Hiking Mount Baldy

            It was a typical early summer morning in Los Angeles. The weather was still a little chilly, but the forecast looked promising: sunny, mostly clear skies, an expected high of 86 degrees with an average of 75.5.

It was the perfect day for a hike, and the target of choice was the top of Mount Baldy, or more formally, Mount San Antonio, located about an hour northeast of downtown L.A.

With the highest peak in the San Gabriel Mountains range, the mountain loomed over its early Sunday morning hikers, discouraging some, exhilarating others.

The sun was making its way toward the middle of the sky, gently warming nature’s skin, while a light breeze refreshed the air and the chirping of a few birds broke the peaceful silence.

The first half a mile was easy, maybe too easy, on a paved road that led to the cold but reinvigorating waters of the San Antonio falls. Some decided to stop and dip their heads in the splashing currents, trying to make their way to the top a bit less painful, others continued on their steps, unresponsive to the appeal of the freshening waters.

The next four and a half miles were nothing like the beginning, and the overconfidence that poured into people while strolling along that initial paved path quickly disappeared.

The singing of the birds was muffled by hikers’ footsteps and heavy panting, sweat started dripping from trekkers’ foreheads, the shade formed by the trees along the increasingly steep dirt trail became less and less refreshing, and the weight of one’s backpack became more and more unbearable.

“You’re almost there!” cheered passing hikers, on their way down the mountain.

But “almost there” was a lie, because after another twenty minutes of wheezing, sweating and whining, the summit was still too far.

            Finally, after four seemingly endless hours, the biggest natural high pulsed through the body, and 10,064 feet of elevation never felt so good.

            The wind was blowing forcefully, but the cold breeze was barely noticeable against hot and sweaty skin. The air was fresh and clean, free of pollution or any other man-made chemicals, nothing like the contaminated air Angelenos daily inhale.

            In the distance, L.A. was barely visible under a cap of smog, while right above it, pure, puffy and white clouds danced as they slowly formed of beautifully simple shapes.

            Then, suddenly, that peaceful and magical moment came to an abrupt ending, with the realization that there was no helicopter or parachute to take anyone home. And so the long struggle down Mount Baldy began.