Going Into Seclusion at Malibu Creek

A sign at the trailhead in Malibu Creek State Park warns that rattlesnakes climb trees.

And to that I’ll add: So do king snakes.

Fortunately, that was the type of slithery reptile I bumped brows with recently, while stalking a forested trail looking for something to shoot.

King snakes are nonvenomous.

The one I encountered was about three feet long, with a sleek black body and cream-colored rings -- and it was clearly troubled to have been discovered so vulnerably stretched out on a limb.

It flicked its tongue. I raised my camera and, in a flash, I was out of there.

*

Malibu Creek State Park is one of the true natural wonders of Los Angeles County, a 10,000-acre wilderness in which one seems a world removed from the bustling freeways and asphyxiating congestion of nearby communities.

But being so close to so many people, the park gets overrun, at times, by hikers, mountain bikers, horseback riders and weekend warriors drawn like flies to scenic Rock Pool, where they raise a ruckus till the tall mountain’s cool shadow sends them home.

Still, the park, which also boasts more than 60 campsites, is large enough and has so many splinter trails that a person can at least experience stretches of seclusion and, with proper stealth, glimpse some of its permanent residents.

You might encounter snakes and you will see lizards. I’ve spied mallards navigating gentle rapids. I’ve stalked herons as they stalked minnows. I’ve witnessed deer on distant hillsides and a coyote sauntering across a field.

The chaparral-covered slopes, as well as the oak and sycamore woodlands, are home to bobcats, foxes, raccoons, rabbits, squirrels, lizards, blackbirds, jays, woodpeckers, hawks, golden eagles and other critters hikers may see on a given day.

Mohamed Zuhair, a senior park aide, said four mountain lions are known to frequent this rugged western portion of the Santa Monica Mountains, and that hikers recently reported spotting two after dawn at Rock Pool.

And though there have been no attacks by these predators on humans, just knowing they may be nearby quickens the pulse, especially as afternoon shadows grow and the feeling of being watched deepens.

*

It is one such fall afternoon that I find myself drawn to the High Road trail that bisects the park, anticipating a few hours of stress-free solitude.

Unfortunately, a van and truck arrive simultaneously, spilling out two large families toting coolers on wheels.

I’ll steer clear of Rock Pool and start with a 1 1/2 -mile hike to Century Lake, created in 1901 when Crags Country Club dammed the gorge to produce a 20-acre pond on which to sail, fish and shoot ducks.

It’s smaller now but still a wonderful marshland that lures waterfowl and land animals. Immediately to its north is Lookout Trail, which leads to and beyond a small plateau featuring a spectacular view -- essentially the same unspoiled view once enjoyed by Chumash Indians -- of the park’s majestic valley.

On this afternoon, though, the High Road is generating high anxiety. I’m nearly overrun by a dozen high-school cross-country runners, then forced to leap aside while a park truck driven by a scowling employee roars past, raising dust.

But beyond the Rock Pool cutoff is a High Road less traveled. I startle a covey of quail. I nearly step on a lizard. A red-tailed hawk rides the wind beneath a sky streaked with contrails.

I’ve finally crossed into nature’s realm.

Soon thereafter at Century Lake, however, the sound of human cannon-balls thudding water shatters the calm, so I bypass the reservoir and begin the Lookout Trail ascent. It’s after 5 and towering Goat Butte peaks are casting long shadows.

This narrow, shrub-lined trail is deserted and beyond the plateau is a forested stretch that looks dark and uninviting. I pause to look around and discover that the trail may not be deserted after all. A creature of some sort has been here, and not long ago.

Scat! Big scat at that, perhaps from a cat!

Suddenly, there’s rustling in the bushes. Or am I just now noticing it? Zuhair’s words of -- “It’s not wise to hike alone because something could happen” -- come back to me. Do I venture onward and through the eerie darkness, or succumb to paranoia and turn back?

Two steps forward, one back. A cautious glance behind. Another look ahead. More rustling. Growing shadows. Decision made.

*

On the way back, though dusk is at hand, I become brave again and detour up Chaparral Trail, a steep path that runs alongside a tall granite promontory overlooking the creek and canyon.

I pause here to enjoy one of the best views in the park. To my left, I can see all the way to Rock Pool, though the tall mountain has long since cast its shadow. I listen for people sounds but there are none. It’s definitely time to go home.

pete.thomas@latimes.com