We consulted the map, which had vanished for a time under a seat, and continued on to the Burro Schmidt Tunnel. Black Mountain to the north had a cloud hugging its top and looked very sinister and untouched. We watched showers blow across the valleys below and pulled our sweatshirts close against the surprisingly cold wind. A nearby mineshaft had been dug through white quartz riddled with brilliant green inclusions. There we got off course and ended up atop a high hilltop overlooking the entire valley, surrounded by wildflowers. The canyon was more or less unchanged from a year and a half ago some gravel was rearranged and rocks were more exposed than before but we had no trouble getting in to the Red Bluffs. The lady there advised us against driving up Last Chance Canyon unless we really knew what we were doing but we headed in anyway after deciding the alternate routes could only be boring dirt roads. We bought some shakes and I ate a chili dog at the Fosters Freeze in Rosamond - where yellow and green carpets adorned the usually drab hills - bought some gas, and sped off to Jawbone Station to inquire about trail conditions and get a trail map. Two guys with a muddy jeep can only bound about fields of flowers in the sunshine for short while before feeling a need to move on. The light and clouds were perfect, no one else was around, and sunshine warmed the breeze that carried countless mingled floral aromas. Farther down the road towards Lancaster we came out of the misty hills into rangeland where patches of flowers looked like spilled paint on the grass. Above Lake Elizabeth, a quiet pond with no powerboats and an undeveloped shoreline most of the way around, we climbed a steep slope and watched rain squalls blow past between breaks of sunshine and blue sky. Carpets of orange poppies and yellow buttercups and lupines and other blossoms in pinks and reds and purples and blues and whites spilled down hillsides and across flat meadows. Wildflowers have exploded across the grassy slopes more thickly and earlier than ever this year. The real treat for the eyes was farther on in the green hills at the edge of the Antelope Valley. All the 4WD trails between there and the desert were closed probably due to the high water and washouts but back in the canyons there really wasn't much to see anyway. It was wet, and we found a fine plot of about two acres of fresh sloppy mud to romp around in and get the tires dirty. In the hills above Castaic Lake the lupines were flowering in abundance among evergreen trees and lush grasses and other wildflowers. Undeterred, Sean and I and the jeep set out on a day-long adventure, plans and people slimmed down by the weather. That's exactly what we did, after an unplanned aquatic excursion.Įarly Saturday morning it was drizzling and gray. Saturday I loaded the truck with pallets, a cooler full of food, my guitar, an axe, and some chairs and we drove down to Huntington Beach where, despite a hefty parking fee, one can otherwise have a fine evening just sitting around one of many fire pits grilling things, enjoying drinks, and watching the sun set.
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