On the Trail
By Gloria Glasser
Mud, sweat and tears

Smugness has no place on a hiking trail, no matter how old and dear that trail may be.

I’m a pretty cocksure hiker on familiar terrain, but this lesson was brought home to me with a wallop recently when I found myself caught (like in some sci-fi continuum) going in circles at Charmlee Natural Area for the better part of an afternoon.

Located in the Santa Monica Mountains above Malibu, Charmlee seemed the unlikeliest place for me to get lost; the park and I go back 16 years together and it is not a very complex network of trails that traverse its broad, open acreage.

Plus, there are some conspicuous navigational aids if you do become confused while straying on one of the many equestrian trails that diverge from primary trails and cut through meadows: for one thing, the park overlooks the Pacific Ocean; for another, it affords dynamite views of Boney Ridge. But factor in rain, mist, fog and dusk and perhaps you’d have been railing (and wailing) right along with me.

I’d been watching what appeared to be squalls far out over the ocean from a high meadow in Charmlee.

It was a day of mixed clouds and sunshine on land but something dark and turbulent appeared to be brewing offshore. Would it move inland and drench me and my dog?

Not a chance, I thought, so settled in for a balmy siesta beneath a sumac.

On awakening, the world had grown gray and cool, and a breeze brought a light sprinkling of rain. Time to head back — but then there was no time. Rain swooshed in off the ocean and beat at our backs.

I was ecstatic at first. The earth was so parched, the moisture so desperately needed. My enthusiasm only dimmed when the trail became slippery, frothing brown water began coursing in deep ruts, and mud clung like lead weights to my hiking boots. A dense mist accompanied the rain, soon obliterating any trace of the vast Pacific and the distinctive Boney Ridge.

Uh-oh––the two biggest no-brainer landmarks had completely disappeared from sight and from memory.

We reached a junction with three other trails. I was tempted to stick to the route we were following but was disoriented by an inability to see so much as my hand in front of my face through the thick gray curtain of rain and mist. I used to have a dog who uncannily chose the right route in any given predicament like this one, but my new young canine companion is somewhat of an adorable ditz.

"Okay, let’s try — uh, um — this way. I think. Well, maybe," I’d ponder aloud.

"Sure, sure, let’s go-go-go! I love puddles! mud! walking in circles till the cows come home!" was her unvarying response to the quandary.

Maybe I should hike with a compass rather than a dog.

So we circumnavigated meadows, oak groves, rock outcroppings plus an old reservoir and water tank (that appeared only as faint, ghostly mirages in the mist) before arriving at our exact point of departure: the junction of four trails, three of which we’d already toured in stumbling fashion through the mists of hell as darkness seemed imminent. By then there wasn’t a dry hair left on the dog and I was sagging beneath what felt like 500 pounds of sopping garments. The only thing fueling me by then was a very high level of exasperation.

How do you get lost in a place you know almost as well as you know your own backyard? Easy — hike blindfolded, which it seemed I was doing in the rainstorm.

But some outdoor recreation-loving god must look out for smug hiking fools and their ditzy dogs. Before dusk actually arrived, both rain and sky lightened. As the mist peeled back, detail and depth were restored to the ghostly Charmlee landscape. We quickly got back on track and managed to follow a far less circuitous route back to my truck.

Aside from the fearful prospect of being lost overnight in a cold rain, another good reason to exit park property ASAP if there’s even a suspicion of serious weather moving in is the danger of slippery trails and unstable slopes as well as flooding, deadfall and debris flows.

We were lucky the storm we got caught in wasn’t that severe, but I still regret having had to "swim" out of the park. Footfalls (as well as hooves and bike tires) can damage rain-sodden trails, and there’s never enough park maintenance staff or volunteers to repair all the problems, sometimes resulting in long-term trail closures.

Charmlee Natural Area is located on Encinal Canyon Road about one mile south of its junction with Lechusa/Decker Roads. A nature center is open weekends, free guided hikes are available, and the winter-spring wildflower show is legendary. Call (310) 317-1364 for more information.