Trip Reports Page One

The day was beautiful. Joe Stevenson, Marion Carter and I left the Hunting Hollow parking lot a little after 9am. By the time we got halfway to Willson Ranch the sky was clear blue. The temperature never got above the mid-to-high seventies and there was a cool breeze (a combination that can lead to disaster as you will see later).

The climb up Lyman Willson Ridge Road is the easiest way up out of Hunting Hollow and we did not rush it in preparation for later. From the junction above Willson Ranch the hike up the Wagon Road to Willson Field Hill is an easy undulating gradual climb of 600 feet. No sweat. The view from the road east to the Pacheco drainage and the new Pacheco State Park are awesome. We ate lunch on top of Willson Field Hill at just after noon. This was approximately the halfway point and we weren't even mildly tired.

From the hill we went down a steep trail to the inlet end of Kelly Lake. The inlet end of the lake is much prettier than the dam end. We then hiked up the steep one mile trail to Wasno Ridge Road, a trail we usually go down. We were beginning to feel a little tired at this point but no big deal. We continued down Wasno Road and turned right onto the Wagon Road, from which we eventually cross-countried to the Grizzly Gulch road right at Tule Pond. From there we went up the Serpentine Road. This road is a relatively steep upgrade of less than a mile but at this point we were going very slowly. We had come close to 14 miles already.

From the top we went past Willson Peak and down the Steer Ridge Road trail. Along the top on the first few miles from Willson Peak to the Spike Jones trail, the trail is easy. About here, though, the trail drops precipitously to the parking lot. I have gone up this trail (ONCE) and have now been down it (ONCE) I hope never to be on it again. If Lyman Willson Road is the easiest way, Steer Ridge is the worst. We made the parking lot by about 4:40PM after hiking nearly 18 miles.

At the parking lot I had about three gulps of an ice cold coke and almost passed out. I started breathing heavily and had tingling in my hands and arms. I lay down for about 10 minutes and started to feel OK. When I got home I drank a lot of water and then took my blood pressure (about two hours after the end of the hike). It was 105 over 65 (usually about 125 over 85) and my pulse was 90! My pulse at rest is about 56 and is seldom over 65 or 70 during the day. By the time I went to bed I had consumed nearly two gallons(!) of fluids.

Don Savant sent out a challenge to his entire address book to dispute the wilderness encompassed in Coon Gulch. The strategy was simple, enter the gulch near Hunting Hollow and exit at the headwaters at Wagon Road. The known or imagined hazards consisted of contiguous massive boulders, moderate water, poison oak, wild boars, and Savant leading. When we met at the appointed hour Sunday morning, only TONY FERRARI, Savant, Carter, and Joe Stevenson assembled. At Coe a fine Englishman christened Colin Whitby-Strevens (which unquestionably certifies his authenticity) met us. Thus many were called, but only five chose it.

The morning was fantastic, a livid blue sky, a few puffs of clouds, the air clear and invigorating, and the temperature appropriate for shirtsleeve hiking. I thought it a truly great day to be on this side of the grass, particularly as I informed the brethren it was my 69th birthday. This was definitely a technical hike. Tony, Don and I wore our waterproof boots, and gaiters. Colin made do with oxfords and tucked his pants into his white socks. We carried rain pants and jackets, assuming the bushes would be water laden, gloves for the poison oak, and wading tennies just in case. After thoughtful analysis, Tony chose to carry only a single hiking stick.

As we trudged along Hunting Hollow Tony spotted an animal far ahead and ordered us to silence in his inimitable subtle way. He officially declared it a pig, and it did appear to have the correct silhouette. I, not accustomed to seeing a light brown pig, especially one with a long thick tail, determined it to be a small calf, head down grazing. As we shushed Savant and Colin into the viewing area the beast had migrated much closer to us. Savant declared it a fox. Colin, sophisticated as to foxhunts, said it was too large for a fox and that it was a coyote. Savant then made a miserable attempt to qualify his original answer, opining that it was a cross between a fox and a coyote. We eventually reached a consensus that it was a coyote. So much for the geriatric game spotters. The coyote demonstrated it's total disregard for us by literally strolling to within twenty feet of us while gleaning some sort of nourishment from the grass. And I thought they were carnivorous. Tony moved close in and asked what he was eating, for which he received a "what the hell is it to you" look, as the fox/coyote wandered away.

As we migrated up Coon Gulch we soon found the most significant hazard to be the slick on the rocks. We had been admiring the lovely yellow sycamore leaves all about, only to find that when they stagnate awhile, among, and on the rocks, that they form a compound comparable to the viscosity of Slick 50. Plus many rocks were covered with moss an inch in depth, and diverse unidentified algae and rotting matter. Since the rocks were not smooth, or level, it became quite meaningful just how you placed your boot each step. At one point, while climbing a rock face taller than I, I was careful to find little niches for my large feet, and just as I gave the final push to scale the top my feet gave way. I fell to the bottom, my shins wedged between the rocks, and I accomplished my obligatory weekly abrasions. In many locations the entire gulch was overlaid with tall saw grass [undoubtedly sedges---editor] that hid the location of the boulders and the water. Our passage, slipping and sliding, punctuated by curses, resembled a quartet of drunks staggering home. Tony found his single stick a marvelous sounding implement.

Right about here Colin's right shoe slipped into a small watery hole while the remainder of his body pitched forward. It required a few minutes and a banana before he felt like moving on. We were at the point of no return and pressed ahead, Colin limped slightly the balance of the day. Savant took several photographs of buckeyes. Either he is more myopic than I thought or he wanted real close ups. We encountered the carcass of a deer which Don also photographed, however he seemed to have a diminished desire for a close up. Don also spotted a kestral and he was so certain of it that he did not term it a kestral/hawk.

The gulch is very narrow and the walls extremely vertical. On more than one occasion we were enticed to leave the bottom of the creek only to find ourselves quickly trapped far above the creek bed and forced to return to ground zero. There are many fallen trees across the creek, too high to scamper over, and when ducking under you invariably underestimate the hump on your back, which snags the thick green moss coating the tree. Countless stream crossings were required in order to progress. We did not whack many bushes but most of them whacked us. Occasionally they captured your pack to the extent you were required to back up to obtain a release. So much rain remained on the leaves that the occasional wind shook water down as if it were still raining. The sun did not penetrate our location; in fact it was rather dark, especially for me, since my only glasses were sunglasses. For those of you following along on your maps, when we reached the fork approximately [?] of the way up, where the flood plain widened a bit and the sun shone upon us, we declared a lunch site. We clung to the grassy mud on a 45-degree slope, hunkered down on plastic bags. For the umpteenth time Don picked up a wandering newt and informed us that they return home for breeding. Now wouldn't that be an excellent example for all of us to follow.

Following lunch we took the obvious dominant fork. Now the occasional automobile tire commenced occurring at increasingly frequent intervals, and owing to the prior experience of our guide we knew we were drawing near the terminus. At a little over three hours we reached the Promised Land at Wagon Road. According to my instrument we had gained 600 feet in elevation and by consensus, had traversed at least three miles. If this piece inspires you to try this hike, remember there was no trail and there is still no trail; it is difficult to blaze a rock.

What next? We considered Vasquez Peak but decided it had likely not changed appreciably in the last week, and also Willson Peak for just a millisecond. We elected to return home via Willson Ranch and Lyman Willson Ridge Road. In nothing flat (how is that for a pun) we acquired the parking lot at 4 pm. I propose Nothing Flat as an appropriate new name for Coe Park. We toasted a most successful hike, and my birthday, with Juice Squeeze and beer. My bag of chips was totally saturated with salt, which allowed us to quench in the manner of Falstaff. Admittedly, we have colored in so many of the Coe trails on our maps, we now resort to highlighting gulches. By 4:30 the temperature seemed to drop to freezing so we loaded up and drove home; with the heater on. A great day, too bad about the rest of you.

In May, he, Marion, Ian Stevenson, and I tried to bush whack up Braen Canyon out of Hunting Hollow. It is an understatement to say it was pretty rough—never again. Last week while hiking in the area Tony surmised that we had missed Braen Canyon and had actually gone up an unnamed drainage to the west of the intended one. Today he led Marion, Bill Levey, Colin Whitby-Strevens, and myself to the correct one and the going was much better.

One pretty good waterfall had to be climbed, which would be nice to see in spring with water flowing over it. In a couple places the landscape plateaued and the stream actually meandered somewhat through relatively flat surroundings. Below Bowl Road the stream branches more than once, and there was some uncertainty as to which was the main branch. After splitting into two groups (four of us vs. one of him), Tony successfully located and followed the main branch to where it flowed over Bowl Rd. We all then followed the stream to its source where it flows out of a spring just below Steer Ridge Rd.

Here Bill Levey took the lead and showed us a very nice route (Willson Peak Trail) from the peak down into Grizzly Gulch. It was beautiful in the gulch—have to get back there soon on a Wednesday hike. We all admired the new potties at Rodeo Pond and Willson Camp before returning to Hunting Hollow via our old favorite Lyman Willson Ridge Rd.

On the way down Marion spotted a bobcat and most of us got a real good look at him before he slipped over the ridge. Shortly after the bobcat sighting I noticed a tarantula of a slightly lighter shade on the ground at my feet. On closer examination it turned out to be a female—a rare occurrence to see a female out of its nest hole.

As I walked back down to the Hollow with Colin I was remiss in not eliciting a promise from him that he would either get his boots sent from England or buy another pair to keep and wear here. Low cut oxfords just don't cut it in this terrain, Colin, and you must remember the sprained ankle of one year ago.

As we downed our beers in Hunting Hollow parking lot and reminisced about our perfect day, the temperature was surprisingly comfortable, but we missed all the chips, dips, cookies, and brownies we have become accustomed to after the Wed. hike. The second beers were never served as it quickly cooled to below the comfort level, even though Tony was now dressed appropriately for the Iditarod.

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