Cuyamaca

This post is over a month delayed, which should give you an idea of how much free time I have these days. I am occupied mainly by my (paid) job for 40-ish hours each week and (unpaid) work revising three papers from my PhD work that I am trying to publish. And occasionally odd jobs that I am taking on in a scheme to build relationships with homeowners in Point Loma who may be able to offer me an affordable space in a granny flat / cottage in their backyard or connect me with someone who can. But more importantly, I am spending lots of time with Raffelina, my lovely partner in crime. And that’s what this post is about.

High in the Cuyamaca mountains where the heights of the coastal peaks descend steeply to the dry basins of the Sonoran Desert is a dirt trail called Pine Creek Road. The road winds its way out of the town of Pine Creek, into the montane chapparal and woodland valleys of the Cleveland National Forest, and up onto the crest of a ridge where it leads to the Sunrise Highway and Laguna Mountain Recreation Area. This is an edge place: on the east side of Sunrise Highway where the mountains fall away to the desert is a stark vegetation gradient on the landscape where the clouds dissipate, wrung dry by the lee mountains, and the chapparal tapers off.  

Raffelina and I pack up the truck on Friday morning with 7 gallons of water, fixins for chili mac, a batch of blueberry almond flour oat scones, and plenty of blankets and warm clothes. For months we have enjoyed our weekends putzing around town doing a little of this, a little of that, but the time has come for a trip to the mountains. Both of us have a fair amount of unpaid work that we end up doing on weekends (in my case, trying to publish my Ph.D. work; in Raffelina’s case, preparing lesson plans). It is good to spend some time away from screens and tune our senses back into the sights, sounds, and smells of wild and open places. 

We drive an hour east of San Diego and climb about 4000 feet before exiting near the town of Pine Creek and turning up Pine Creek Road. In a way, these landscapes resemble Colorado’s Western Slope, wide dry sagebrush meadows ringed with pines and rocky peaks. Although these highlands receive much more rain and snow than the coastal areas of San Diego County, the gray tint of the vegetation hints at aridity. During our first journey up Pine Creek Road, we scope out all the possibilities for tonight’s dispersed camping. For those who don’t need access to water, restroom facilities, and fire, dispersed camping offers a low cost opportunity to enjoy nature away from campgrounds and their screaming youth and RV residents.   

After finding some great spots, we head toward Laguna Mountain Recreation Area and embark on a 6-mile stroll through open meadows, pine forests, and oak woodlands. We look at fiery manzanitas and mysterious pine trees whose bark has been filled with acorns. See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Acorn_woodpecker. I am feeling relaxed, free, and a little parched. After our hike, we head back down Pine Creek Road to find our spot. We hadn’t quite picked one out yet, but I’m wanting to go up high and get a good view of the sunset, so we find a pullout near the top of the ridge. I back the truck in and then we walk around for a bit, set up our chairs (thanks Mom), and get dinner cooking on the tailgate. Tonight’s dinner is broccoli mac: fusilli, broccoli, cheese, garlic flakes, and chili paste. The Bird’s Nest, as we would later dub this spot, offers excellent views of the sunset. In silence, we watch the lingering orange light fade in broad cloud sweeps across the western horizon for some time after the sun has dropped behind the jagged horizon. 

In the morning we set up the camp café on the tailgate and enjoy a couple slow cups of coffee on our chairs (thanks Mom) before making a batch of quinoa with blueberries, cinnamon, and coconut cream. We make our way back down Pine Creek Road toward Sunrise Highway and the trailhead for this morning’s hike up Garnett Peak. Meandering through shrubs along the edge of the Cuyamacas, this route overlaps with the Pacific Crest Trail, so we play a game differentiating the day hikers (“danger”) from the through hikers (“trouble”). 

On the way down, we begin contemplating our next move. Raffelina is hoping to find a spot with some trees to hang her hammock, and maybe some water. I am hoping to find a place to relax in the sun with views of the landscape and lots of open space for the rest of the day. Since we’d been up and down Pine Creek Road several times now, we decide to explore some new spots. We settle on a route that leads back west into a valley with a creek. As we approach the turn from Sunrise Highway, we find the road closed with a gate. We reroute to another road to the north, which is also closed with a gate. Finally, we find a third route that begins on Pine Creek Road. Again, we head down Pine Creek Road and find that our route is closed with a gate. They must not want us to enjoy the creek! 

We continue adventuring down Pine Creek Road until we notice a dirt trail that is not closed. This road is significantly less maintained than Pine Creek Road and does not appear on the map. We slowly work our way along the creek until the road begins to veer away from the water, and then turn around, backtrack a few hundred yards, and find our perfect turnout at a bend in the river. Finding this spot was a success in many ways – this was one of the first times that Raffelina has been exposed to my “let’s just go a little farther down this unmarked trail” adventure philosophy and she was totally on board! In addition, this spot offered everything we were looking for: trees for Raffelina’s hammock, water, views of the surrounding mountains, open space, and sunshine. Raffelina is an excellent adventure companion – fun, relaxed, sporty, flexible, cute. Together, we find a good balance of exploring new places and enjoying everything a small area (e.g. bend in the river) has to offer. She also reminds me to sanitize my hands regularly. 

Eden, the Riffles, or the Creek Spot, has an air of magic on this sacred Saturday. Perhaps it is the way the shallow creek shimmers in the surreal sunlight, the dancing of the wind in the leaves of the gnarled oaks, the boulders that punctuate the landscape. Raffelina reads in her hammock between two oaks hugging the creek, while I do my yoga-inspired fitness routine and walk around the meadow on the far side of the creek. There is something eerie about the oaks. Surrounded by bright green grass, they give the impression of being tended, as if their caretaker strolled away for a minute and might return any second. Their caretaker may just be a rattlesnake… Perhaps it is that my experiences with oaks have mostly been in managed urban environments and seeing them growing wild in the mountains seems unnatural. I take slow sips of the high quiet afternoon. 

We sit and watch as the sun dips behind the steep ridge line horizon and escapes the valley, leaving a dim twilight. We make dinner – same meal as last night, but with extra hot sauce. With growing dark, we retire to the truck.