U.S.D.A. Identifier: Marion Mountain Trail-2E14
Type of trail: Out and back, composition: sand, decomposed granite, soft soil, rocks, pine straw
Distance as hiked: 12.5 miles
Approximate elevation: Trailhead-6,400ft., Top of trail-10,834ft.
The last time we hiked Marion Mountain Trail was in April/May of 2012. Snow covered a good portion of the trail above 8,000 ft, and we only made it to the junction. It is known as one of the shortest and steepest routes to the summit of San Jacinto.
We took my brother on this hike as a warm up for the JMT at the end of the month. this is a challenging trail with difficult terrain. You must keep a sharp eye out for the path as it gets tricky.
Less than half a mile into today’s hike, I came within a foot of a Pacific rattler, who warned me in the nick of time. My hiking pole was inches away from his tail. I backed away slowly to allow this 4-5 foot adult make his way up the slope. Close encounters with rattlers gets the adrenaline going. The color and pattern of this one blended in perfectly with the trail. While I’ve had over a dozen encounters with rattlers in my few years of hiking, this was the closest. Our altitude was approx. 6,700 ft. In my observation, snakes are rarely seen above 8,000 ft. in the San Bernardino Mountains. It made me more cautious the rest of the day and I also took the time to brief my hiking partners on how we would handle a poisonous snake bite situation.
After snapping a few photos of this viper, we focused on our journey to the summit. The trail wastes no time in elevation gain as it climbs out at over 900 ft. per mile. The short switchbacks and rocky, sandy trail makes for a calf and quad burning extravaganza.
Due to the lack of snowfall last winter, the vernal streams are fewer and water flows much less. The first significant stream was around 9,300-9,400 ft., and probably feeds into the tiny San Jacinto River. The temps stayed in the 80’s for much of this trek and we were using up our water faster than predicted. There were a couple of other streams where a someone with a pump could extract some water.
Sometimes, I question why we do these tough hikes. Marion Mtn is one of the hardest ones around. It’s really mind over matter because it isn’t always fun. It does build confidence in the sense that once you put your mind to something, you can conquer it. Besides, if you always hiked on flat terrain it would be boring.
We took many breaks today due to the heat and intensity of the trail. We started feeling the possible symptoms of mild acute mountain sickness (AMS) around 9,000 ft. To compensate, a motrin and increased fluid intake helped, as well as slowing the ascent. Symptoms may include nausea, light-headedness and a mild headache. We kept an eye on this and agreed to head back down if the symptoms did not go away. AMS is nothing to play around with and is important to recognize it as it can lead to a more serious condition. You can read about it here: http://www.altitude.org/altitude_sickness.php
We took a lunch break at the junction of the PCT/Marion Mtn/Seven Pines trails. From the junction, you enter a heavily wooded area for 1/2 mile and begin a steady climb that is exposed to afternoon sun. The trail is rocky with occasional shade under some conifers. We continued on to Little Round Valley campground. It is a nice area with private campsites less than a mile to the summit. The nearby vernal stream was pretty much dry, so I recommend you top off at the stream about 700-800 yds before camp on the ascent.
We broke out into a clearing with signs that pointed us to the summit and points to the tram, Wellman’s Divide, Deer Springs Trail and Humber Park. The views to several 10,000+ peaks and the desert below are beautiful.
No hike to San Jacinto is complete without stopping by the summit cabin. The last 200 ft. to the summit are spent scrambling up boulders and around the flora. At the top, we saw several others – not too bad. Sometimes, you can run in to 30 or 40 people crowded around the sign. It was 5:30 by then, so that might have something to do with it.
We started down by 6 p.m. knowing that it was going to be a close call on darkness. I have to admit, this trail is no easier going down since you have to pick your way around the rocks and scree. We burned through our food and snacks due to the extra effort going up. Now, we were on auto pilot.
As darkness approached, we broke out the headlamps and realized we would be hiking for at least another hour. The forest and moonless night made for a slow descent as we picked our way over the obstacles. My headlamp needed the batteries replaced, but I kept going. I did have spare batteries, but just didn’t want to stop. After a week of night hiking the 100 Mile Wilderness last year, this wasn’t too bad. My hiking partners weren’t digging it though. Actually, I was tired and ready for it to end too.
If you’ve hiked this trail, you know how hard it is to follow – especially at night. As Mary discovered, the scorpions come out at night here. While I was struggling to see the trail ahead, she was seeing every crawling critter on the path. Oh well, at least the scorpions are small.
After 1 1/2 hrs, we finally reached the parking area and were dog-tired. We were still committed to the post-hike celebratory meal of In-N-Out with “animal style fries”. Well, if you live out here – you know what that is.
This hike is a great workup for a Mt. Whitney type trip. We used it as a warmup for the JMT. Even though the trail humbled us, we came away confident with a few lessons learned.
1. Take more water than you think you need or have the ability to filter some. For me that’s 1 liter for every 3 miles. Your mileage may vary. I carry a backup 24 oz. Camelbak bottle and needed it on this hike.
2. Take extra food and snacks. While we had enough, it wasn’t enough if we had gotten lost and needed to spend the night. Keep some of those nuclear proof classic Clif Bars in your emergency pack.
3. Hiking at night is slow going, especially in tough terrain. Scree isn’t as obvious and a rolled ankle 3 miles from the trailhead is a bad thing.
We use trekking poles when hiking. This is a good set that is reasonably priced: Kelty Upslope 2.0 Trekking Poles, Ano Blue Unless you are a pro, don’t spend your money on the carbon fiber poles.
Dazed and losing consciousness, the shade of a scruffy manzanita tree was just ahead. My calf had doubled in size due to the swelling. Using my hiking poles as crutches, I would take a step and drag my leg. Checking my cell phone for reception, my heart sank – no signal. I tried dialing 911 anyway and the call failed. Reaching the small patch of shade, I crumpled on the dusty trail and took my pack off. I fumbled for my SPOT Messenger, an emergency beacon, flipped the cover over the SOS button and pressed it. After a minute, the light was green indicating that the message for help was transmitting. The throbbing in my leg had ceased, replaced by a numbing sensation – similar to falling asleep on your arm. I remember seeing the jagged peaks of the Ocotillos on the distant horizon and faded into a dream….
Living in Southern California, I became interested in the Pacific Crest Trail or (PCT) soon after becoming an avid day hiker. The 2,600 mile trail begins at the U.S. – Mexican border near Campo, California and ends at E.C. Manning Park in British Columbia, Canada. The southern terminus of the trail is marked with a monument, the border fence on the other side of a dirt road. I’ve hiked sections of the PCT, usually 8-10 miles at a time. At this rate, I would hike the entire PCT in 30 years. The realities of life keep this thru-hike fantasy at bay.
Today, I would park almost 20 miles north of the trailhead near the Lake Morena Campground and have a friend drop me off at the border near Campo. He was on his way to Yuma, so it was only 12 miles out-of-the-way. Dropping me off on the dirt road, I would walk to the border, touch the PCT marker and backtrack north. I waved to my friend as he pulled away on the dirt road and headed north. Dust arose as the car faded in the distance. How strange it must be for the Mexicans who witness the hikers that walk this desolate trail. I’ve read that encounters with illegal immigrants are rare in the daytime down here. At night, the human smugglers known as coyotes herd the immigrants through this area, often abandoning them at the first sign of trouble. Human trafficking is a sad thing and I tried not to think about it. On this fall day, the sun was out early to greet me. The forecast had temps in the mid 80’s – not bad for the desert. I had 4 liters of water and enough food for a couple of days. Water is pretty scarce around here this time of year. This would be my longest single mileage day since my trek on the Appalachian Trail in Maine. I’ve worked up to the longer mileage and was fit enough to give it a go. The sky was clear with a few wispy cirrus clouds. Taking out my little camera, I had to get a shot of the beginning of this famous trail.
It was so quiet out here because the sand and chaparral absorb most of the sound. The occasional chatter of a Gambel’s Quail would break the silence. Using my map, I would pick my way around fences, up dirt roads and past some ranches. Passing through the little town of Campo, I would see a post office and a small store. Walking across Hwy 94, I saw cars in the distance, the blacktop making them seem like a mirage.
Crossing some railroad tracks and an old jeep road, I was making good time. Finding shade in the cleft of a boulder, I took a break. The screech of a red-tail hawk on the hunt pierced the tranquility. It was catching a morning updraft, conserving energy. The trail was relatively easy to follow and the elevation was around 2,800-3000 ft. Checking my GPS, it indicated my average speed was 2.8 mph. I was on track to make it to my car by sundown. While prepared to hike in the dark, it’s not something that I enjoy doing. Around the 8 mile mark, I made the crest of a ridge and noticed a descent into a canyon, followed by a 300-400 ft climb. I crossed another jeep road with a gate. Time for another snack, but I would keep moving. While unwrapping my snack bar, I remember looking up in time to avoid tripping over a rock. The Pacific Rattler struck without warning. I remember yelling and lunging forward, the adrenaline surging through my body. I must have run another 30-40 feet before stopping. Looking back, the snake was still coiled under the rock near the trail. The pain in my calf jolted me back into reality. I dropped my poles and unfastened the nylon gaiter on my right leg. Two small holes, one with blood on my calf. The serpent had bitten me through the gaiter. My initial reaction was one of panic. Within a few minutes, the area around the bite burned like fire and the skin turned red and was swollen. I got farther away from the snake and retrieved my cell phone to call for help. No signal! I was in a canyon with no reception. At this point, I wasn’t worried about dying. I knew that most rattlesnake bites were not fatal and that it was important to calm down so that I could make good decisions. I had not seen one person since the little hamlet of Campo, so I prayed to my God for calm and asked Him to get me out of here.
Looking at my map, I was 9 miles into my 20 mile hike. The campground was 10 miles to the north with a 1,200 foot climb. Campo was 8 miles to the south. Not knowing how the snake bite would affect me, I decided to head back south and prayed for a phone signal. I made a detour around the wretched snake and began to feel a bit lethargic and dizzy. Sweat was dripping as my body reacted to the situation. I drank more water and tried to stay calm. Up ahead near the ridge, I noticed some scrubby trees and hoped for some shade. My leg was swelling noticeably and I knew to leave my shoes on. I made it to some manzanitas and dropped my pack.
Still no signal. I knew what had to be done. Six months earlier, I had purchased a GPS device that serves as an emergency beacon and allows for me to be tracked by family members on a website. At the start of my hike, I transmitted the “OK” signal to my wife which sends an email and text to her cell phone with my location. Now, I fumbled for the device and knew that I had to signal for help. I flipped off the safety cover and pressed the SOS button. After a minute, it blinked green indicating that it was transmitting. Hopefully, help would be here within the hour. Looking around, I noticed the tranquility and beauty of the land. The Ocotillos mountain range was in the distance. The last thing I remember was a slight buzz in my ears.
I remember having strange dreams. In one of my dreams, I was dressed up in a fat bunny suit and jumping through the neighbor’s yards. I still don’t understand that dream. It was bright when I woke up. In a strange room, the beep, beep of the monitor and I.V. in my arm left no doubt where I was. A nurse came in and told me that it took three vials of antivenom to treat me. My leg would be fine, albeit sore for a long time.
Later, I would be told that the San Diego County Sheriff’s Department received the call from the company that monitors the SPOT GPS messenger. The police chopper was on the scene within 55 minutes. Working with the Border Patrol, they would make their way up a jeep road and haul me out on a 4 wheeler with a gurney. A helicopter would land on Hwy 94 and take me to the hospital in El Cajon, 35 miles away.
Friends, fellow bloggers – at this point I must tell you that this story is a work of FICTION. This didn’t really happen to me. Have I seen rattlers on the trail? Yes, many. Normally, the rattlers are not aggressive and actually prefer to stay away from humans. Most rattlesnake bite victims are oblivious to the snake until they step on it or surprise it on the trail. I can only tell you that if you do hike alone, ensure that someone knows where you are and take a cell phone. Unfortunately, if you hike in remote areas, a cellular signal is not guaranteed. For peace of mind, I picked up an emergency beacon and hope to never use it. Be prepared for the chance rattler encounter and have a plan. If you do stumble on one, freeze and allow it to retreat. If it coils, slowly back away and give it a wide berth. The most common rattlers in Southern California are the Pacific and Diamondback. In my experience, the Pacific Rattlers tend to be more defensive and will coil when threatened. They have the ability to strike out at 40% of their length. A coiled 6 foot rattler can lunge over 2.5 ft! Most of my encounters have been in the afternoon. I actually came within two feet of a coiled Pacific Rattler this past summer; but for the grace of God was not bitten. Enjoy your hike and be alert!
Trekking poles are also great because they can put some distance between you and a snake. I highly recommend these made by Kelty: Kelty Upslope 2.0 Trekking Poles, Ano Blue
If you insist on walking through rattlesnake infested brush, at least consider these: Rattler Scaletech Snake Protection Gaiters (Green)
I use a Nikon 3000 series camera and have really been pleased with it. It is easy to use and takes awesome pictures. It’s durable and has survived many hiking and camping trips. Nikon D3200 24.2 MP CMOS Digital SLR Camera with 18-55mm and 55-200mm Non-VR DX Zoom Lenses Bundle