After all that food and company Thursday, I needed to get out. Granite Mt. is across Borrego Valley from Villager Peak, which is one of the Santa Rosa Mountains, but at the opposite end from Toro Peak. Instead of going the normal way, I insisted we bushwhack up the backside, from the PCT.
Leaving San Diego at 4 AM, we arrived with enough light to evaluate our intended route before committing ourselves to the more adventurous trail.
The first leg was very rapid - PCT maintenance always impresses me.
We planned to follow the eastern side most of the way, rather than attempt a more direct ascent through a face of massive boulders, or up an overgrown ravine. An early boulder appeared to be pointing the way.
The thigh-high shrubs with desert thorns delighted in whacking my bush and bare legs as I bushwhacked. There were also scads of stabbing dead branches from a wildfire some years ago.
It was a big relief to achieve the ridge.
The shady north face definitely had heavier vegetation, so it took longer than we had hoped.
From there it looked so simple.
Even so, jumping cholla berries, snapped-off brambles and “evil bad grass” penetrated two pairs of thick socks to my gaiter-less ankles like iron filings find a magnet.
It felt like the mountain was laughing at us.
Despite my gimpy knee, scrambling was far preferable.
We had ducks for Thanksgiving. Many times we gave thanks that we were freed from the maze of shrubbery by marker ducks left by some boulder-hopping angel.
By noon we could see the Salton Sea and Villager Peak.
A patient hunter hung suspended in thermals without a single wingflap for longer than we could stand to watch.
As the summit got close enough to taste, the bushes became more obstinate.
When we finally made it to the GIS markers and registry, we were stunned to see that the ravine to the west was freshly burned, right up to the peak. The ocean on the horizon was lost in the afternoon haze.
Desiccated fire-retardant sludge decorated the summit block.
By dentist time (tooth-hurty) we were descending, but the shadows were already ominous.
Finding a bushwhack path with the tunnel vision of headlamps was even slower.
We got home by 10 PM, a little bit scraped and tired, much less stuffed, ready to dream and thankful for another great day of hiking.
I felt like I was hiking along with you, although with those conditions I would have bled out. It hurt just to look at the cholla stuck to your ankle and the demonic cougar scratches on your leg 
