’t decide on what to do, we’d pick a trail and go.”
“How often was that?” Bats asks.
“Oh, probably more often than our adult leaders would have liked. Every few months, they’d make sure we did something different to go along with whatever badge we were working on. Personally, I would have gone hiking every month. Even in winter. The nice thing about Portland is you’re never more than two hours from something to do. Beach, mountains, river, you name it, we got it.”
“You didn’t pause for cookies?” Nova asks. “I thought that was the big thing for the girls.”
“Oh yeah. I sold my fair share,” I answer. A memory of the year my parents handled all the cookie orders for the troop comes to mind. Mountains of boxes filling our small house to the point we almost couldn’t move around. I shudder, remembering all those cookies. Everywhere. For the duration of cookie season. “But I don’t like to talk about cookies.”
Nova gets close behind me, whispering, “No more cookies, then? Because I’d love to taste your cookies.”
Not quiet enough, though, as Bats barks out a hearty laugh. “Really, Nova?” Bats says. “I thought you had better lines than that.”
I blush, fighting back a laugh of my own. Nova tries to pull away, but I hook an arm in his and pull him back. “Ignore him. I like your lines. They make me laugh.” I reach up, pulling his mouth to mine so I can show him how much I like them.
Bats brushes past us, commenting, “Careful, you two. There aren’t any hotel rooms for the next few days.”
Nova and I both laugh as we turn to follow Bats and Grinder down the road. It’s not the trail I want to be on, but I’m learning that whatever trail these three are on, I’m bound to enjoy.