Bridge to Nowhere

The name sounds ominous, but it’s really quite the opposite…while Fresca and I were searching for the Bridge to Nowhere on Saturday, I stumbled upon somewhere I needed to be. One thing about me that is important to understand is that I don’t like to give up, it’s something that I used to equate with failure. I’ve come to realize that giving up in certain situations isn’t failure at all. Instead, it’s having the courage to realize when to let go in order to move on, or in this case to turn around before making it to the Bridge to Nowhere.

I’d have to say that when it comes to adventures with Fresca, we’re not going to take the easiest or the shortest route, we’re going to take on as much or more than we think we can handle. This is how we got started on my first 9-mile hike in the San Gabriel Mountains on our way to the Bridge to Nowhere. Unlike Fresca, I’d like to note that my most recent hiking experience prior to this adventure was a quick jaunt through Runyon Canyon’s paved and identifiable dirt paths where there’s really no chance of getting lost. I have been hiking before that though, in the real wilderness in Oregon, while camping with my cousins when I was much younger. My uncles would take us on a “hike”…which really meant, “let’s wander through the forest and not really know where we’re going, but we’ll figure out how to get back to our campsite at some point, oh and don’t forget to find a walking stick.” Hours later, after us kids were sufficiently worn out and my uncles finally took out their compasses, we’d stumble back into camp. The Bridge to Nowhere hike was a mix of both of these experiences, minus the compass…however, it was decided after this hike that a compass would be a necessary companion for the next nature adventure.

 We probably got started on our adventure a little later in the day than we should have, given that it was 2pm when we made it to the trail head with 9 miles to go before the sun went down…I’d also like to note that we’re both Italian and sometimes when the two of us are together, as much as we try to stick to a schedule, time just slips by as we have perfected the art of doing nothing, but everything.

The hike started off really well, the path was easy to find, there were a lot of people passing us, finishing their hike as we were beginning ours. We thought we chose the path that only involved four river crossings, instead of the 16 crossings that our buddy Herb from the ranger station told us about. (We don’t actually know if Herb is his real name, that’s just what we decided to call him.) I definitely wasn’t the most excited about the forging through the river especially when I forgot my old running shoes and only brought my new ones…I tried to tiptoe my way through the river on the rocks to avoid getting my feet wet, but that didn’t work too well. By the fifth or tenth crossing (who’s counting?) and yes, there were more than four because apparently, somehow, we ended up on the river path instead of the other one…so, by the fifth or tenth crossing, whichever it was, I was in the river past my knees with Fresca in front, laughing at me, as I was concentrating on trying to tiptoe through the river trying not to get any more wet. Yes, I know…I was knee deep in a river, trying not to get wet, kind of an oxymoron, but still, I gave forewarning that I don’t like to give up, even when it comes to keeping dry while half-submerged in a river. But I did find a walking stick to help get me through the river, up the rocks and around the mountain…it’s one thing I picked up from hiking with my uncles and having this necessary object was reiterated by the two gold-panners that we came across mid-way through our hike.  Not lying, I know that the gold rush is waaaay over, but they were real-life gold panners, complete with backpacks filled with gold-panning gear, a bucket, sifters, and shovels in hand. They were also very insistent that we find walking sticks. After meeting the old panners, with their shovels, and then seeing Hiker Bob playing with his knife while walking in front of us, we decided it was probs a good idea to pick up a large stick for the remainder of the hike and that we were definitely bringing a knife on the next adventure.

So we continued on after we passed the gold panners, after Hiker Bob decided to turn back, after we followed shoeprints and dog prints in the dirt to pick up the trail we lost somewhere along the way…it was when we were standing in the river, no visible trail on either side and the sun was starting to disappear behind the mountain, that we decided the Bridge to Nowhere wasn’t going anywhere, so we might as well come back and find it another day. The trail, at that point when we started to head back, wasn’t hard to pick up and of course, we saw where we missed it after we already turned around…and again, of course, the first set of hikers we ran into on our way back told us how close we were to the bridge when we turned back, probably less than 15 minutes away. Ohhh welll…it will still be there when we go back, and my madre would be proud, that we made the smart decision to turn around when the sun started to go down despite the fact that we were soooo close. :)

Even though we didn’t make it to the Bridge to Nowhere, somewhere in the midst of the river crossing, rock climbing and following footprints (and pawprints), I realized it wasn’t about getting to the bridge that really mattered and as cliché as it sounds, it was getting lost along the way there, then trusting our intuition to find our way back was what I really needed to experience that day. I am learning, however slowly, that sometimes it is best to let go of the desire to always push forward no matter what, to finish, to not give up because with this tunnel vision, it’s possible to lose sight of the trail I’m on. Instead, I’m realizing that it’s the journey along the way, getting my feet wet in the river, is what this crazy adventure we’re on is all about anyway. And remembering to bring a compass and a knife on the next nature adventure…andiamo!