Mt San Jacinto, Winter, 1991

 Mt San Jacinto, Winter, 1991 

One Saturday in December of 1991, I drove up to Palm Springs from my home in Orange County to take the tramway up into the high country near Mt San Jacinto. It was cold but there had been little precipitation thus far in the winter season, so chances were good that deep snow was not something I would need to negotiate. I stepped off the tram at the 8500’ top to find the weather sunny and clear, the temperature near 20 degrees; perfect weather for a December hike in the wilderness.
 
I went down to the ranger station and filled out a wilderness entrance pass for Round Valley. The air was fresh and a delight to breathe; the trail had places with snow and ice, these alternated with some spots that were bare earth and roots. I stepped out briskly to work up some heat; I wore lightweight nylon leggings under a pair of shorts, a long sleeve nylon top with a zipper opening at the neck, a hat and light gloves. I had a parka and warm sweater in my pack, along with a sandwich and some snacks, water and a thermos of hot coffee with rum.
 
The trail followed gentle switchbacks up the side of the ridge and soon was heading straight toward Round Valley. About two miles in, the trail intersected another footpath. Striking off at this junction to the right I soon left the trail to the left and worked my way up a depression through the woods. There was a covering of icy hard snow on the ground that left a perfect impression of my boot-print as I walked up the slope. A small unofficial trail led up this way but path was invisible now due to the snow on the ground. I was heading for a rocky overlook at about 9000’ that afforded an open view to the south. Nearing the top I stopped and looked back down the trail, I could see every footstep carved into the snow as my trail disappeared down below.
 
I gained the rocks and found a place in the sun. I took my pack off and put on a sweater and wind parka. I could feel the elevation in my pounding chest and light head. I sat down and after a while, I ate lunch, followed by a hot rum coffee. I lit a small cigar and watched the December sun become low as I enjoyed a fine afternoon. With evening approaching, I arose and put on my pack, and headed back down.
 
Halfway down to the main trail is where I first saw them, another set of tracks. Coming in from my right were the tracks of a mountain lion, as clear in the frozen snow as my boot prints were. They came up to the imprints I made on the way up, and due to the number of tracks, he must have paused and looked around, or tried the air for a scent. Then the tracks continued on, disappearing in the woods to the left of me. The hair was standing up on the back of my neck, and I looked into the woods nervously for a sign of movement. Everything was still, quiet, and cold; the late afternoon shadows were long and daylight growing dim. I pressed on down the hill and was soon on the trail back to the tram, all the while taking an occasional glance at the trail behind me.
 
Reaching the ranger station I left my wilderness pass in the mailbox and climbed the steep path to the tramway building. The heat hit me as I went in, then the sound of children and families; here was civilization and outside was wilderness. I looked back on my day with a new appreciation for the area; here wilderness was struggling to survive as Southern California encroached all around it, even into it. I had enjoyed a special encounter today, something far removed from the experience shared by the families having dinner or the groups drinking in the bar. I was grateful for the day, and for my wonderful afternoon of solitude.
 
It was night when I boarded the next tram down, and I stood by the windows and waited for the descent to begin. The operator closed the door and we were on our way. The tram quickly sailed down the dark canyon, the lights of Palm Springs and the desert communities spreading out before me.