SEATING OPTIONS

During the “Great Hiking Era” (roughly 1880–1930), the San Gabriels were visited by throngs of tourists from Los Angeles and beyond. They rode trolleys and trains up to the foothills of Altadena, Sierra Madre, Arcadia and then mounted a burro or hiked into the wilderness of the Angeles National Forest. The wilderness, thanks to enterprising fellas like Robert Sturtevant, was ready to welcome this influx of city folks in camps like Switzer’s, Echo Mountain Resort aka ‘the white city’, Follows, Crystal Lake. Santa Anita canyon alone was home to five such camps. The only one to survive and still operate today is Sturtevant’s, and yes, you can still get your stuff hauled in by burro. On the site you will also find the oldest ranger station still in its original location in the country (though I couldn’t confirm that so perhaps I shouldn’t quote it, but I am going to anyway because it sounds cool, and the cabin does look OLD). Passing through the place midweek on a late fall morning means you get to choose from the many adirondack chairs and wooden benches for place to savor a welcome cuppa and snack, under the shade of grand old oaks and alders. or you might climb a few steps for a moment of serenity at the outdoor chapel courtesy of the boyscout troop who restored the pews, before you’re ready to “hike the historic Sturtevant Trail”.  

The Sturtevant Trail climbs steadily at not-so-gentle a grade from Santa Anita canyon to the summit of another historic locale in the San Gabriel range, the Mt Wilson Observatory. The trail lands you at Echo point, where you can enjoy a sweeping panoramic vista of everything to the north, east and south, including, today, the snowcapped peaks of Baden Powell , Baldy, and Gorgonio in the distance. Good souls typically leave a couple of standard classroom chairs at Echo point but, given its popularity, even on a weekday, a cozier lunch spot, where chairs are also usually found, lies just a couple of minutes away, next to the observatory’s famed 100-inch telescope. Alternately, you can walk west to the “Atomic Cafe”, closed on weekdays but surrounded by picnic tables. You may have to walk through a parking lot occupied by a film crew base camp though. That’s Hollywood for you; you are less than thirty miles from the Burbank studios. The primo lunch table however, hides at the far end of the footbridge leading to the telescope, shielded by a small utility building and the shade of pine trees. It’s first come first served though, and you may find a group who has more thoroughly planned their outing having already laid out their tablecloth, prepared food containers, plates, cups, wine, and this is my favorite, a flask and tiny shot glasses. Whatever fills them will have never tasted better. To your health gentlemen.  

One option to descend from Mt Wilson is the toll road that runs through Heninger Flats, a longish easy tramp mostly on the southern slope of Wilson that ultimately lands in Eaton Canyon, in Altadena, home, and in December afternoon temperatures quite pleasant. Not to mention the views. And the improvised bench, carved out of a tree trunk section, overlooking the San Gabriel valley and beyond, strategically placed a little over halfway to Heninger, under the shade of a large pine tree from whose lower limbs hangs a strange, ominous protuberance resembling a bear. Eventually you pass through the Heninger Flats campground, visitors’ center, and Los Angeles Fire Department nursery. The landscape is turning gold under the setting sun and there are plenty of places to sit  and enjoy an unobstructed sunset, including a couple of newly constructed benches facing southwest, at the southern edge of the picnic area. The prime seats require a short scramble up a use trail to the upper section of the campground, well worth the effort. If you’re not in the mood to wait for the sun to set before walking the last two and half miles, not to worry, there are a series of benches along the way designed to do just that, enjoy the sunset, comfortably. The only disturbance being the tires of the occasional bike loudly crunching the packed dirt, sounding like a large insect buzzing by. I’m guessing the “Watch out for Trucks” signs are meant for them? The bikes that is, not the insects. Not for me, on foot, I’m too slow; I’ll hear a truck coming in plenty of time to pull over and sit somewhere while it passes. And by the way, I’ll gladly sit in the ground.