The Carved Block: Ventana Double Cone

The Ventana Wilderness is no joke. I first got a glimpse of its rugged terrain when I ran up Mount Manuel one afternoon during a trip with Raf along the coast of Big Sur. We were camping at Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park, where I stumbled on the Mount Manuel trailhead – at the summit, I was awestruck by the steep slopes and drainages of the Santa Lucia range extending eastward to the horizon. I made a note to explore the Ventana Wilderness at some point, but mostly forgot about it until this past fall when I read Steinbeck’s short story “The Red Pony”, which ignited a renewed interest in the mysterious mountains that form the western edge of the Salinas Valley. I pored over trail maps and trip reports, trying to find a way to access and experience the interior of this vast and remote coastal wilderness, finally settling on the goal of climbing Ventana Double Cone, one of the most prominent peaks in the area at 4,856 feet. I planned the trip in December, with the intention of executing sometime in the spring – February or March – when the day is long, but the afternoon heat is still bearable. Last Friday, I glanced at the weather forecast and discovered a window of four days Saturday to Tuesday with pure sunshine, mild temperatures, low wind speeds, and no rain. I texted my friend Randy, who I met at Chrysalis Co-op in Boulder years ago and who recently moved to the Bay Area – he decided to join.

Saturday morning, we drive Highway 1 through Monterey and the Carmel Highlands along the coast before turning inland onto Palo Colorado Road and weaving through redwoods up to the chaparral. There, we park the car at “the Hoist” and begin walking in the blazing sun up a private 4WD road that climbs steeply along an exposed ridgeline, relieved when we reach the shade of the madrone and oak woodlands of the Turner Creek drainage where the trail begins. Within a mile or so, we reach a major deadfall where a downed tree completely blocks the trail, with thick shrubs on either side. We backtrack and try several ways around: wading up the creek, crossing the creek and walking along the other side etc. We eventually give up on detours and return to the blockage, when another hiker comes up behind us and easily works her way through the down branches and shows us it can be done. We follow and then introduce ourselves to Erin, a badass local and EMT / firefighter hiking to Pat Spring.

We leapfrog with Erin through the forests of Turner Creek drainage, before ascending Skinner Ridge to Devil’s Peak, where we take in stellar views of the ocean to the west and the deep basin to the south that rises up to the jagged wall formed by Ventana Double Cone and Kandlbinder Peaks. We descend the steep eastern flank of Devil’s Peak and skirt the edge of the basin, eventually arriving at Pat Spring, our basecamp for the next two nights. At Pat Spring, we meet a trail runner descending from Ventana Double Cone – he had run up that morning from the Hoist and is on his way back down (for a total of 35 miles in a single day!). I sincerely enjoy meeting people who, when prodded, will communicate their badassery in an unassuming and understated fashion.

Pat Spring features epic ridgetop campsites with views of the ocean to the west and Ventana Double Cone to the south, as well as a perennial spring that is built out with metal pipes that lead into a small rock-walled pool (in retrospect, a photo might have been nice). We fill up water, set up camp on one of the ridgetops, and soak in the incredible views from our perch. I eat some refried black beans seasoned with berbere and loaded with tallow as the sun dips behind a ridge. To watch the sun descend behind the ocean horizon, we climb to the slightly higher ridge to the west, where Erin is camping, and bid farewell to an excellent day.

We awake to a chilly and windy morning, leave our camping gear behind, and begin the day’s journey toward Ventana Double Cone. Almost immediately, we lose the trail through the thick chaparral and almost constant deadfalls, relying on the AllTrails app to get us back onto the route – at a certain point, every gap in the shrubs starts looking like a trail. In the cool sunshine of the morning, we undulate along steep ridgelines through oak woodlands and surreal green grasses, fill up water at some of the shady creeks draining off the west side of Uncle Sam Mountain, and then descend onto a saddle where Puerto Suello trail meets the Ventana Trail. Ascending once again south of Puerto Suello, we battle thick chaparral with our forearms and elbows defending our faces and duck under deadfalls for miles, before finally breaking out onto the ridge that leads to Ventana Double Cone. At the summit, we rest amid the remains of the forest fire lookout shelter that was constructed by the CCC in the 1930s and burned in the 1960s. I look west toward the ocean and Mount Manuel where I stood three years before, south and east toward the endless drainages of the Santa Lucia range, and north across the deep basin towards Pat Spring. I reflect on journeys past, present, and future, reminded by the dry afternoon sun, manzanita ridges, and oak woodlands of San Diego’s backcountry mountains. After many different views of these beautiful coastal mountains, Ventana Double Cone summit is really just the culmination of a grand tour, but a necessary culmination nonetheless.

After many salty avocados, we begin our slow and steady return, descending through thick shrubs, ducking under deadfalls, undulating along steep ridgelines. I tend to prefer making loops in the backcountry, but there is something special about an out-and-back: the perspectives on the return trip are never the same as the first round, and in some cases the trail appears completely new.

Back at Pat Spring, we wash up at the spring and return to our campsite, where Erin has spent the day resting: she had begun the journey back, but got turned around and decided to wait another day and hike out with us. She shares lots of great insights into the history and lore of the Ventana Wilderness, including a legendary hermit who subsisted in the drainages surrounding Pico Blanco, the Esselen people who foraged for acorns from the oaks living on the high slopes, and the sluggish recovery from the Soberanes Fire of 2016 and subsequent floods. After another, larger round of refried black beans, I retreat to my tent, Randy retreats to his, and Erin, who is camping cowboy style, gets settled in the still evening air. In silence, we watch the sun dip behind the westward ridge, and then drift to sleep amid the endless orange glow of sunset.

After a beautiful, windless, and leisurely morning, we pack up and begin the day’s journey back to the trailhead. On the Turner Creek trail, we discover an established detour around the first deadfall that caused us so much delay on day one – I take a couple minutes and try to stack some logs directing hikers away from the deadfall and towards the detour. Erin, who parked her truck at a neighbor’s house near the trailhead, gives us a ride down the four wheel drive road back to the Hoist, where we bid farewell and begin our journey back to the Bay.

Overall, the Ventana feels like an abandoned wilderness, with rotting trail signs, dilapidated picnic tables, overgrown trails, forgotten fire lookouts, and other vestiges of a heyday long past. The 2016 Soberanes fire cleared out much of the established woodlands and chaparral, paving the way for the dominance of opportunistic manzanita and other low-lying shrubs, and this past February’s wind storm (the one that knocked out our power for four days) blew down many oaks, pines, and firs, blocking the trail in innumerable places. It is a very challenging place to navigate, both physically and mentally: reliable trails offer a sense of peace and calm, whereas trails that are constantly disappearing and reappearing require constant vigilance. However, it is refreshing to visit a wilderness that is not as curated and manicured as some other popular mountain destinations, like the High Sierra. Aside from Erin and the trail-runner, we saw no other trail users. I would probably not return to the Ventana Trail in its current state, but I remain captivated by this mysterious and mystical place.