Eagle Mountain, Joshua Tree Nat’l Park (DPS)

I decided to zip out to Joshua Tree once again, the prospect of finishing all listed peaks in the region tantalizingly close. This was becoming a weekly occurrence, which raised some minor concerns over my state of mind; but seeing as I woke up flush with energy at 2AM, I could hardly be asked to resist, could I?

I arrived at Cottonwood Campground 5AM and set out cross-country by headlamp. Initially, the approach was no more than a gentle sand-stroll, in which I picked broad washes nearly at random and followed each until realizing I had veered drastically from my heading and wasted a good ten minutes. 

There seemed no direct route to Eagle Mountain—that, or my navigational skills were on par with a five-year-old’s—and the approach proved far longer than expected: nearly two hours in total. That’s not to say it was unpleasant. The terrain undulated gently and was colored by juniper, sage and yucca. Water-sculpted gullies and uncommon rock formations offered ample entertainment. 

Nearing the west face of the mountain, the land became increasingly cholla-infested; the white tufts pleasant to the eye but, as experience had taught me, rather less so to the skin. I’d neglected to bring the small set of pliers I rely on when facing these little devils—an uncommon hiking accessory, I’ll admit, but one worth its weight in gold. While the barbed spines of a cholla cause no lingering discomfort once removed, they are incredibly painful when embedded, a sensation akin to a moderate yet constant electrical stimulus. Furthermore, they are nearly impossible to remove by hand. I had learned this lesson in Anza Borego when a particularly hostile member of the vile genus attempted to tattoo my calf and hamstring. 

Once in the steep entrance chute, the chollas lessened considerably. Here the route was clotted with shelves of rock and the detritus of past storms. Having read some disconcerting reports about unstable boulders and challenging moves, I was somewhat apprehensive, but I encountered none of it. Rather, the entirety of the climb was a pleasant, if strenuous, crawl. Working my way up-canyon, the sun began to draw on the flat desert behind me, and views of San Jacinto wreathed in clouds were outstanding. I was treated to a full chorus of desert birdsong and began to sympathize with the transients whose derelict RVs I had passed that morning on the outskirts of the park boundary. 

At last, I crested the high plateau and enjoyed my first taste of daylight. The land between false and true summits was unexpectedly gorgeous: an edenic little bowl hemmed by red crags, lush with singleleaf pinyon and ocotillo. 

A final three-hundred feet of elevation brought spectacular summit views. Rabbit Peak featured prominently, as did the profile of Sombrero Peak beyond a glimmering Salton Sea. Touchstone sentinels San Jacinto and San Gorgonio held back a heavy cloud inversion. And to the north loomed Specter Point, the final remaining and most challenging listed peak in all of Joshua Tree…

Briefly, I considered dropping down Musen Canyon to connect with the Lost Palms Oasis Trail for an extended return, but opted instead to retrace my path at leisure, indulging in numerous nap breaks, snack breaks, photo breaks, and generally posting a impressively non-competitive time.

But who should I compete with? I was alone in the desert, having encountered no one since leaving home, and could think of no reason at all to hasten its completion. Perched on a jag of rock that overlooked Smoke Tree Wash and Pinto Basin, I reminded myself that, unfathomable as it may seem, such days are numbered.

For us all.