Derek Sedam
Assistant Online Editor
A student’s account of how a hike in L.A.’s backcountry gave way to more than refreshing pools and renewed friendships.
Staring down the barrel of a granite gun, I sat atop 45 feet of slick, hot rock. The invisible push of peer pressure felt like another cold barrel on my back, sending chills down onlookers’ wide-eyed gazes.
The water, so blue, clear and frigid, looked 10 feet deep, at best. But, after the amazing adventure up to the Santa Paula Punch Bowls, the only thing stopping my legs from providing the final plunge was the fact that I had never cliff-jumped in my life.
Earlier that summer, I discovered the Punch Bowls through homegrown friends in the area who had posted YouTube videos of themselves jumping more than 100 feet in a falls area located above the farming community of Santa Paula.
Tucked between Ventura and my hometown of Santa Clarita — Six Flags, to others — on the 126 freeway, Santa Paula is known for its oranges, rednecks and airport which somehow gets washed out by every flood on the Santa Clara River.
I spent my previous spring semester catching up on “Scrubs” and rotting away at community college classes after a suspension put my career at Pepperdine in doubt.
So, coming back to school was a big deal for me. It was a chance to right everything I did wrong the first time around and strengthen my friendships, while making new ones. What else would a machismo dude like myself decide for some solid male bonding, other than recreating those YouTube videos that nearly cost my other friends bodily harm?
After getting the specs on the hike – a grueling seven-mile, round-trip excursion through the Los Padres National Forest that features several creek crossings and a vertical climb over 1,000 feet —only four accepted the early wake-up call the Saturday before junior year started.
Tommy Raymond, the always-adventurous Hawaiian of the group, who recently impaled his heel skim boarding, is one on which I could always count to bring his roommate, Mike Smith. I shared a dorm with them both our first two years of Pepperdine. They were the first to sign up.
It was this “first-up” attitude that carried along the rest of us, which included my new roommate Stephen Fiamengo, whom I met through Mike and Tommy, and my best friend from home Ryan, who was leaving for Yale in a few days. That was the last time I would see Ryan for more than a year.
The heat was already evident in the car ride — north of the 101 freeway, then due east on the 126 — with temperatures already up to 100 degrees by the time we started ascending into the mountains north on Ojai Road. These intricate aspects — the heat, new and old friends — all started to play out when faced with the trailhead, a surreal trip in its own right.
Avocado farms littered the creek’s wash, as the sun baked the dry sand and rock below. The heat had taken a toll on more than us five hikers, as dead dogs littered one front yard of a farm with a rustic sign that read, “Nevermind the dog. Beware of the owner.”
We stared in awe for a few minutes, wondering why the stench of these rotting corpses hadn’t caught the senses of their malignant owner. However, we had to move on, knowing that we hadn’t even started.
Avocado fields gave way to another old-time California product — oil. We walked right through the fields as Stephen, Mike and Tommy stared in awe at the massive steel structures still creaking along to this day.
The maze of oil derricks gave way to another challenging part of the hike — the route itself. The creek has many trails throughout the canyon, but after finally seeing that our route was marked with sticks and white t-shirts, we picked up the pace as the ascent into the valley got steeper.
Soon, the beautiful canyon walls that we had looked up to all day were eye-level, as we walked along the ridges of the mountains, interconnected with a series of ropes at points.
Ryan, not usually one to take risks throughout our friendship, was struggling hiking well above 3,500 feet, with the heat still bearing down. Our team started to dwindle under the sun.
Southern California chaparral finally gave way to giant oaks and pine trees, and the sound of rushing water brought us back to life. We had arrived at the Punch Bowls.
Natural granite “chairs” welcomed us to the Big Cone campground, which was at the base of two creeks combining to become the Santa Paula. Ryan, our photographer that afternoon, tried to take pictures while we all slid along the two feet of trail room we had between the canyon wall and the creek 20 feet below us. Tommy led us over the 50 foot waterfall that gave way to the awe-inspiring Punch Bowls.
Two deep granite pools, each with natural waterslides lined with moss into them, were the most spiritual and beautiful things I had ever seen this close to the smoggy Los Angeles skyline. The pools were each 30 feet long but maybe at their widest 10 feet.
With the margin of error so slim, Tommy took the first plunge, using the rope system planted into the granite to climb back up from the initial 40 foot fall. Stephen and Mike followed, and the attention turned to Ryan and I.
With the others on the opposite side of the pool, we looked at each other.
“Let’s take a walk on the wild side,” Ryan said.
So there I was, my life hanging at the edge, with crystal clear water below. I did not know what to expect. As soon as my shoes hit the ice-cold mountain spring water, I knew this was something that I would never forget. It was the most refreshed I had ever felt.
Ryan stepped out of his guarded shell soon after, and the fatigue we had all been feeling from the strenuous hike was forgotten. We headed down to the main pool, where many had tried the 100 foot plunge, to relax under the waterfall and revel in our amazing jumps that few have done so far into the back country of the Los Padres.
All we could talk about on our way back was how we would never forget the day we accomplished one of the best hikes that the area had to offer.
For me, it was a chance to connect with friends I hadn’t seen in almost a year and push myself into things I had never tried.
For us, it was a chance to walk away with an amazing day. We used our teamwork and friendship to push each other through the heat, the lack of water and the surreal images we had seen earlier. We all went in with different goals, different story lines connecting us all.
We left as best friends with an adventure we would never forget.
Submitted 09-18-2008
