Cactus to Clouds: Summiting San Jacinto Peak From 10,834 Feet Below

My Journey Hiking To This California Peak From The Desert Floor on May 2, 2015

Normally, I would have prepared more, trained more, for a 21 mile hike with almost 11,000 feet of elevation gain. It turns out that even my rigorous krav maga training five to six days a week over the previous year didn’t transform me into a mountain goat, gracefully hopping up the trail effortlessly. There was no grace in how my body showed up on that May day.

Summiting San Jacinto peak is one thing, starting at the desert floor and climbing all the way to the top on my used-to-be-stronger female legs is another. I wasn’t actually ready for a 14-hour hike straight up a mountain. Those first many miles to Grubbs Notch were just plain steep. 8,000 feet of elevation gain in just under 10 miles. Determination, excitement and hopeful thinking got my feet to the trailhead. 

Please don’t misunderstand: I am a trail woman. This excursion was not my first introduction to scaling mountains and summiting peaks. It’s just that my preparation for this particular adventure, summiting Mount Baldy and a couple of other Southern California peaks, weren’t quite enough for a body that happened to be silently asking for rest and recovery, and much, much more nourishment.

Our headlamps lit the way as we embarked from the Palm Springs Art Museum parking lot at 4:45 a.m., leveraging cool weather and those extra early morning hours so we can clock our hike and return home in a single day. Gazing at the mountain ahead, small bright dots grazed the dark mountainside, plotting the moving points of the hikers who began their ascents slightly earlier.

My mind was in it. My body was eager. We flew through the first few uphill miles in the dark.

Then the sun rose and didn’t take its time to start blazing against our bodies who were already warmed up from the steep incline. The Southern Californian sun is a relentless beast.

I couldn’t help noticing, as good and strong a pace I had at the beginning, I was always behind them. And everytime I had to stop, I mean had to, my mind flickered to the two men I was hiking with. How on earth are they that much faster than me, why don’t they need a break? Afterall, we’d trained together and neither of them was a mountain goat, either. Fit yes, but I was too. Did their muscles somehow grow and retain their strength at a ratio of 10 times what my body had during those other summits these past few months? Are the calories in their energy bars multiplying as they chew? Is their water somehow bypassing their throats and injecting hydration directly into their bloodstreams, like an internal IV?

There were no answers to be had, so I swept the unhelpful thoughts away and kept hiking.

Inevitably with a climb that steep, the skin on my heels started to peel away. My calves cramped. My hip flexors strained. The burning in my thighs turned to a numb ache, leaving behind only jelly. It didn’t seem to matter how determined my mind was, my body was asking for rest.

I’d pull my bum from whatever rock or mountainside ledge I’d plopped down onto, not allowing myself to rest for too long, for fear of my muscles cooling too much, and fear of my ego being crushed if the men had to check on me.

I was strong. I would do this.

One foot in front of the other is sometimes, literally, the only way to keep moving. Long stretches of the trail where I’d promised myself I wouldn’t stop until X destination or so and so miles ahead, I’d focus only on my feet. Swing left leg forward, plant foot, repeat on right side. Meanwhile, swiping streams of sweat from my forehead to fend off stinging eyeballs.

The trail was breathtaking, both for my lungs and my eyes. Sweeping views of the desert below, other mountain peaks in the distance, reminded me of my strength and the beauty we can so easily take for granted. Being a trail woman and well traveled nature spirit, so many landscapes have infiltrated my vision over the decades. At some point, I must have started my very own internal rating system. This is prettier than that. That adventure was deemed more adventure-y than another. But the trail under my feet that day, hard packed dirt, loose rocks, a smattering of mountain weeds, reminded me that it’s all worthy of our attention. Just because this natural place offers this thing, doesn’t make it any less or more beautiful than another. They’re so beautifully different. And that’s okay.

I knew those first very steep, painful miles would be the hardest. The problem was, after those almost 10 miles, my body was beat. The sun had been beating down. I probably could have been drinking more water. The sweat on my back and brow and under my sports bra was at least cooling me down every so often as the breeze ebbed and flowed along the trail. Could I climb the gradual 2,000 feet of elevation gain over the span of another 5 plus miles from Grubbs Notch to the 10,834 foot peak then retrace that same five plus mile stretch back down to the tram? 

Absolutely, yes. I was doing this.

Approaching the last mile before reaching Grubbs Notch took a turn from steep hike to mountain climb. Scrambling, loose footing, wearing bulky hiking boots. As much as I’m an avid “It’s all part of the adventure” mantra-er, this did not feel quite so exciting while my body so deeply wanted to reject my movements. Slow and steady, breathe, drink water, watch where you’re putting your feet and hands. Under circumstances where I hadn’t just pulled my body up the steep incline for over 8 miles already, this would have been just the type of fun I’d hurl myself into. A struggle, mental strategy, an obstacle to beat - sign me up! My body was already beat. But I was committed. I truly wanted this. Maybe my ego more than anything else, but I didn’t care. And luckily, as we climbed in elevation the temperature countered and cooled. At least I wasn’t overheating in this exposed sunlight anymore.

A wave of relief washed from my skull to my toes the moment I realized I’d just conquered the toughest length of the trail. I was no longer facing the dread of pure up, up, up, never knowing when the up would become a down. We’d hit a momentous milestone. Grubbs Notch. Just a slight distance from the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway where visitors met us on the trail, except that they’d just hitched the easy, scenic ride, and we’d scaled the mountain all the way from the precious, and newly appreciated, desert floor, step by step, bodies now carrying inside of us a good chunk of the calories and water we’d once carried on our backs, muscles affirmed in their strength.

After eyeing the snow pack and acknowledging the 8,000 feet of elevation we just climbed with our feet, and its dichotomy to the blaring sun we were not so long ago boiling in, we took advantage of the amenities: used the toilets, washed our hands, refilled water and rested our legs on the bench of a picnic table, stretching while snacking, preparing for the next leg of our journey. Soon to reach the peak of San Jacinto. It felt ever so close, at just a shy, more gradual incline, only 5 miles away.

About 3 miles in, as we turned the corner at Wellman Divide, I sat on a rock, giving my upper legs the best stretch of their lives. They’d cramped and tightened to a degree I hadn’t yet experienced, even with the hundreds of miles I’d already clocked in my life and probably hundreds of hours of intense krav maga training. It also seemed to outweigh the level of pain I’d experience during high-school soccer hell week. Temporary relief was likely all I’d get for the time being, knowing that in a half-mile my hip flexors would be screaming again. But that was okay. All I could do was focus on the present moment and my destination. I’d figure out the in-between once I got there. I had come this far, I wasn’t giving in now.

Now in less strenuous territory, I was able to enjoy the rock-laden scenery, despite a more heavily trafficked trail section from the tram to the peak. The trail wound up through gradual switchbacks that had the essence of a gentle stroll compared to the steep climb we’d just completed. Approaching San Jacinto’s peak, dirt gave way to more rock until the trail disappeared altogether, swapping itself for a boulder scramble to the top. My heart pounded both from the exertion and the excitement. Boulders are one of my favorite trail obstacles, basically my adult playground, and I’d made it. My legs carried this estrogen vessel all the way up here from that cactus laden land far below.

Uninterrupted views for miles and a 360 degree vantage point really helped to validate the journey. We did it for the views and the accomplishment. After some beats to take it all in and snag a couple photos with the elevation marker, we ate and napped and nodded to the others we knew didn’t take the tram. A glorious 45 minutes of soaking up our well earned warm sunshine, now very much appreciated given the significantly cooler air at 10,834 feet above sea level.

A little stiff, very tired and ready for the downward stroll to the tram, we pulled ourselves off our rocky haven and headed back down the mountain for the last 5 or so miles of trail time. As much as the hike up had hurt, there were now new pains in different places on the way down, but at least my sweat had crusted itself to my skin and was no longer dripping through my eyebrows. Small victories keep your mind in the game.

There’s something about an adventure like this that ignites my fire. No, the hiking itself was absolutely not fun. Great views, yes. Challenging, obviously. But fun was never the motivation. Tackling the very real obstacle that was an entire mountainside and its high peak teaches you things, teaches you about life and yourself. I had just done something very difficult that most of the population would never even consider doing. And when it hurt, I continued on. When I wanted to quit, I didn’t. As much of that hike required my physical strength, it also relied heavily on the existence of my mental and emotional fortitude. 

There are times in life when we truly need to push onward despite all the roadblocks. There are times when those roadblocks are there to redirect us. There are times when we’re forced to pause at the roadblock and consider our options. We often won’t clearly know how to discern between them in the moment; the key is not giving up. 

In the backseat of the sedan on the hour and half drive back home from Palm Springs after our 14 hour excursion, I had Pad Thai on my mind and only one other thought: it was worth it.

Almost a decade later, recounting this grand adventure I did with two men, both significantly, naturally stronger and larger than my petite, strong female frame, I ponder. Just because their bodies offer something naturally different than mine, doesn’t make theirs any more or less amazing than my own. Our curves and bones and muscles and endurance and flexibility are so beautifully different. And that’s okay.

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What’s one of your favorite or most memorable adventures? And sometimes they’re the tiny moments that mean the most. Its size does not matter, only how you feel about it is what counts.

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