Whale Peak is the summit of the broad Vallecito Mountains, which is itself basically one large mountain massif stretching about 10 miles east to west and maybe 4 miles north to south. Although compact, the Vallecitos have dramatic prominence, rising over 2,700 feet above the desert valleys of Anza-Borrego Desert State Peak in Southern California. We were here on our yearly visit, a mini-tradition for us stretching back three years. Independently before we met, Beth had come to Anza dozens of times in the early 1990s to hike, camp and contemplate, while I had been to Anza twice, I think, mainly passing through.

In early 2006, we stayed a night at Agua Caliente County Park, a hot springs-camp ground area run by San Diego County and tucked into a small pocket hard against the Tierra Blanca Mountains across the Carrizo Valley south of big Whale Peak. On that visit a storm had recently passed through and dropped a lot of snow, shutting the peak out for a few days. We soaked in their pools and admired the giant peak, placing it on our “next time” list. Well, “next time” was December 2006 and at that time it was just too damn cold. We camped out a few days but bagged for home after too many 20-degree nights. We didn’t go to Anza at all for 2007 but made a point to go there over my Spring Break of 2008. Hiking Whale Peak would be our primary hiking journey, sandwiched between three nights at Agua Caliente. We left our home on Monday the 10th, taking the route through Yuma via Interstate-8 and entering the park through the little highway town of Ocotillo off of I-8. We arrived with enough time to set up camp before darkness fell. The weather was nice and breezy but not cold at all – very nice overall. The plan was to go up and hike ol’ Whale Tuesday.

So Tuesday comes along and we leave our camp and drive the 30 miles northwest along San Diego County Route S-2, one of the great scenic drives in the southern part of the state. We passed through a few scraggly communities and some large RV and camping areas before blowing right by the turn-off to the exit. After checking our maps we found Pinyon Mountain Area Road marked on the east side of the road, and followed it in. The road is sandy but solid for the most part (high clearance a must). At about 3 miles we entered into some canyons and at 3.5 miles came to some rocky sections, so I put the truck into low 4-wheel drive and got past one set of rocks before getting stuck on one big rock. The truck made a big clang as it came down upon the rock, but a close look showed that I still had maybe an inch of clearance, so my undercarriage was still in good shape. What I didn’t have was traction to rock back and forth to get off this obstacle. We got out and started to shore up the wheels with rocks and brush, but within minutes we heard some engines: two vehicles, one a sandrail, had come up, and the guy with the sandrail maneuvered behind me to give me a quick tow-strap “yank” off the rock, which worked very nicely, much to our relief. Well, this had put us off our schedule, and especially since now I had no desire to chance that rock again with my truck. On the one hand, where we were was only about 4 air-miles from the peak, so we could easily hike it from here. But it was nearing noon and getting hot, so we decided to go back to camp and come back tomorrow early, and start the hike from before these rocks.

We awoke early the next morning and drove again up into the mountains following the route from yesterday. We parked at a turn-out just before the rocky bits and spent some time getting ready, beginning our hike a bit after 9 a.m. We had shade where we were still, but in the sun the temperature was noticeably warm, and unfortunately, the air was very still, so cooling breezes were rare at first. The first half mile or so went fast as we gained about 200 feet to top off on a small pass and then down into the broad valley that sits at about 3,800 feet elevation high up in the range. Up here you’d never know you were “in the mountains”. The desert flora was outstanding. We took a break halfway and covered the two miles to the next rise in about 90 minutes total, taking a slow pace. At this second of two rises we followed a spur road south for about 500 feet to where it entered into a side canyon. The road ended at some rock walls and from here we followed some paths and cairns up the steep and rocky drainage. On the map it appeared we had about 300 feet of this before topping out onto a higher plateau, but we grew antsy and side-hilled up the slopes directly to surmount a small hill then down its other side, meeting up with the proper trail, now visible as a sandy track in the desert scrub.

After another break we followed the well-beaten path up a gentle grade then down an equally gentle grade, walking a total of about 0.4 mile, trusting the route we were on was correct and would lead us up the rocky slopes properly. We noted that another lesser trail came up from the northeast (our left as we walked east). This trail seemed to come up from another canyon shown on our map about 0.5 mile east of the one we just walked up. We had no idea how salient this observation would be much much later in the day!

Still feeling pretty good, we followed the good path and cairns up the rocky slope, gaining another 250 feet or so to come upon a nice little knob of rocks where we took a long break. So far, so good. We were moving slow for Beth’s arthritis, but she was doing very well. It was a bit after noon when we arrived at this location (approximately here).

According to the map we were about 1.5 air-miles northwest of the peak with about 700 vertical feet to go. We were not worried necessarily, although I was getting minorly concerned about the time. The next quarter mile was along flat desert path which went fast. The trail rose up a small rock ridge then topped out briefly, allowing us a full view of what still lay ahead: more beautiful, rocky country. We dropped about 100 feet to a low-point and met up with the Petroglyphs Trail from the south, then started the long walk up the slopes again to gain the second-to-last summit plateau. All along the route was always well marked, but we were going slow. We finally crested up onto the high plateau where we could see Whale’s summit visible about a half-mile to the east. It was about 2 p.m. We rested, then started our walk again. We started to talk about turn-around times, mainly to be sure we were on the road when it started to get dark. Still, we felt we had a solid chance at the top. The final walk went through some flat areas of beautiful cactus and rock, up and down one last intervening rib, another short flat section, then the final grade: 300 steep feet of huge talus blocks.

We walked on, me ahead, Beth below me. I came to the top of these rocks and saw Beth below, working up through some minorly technical sections. Here, I made a decision to drop the pack and make a quick run to the top, tag it, then back to Beth. My visit to the top lasted all of a few seconds: I scrambled up the biggest boulder, tagged the summit cairn, snapped a photo, and was back to where my pack was in about 5 minutes. Beth, alas, was having a lot of trouble with the talus, and was going very slow. I walked down to her and we had "the" discussion. She very badly wanted to summit, but I had to be honest and tell her that at her rate we’d be up here another hour, not climbing out until after 4 p.m. I suggested we should probably turn around. She agreed but was very sad. She had put in so much heart and effort into the hike so far. If the last 300 feet had been like the previous parts of the hike she would have been just fine. But the blocky talus did her in. We started the walk out.

The walk out went very slowly, and frankly, I was obsessed with our time and the fact that we were almost certainly going to be out in the dark. Her knees and back were starting to give her real hell, and she could only saunter at a slow pace. It was getting late in the afternoon when we came back to the spot hyperlinked above. By now, it was clear we would not make it back to the road by nightfall, but I very badly wanted to be down this steeper, rockier section and down onto the flattish plateau area below us. In the worst case, this area was broad and flat with plenty of dead-wood for a fire if we needed to bivouac the night out. As we hiked down this grade, Beth took a severe spill, and threw out her back completely. That was the capper. Not only would we be out in the dark but Beth's back had completely seized up; she could barely move, and was in a great deal of pain.

I assisted her the final few dozen feet down the slope and onto the flat section below us. Despite her pain, Beth insisted that we move on, so we did, and decided to take this "other" canyon we had noted earlier in the day. We hoped this canyon was not too technical and hoped there might be someone at that road's end who could assist us. The plan was to take whatever time it took to literally carry her down the canyon to the road, then either call for assistance or hike the road back to our truck. By now Beth had no muscular control of her legs; she could not stand unaided. Through considerable trial and error, we worked out a manageable plan: on the rocky portions, she would crab-crawl and butt-scoot over the rocks while I would be behind her or in front as needed to direct her feet and help her down. On the flat sandy sections in the canyon, she would grab onto my backpack and support her weight that way, while we both walked in tandem before coming upon the next rocky sections. A crescent moon and clear skies gave us enough light to see where we needed to go, while Beth's flash-light helped with the close-ups.

According to the map the canyon ran for about a third of a mile and dropped about 250 feet. To our relief the canyon was very tame the whole way down. We went extremely slowly, maybe moving 100 horizontal feet in 15 minutes at a time. Usually I'd walk ahead a few dozen yards to scout the route, then come back and report the plan to Beth. Then we'd work down the sections slowly, stop again and repeat the process. And more than once we got stopped in our tracks and had to find another way down a tricky section. But despite the occasional setbacks we made forward progress. It was about 9 p.m. now, but everything was stable: weather was cool but not cold, and the crescent moon lit everything up in a glow that actually was very helpful once our eyes adapted. All the intangible fears of "being in the dark" went away. It was clear we'd make it down, albeit slowly, so we just kept to the task at hand. And so this went for about 90 minutes, during which time I estimate we dropped about 200 feet and covered most of the distance (judging by bends in the canyon).

Then, we spotted a light below. We both shouted down to get a response and a man's voice answered. He came hiking up to us. You can't imagine how surprised and happy we were at seeing this light! It meant (a) we were getting close to the bottom and (b) there was someone there who might assist us. After a couple minutes he had covered the 200 or so horizontal feet to get to us, where I met him first. We walked back to Beth and gave him the low-down of our situation. After some introductions we learned our savior was a fellow named Chris from Santa Rosa (CA), out here in Anza for a week-long "isolation vacation". He told us he been encamped at the end of the access road into the canyon, and was surprised to hear human voices (ours) so he came to check out our situation. He was happy to help, and together we were able to carry Beth the last few yards into his camp. He was kind enough to let us pile into his vehicle where he gave us a ride back to our truck. The sense of relief was incredible. And so was my exhaustion. As soon as I sat down in Chris's truck I literally melted into the seat material. We had a short chat with Chris as he drove us the couple of miles to our truck. A real decent guy who basically saved our butts. Our plan had been to walk out the road to our truck, taking all night if need be. Under no circumstances would we split (e.g. me go get the truck and come back); I did not feel it would be safe for us to be alone, especially Beth in her condition. But meeting Chris and getting a lift made that plan moot: his driving us to our truck saved us probably four more hours of slow, exhausting labor. Our time with Chris was short, maybe 30 minutes total from the time he shined his light toward us and the moment he dropped us off back at the truck, but we thanked him a hundred times and gave him some cash for gas and and trouble. Hell, we would have given him $200 if we'd had it on us!

After sincerely thanking Chris, Beth and I piled into our truck. The drive down to the paved road went slow and uneventful and so was the 30 miles back to the campground, where we rolled in at 11:30 p.m. Beth slept most of the drive. When we rolled into camp, we just sat there, letting the truck run and the heater warm us up. I had got a severe chill: it wasn't that cold, but I was utterly, completely exhausted and had not eaten much at all during the day. The hunger, cool air and adrenaline crash had conspired to really chill me. We sat in the cab for about 45 minutes. Obviously we were both exhausted, and Beth in a lot of pain, but I think we were just too shocked at the recent turn of events. The whole thing: the injury, the lengthy egress, the canyon trek, meeting up with Chris, the whole series of events seemed to be too incredible to be true. In time I started to nod off so I jumped into my sleeping bag in the tent, while Beth stayed in the front seat of the truck. Despite almost 8 hours of deep REM sleep, we both awoke the next morning very tired and in a great deal of pain.

The next three days were recovery days. We broke camp the next morning and drove toward the Salton Sea, stopping in Brawley for groceries before driving on up the east side of the Sea to the Fountain of Youth Spa, which caters mostly to older retirees and the RV crowd, but they had tent sites near the pools and hot tubs, and that was good enough for us. We didn't do much of anything the two nights we spent there. We slept most of the first day of our arrival. I spent all of the second day reading a book while Beth slept and relaxed. I continued to be surprised at how low my energy was. Plus, I was sore everywhere: all the dings and scratches and pulled muscles were now being felt. Beth could barely walk, but her back slowly healed so that within three or four days she could walk again without too much trouble other than the achy pain. We drove home to Chandler on Saturday the 15th.

Looking back, we got lucky. We weren't lost, but we traveled too slowly and assumed (our error) the hike would go faster than it did. The rocky slopes and terrain slowed us down and Beth especially, who must take each rock as an obstacle to overcome extra carefully given her arthritic condition. Ironically, she reported feeling great other than the usual pain and her back. We knew we were behind schedule and it was no surprise that we were out after dark, despite the fact we knew exactly where we were at all times. I commend Beth for being so strong and persistent under these conditions and in spite of her pain. Obviously, having Chris there to help us made a huge difference. We shuddered to think of the 2.5 mile walk back to the truck in Beth's condition. We would have made it eventually but I wonder what condition we would have been in afterwards. Thank you Chris for helping us out!