Today we attempted to climb Black Mountain. There are several Black Mountains, and this one is in the El Paso Range, near our home. We have climbed this as a Mother's Day climb before, one memorable time with B, friend B, and dog Chuck, probably about 10 years ago. That day, he came to grief. This day, it was my turn.
So B and I head out in our Jeep Wrangler, away to the west, past the shooting ranges, over the whoop-de-doos in the sandy washes and the rocky surfaces of the BLM road toward Sheep Springs. We pass a trio of jeeps camped at the creek, then the springs, and continue a short way to a convenient parking place.
The first part of our hike is an easy stroll, up and down undulating meadows studded with black volcanic rocks. In several places, the open ground is hazed with a fine patina of yellow-green. To my surprise, the plants turn out to be miniature trumpet flowers, no more than 2-3 inches tall, each bearing a corona of tiny yellow flowers. There must be thousands of them.
We continue across the increasingly rocky and undulating terrain, and the undulations get bigger and bigger.There are Mojave asters in clumps of startling blue, and the 
paper bag bushes decorate the trail side with their intricate seed pods. B goes faster than I. Like a will-o-the-wisp, he appears at the top of the next ridge as I cross the one before. I follow as best I can. After a couple of miles, the terrain gets serious. There is a steep ridge that transsects the slope to the top of the mountain. I puff my way up the first steep slope, to see B in the distance. I sit down to rest - after all, I'm supposed to get 5 minutes our of every hour, right? B starts up the next steep slope, then elects to "side-hill" around the ridge instead of going directly up the ridgetop.
Spitting invective, I eventually follow. I side-hill around the first section of the ridge, in deep, silty, dark sand. For every two steps forward, one takes a step upward to conteract the downhill slide. I follow B's footsteps wherever I can find them. Then around the second section of ridge. The slope is very steep, and this is difficult going. I can't see B, but continue to follow footsteps and compose blistering speeches in my mind. I hope I'm going in the right direction.
Then comes the third side-hill slope. This one isn't silty sand. It's more like a cross between sand and pea gravel; this is very common footing in the Sierra Nevada, and definitely not my favorite. I've moved away from the ridge as I've traversed the slopes. I decide that I need to head up to the lip of the ridge and get back on track. I work my way gingerly along the hill, using the bushes that have rooted here as stepping stones. Two steps forward, two steps up, as this surface is even more slippery than the dust.
Then ... somehow I lose my footing. I slide a few feet downhill on my shins, then end up head downhill on my back. I slide only a short way, but I am shaken. I gather up my hat and my poles, and head to a nearby gully. Maybe this will be an easier way up. Using hands as well as feet, I balance my way upward. There are some fixed rocks in the gully, so the going is not nearly so bad. I quickly climb up and into a dip filled with Joshua trees. From there I walk back up to the ridge.
I am shaky (adrenalin shakes), so I sit down on a rocky outcrop. I see the will-o-the-wisp watching me from just behind the next rise in the ridge. I drink some water and compose myself. Eventually I get up and climb up to where B waits. He has been waiting for me to appear, thinking that perhaps I am lost. Well, I'm not lost, but I'm done for the day. It is two hours into our hike. I offer to wait while B scales the peak, but he declines.
We gather up B's pack, farther up the slope, and start down. This time we follow the ridge. Although it is steep, we have our poles and manage the downslope handily. Navigating to the location of the Jeep provides some challenges as there are no obvious features on the horizon to guide us. But an hour and a half after we turn back, we reach the Jeep. As we drive homeward, B allows as how chosing to traverse below the ridge might not have been the best route. I agree.
Two hours in, an hour and a half out. Call it 5 miles and a bit.
Retired Miles (cumulative since 1 August 2007): 167
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