Well, all my local hikes with the hiking club were cancelled due to rain; the desert shooting date I made for myself also had to be postponed (not so much because of rain as because of the wind); and I am not a big fan of walking in snow; so I decided sort of spur-of-the-moment to head out to Anza-Borrego and have a go at Villager Peak, sort of reconnoiter the trail. I hope to lead a small party of backpackers a little later in the year on a two-day walk up to Villager and Rabbit Peaks.
I left the house in Costa Mesa at 5:30 this morning and after driving through the rainy San Diego County high country and eating a couple of eggs Benedict at the Red Ocotillo in Borrego Springs (a charming little diner in a Quonset hut, with a dog-friendly patio in back), I set off on the trail at 9:30. It was a gorgeous day with blue skies mottled by clouds, and some suspicious looking gray stuff swirling around the mountain tops to the northwest as well as above the ridge up to Villager Peak:
I was surprised how easy it was to find the "use trail," as I didn't expect there to ever be much traffic here. It is well travelled and there are lots of ducks and cairns along the way, at least at the lower elevations. However, not long after I got to the rocky wash coming out of Rattlesnake Canyon, I lost the trail and found myself following the wash up into the canyon. I grew a bit nervous as the ridge continued to rise to my left, with no trail in sight, so before it got too high I simply started climbing straight up. Once I got to the top I quickly reacquainted myself with the trail and continued up on the crest of the ridge.
By now I realized I had made a mistake in selecting my light day hiking boots instead of my old Vasque mountaineering boots (in 1982 when I bought them (two resoles ago), they were called "hiking boots;" now everyone who sees them insists they are "mountaineering boots"). I was expecting a simple desert day hike with a light pack, and the Vasques are awfully heavy and it sometimes gets tiresome to walk with them. But they are sturdy and have steel shanks and the trail was the rockiest I have every walked once I got to the ridge. The lightweight day hikers offered no protection from the rocky trail, and I knew I would pay for this oversight later.
I continued slogging up, up, up. It actually wasn't that hard of a hike, just uphill all the way. Despite the rocks, the trail was good. Eventually the wind started gusting and I resisted pulling out my Marmot shell until nearly the end, when I started getting cold. About this time, I also began paying close attention to the dark clouds roiling down from the mountains to the northwest. It was clear they were headed my way, but all morning so far they would dissipate before getting to my ridge. But the distant mountains were increasingly obscured, the clouds weren't dissolving as before:
I was prepared for rain with a vinyl poncho from (I'm not kidding) about 1974, but there were a few moments when the wind threatened to blow me over. One of these was at a point where the trail curves around the edge of a cliff with a 500 foot drop at least. Luckily, the wind was blowing me away from the cliff, toward the ridge, but it was an ugly sensation indeed to find myself leaning towards the abyss in my attempts to stay upright. I was vaguely afraid the wind would stop suddenly and I would topple over.
I was the only person on the mountain. There wasn't a soul for miles.
The wind ruined everything. By this time it was hard enough to walk on the rocks and the wind just made it harder. I finally staggered away from the trail to get behind some rocks into the lee of the wind, and thought about what it would be like if the rain came, as by now it appeared certain to do. The rocks would be slippery and I would flounder around in my light day hikers and the wind blowing me back and forth. I decided to head back, 2.25 miles from Villager Peak (just under five miles from the car).
With my feet in mind, I swallowed two Aleve tablets and started down at 11:40. The rocky trail pummeled my feet, it was terrible. But I made good time. I was careful as I came off the ridge to study the approaches from the other direction, that I had missed on the way up. I was feeling pretty good as I trotted through the wash when suddenly I kicked a rock with my left big toe. Baroque profanity filled the desert air for a moment or two, but I limped on.
As is now usual with these hikes, I felt superb by the time I got to my car, except for my feet. No matter what, my feet always hurt. So I was glad at 1:30 to arrive back at the car, where I removed my boots and ate the sandwich I had packed up the ridge and back. The wind was shaking the car by now; the storm had followed me down the mountain. The high ridges where I had been walking an hour or so before were now hidden by gray clouds:
I drove home via Salton Sea and the I-10, completing a great loop. I have decided to do Rabbit Peak as a two-day hike during winter or spring, but will postpone any scheduled hike if the forecast calls for anything besides perfect hiking weather.
There are
more photos available, and you can also download a
Google Earth track of my hike.