One if by land, two if by sea: hiking the Trans-Catalina Trail

by Betsy Crowfoot

www.maps.com 

Seven times I’d circumnavigated Catalina Island, on various yacht races, before finally setting afoot. A scruffy island hideaway for southern Californians, it’s got none of the glitz of St. Barths nor exotic splendor of Bora Bora. But it’s here. And its mere occupation of a slit of water just off the coast of Los Angeles makes it a destination.

One day, while racing to the Isthmus (the cinched-in waistline of the 22-mile long island) I began to covet the soft green loveliness of the springtime flora. The cozy cap of fog over Blackjack Peak. The sweet geosmin so contrary to the sea.

I planned a hike.

The Trans-Catalina Trail had been completed roughly a decade before: a 37 mile hike from tip to tip. But it’s not the distance that hikers howl about; it’s the indomitable elevation. I was warned that all paths go “straight up ... or straight down” and that the trailblazers had apparently never heard of switchbacks. Beside that, there was the interruption of herds of Bison – dull one-ton bovines that move (or not) when they deign. Of rattlesnakes and scorpions and scrabbly trails leading up, up, up.

Despite all that, I decided to tackle the eastern three-quarters of the isle, from Isthmus Cove to Avalon. And being the bionic one of the group, it was easy to guilt a few other friends into coming along.

The morning of the hike, having taken the ferry over, we were met by a local Catalina resident and friend, Jani. We stopped at the Conservancy office for a map and membership card, and were off with her sister Karen, to the west end.

Driving along the windy mountain road (held up only by eucalyptus trees, everyone is eager to explain) Jani pointed out the details of the trail, as we looked at Blackjack, soaring above.

“It’s better if you just don’t show us,” our third hiker, Holly, moaned.

After Buffalo burgers at the Airport, we dumped our gear at a campsite near the beach at Little Harbor, then drove the narrow snaking road to Two Harbors where Karen dropped us off. “This is it!” she said and we piled out, traded hugs, took a snapshot and watched her drive off into the fog.

Isthmus to Little Harbor

Rambling through the debris of a brushfire, we headed into the lingering mist. Our hike to Little Harbor would be a 5.14 mile Class II trek, traversing a steep 1212 foot ridge. The trail began as a dirt road, diminished to a pair of tire tracks in the grass, and finally narrowed to a small ‘goat path’ (although all the wild goats have been eradicated) rimmed with cactus and red flowers. At first we bemoaned the fog – thinking it was ruining our vistas. But days later we would plead for it, and cooler temperatures, to return.

Eventually, after skirting several ravines, Little Harbor appeared out of the mist – we’d made good our first destination.

Little Harbor to Blackjack
Despite all honorable intentions to rouse and get on the trail early, we delayed ‘til about 9:30. Our destination was just seven miles – according to the chart – but with thousands of feet gain and loss along the way.

The trail followed a commonly used road (unappealingly called “Sheep Chute”) so Jani recommended a scenic bypass. From Shark Harbor we scampered over a ridge south into Cottonwood Canyon and forged a stream bed – then retraced our steps when the walls of the ravine got too high and the poison oak too thick. From there we followed a bison trail through high grasses ascending towards Mt Orizaba and Blackjack Peak.
Wading through the towering grasses along tramped down paths, past behemoth-sized wallows, stepping over ‘cow pies’ the size of a large pizza, musing over mighty hoof prints; I wondered aloud if we might risk running into a bison – part of a herd brought over in the 1920s for a movie. Jani seemed undaunted and suggested we climb a tree if an angry bison appeared. But I didn’t see any trees ... nor thankfully, any bison at a close enough range to be concerned. Still, I might recommend others follow the marked trail.

Our path glittered with quartz and micas. This segment was a history lesson on Catalina Island: rich red clay soil, and green and blue schist from its days of origin; soapstone quarries and shell middens from the ancient Gabrielino and Tongva people; dilapidated fences and outbuildings from the early ranchers.

The tower at Blackjack Mountain loomed across several canyons for a long, long time. But eventually we crested a ridge and there it was before us. The campground is actually several hundred feet below – a three-tiered progression of sites nestled in a canyon amidst pines, palms and oaks; delightfully shady and cool, with spigots of water for drinking and dousing, picnic tables and porta potties. We were joined a few hours later by a friend who blessedly brought cold beers, firewood and other niceties, softening the day's grueling events.

Blackjack to Avalon

We were not eager to leave this beautiful site but dutifully set off on the hike toward Cape Canyon the next morning. Seemingly gentle at first, the 10-mile(ish) trail meandered beneath a patchy canopy of scrub oak.

Steep stuff

The fog we had cursed just two days ago burnt off by 9AM, making for a tediously hot day. At times we wanted to rest but no shade was to be found. So we’d sweep an area in the dried grass with a shirt (to check for rattlesnakes) and perch in the open; drinking water and nibbling on trail mix.

After a while the trail paralleled the main thoroughfare that runs from Avalon to Two Harbors. Here tour busses noisily buzzed by, their PA systems squawking scenic and historic facts. About 5,000 people live on the island and more than one-million visit each year, but we had passed hardly passed a soul on our trek. And now suddenly it felt like the Jungle Tour at Disneyland – and we were part of the attraction. As if to prove our point, as we arrived at Haypress Reservoir a young couple approaching from the opposite direction mimicked the tour bus: “And on your left, are two morons hiking the Trans Catalina Trail ...”

We had watched them scuff down the steep rubble trail, then traded notes on what was to come. Balefully they echoed the common critique: “I guess they’ve never heard of switchbacks here.”

After refilling water bottles, they continued west, and we east. Here our trail rose along a barren hillside, blatantly exposed to the midday sun. The official trail circles the city of Avalon, sweeping south and around the east end. One more Class III climb; six tortuous miles.

But, we concurred, we had already done that hike last year. So we cried “Uncle!” and bailed out early, bypassing the grueling scramble down Hermit Gulch and going directly to Avalon – with her many chic and cozy restaurants and pubs full of cold beverages.

After all, Catalina isn’t truly conquered without a line dance at the Isthmus, and some karaoke at El Galleon in Avalon. We tumbled down the hill, to consumate our climb and our triumph of the Trans Catalina Trail. 

– Betsy Crowfoot

Historic scenic of Catalina from www.Maps.com 

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