Perilous Heights Retain Allure

Douglas Roath lives in the shadow of some of the most impressive peaks in the San Bernardino Mountains and a few hundred yards from some of the region’s most challenging hikes.

He knows that rescue teams pull at least one dead body each year off the picturesque slopes near his village of Forest Falls. And he knows he is taking a chance when he clambers through snowy ravines and over cliff-tops accompanied only by Joe, his black Labrador.

“Truth is, I like to hike alone, which is against every rule there is,” Roath said this weekend before setting out on a hike on Vivian Creek Trail, a potentially treacherous path to the summit of 11,500-foot Mt. San Gorgonio. “Why do I do it? Because I feel powerful coming over a ridgeline and into a watershed, then up and over into another watershed, and then another. Beyond all that, I’m just stubborn.”

In the last six weeks, eight hikers have perished in Southern California mountains, and at least six others have been rescued. Although officials in some wilderness areas say they have seen the number of hikers decline in the last couple of weeks, many enthusiasts continue heading into the high country, lured by the promise of a serene moment among snow-blanketed fir trees and ponderosa pines -- just hours from the city.

Backcountry veterans may be watching the weather a little more closely, but many, including Big Bear City resident Mark Rowland, say they will keep venturing out -- and relying on their own seasoned judgment to get them through alive.

“I’ll definitely be out again,” said Rowland, who is recovering from a 400-foot slide down a slope on Mt. San Gorgonio during a Jan. 24 search-and-rescue mission. “There’s always an element of risk.”

Experts say the large number of fatalities this year can be partially blamed on wet, slushy snowstorms, which resulted in trail ice as thick as that in hockey rinks. They also created dangerously slick patches off the beaten path, where the most seasoned adventurers scale the slopes with the help of foot spikes and ice axes. According to San Bernardino County sheriff’s officials, seven of the eight people who died this year were experienced hikers.

But five were hiking alone, leading some to wonder whether the victims underestimated Southern California’s mountains. A range like the San Gabriels has a reputation for accommodating day-trippers, kids in toboggans and flatlanders who can’t find the four-wheel-drive switch on their SUVs.

Scott Catanzariti, a seasoned winter hiker, believes that some backwoodsmen don’t give the San Gabriels enough respect.

“There’s just a different attitude between the hikers you meet here and the hikers you meet in a place like the Sierras,” Catanzariti said Sunday, before setting out with friends on a hiking and snowshoe jaunt toward Poopout Hill, a remote lookout point about a half-hour drive from Big Bear Lake. “Here, they’re always an hour and a half from their cars, and an hour-and-a-half drive from home. And they’re willing to take more risks.”

San Bernardino County Sheriff’s Sgt. Michael Follett, who heads the search-and-rescue team for the Big Bear station, agreed that mountains close to Los Angeles pose unique problems. Follett, who grew up in Big Bear, said rescue operations seem more prevalent since the advent of the cellphone, which gives city-dwellers a false sense of security.

“They go out there with no food, no shelter, no map, no compass, no skills, but they’ve got that almighty cellphone,” he said. “They think all they have to do is call.”

But for seasoned mountaineers, Follett said, preparing for bad situations should be an essential part of the experience, especially in the winter.

Riverside resident Dirk Shultz said he always overprepares. On Sunday morning, the seasoned skier and winter hiker displayed the contents of his daypack for a visitor before setting out on a three-hour cross-country ski trek up to Poopout with a couple of friends.

He unpacked a map, compass, blankets, extra clothing, a flashing headlamp, apples, cheese, matches, iodine, lotion, lighters, drinks, mittens, and about a dozen energy bars. The pack weighed about 25 pounds, and Shultz said his companions had enough supplies to camp out overnight if they had to.

“We’d be cold,” said his friend Don Dumaine.

“And we’d be whiny,” added another friend, Marlaigne Hudnall.

“But we could make it,” Dumaine said.

More tempting, it seems, is the desire to venture into the snow solo, despite the added risks. Roath took two solo hikes Friday, one of which took him several hundred feet up and over the steep, icy, boulder-studded face of gushing Big Falls.

Later, on the Vivian Creek Trail, Roath stopped and said: “People get into trouble around here by not realizing the consequences of pushing themselves too darn hard.... Earlier today, I was heading down a slope, knee-deep in snow. But a 100 feet farther down it was covered in a slick sheet of ice. After years of hiking in these mountains, I’ve learned it pays to be humble, so I stopped and said, ‘Doug, this is far enough,’ and headed back.”

The fact that Roath prefers to hike alone has been a frequent topic of debate with his neighbor, John Amrhein, a San Bernardino County sheriff’s emergency coordinator.

In a telephone interview, Amrhein said, “I keep telling Doug, ‘We’re never going to be able to find you because you never tell anyone where you’re going.”

However, Amrhein added sheepishly, “I must admit: I hike alone sometimes myself. But at least I tell someone where I’m going, and I stick to the plan.”

Shultz said he too often ventures into the woods alone. Sometimes he leaves an itinerary and sometimes he doesn’t.

“In an ideal world, you’d leave a note on your dashboard, but that leaves you open to people who don’t respect your property,” he said. “They’ll read it and say, ‘Oh, this guy won’t be back till 5,’ and then break into your car.”

Follett solves that problem by leaving his wife a detailed computer printout showing the routes for all of his backwoods hikes and ski trips.

In contrast, day hiker Steve Skinner said his spouse tries to dissuade him from going on dangerous hikes in the first place. He also remembers an ill-advised hike he made up the 8,846-foot Tahquitz Peak near Mt. San Jacinto about five years ago. He and a friend packed few essentials, and Skinner, 35, remembers a frightening descent on a steep, narrow, slippery trail -- while wearing only tennis shoes.

Skinner and friend Eric Olson, 37, were hiking in the snow Saturday, but on the unimposing, two-mile Cougar Crest Trail, a family favorite just behind the Big Bear Discovery Center. As they approached a fellow hiker, the silence of the cold, pine forest was broken by the sound of the two old buddies catching up on each other’s lives.

Their two dogs, Bailey and Casey, ambled ahead excitedly. Further down the trail, some teenagers were dragging a sled up the hill. “We haven’t been bushwhacking,” Skinner said with a smile. “We’ve been sticking to the trails, mostly.”