Torrents of Humanity : Display of Nature’s Power Draws Hordes of Hikers

Lately, Southern Californians have had more reminders than necessary of the power of nature to destroy. But every spring--at least when this desert is blessed by winter rains--the remarkably untamed waterfalls in the front range of the San Gabriel Mountains send a different message: the power of nature to renew.

This past week, on one of those seemingly impossible winter days in Southern California when the mercury tops 90 in the basin and Mt. Baldy is covered with snow, a parade of families, Boy Scouts, joggers, teen-agers in love and tattooed gang members headed toward those cascades.

The result was an onslaught that was anything but natural.

The jumping-off point for a lovely, shaded two-mile hike along and over a stream to Sturtevant Falls is at Chantry Flats above Arcadia, at the top of Santa Anita Canyon Road. Cars were parked on both shoulders of the narrow road for nearly a mile. The trail was about as crowded as a stroll along Broadway in Downtown Los Angeles on a Saturday morning. And at the falls, more than 100 people at times sat on rocks and picnicked, videotaped one another and jumped fully clothed into the churning, ice-cold pool.

Even so, the thrilling power of tons of water plunging from a notch in the decomposing granite 50 feet above overwhelmed the hubbub. Half an hour’s drive from Downtown’s skyscrapers, in a canyon occupied by numerous concrete check dams, amid a crowd of urbanites who rarely venture more than a few miles from a McDonald’s restaurant, nature was asserting itself.

In 1970, Congress made a portion of the walk to the falls part of a 28-mile mountainous loop known as the Gabrielino Trail. The legislation to do so stated that “this trail has been created for you--the city dweller--so that you might exchange, for a short time, the hectic scene of your urban life for the rugged beauty and freedom of adventure in the solitary wonderland of nature.”

But on this day, as on many weekend days when the water is running, the experience was more like a melding of the urban and the wild, rather than a departure from one realm for the other.

So, beneath an alder and sycamore canopy, among blossoming wild violets and new ferns and surrounded by the music of rushing water, the “hectic scene” of multiple human dramas played out. A grandmother slipped and broke her leg and was rescued by a crew of volunteers from the Sierra Madre Search and Rescue Team. A 3-year-old boy soaked up his father’s praises for having made the sometimes steep hike unassisted while a much older boy cried because he could not keep up. And a troop of hormonal Boy Scouts, their feet too large for their bodies, learned an important ethical lesson about how to relate to the natural environment.

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The trail starts out wide and asphalt-topped and drops quickly off the canyon’s shoulder to its floor. In wet seasons, such as this, tiny creeks trickle from the canyon walls. And in places, sheets of the surprisingly fragile granite have sloughed off, providing clear evidence that the canyon continues to be shaped by erosion despite human efforts to make it stable and predictable.

We first encountered Boy Scout Troop 511 and Cub Scout Troop 564, both of Rosemead, as they negotiated a crossing of the swollen stream, tentatively hopping from rock to slippery rock with the help of a human chain of adult chaperons. It was a slow process, requiring some coaxing for a reluctant few, and created a human traffic jam of hikers on both sides of the creek.

Suddenly, there was a no-nonsense command from up-canyon to “Stand aside!” Coming down the trail was a crew of helmeted, bearded mountaineers pushing a wilderness stretcher--a bed-shaped metal basket on a single large rubber wheel. The unfortunate white-haired woman inside was distraught, sobbing, in pain and fear.

The rescuers deftly maneuvered her across the creek, her companion trailing behind. Then they were gone. And the Scouts continued on, even more carefully than before.

As benign and accessible as this canyon seems, crossing a rushing creek can be tricky. And many inexperienced hikers put themselves in even more danger by trying to climb steep rock faces. They are taken by surprise when the rock they think is so solid gives way, causing them to slide uncontrollably into boulders below.

When the Scouts arrived at the falls, they spread out over the rocks, grabbing sodas and bags of potato chips from their backpacks. The enormous volume of falling water created a cool, misty wind that blew in the faces of those who had come just to sit there awhile. After the troops had rested, the Scoutmasters, shouting to be heard over the roar, told their charges to begin policing the area.

Don’t leave a scrap, they were told. Pick up everything that doesn’t belong. Peanut shell or cigarette butt. Candy wrapper or soda can. The Scouts began dutifully clambering over the rocks, collecting the detritus of previous visitors.

“Wherever we go, we try to leave it a little cleaner than it was when we came,” said assistant Scoutmaster Bill Mak, who is a county welfare eligibility worker. “If everybody did this, this world would be a little bit nicer.”

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The hike out was easier, largely downhill, until the last half mile. New visitors--a gaggle of youths carrying coolers, a mother in a spring dress pushing a baby stroller, a couple of young men trying to swim upstream--were still trying to reach the falls.

Halfway up the last ascent, a father knelt next to his young son and pointed back into the canyon. “Look, down there, that’s where you hiked to, son,” he said. “I’m so proud of you.”

Another turn in the trail, and the young boy’s triumph provided a contrast to an older boy’s defeat. Perhaps overconfident, or in trying to keep up with his peers, he had overexerted himself and his panting alternated with sobs. Adults comforted him, until he was ready to go on.

In the picnic area next to the parking lot, the Scout troops gathered to wait for their rides. The afternoon was still hot, especially so in contrast to the cool, misty canyon.

To the southwest, the towers of Downtown stood, their eastern faces now darkened by shadows. Beyond, the ocean seemed to be aflame beneath the sun.