Stories of sacrifice and courage from our recent Memorial Day commemorations make one consider that we dwell in deeply dystopian times. World War II was the last “good war” and ended in 1945. At the very least, we observe our early 21st-century world reeling with tension and worries about everything: our kids, health, money, national politics (!!), Ukraine (!), Gaza (!!) — readers easily can fill in the rest if they have a few hours to waste.
I taught middle school-age children for 36 years. The huge impact of these negative things on young adolescents must hurt them. The constant reporting, social media and incessant presence of the tiny screens enormously multiplies these nasty influences.
Rushing off to hike around scenic 7,500-foot Reyes Peak like I did at the end of May offers only partial relief from such angst and stress, whether an adolescent or septuagenarians like me and my hiking comrades.
Walking quietly along a 7,000-foot-high mountain trail in the 220,000-acre Sespe Wilderness and moving beneath fragrant ponderosa and sugar pine trees offers a bargain both in time and in cash (just the fuel for a 140-mile round-trip). The vast quiet blends with a few bird cries, and later in the day strong winds began to howl in the tallest conifers.
Driving in along Pine Mountain Road, we first claimed a campsite in Reyes Peak Campground, and after setting up drove another mile on the same (and only) road to the end. The trailhead there has a good U.S. Forest Service restroom and parking for about six cars (see 4.1.1. Driving).
Stepping out of my truck at 8:30 a.m., nearly half of the blue horizon presented vast and intriguing landscape vistas, especially south and west. Although we had a partially foggy day, we could see the Conejo Mountains and Point Mugu, the silhouette of Santa Cruz Island across the channel, and a wispy smudge that appeared to be Anacapa Island.
A multitude of authorities tell us that information overload and loss of the at-home-in-the-world feeling (Einhausung in German) often slides into mental lassitude, self-disgust and even clinical depression. Philosopher Byung-Chul Han defines Einhausung, and our loss of a shared narrative leaves us feeling not “at home in this world” where we find ourselves living. And as we know in the news business, “if it bleeds it leads,” and most of the internet gamut is basically negative — hard to feel all comfy and at-home-in-the-world these days.
Localism attempts to soothe these over-stressed psyches with feel-good stories, but outdoor activities, such as hard hiking, get us off the screens entirely as we slip into the infinite micro-worlds of green nature.
In short, we live in a sad post-narrative time — or many folks believe this. Without a commonly agreed-upon narrative, we forget who we are, cannot quite focus clearly on our moral values, and may morph into those white collar/IT automatons we all fear becoming. I taught and defended the common western civilization narrative for decades, and still believe it has relevance, but in this I merely reveal my age and also receive very little agreement.
So, I ponder these ideas and concerns while out on the steep but short uphill trail to the true summit of Reyes Peak — 7,514 feet. From the trailhead mentioned above we begin hiking eastward along a retired dirt road and in one-quarter-mile reached a large flat area where hikers have three trail choices (all enter the Sespe Wilderness).
The Reyes Peak Trail (23W04) cuts left sharply downhill for about six miles ending at Haddock Camp. I made this one in 1984 with 35 middle-school students, and it was exceedingly difficult; I recommend against this choice. To the right you will see the old roadbed continues down; don’t go this way either since it ends after a bit and you then must return the same way.
Your third option is to walk directly ahead into the trees and stride straight up the ridge where you’ll detect a sketchy trail. The Tom Harrison “Sespe Wilderness Trail Map” does show this skimpy path in tiny black lines (4.1.1. Map). Wandering uphill beneath towering pines along the scattered remnants of wildflowers … we were just three guys struggling up the very steep slope without conversation, intent on absorbing the hypnotic long-views down into the wastelands of the Cuyama Valley.
From the apex of Reyes Peak, I could make out the dry Cuyama River’s sinuous white streambed meandering north toward the holy trinity of peaks: Cerronoreste (aka Mount Abel), Iwihinmu (Mount Pinos) and Grouse Mountain.
Other views of the mysterious Cuyama Valley revealed the celebrated and harsh Cuyama Badlands, thousands of dry acres below San Emigdiano Mesa and Cerronoroeste festooned with 2- or 3-foot-high conifers/scrub oak.
Our hike to the apex was only about four miles round-trip but included two very demanding if short ascents. The Reyes Peak hike would be too hot in full summer, and there is no water.
On the second day at Reyes Peak Campground, we hiked right from our campsite over to nearby site No. 1 aiming for one of the only water sources on the whole Pine Mountain massif: Raspberry Spring. (Chorro Grande Spring is on the other side of Reyes, and I’ve hiked there often, but McGuire Spring on our side is hard to find and, after checking it out years ago, I’m not going back (unsafe trail).
Raspberry Spring Trail is approximately a half-mile straight down, and the path is so steep I was side-stepping some of it in my heavy boots. Caution is crucial here, and eliminating any sense of rush I wielded the two poles with all my strength, and realized without them I would have turned back.
The minimal campsite above Raspberry Spring is only about 500 feet lower in elevation along the half-mile, but somehow it stretches out, and hikers need to focus intently on the sketchy trail. Raspberry Spring Camp demonstrates the height of rugged dirt camping since it boasts only an iron grate and a stone fire-ring, with just two small tent sites.
The literally miraculous spring is some distance away, and we turned into the tiny canyon (don’t continue on straight downhill). We spotted conspicuous fresh green grasses around the single dripping pipe and scrambled over. I drank a bit (not recommended to readers) and found it delicious and very cold.
We searched desultorily for any signs of the elusive and rare yellow-blotched salamander (Ensatina eschscholtzii croceater), which Los Padres ForestWatch has found in an area on Pine Mountain that the U.S. Forest Service has planned a controversial 1,600-acre logging and vegetation removal project. We found no sign of them around Raspberry Spring, which is not that far from Tecuya Ridge.
Staring outward into the near-infinity soaring south and east for more than two days “on the mountain,” I begin to recover that more animistic sense of feeling at-home-in-the-world. Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh writes about this feeling as does German philosopher B.C. Han. Once this feeling-at-home aura falls away, we struggle to regain our “footing” in this cosmos into which we find ourselves thrown.
Since we know our western society has lost belief in a shared and common narrative, witness the decline of organized religion, this loss also feeds negativity and allows too much focus on the dystopian events surrounding us.
Narratives furnish a form of closure. We’re on a lonely road from narration to information, and Han writes that:
Ultimately, a narrative is an expression of the mood of a time … [Today we have] a growing need for narrative forms of closure. [But] in late modernity … populist, nationalist and right-wing extremist or tribal narratives, including conspiracy theories, cater to this need. — “The Crisis of Narration,” pp. viii—ix.
4.1.1.
Driving: Take Highway 101 south to Ventura, then Highway 33 past Ojai, past Wheeler Gorge and Rose Valley, to Pine Mountain Road. It covers 70 miles and requires about two hours. There are five temporary stoplights on Highway 33 that can take about five extra minutes each depending on the timed light. Reserve one of the six campsites at Reyes Peak Campground here, with the knowledge that there is no water available, two of the six sites are left free for “first come/first served,” and Parks Management Co. typically fails to check anything Tuesdays through Thursday.
Books: Thich Nhat Hanh, “At Home in the World” (2016); “The Crisis of Narration” (Polity 2023; original title “Der Krise der Narration” [Berlin 2023]).
Map: Tom Harrison’s “Sespe Wilderness Trail Map” is excellent, and unlike other maps does delineate the tiny “trail” leading to the top of Reyes Peak.
