Secret Canyon from near parking lot
Last week's hike along the ridge above the Secret Canyon trail was very pleasant and far surpassed my expectation. No sooner was I home than I was thinking about the rock dome I'd seen from that ridge. After consulting my map, I discovered that the ravine above the dome is the eponymous Secret Canyon, possibly even the source of an earlier Secret Canyon trail. I checked the surrounding landscape on google earth. The southern facing slope of the Secret Canyon ravine looked hikeable and I so I'd hike it.
Thursday I arrived at an empty parking lot. It was about 9 am. I got my things together and headed down Espinosa trail with a feeling of exuberance. It had been months and months since I'd hiked something entirely new, and not just new - intriguing, mysterious.
Pine Creek was all mine; not another soul anywhere. I'd just gotten on the Secret Canyon trail when I met my first snake - practically tripped over it stretched out across the trail. My eye darted to its tail; no rattle. So what snake was this? Its small, shiny scales were grey and patternless, its body was thick and it had a rather narrow head. It was clearly aware of me and, tongue darting, double around and languidly slid up and around a rock beside the trail. I stepped to the other side and went on. The next three miles passed quickly and soon I was eying the slope of the Secret Canyon ravine, looking for a route up. My first thought was to go further along the trail, since it rose to meet the ridge, to see if there were any user trails. As I hiked along, though, I could see that the brush on the foot of the ridge was getting denser the farther north I went. I turned around and went back to where the trail crossed the dry creek. There was still no sign of an obvious way so I shambled into the undergrowth. It turned out not to be too bad and within a few minutes I'd gotten out of the creek bed and was up onto the southern slope where the chaparral became lower and thinner. Rather than follow the creek I headed up, assuming that I'd find some sort of track along the spine of the ridge. The first outcrop of boulders, not more than 20 yards from the trail below, showed signs of having been used by migrants as a camp area. In fact, when I got around to the east side of the rocks I found a sort of cave affair. I was tempted to climb in, since there was a little ledge at the back that I was curious about, but I noticed there were rocks at the top of the crevice and I was concerned they might tumble in, so I just took a picture. I surmounted the outcrop and started my hike up the ridge. The southern facing slope below me was dry and rocky but along the crest there was a mix of laurel sumac, manzanitas, many of which had been chopped back, and chaparral. Though there was no trail, it was obvious that the ridge had always been a natural connector between the highlands above and Pine Creek below. I kept weaving my way up, sometimes dropping down a bit on along the slope, sometimes meandering among the manzanitas. All along the way there were rock spines and I kept my eyes peeled and ears perked. I was about half way up the ridge, and had just cleared a set of boulders and was about to go around another when I heard a sound like a muffled drill. I stopped and looked around my feet. I was standing on a small slab of rock about two foot square. No snakes visible. Then I saw some movement under a low rock overhang three feet away. I stood quietly and the rattling stopped. I could see three or four inches of the rattlesnake's back moving like a brown disk spinning beneath the rock. I turned and found a different way to go.
On my right, across the ravine, the rock dome was getting closer. I decided the best access to the dome would be from above rather than from below in the ravine where there thick brush and trees crowded around its base. As the ridge rose it got steeper and the ravine below deeper. I was about to climb through another spine of cracked boulders the color of dark chocolate when I noticed something unexpected. In the dirt at the foot of these rocks was a rusted, well-worn horse shoe. A nail poked from it like a single tooth. The find seemed to confirm that at some time there had been a trail along this ridge. I climbed up through the rocks. The ridge was now rising to meet the peak above. To my right a ledge of white rock cut laterally across the face of the looming hill. I made my over to the ledge and started hiking along it. This brought me above and around the backside of the dome. Unfortunately, up close the ledge turned out to be more weathered and eroded than it looked from a distance and I was forced to hike up above it. I was not along in this choice. A robust deer trail rose from the ledge and made its way across to the southern corner of the hill, just below a scarp mid-way up the slope. From here I could now see upper Secret Canyon, which lay hidden behind the hill. In fact there were two ravines that converged just below the scarp. One came straight down while the other curved around the eastern side of the hill and continued on to drain two further peaks to the north. I decided to stick with my original plan and go as far as I could along the ridge, now heading north. I climbed to the top of the hill and then hiked along another couple of hundred yards. From there, the ridge line dipped down again and then climbed up to another somewhat higher peak. However in the intervening dip the brush was fairly dense and green. I was sure I could make it out to the next peak but it would be a lot of work. Instead I decided to go back to where the upper ravines met and explore the dome.
Soon I was back at the scarp. From here looking east I could see the back side of Corte Madera. On the far side of the first ravine, the one that came straight down from above, there were several open grassy areas and I suspected these could be Indian camping spots. I scanned the ravine, looking for a reasonable way to cross but couldn't see one. I then turned my gaze to the dome just below me. The approach looked straight forward although there was a formidable manzanita grove at the near end. In a couple of minutes I was standing at the edge of the grove. There was no obvious path skirting the grove so I had to just jump in. The manzanitas were well over my head and once in the bushes I made pretty good headway. At times it was a bit like climbing through a jungle-jim, but there was very little undergrowth and the manzanitas were reasonably spread out. It might have taken me 15 minutes to cross beneath the 20 yards of canopy. When I finally pushed through the last branches, I was a couple feet from a ring of rocks, possibly left there by hunters. I wandered around the dome, whose surface was crisscrossed by large cracks. There were many interesting things there. I was getting ready to leave and had just come around the far side of a large oak bush growing from one of the cracks when I noticed something poking out of the pile of leaves beneath it. I crawled to it; a large pestle protruded from the duff. I cleared away the leaves and uncovered a deep mortar. Finding the pestle propped in the mortar, as if its user was called away and never returned, gave me an eerie, melancholy feeling.
I elbowed my way through the mazanita braches and back under the grove's canopy. I took a little more time now as I climbed through the bushes, looking around and enjoying the grove. Though I hadn't planned it, I emerged at virtually the same spot I'd first entered. I headed for the slope of the hill and then for the white ledge. I undershot it and had to scramble up twenty yards; it was gratifying when I found the deer trail I'd followed earlier. Soon I was descending the ridge, often stepping in my own foot prints. After an hour or so I was back down to the Secret Canyon trail and started heading south. Now that I was down in the canyon I realized how low the sun was. When I got on a fairly even part of the trail I started, for lack of a better term, loping or trotting - a kind of walk/run with my knees bent, my shoulders squared, and my arms kept down at my sides. This gliding stride was much faster than walking and I could do it without breathing hard. Keeping my arms down and shoulders squared prevented the pack from bouncing back and forth. I was able to keep this up for nearly half the five miles back. When I arrived at the car the sun had already descended behind the Alpine hills. It was 7 pm; a ten hour hike.
Secret Canyon from near parking lot
Last week's hike along the ridge above the Secret Canyon trail was very pleasant and far surpassed my expectation. No sooner was I home than I was thinking about the rock dome I'd seen from that ridge. After consulting my map, I discovered that the ravine above the dome is the eponymous Secret Canyon, possibly even the source of an earlier Secret Canyon trail. I checked the surrounding landscape on google earth. The southern facing slope of the Secret Canyon ravine looked hikeable and I so I'd hike it.
Thursday I arrived at an empty parking lot. It was about 9 am. I got my things together and headed down Espinosa trail with a feeling of exuberance. It had been months and months since I'd hiked something entirely new, and not just new - intriguing, mysterious.
Pine Creek was all mine; not another soul anywhere. I'd just gotten on the Secret Canyon trail when I met my first snake - practically tripped over it stretched out across the trail. My eye darted to its tail; no rattle. So what snake was this? Its small, shiny scales were grey and patternless, its body was thick and it had a rather narrow head. It was clearly aware of me and, tongue darting, double around and languidly slid up and around a rock beside the trail. I stepped to the other side and went on. The next three miles passed quickly and soon I was eying the slope of the Secret Canyon ravine, looking for a route up. My first thought was to go further along the trail, since it rose to meet the ridge, to see if there were any user trails. As I hiked along, though, I could see that the brush on the foot of the ridge was getting denser the farther north I went. I turned around and went back to where the trail crossed the dry creek. There was still no sign of an obvious way so I shambled into the undergrowth. It turned out not to be too bad and within a few minutes I'd gotten out of the creek bed and was up onto the southern slope where the chaparral became lower and thinner. Rather than follow the creek I headed up, assuming that I'd find some sort of track along the spine of the ridge. The first outcrop of boulders, not more than 20 yards from the trail below, showed signs of having been used by migrants as a camp area. In fact, when I got around to the east side of the rocks I found a sort of cave affair. I was tempted to climb in, since there was a little ledge at the back that I was curious about, but I noticed there were rocks at the top of the crevice and I was concerned they might tumble in, so I just took a picture. I surmounted the outcrop and started my hike up the ridge. The southern facing slope below me was dry and rocky but along the crest there was a mix of laurel sumac, manzanitas, many of which had been chopped back, and chaparral. Though there was no trail, it was obvious that the ridge had always been a natural connector between the highlands above and Pine Creek below. I kept weaving my way up, sometimes dropping down a bit on along the slope, sometimes meandering among the manzanitas. All along the way there were rock spines and I kept my eyes peeled and ears perked. I was about half way up the ridge, and had just cleared a set of boulders and was about to go around another when I heard a sound like a muffled drill. I stopped and looked around my feet. I was standing on a small slab of rock about two foot square. No snakes visible. Then I saw some movement under a low rock overhang three feet away. I stood quietly and the rattling stopped. I could see three or four inches of the rattlesnake's back moving like a brown disk spinning beneath the rock. I turned and found a different way to go.
On my right, across the ravine, the rock dome was getting closer. I decided the best access to the dome would be from above rather than from below in the ravine where there thick brush and trees crowded around its base. As the ridge rose it got steeper and the ravine below deeper. I was about to climb through another spine of cracked boulders the color of dark chocolate when I noticed something unexpected. In the dirt at the foot of these rocks was a rusted, well-worn horse shoe. A nail poked from it like a single tooth. The find seemed to confirm that at some time there had been a trail along this ridge. I climbed up through the rocks. The ridge was now rising to meet the peak above. To my right a ledge of white rock cut laterally across the face of the looming hill. I made my over to the ledge and started hiking along it. This brought me above and around the backside of the dome. Unfortunately, up close the ledge turned out to be more weathered and eroded than it looked from a distance and I was forced to hike up above it. I was not along in this choice. A robust deer trail rose from the ledge and made its way across to the southern corner of the hill, just below a scarp mid-way up the slope. From here I could now see upper Secret Canyon, which lay hidden behind the hill. In fact there were two ravines that converged just below the scarp. One came straight down while the other curved around the eastern side of the hill and continued on to drain two further peaks to the north. I decided to stick with my original plan and go as far as I could along the ridge, now heading north. I climbed to the top of the hill and then hiked along another couple of hundred yards. From there, the ridge line dipped down again and then climbed up to another somewhat higher peak. However in the intervening dip the brush was fairly dense and green. I was sure I could make it out to the next peak but it would be a lot of work. Instead I decided to go back to where the upper ravines met and explore the dome.
Soon I was back at the scarp. From here looking east I could see the back side of Corte Madera. On the far side of the first ravine, the one that came straight down from above, there were several open grassy areas and I suspected these could be Indian camping spots. I scanned the ravine, looking for a reasonable way to cross but couldn't see one. I then turned my gaze to the dome just below me. The approach looked straight forward although there was a formidable manzanita grove at the near end. In a couple of minutes I was standing at the edge of the grove. There was no obvious path skirting the grove so I had to just jump in. The manzanitas were well over my head and once in the bushes I made pretty good headway. At times it was a bit like climbing through a jungle-jim, but there was very little undergrowth and the manzanitas were reasonably spread out. It might have taken me 15 minutes to cross beneath the 20 yards of canopy. When I finally pushed through the last branches, I was a couple feet from a ring of rocks, possibly left there by hunters. I wandered around the dome, whose surface was crisscrossed by large cracks. There were many interesting things there. I was getting ready to leave and had just come around the far side of a large oak bush growing from one of the cracks when I noticed something poking out of the pile of leaves beneath it. I crawled to it; a large pestle protruded from the duff. I cleared away the leaves and uncovered a deep mortar. Finding the pestle propped in the mortar, as if its user was called away and never returned, gave me an eerie, melancholy feeling.
I elbowed my way through the mazanita braches and back under the grove's canopy. I took a little more time now as I climbed through the bushes, looking around and enjoying the grove. Though I hadn't planned it, I emerged at virtually the same spot I'd first entered. I headed for the slope of the hill and then for the white ledge. I undershot it and had to scramble up twenty yards; it was gratifying when I found the deer trail I'd followed earlier. Soon I was descending the ridge, often stepping in my own foot prints. After an hour or so I was back down to the Secret Canyon trail and started heading south. Now that I was down in the canyon I realized how low the sun was. When I got on a fairly even part of the trail I started, for lack of a better term, loping or trotting - a kind of walk/run with my knees bent, my shoulders squared, and my arms kept down at my sides. This gliding stride was much faster than walking and I could do it without breathing hard. Keeping my arms down and shoulders squared prevented the pack from bouncing back and forth. I was able to keep this up for nearly half the five miles back. When I arrived at the car the sun had already descended behind the Alpine hills. It was 7 pm; a ten hour hike.