Hiking Oak Canyon is like taking a stroll down memory lane. This is the hike that draws me to hiking, the one that sticks somewhere in my memory, embedding it with idyllic images of jumping across streams, swimming in the only water hole in town on warm spring days, climbing rocks just big enough to be challenging, and collecting tadpoles in empty water bottles. Starting at Mission Dam, you head west and cross the bridge that always smells. After crossing the bridge, you follow the river towards the 52. There are multiple trails to choose from, crisscrossing the river in a haphazard system. Any of them will work, as long as they stick close to the water. Avoid heading too far east or you will likely be climbing up Fortuna Mountain. If you venture too far to the west, you will be squarely in the Grasslands Crossing territory. Sticking to the river, however, leads you directly to the things that comprise my favorite childhood memories.
THE FIRST BRIDGE
Shortly after you cross the bridge and start heading in the direction of the 52, you come across the tree where I learned to climb trees. I remember climbing this tree as a child, but my favorite memory of this tree is much more recent. A couple of years ago, my mom, Logan and I were hiking this trail. On the way back to the car, my mother decided that she was going to climb this tree with a specific goal in mind: to pee off the branch and into the river. Thankfully, no one stumbled across my mother peeing from a tree branch, but I laughed so hard that I almost had to climb the tree myself.
Past the pee tree, several small wooden bridges have been added recently. Although they detract from my memories of hopping from rock to rock in order to cross the stream, Logan loved these bridges. He is convinced that a troll lives under each of them and we spent several minutes at each bridge trying to scare up some trolls. Surprisingly, we never managed to find a troll. Logan, ever the pragmatic child, decided that the trolls must be out having a troll picnic, because what else would self-respecting trolls be doing on a half blustery, half sunny Sunday morning?
After crossing several bridges, Logan started inventing his own bridges. This log served as a helper for crossing a tiny canyon. Logan gleefully ran across the log several times, and then, as soon as I took my attention off of him, the crushing thud of a child having the wind knocked out of him echoed off the rock walls of the canyon. Scott was directly behind Logan, who wasn’t crying yet, and he rushed towards Logan to help. My first inclination, however, was to take pictures of Logan hanging from the log by his chin. Logan never did cry over this fall, and he insists that I print the pictures of him laying prone across the log for his picture book. Like mother, like child.
LOGAN HANGING FROM HIS CHIN
Within full view of the 52, past a couple of winding, tunnel like passages, and several smaller “waterfalls,” you find the crowning glory of this hike. The largest waterfall I have found in this area, complete with a swimming hole large enough for small children and large dogs.
It was far too cold to swim today, but sitting on top of the rocks, listening to the gurgle of the water as it cascades of the smooth, worn surfaces, and enjoying the cool breeze blowing through the canyon walls at a surprising rate, I can’t help but return to the mentality of a young girl first learning about the joy of the natural world. It is amazing to me to watch Logan explore the same areas that I feel such nostalgia for, and react in the same ways I remember reacting. We’ve hiked here before, and Scott seemed bored by the canyon. Sometimes, I have to remind myself that he doesn’t have the same ingrained love of winding trails and chaparral smells as I do. The trees here don’t remind him of his childhood and he doesn’t have a history of swimming in the swimming holes I make us trek towards. Although I am sure that I would enjoy hikes that don’t have a history for me, the history makes them a richer experience. Sharing the ingredients of my own childhood and reshaping them into the recipe of Logan’s memories is a privilege that I am grateful for. At the same time, I wish that Scott could look at the natural world with the same childlike wonder that Logan and me do.
SCOTT PLAYING WITH HIS NEW PHONE
After reaching the waterfall and taking a snack and photo break, we headed back down the trail. Logan was tired, so he took up residence on my shoulders for a good portion of the way back. The lure of dozens of caterpillars crossing the trail was too much for little man to resist, though, and he came down from his perch long enough to collect six or so of the speedy squirmers. Caterpillars in hand, we began the search for a good “clubhouse” to eat lunch in. And, of course, the pee tree is the best “clubhouse” in this area of Mission Trails. Logan and I ate our peanut butter sandwiches cradled by the ancient tree. Scott preferred to keep his feet firmly on the ground. Peanut butter sandwiches, by the way, are my default hiking food. I highly recommend the fresh French bread at Albertsons for making excellent peanut butter sandwiches. I am pretty sure that Jen concurs about the simple joy of good French bread and peanut butter after hours of walking. Now, if you can eat that bread perched in a tree, accompanied by a cuddly toddler, I am not sure what faults you could find with the world.
LUNCH IN THE PEE TREE
After lunch, Logan and Scott “fished” in the river and let me luxuriate in the pee tree. With music in my ears, my favorite tree under me, and that cool, persistent breeze all around me, this post picnic moment was definitely the highlight of my week. This hike hardly qualifies as a hike. Really, it is a stroll in the park. At the same time, it offers things that we often miss in San Diego: a river, waterfalls, sprawling oak trees that are perfect for climbing, and cool, rock sheltered crevices even on the hottest of days. During the spring, the tadpoles beckon to children. During late winter, the waterfall is at its best. In between, in fall and summer, this hike is less enticing. That said, I think this is my favorite local hike for little people. Now, if only I didn’t spend as much of the hike picking up other people’s McCafe trash.
RELAXING IN THE PEE TREE
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