Full Hike [CC]: From Desert Floor to "Sublime" Views in California, Part 2

The Cactus to Clouds (shortened to "C2C," or "C2C2C" for returning down to Cactus instead of using the tramway) hike manifested in modern times. Former members of the Coachella Valley Hiking Club figured they needed to kick things up a notch (or a few notches). No help for miles? Check. Ceaseless heat from the Colorado Desert? Yes. Shades? Good luck. Water? None, 2/3 of the trek. 10,000 foot gain? Of course. Confusing trail branches and offshoots? Why not. No question: this is hard. As in, reexamining life decisions or entering the arena as the underdog hard. And the various ominous warning signs/messages do not help. Most hikers limit their attempts to milder spring or autumn days and, even so, still begin hours before sunrise. Water (or lack thereof) is the boogeyman, at least until 9 miles in and 8,000 feet up, in Long Valley. Starting adjacent to the museum in Palm Springs, hikers are ultimately deposited on San Jacinto Peak, to witness a landscape that decades before had thrilled illustrious naturalist John Muir. From the second highest spot in Southern California the Inland Empire is revealed, along with mountains of both the Peninsular and Transverse Ranges. Plus, on hazeless days, the view extends west over Los Angeles Metropolitan Area to the Pacific Ocean. Sublime indeed. Photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/94cZPgYtMN8... Route: Skyline Trail-Desert View Trail-Service Trail-Discovery Trail-Round Valley Trail-Peak Trail Type: Out-And-Back Distance: 29.0 mi. Elevation Gain: 10,364 ft. Location: Palm Springs-Mount San Jacinto State Park, California, USA Date/Time: 2019-10-06 0706 My Thoughts: You notice the little things. That is how to know you are fully focused. Sure, the grandiose often dazzles and distracts—if the ground shakes in this part of the world, one cannot help but ponder if the "Big One" has arrived. But back to the little things. First were the ants. Red ones, black ones. The former exhibited distinct aggression, to match their fiery, fearsome appearances. Disturbed, they promptly scattered in all directions to fend off the threat (me). Black ants, however, were collective and disciplined. They had noticed the problem and could fight back if necessitated, but kept marching—around, over, or under—toward some imminent objective. The bees' presence grew mightier by each mile, despite their tiny profile. I would only hear buzzing at first. Then, grazing the shrubberies excited them. They swarmed, but did not sting. Why not? I was puzzled, and momentarily distracted from the creeping temperatures. I had trudged halfway on the Skyline Trail and to 4,500 feet. But despite occasional cool, refreshing breezes, the air felt incessantly stuffy and heavy. The dessert warmth had kept pace, like a relentless horde of zombies, except these could also hike. After about 10 miles, the Long Valley Ranger Station finally came into full view. A relief. And not another soul was around (the area usually would see more foot traffic). I had arrived during maintenance of the Palm Springs Arial Tramway. I refilled water, savored a late lunch, and enjoyed true solitude. A couple more hours of hiking from Long Valley, I reached the Clouds/end at 10,834 feet (San Jacinto Peak), the second highest point in Southern California. Situated slightly northwest, across the massive divide and Interstate 10, was the highest: San Gorgonio Mountain's summit, where I had visited years before. I could literally see a younger me, quickly devouring dinner and setting up camp in mad gusts. Just a small human being, eclipsed by colossal Transverse massifs. Back to my current vantage point, which privileged me with more striking views. Palm Springs below, a top resort/retiree's destination. That city is part of greater Coachella Valley, famous in some circles for its namesake festival. Lying beyond, the Salton Sea was calm. Too calm. Completely expunged from it shores were the glitz and glamour of bygone years. I turned west/south to a thick haze; industrialization has its downsides. But I could easily discern Diamond Valley Lake. I visualized peaks of the Peninsular Ranges reaching past San Diego County to Baja California, Mexico. Finally, I observed a massive silhouette and then descended to Little Round Valley for the night's rest. Temperatures plunged. Lively hues receded. Following day, early morning. I went to the summit once more and, again, observed the immense silhouette (now 180° in the other direction). Both times, overshadowed cities and whole populations shrunk to miniature. Perhaps inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. While hiking up, I noted one more—negligible under normal circumstances—detail: shoe prints. Except, these were familiar. MY shoe prints, posited earlier in the week during the scouting/photography attempt, when I first reached the clouds and found the views as spectacular and sublime as Muir had declared. Guided by my own imprints, I succeeded in filming the little things. #Hiking