Sandstone Peak is the highpoint of the Santa Monica Mountains, which tuck neatly into the little western appendage of Los Angeles County north of Malibu and south of the US-101 corridor (Calabasas, Westlake Village, etc). The rugged little range rises pretty dramatically from the ocean, with Sandstone Peak itself just about 4 or 5 air-miles from the coast. The range is known for its scenic highways such as the famed Mulholland Drive, and of course the Pacific Coast Highway. People with lots of money lying around build palatial mansions up in these hills, but fortunately most of this range is still open and wild, especially considering its proximity to Los Angeles.

I was on a week-long hiking tour of various prominence peaks in Southern California, mainly along the coast. I had variable luck up to this point: three successes, but some failures due to closures as the result of last year's big fires. I was also on day 4 of a nagging cough and cold, which was sapping my energy and generally making me feel like crap. My last peak had been Reyes Peak north of here two days ago; I spent that night (Saturday) at the Wheeler Gorge Campground along highway CA-33. When Sunday broke I still felt pretty bad, so I took it slow and didn't get rolling until about 11 a.m. I had almost a full day open now, mainly because of the forest closures up north had moved everything up unexpectedly for me. On a whim I went into Santa Barbara and looked at 'bagging' Santa Ynez Peak, another 2,000-foot prominence peak, but one I had not planned for. Armed with just my DeLorme map I drove up West Camino Cielo, thinking it would take me along the crest to near the peak, but alas it ended a good 6 miles short of my goal, and I was in no mood (or shape, given my cold) for an all-day hike, so I gave up on this bid and noted some other routes for a future visit. I decided to drive back down into Ventura and Oxnard, get a lunch and tour the area. My folks had a second home here for some time back in the late 1980s - early 1990s, but I could not remember how to get there. Oh well. I watched some golf on TV at a sandwich shop to kill some time.

I decided to get rolling and grab a camping spot at Leo Carrillo State Beach, along the Pacific Coast Highway just inside the Los Angeles side of the L.A.-Ventura County line. On the drive in I checked out the eerie pointy ridge of Sandstone Peak, obscured by the ever-present ocean haze rolling in off the water. Even at just 3,111 feet, it rises high, since my viewpoint was probably no higher than 100 feet elevation. I pulled into Carrillo and got a space, a nice one with a big shade tree. The plan was to just relax here for the rest of the day and do nothing, and maybe shake the cold while at it.

We used to camp at Leo Carrillo back in the 1970s, so it had been nearly 30 years since I was last here. Carrillo is set up for big family get-togethers: each camp spot has room for three cars, and it's just a short walk to the coast. The clan across from me numbered about 20 people, of which 8 were kids I'd say. The men were shirtless, drinking beer and grilling, the women sat around, trying fruitlessly to get the kids to line up for photographs, and they were loud! But by 5 p.m., they pulled up stakes and were gone, as was just about everyone else. The big weekend rush was over, and all that was left was the few stragglers staying over this sunday night, including me. After all that noise the place was almost church-quiet by comparison. I got another long sleep, and awoke the next morning feeling a bit better, but still coughing. I left camp about 10 a.m.

From Carrillo I went on PCH about 2 miles to Yerba Buena Drive (in Ventura County), and followed this narrow winding road into the hills for 6.3 miles (going by the mileage markers) to a parking area at the Sandstone Peak trailhead. One other car was there, but I was chagrined to see a bunch of neat little piles of car-window glass about every ten feet; someone had recently bashed in a few windows apparently. I hoped that being a monday, the screwballs would not be out and about, but toiling at their hot and laborious jobs dreaming about windows to bash in the upcoming weekend. This would be a short hike, as I could see my destination just above me. The sign at the trailhead said the peak was 1.1 miles one way via the direct route (an old ATV road), or 3+ miles if I went the Misha Makwa (sp?) route. There was a trail junction 0.3 miles in (to get over to the "M.M." trail), and still the sign said Sandstone was 1.1 miles away. Whatever. The trail itself was wide and easy to follow, but moderately steep. And it was hot! The ocean breezes were blocked by the hills, but the humid air surely was not. I just went slow and took plenty of water sips.

The trail is a short direct shot up the back side of the Sandstone Peak ridge (the photo in the left sidebar from Triunfo Pass shows the trail, seen as zig-zags up the brushy hillsides). I took on break in some shade, and within 40 minutes after starting found myself at the base of the various summit spires. Sandstone Peak isn't sandstone; it's volcanic welded ash/tuff, which erodes differently from sandstone and is more commonly found in the deserts. The ridge is an interesting collection of these tuff towers, whereas the rest of the range is more rounded. Wherever there isn't a road, trail or home built in, the range is covered in dense, thick scrub and grasses, impenetrable otherwise.

I left the main trail at a side junction and scampered up through a chute, agining about 20 feet pretty quickly, and putting me on some rocky clearings. Nearby peaks looked a lot higher and for a moment I thought I was on the wrong peak, but looks are deceiving; although still invisible to me, I still had about another 50 feet above me to go. I found an open area and set the pack down, thinking the top was just above me (see photo, left). But when I got there I saw more to go, so I clambered up this last portion. A memorial to a Mr. Allen sits on the summit, with a register found in an opening beneath the register. Mr. Allen was instrumental in establishing the Circle-X ranch (which deeded the land to the state as a park for public use). He was also a major figure in the Boy Scouts, too. There are people who are trying to get the peak's name officially changed over to Mount Allen, but as of now, the change is not official.

I climbed back down to my pack, but couldn't be bothered to re-ascend for some photographs. I had a long water break and enjoyed the views. Occasionally a stray breeze cooled me down and felt wonderful, but mostly I was hot, sweaty and swatting away the flies. I decided to get moving, making the downhil hike in about 30 minutes. Fortunately no one had bashed in my truck's windows while I was gone. I stayed back at the trailhead for a bit, had some drinks and killed some time. It was only noon or so, and I wasn't due to meet my buddy Schneider until 6 that evening in Monrovia. Anyway, afterwards all went well, we watched the Dodgers lose, I coughed some more, and had an enjoyable two more days on the road before returning home to Phoenix.