EF San Gabriel River Oct 5

Looking to spend some time outside without too much driving, we opted to go for a hike up the East Fork of the San Gabriel River to the Bridge to Nowhere. Heather had not been and I was mostly curious to see what the river looked like after the intense scorching from the Bridge Fire and the summer thunderstorms that blasted the burn scar. Despite the government shutdown the trailhead was already filled to the brim by 9am and we parked a little ways down on the side of the road. We made good time hiking up the trail, passing untold numbers of hikers. It seemed like all of Los Angeles was out for a hike and relatedly there was all sorts of crazy people watching for a hiking trail. Giant hoop earrings, designer clothes, purse dogs walking, flip flops and hikers with nothing but a Monster drink in their hands were only the tip of the iceberg and comparing notes afterwards it was clear Heather saw a lot more nonsense than I managed to pay attention to. I was surprised at how low the river was; essentially we could skirt along the shore at many places where we would otherwise have to cross and recross or bypass on a cliff face.

The fire damage was indeed extensive with desolate hillsides giving much more of a desert feel to the canyon than I was accustomed to. Everywhere there was fresh signs of alluviation, half buried trees, and charred hearts of yuccas, many of which managed to cling to life. The greatest changes were at Laurel Gulch where a fresh debris flow fan pushed the river hard to the wall into a particularly narrow log-filled channel, and a short distance further at Allison Gulch where the fan extended 700 ft downcanyon and actually dammed the river. A steep, bouldery 7ft waterfall drop led to a 500ft long temporary lake upstream. Sections of the river remained fairly unchanged (and still runnable at high flows) but the magical conditions I had on my last packraft trip here (5 miles of continuous read-and-run obstacle-free nirvana flows) were gone, perhaps forever.

Allison Gulch's new fan (above) and new boulder rapid (below)

The trail was thin in a couple places with foot-width paths traversing active scree. The old sections of roads were really starting to deteriorate with new stubby toed debris flows covering them at intervals. We arrived at the Bridge to Nowhere a little before noon, the first time I had seen the bungy set-up active with a couple people working and people intermittently stepping up to bungee. I stopped to ask permission to walk down the gorge beneath the bridge to scout changes in the river. This should have been an easy formality but instead I got a lecture from the owner about how it is equivalent to walking under a rollercoaster and how he appreciated me asking so he did not need to arrest me, making a point to show me his handcuffs on his belt. So the answer was a flat no and I came away from the experience with an intense mixture of feelings about people, ownership, lack of curiosity, and "American Wilderness".

We crossed the bridge and ate lunch in the shade down by a nice pool and waterfall with a view downstream from the bridge. I tried to shake off the conversation and enjoy the spot but I struggled and failed. I watched a few people bungee jump feet first. The bridge height is 120ft but the bungee freefall looked to be about 30ft. It looked pathetic and that helped a bit. 

After lunch we recrossed the bridge to head back and the bungee helper stopped us. We had a much more sensible conversation, which I appreciated right up until the end when he tried to convince us to bungee. Fuck no was I giving his boss any of my money I thought while politely declining. The walk back was uneventful other than some more ridiculous people watching and getting behind people that have no sense for trail courtesy. We found a nice deep pool to go for a dip in a little north of Allison Gulch; Heather bravely went all the way into the cold water while I only managed thighs. I finished the hike with the dejection that I sometimes feel after returning to a place and it not being as good as the first time, except now I felt that for what is essentially my only local reliable packraft run. I could now add to the trash and graffiti a self-righteous landowner and a deeply burned landscape that will probably not recover in my lifetime. I'm old, cranky, and a month later when I write this I still live in a country with a shutdown government.