Want Christmas? Seek out the Devil

It’s the kind of fork in the road that lets you know you’re not on just any old So. Cal. trail. The Devils Slide, out of Idyllwild, switchbacks upward for two miles before hitting a multiple-direction point amid the giant pines and cedars. Will it be north to Canada, or south to Mexico along the Pacific Crest Trail? Or east, deeper into the San Jacinto Mountains?

I choose my favorite route, a little-known loop that follows the PCT north about three miles leading to a cross-country bushwhack to the top of Suicide Rock. It’s been the scene of much boot leather for me over the years, offering challenging ascents, rich conifer forests and commanding views of the San Jacinto backcountry. It’s a sweet half-day amble, with the trail head only a five-minute drive from the center of Idyllwild, easy enough for any intermediate hiker. Last Christmas was the exception. A surprisingly deep snow had fallen in the high country the night before. Suddenly my saunter was transformed into a very white Christmas adventure.

At first light, I shuffled out my door, past the single vehicle in the parking lot at Humber Park. Within minutes I was on the Devils Slide Trail. Climbing 1,000 feet in just over two miles, the trail of well-trodden snow was relatively easy hiking. At Saddle Junction there was only one set of tracks leading upward: some lone soul ahead postholing uphill through thick snow. I caught up and passed him, a hearty if ill-prepared fellow, clad in blue jeans and boots. Sporting headphones, snapping his fingers and singing to himself, John -- originally of Long Island, now of El Segundo -- seemed enthusiastic, though slightly out of his element. His was the solitary red van I had seen in the lot below. I offered to return the trail-breaking favor and have him follow my tracks for awhile.

I was heading up to the junction with the Strawberry Cienega trail, ultimately descending cross-country to the climber’s trail below Suicide Rock. When he asked about distances, I replied truthfully that he was about at the halfway point. “Well, I might as well go your way,” he said. “As long as you don’t get lost.” I assured him that I would not, adding that if he followed my tracks he would have an adventure in places few people ever go.

I had no idea.

After leaving John, the upward climb grew more difficult as the snow depth increased. At 9,000 feet it was up to my knees. Battling toward the junction, I struggled through drifts waist deep. I was now more tired than I could recall in years. Ten steps. Stop. Breathe. Five steps. Breathe. The climb seemed interminable. This was more like swimming than hiking. Alone and exhausted, I started to wonder if I would have the strength to make it down. But, finally, I crested the pass. The spindrifts were past my thighs, but gravity was now on my side. I could use my downhill weight to plow through them.

I began to worry about John. I had gaiters, mountain boots, waterproof pants and parka. He was dressed for an outing at the mall. In my head I planned the rescue operation. Whom would I call? Would we set out at night? Or wait until morning? Would John have enough clothing and common sense to survive the night?

Then I saw the tree.

Granite cliffs gleamed in the sun beneath a crystalline blue sky. A giant limber pine stood above me, its needles glimmering in a frosting of rime ice. Hanging from each of the boughs, a single icicle glistened like nature’s own tinsel. A Christmas tree. The genuine article, simulated but never equaled in countless living rooms .

And beneath it I stood, trying to take in the enormity of the giant. But it exceeded the capacity of the recipient. Every huff and puff now felt worthwhile. The tree seemed to bring with it a momentary exorcism of worry and fear. It reminded me that delight arrives the moment we stop worrying about Christmases past and future. All we have to do is keep moving. Like right now. I still had 3,000 feet of deep powder to descend.

An hour later I dropped the final 1,000 feet -- sliding, slipping, and tumbling cross-country down the virgin snow, too tired to whoop and holler but exuberant inside. I drew arrows in the snow for John, just in case.

I walked through my front door feeling like days, not hours, had passed since I strode out that morning. That night I had Christmas dinner with friends. I left a little early to cruise the parking lot at Humber Park, praying I’d see no red van there. It wasn’t. John, too, had made it down, in his 100 pounds of soaked jeans, no doubt brimming with tales from deep in winter wonderland.

Directions: To get to Idyllwild, take Highway 243 north from Mountain Center or south from Banning and Interstate 10. From the center of town, take North Circle Drive east, to the four-way stop. Right onto South Circle and left at Fern Valley Road. Follow signs to Humber Park. The hike begins on the Devils Slide Trail. At Saddle Junction take the trail marked San Jacinto Peak (Pacific Crest Trail). Follow PCT to Suicide Rock; take the climber’s trail down to a road and the trail back.