The moderate, 9.8-mile round-trip hike/bike up McKinley Mountain Road to Hell’s Half Acre is not recommended in these hot summer months unless you’re willing to begin the ascent at dawn (or earlier).
I began pushing my bike up McKinley Mountain Road (Trail 28W01) at 6:15 a.m. on a weekday in early August, and it was plenty warm by 7:30 a.m.
In addition to a demanding workout, the dirt road hike bestows splendid vistas on almost all sides as you ascend the flank of 4,700-foot Cachuma Mountain.
Hiker-bikers will find many shaded stretches to stop, sip some water, and gaze at enchanting views of the Santa Ynez Valley and Pacific Ocean (and islands) to the south, Hurricane Deck and the Sierra Madre Range to the north, and Figueroa Mountain and Ranger Peak to the west.
There are several Hell’s Half Acres, and a cursory Google search shows more than five in California alone. The journey to Santa Barbara County Hell’s Half Acre has its trailhead at Cachuma Saddle, about 15 miles inland from Highway 154 — off Armour Ranch Road via Happy Canyon Road (see 4.1.1. driving directions and Conant map below).
Anyone venturing in this direction would discontinue walking when he or she comes upon the chaotic boulders that form weird and wonderful rock formations.
While I’ve made this hike four or five times, it has always been as a backpacking trek to McKinley Spring Camp en route to beautiful Mission Pine Springs Camp in the adjacent San Rafael Wilderness.
My son and I made a memorable full moon night backpacking trek there in 1997, and like the dawn start for this hike/bike, the entire point was to avoid the heat and glare.
Most of the first 4.5 miles places the hiker or biker out in the full sun, with only occasional shade, and there is no available water. I carried four liters of water and needed all of it.
“On The Trail” is a hiking column, but there are instances when I’ve found a mountain bike can make something more challenging and somehow reduce the time spent under the sun’s scorching gaze.
I do not ride my mountain bike on trails, but McKinley Mountain Road offers a semi-graded dirt surface ideal for mountain biking, and indeed what I’m describing is usually seen as a biking route.
Since I am not a strong biker, and never have been, the goal was simply to bike the portions I could manage on the ascent, enjoy the crazy rocks and poke around in Hell, then carefully coast back down while enjoying the astounding views right and left (north and south, literally).
After 2.5 miles of steady trudging, light biking for me along some of the fairly level stretches, I came upon the second water tank, a metallic silo with an adjoining hitching post and horse trough (no water).
At one time, a wooden table stood here, but campers have moved it a few hundred yards south to the opposite potrero to take advantage of the only tall conifer in the area.
Most of McKinley Mountain Road has gnarly hard chaparral lining it on both sides, and as you climb, more oak giants and coulter pines appear.
After some ups and downs as the road wends its wearying way, my friend and I enter the deep shade of the plentiful conifers alongside the route.
We’re in about four miles, we think, so we lean our bikes on some bushes in full view of the road and hike the last portion. Since we have no fears of theft, we don’t lock the bikes, and in fact we never encountered any other humans the entire day.
After a quarter-mile ambling in the relaxing full shade, free of the mechanical contrivances, we came upon a prospect that surely also would have delighted the Stone Age Chumash.
As we hurried down the dusty road, we entered the spectacular rock outcropping in amazement and awe. This jumble of gloriously scattered boulders appears as if thrown up by supernatural forces.
Perhaps the two giant serpents reputed to be holding up our (Chumash) middle world of Hutash writhed a bit or whipped their tails to create this random effect.
We scrambled around the boulders some, but the hard chaparral is very dense around the rocks and becomes literally impenetrable in most areas.
We made our break at the 5-mile mark on the upper end of the expansive formation — far more than half an acre, and Eden-like rather than hellish — and wolfed down a scanty lunch there.
For me, a peanut-butter sandwich, almonds, a Clif Bar, and copious draughts of water.
Because of intense sun, preparations for this hike/bike have more than their usual importance: wide-brim hat, long-sleeved shirt, adequate water, emergency gear, including an extra inner tube, and a small bike pump.
Again, mountain biking isn’t truly my thing, but in conjunction with the hiking, it makes for a more condensed trip.
While hiking about 80 percent of the 1,400-foot elevation gain to Hell’s Half Acre, on the way down I coasted on the bike almost the entire way. Yet the descent also was difficult because of a great deal of soft dirt and erosion material spread out on the road, and it was tough to detect where the road surface transitioned from firm (good) to soft, when your front tire might suddenly sink 2 to 4 inches.
Admittedly, I fell completely off once, toppled over a couple of other times, but I was prepared and going quite slow. Practice helps, and over time my proficiency increased, but I never zoomed down the track like my younger colleague in the blue shirt managed to do.
Bottom line: Mostly hiking, I needed 2.5 hours to get up to the freaky formation at 4,450 feet, but needed just 75 minutes to coast back down gently. An experienced mountain biker could get down in 30 minutes, I’m sure.
Veteran cyclists might chuckle at my ascending problems (I pushed most of it), and they could grind out the entire 4.9-mile uphill on a single charge.
A biker friend snorted, “McKinley’s an obvious bike route. I’d never hike that thing!”
But I’m a share-the-trails guy (unless you bike Rattlesnake Canyon), and I suggest to readers that they look at the 4.9-mile route as a hike plus some biking to speed the return. The vistas and landscapes will compel your attention both ways.
For those wanting even more of a workout, another option is to aim for McKinley Mountain itself and make it an out-and-back, 19.4-mile day.
Drop the bike somewhere on the side of the road, don’t bother to lock it, but do note that once you go past Hell’s Half Acre the pain intensifies as you manage a 1,700-foot elevation gain from Hell’s Half Acre to McKinley Mountain (6,180 feet).
4.1.1.
» Driving directions to Cachuma Saddle (start of hike/bike): After driving Highway 154 past Lake Cachuma, take the right turn right after the concrete bridge — Armour Ranch Road. After just more than a mile, turn right at the signed Happy Canyon Road and follow it for 14 miles to signed Cachuma Saddle (note large map there). Park in the large parking area there and head up barred McKinley Mountain Road (bikes are OK).
» Bryan Conant’s 2009 San Rafael Wilderness Trail Guide Map Guide prints the spot as “Hells Half Acre” [sic], along the named “McKinley Mountain Road.”
— Dan McCaslin is the author of Stone Anchors in Antiquity, and has written extensively about the local backcountry. He serves as an archaeological site steward for the U.S. Forest Service in the Los Padres National Forest. He welcomes reader ideas for future Noozhawk columns, and can be reached at cazmania3@gmail.com. Click here to read additional columns. The opinions expressed are his own.
