My Midwestern, goal-oriented aggressive side often erupts in a stubborn way: If stymied on a trail and unable to complete the planned trek, I’ll return later, even months later, to attempt the full hike again. That is the case with gorgeous and captivating Fir Canyon.
After a strong effort in early December, we found Fir Canyon too tough, so wild Pete and I decided to conduct a second attack on the shady Davy Brown Trail.
The sinuous beauty snakes its way up the back of Figueroa Mountain for more than three miles until reaching Figueroa Mountain Road.
We did not meet our objective on Dec. 5 because of cold and icy conditions, and I even recommended against trying the rugged path until later March or April.
Pitting ourselves against this scenic and quite demanding ascent in a different season felt like great fun, so wild Pete and I chose to tackle it on a warm day to celebrate the Spring Equinox (March 20).
Cold and an icy terrain held us back in early December, but I was well aware that by late December that Figueroa Mountain had been hammered with more than 17 inches of rainfall. The sacred mountain (Soxtonocmu to the Chumash) normally gets about 21 inches of rain per year; therefore, it received nearly a year’s worth just in the second half of December. Since the 2024 Zaca Fire blazed in parts of this area, there are serious concerns about debris flows, various inundations and disappearance of the trail.
We anticipated some mud and wet conditions, although we were setting off close to three months later. Information-gathering can be grand fun, and one of the first critters we observed was this banana slug (ariolimax) obviously relishing the still-slimy terrain.
Banana slugs are fairly rare on these paths, but after the heavy December rains, I guess this guy felt like coming right out on the moist trail.
Although I carried all of the necessary gear — including gloves, Salomon’s heaviest boots and sturdy hiking poles — it wasn’t immediately clear whether I’d need all this paraphernalia. We quickly encountered, and enjoyed, tricky water crossings along the way.
My main tactic besides crossing very slowly while wielding two poles is a willingness to step right into the water if I think I’m about to topple. I made that choice four or five times and rejoiced in being shod in the heavy hiking boots.
Like a small avalanche or rippling wave, the debris flow had shifted tons of mud and rocks across sections of the Davy Brown Trail in Fir Canyon. At times, we would search about for the continuance of the trail on yonder side of the unpredictable mudflows.
I’ve been hiking up and down Fir Canyon since the late 1970s, and the dominant features are the steep hillsides (parts of Figueroa Mountain) and glorious watercourse running at the bottom.
Over many decades, I’ve seldom seen side tributaries like the one in this photograph with the gushing water pounding away and sky-blue canopy arcing overhead.
This first day of spring is rather early for the true wildflower displays I’ve witnessed in Fir Canyon.
We did see white morning glory rampant, purple lupine, and fields of the luxurious orange California tiger lily budding but not yet in blossom (so-called leopard lily: Lilium pardalinum).
There are at least two additional difficult creek crossings, and they do require going straight down into the stony, challenging streambed itself. I took two “hike-arounds” like that rather than the sketchy trail with 20-foot drops on one side.
At the worst crossing, highlighted in my January column, the pool appeared to be about the same depth, say 2.5 feet, but when I had to slip into it, the sandy bottom was about 5 feet deep and I submerged to the shoulders — but just for an instant. I lunged far forward, tossing my poles on the bank as I slithered up the muddy bank.
I knew I was fine but immediately took out my drenched wallet, FOB and small camera. I carried this now-ruined camera in an upper pocket on my shirt — alas, water had briefly drenched the camera and I couldn’t dry it out in the field. C’est la vie!
At our highest point, we turned around and looked north (by northeast), which elevated our spirits and entranced our minds. We beheld the sacrosanct Hurricane Deck formation, the backbone of the entire 200,000-acre San Rafael Wilderness, the Uluru of our outback.
Readers might inquire at this point — should one spring into forest bathing in exquisite Fir Canyon now? Unfortunately, the answer is a definite no. Not until the U.S. Forest Service’s Los Padres National Forest leadership gives the green light to reconfiguring/repairing that dangerous spot shown in the photograph from Dec. 5, 2025.
It was here that I plunged into that 5-foot pool and accepted the astonishing joy of unsought forest bathing. Currently, it is simply not safe enough. Yes, I managed OK, but I’ve been hiking for well more than 50 years and have navigated this specific spot at least 20 times — and wild Pete is a trusty trail partner.
The photograph shows the forest bathing pool back in early December with Peter clambering down. Imagine this pool after December’s 17-inch downpour — wonderfully gouged out and temporarily much deeper.
I hope that Los Padres National Forest’s chief ranger and leadership choose to have this tricky spot repaired, likely by the Los Padres Forest Association, which has performed great trail work in Fir Canyon. Let’s fix it! The very close proximity to popular Davy Brown Camp means easy access for casual campers and hikers. Fir Canyon is ideal for children, and we also saw plentiful mule deer in the area.
4.1.1.
Driving directions to Davy Brown Camp and Fir Canyon: Highway 154 to Armour Ranch Road at the Santa Ynez River bridge. Turn right; in about two miles, turn right again on Happy Canyon Road (becomes Sunset Valley Road at signed Cachuma Saddle), and drive to signed Davy Brown U.S. Forest Service camp. About 47 miles and 100 minutes.
The Davy Brown Trail into Fir Canyon begins at the lowest end of the official campsite. Park just outside and avoid the fee. Intrepid hikers are forewarned that this slot canyon is also a designated Burn Area, and it’s hazardous for several reasons having to do with the aftermath of the tenacious Zaca Lake Fire (2024).
