trail

The idea grew as organically as the purple cauliflower at Erewhon. One day, I walked from my place in Los Feliz to the beach. I stopped at two Erewhon locations on the way to refuel. I made a reel about my journey and posted it to Instagram. My friend Fish saw it and said, “You should walk to all the Erewhons.”

I thought: I don’t have time to do that. I’m a very serious person who needs to write her novel.

But later I found myself mapping out an 89-mile hike in my Notes App, starting in Pasadena and ending in Calabasas, stopping at all 10 Erewhon locations on the way. (My route did not include the Palisades, which is closed because of the fires; nor did it include LACMA or the new Glendale locale.)

“I need to write my novel” is a thought I have a lot. I usually heed this thought and sit at the desk like a soldier, imagining the wonderful day when I’ll sell said novel — for an amount that would probably be comparable to a fraction of an Erewhon employee’s yearly salary.

Erewhon Trail map illustration by Swan Huntley.

(Erewhon Trail map illustration by Swan Huntley. )

I really wasn’t in the mood to write the novel, though. When I imagined myself pecking away at the keyboard, I felt bad. When I imagined myself walking around L.A. in my Home Depot gardening hat, I felt good. So, I put on my hat, got into an Uber headed for Pasadena, and texted my sister, “Carpe diem, bitch.” Or at least that was my intention. What I actually sent was, “Carpet diem hitch.”

Over the summer, I hiked a little bit of the Pacific Crest Trail. A few years ago, I biked the Camino in Spain. I’ve walked from Los Feliz to the beach a handful of times. I’ve traversed the length of Manhattan thrice. Before that, when I was a teenager, I used to trek from La Jolla to Del Mar while drinking beer (I carried a cooler; yes, I’m sober now) and listening to Sarah McLachlan on my Discman. I’ve always been drawn to activities that many people find tedious. Like walking forever. Or writing a novel.

Starting in the fourth century, pilgrimages were served up by the church as a way for Christians to pay penance for their sins. They were hard and dangerous and a lot of people died. Fast-forward to now: Such treks have taken on an “Eat, Pray, Love” aura. Or a “Wild “ aura. They live in the realm of self-help and of sport. They’re a way to create friction in an increasingly frictionless world. By walking from Mexico to Canada, or from Erewhon to Erewhon, I wonder whether we’re trying to get back to the part of ourselves that wants to try harder.

Or we just want to become more valuable dinner party guests.

What do you do?

I do really long walks.

I ordered a Goddess Smoothie in Pasadena, and then I repeated this tradition at every store thereafter. The smoothie costs $19, tastes like heaven, and it’s green, which my brain reads as “good for me.”

It took me a little over three hours to walk 11 miles to Silver Lake. I got a Vegan Avocado Sandwich for lunch, took an Uber home and posted a reel on Instagram about my first day on the trail. A lot of people liked it. Some of them called me a genius.

In the last 10 years, I’ve published four novels and two illustrated books for adults. I was naïve and just totally blindly happy about the publishing process in the beginning. People wanted to buy my work? Other people wanted to read it? Cool.

The first book, “We Could Be Beautiful,” did well because the publisher put real money into the marketing of it. Then that stopped happening. At a certain point, I realized that expecting too much was unwise. It was up to me to market my books myself. Which meant: social media.

They say you have to see a book cover six times before you buy the book — or consider buying it. There are a lot of book covers on Instagram. Actually, there’s a lot of everything on Instagram, and out of all the everything, is a book cover that exciting?

No.

My second reel, which depicted my journey from Silver Lake to Studio City, went a little bit viral. To date, almost 10,000 people have shared it with their friends. Why? I think the answer has something to do with a desire for levity.

If the atmosphere of the world could be depicted by an Erewhon beverage, it wouldn’t be a vibrant, cheerful one, like the bright magenta Pitaya Smoothie. It would be the dark and brooding Germ Warfare Shot. I find it perplexing that people talk about the apocalypse as if it’s happening later. It’s happening now. If we were really thinking about how climate change is affecting us, we’d be out in the streets screaming. All the time. But we’re not doing that. We’re carrying on with our usual lives. Apparently, for me, that includes walking to Erewhons.

Any long-distance trek is as much an internal journey as it is external. As I continued the trail, I started to think that maybe my endeavor was a reaction to my feeling of total powerlessness. I can’t save the polar bears. I can’t force the president to go to therapy. But I can add some levity to the brooding atmosphere.

Recently, someone commented on one of the reels, “Transplants make LA locals look bad.” This person, and many others, hear the name Erewhon and assume I’m poking fun at it. Erewhon has become a joke about L.A. — a joke that was amplified after Hailey Bieber invented her smoothie in 2022 that Erewhon dubs the “Strawberry Glaze Skin Smoothie.” I’ve never had it, but I can tell you that it looks like a sky full of strawberry clouds. According to an Erewhon employee I spoke to, this smoothie was a turning point. It aligned the brand with wealth and power. Now, Erewhon evokes the image of smooth-skinned, health-conscious Angelenos with money to burn.

The Erewhon Trail, then, inevitably becomes a conversation about privilege, my own included. Instagram hid my two favorite comments, because it was worried they’d be too rude to show, but I think they’re the funniest ones.

This is what white people do on Prozac.

This is what happens when a liberal arts teacher gets fired.

To both of these comments, I say: Yes.

I’m not on Prozac yet, but maybe after I get fired, I will be.

In order to get fired, though, I’d have to get an actual job, which might never happen.

The most intense leg of the trail was from Santa Monica to Calabasas. My friend Fish joined me. Google said it would take 27 miles. After marching through the mountains, I decided to use my own intelligence to make the route shorter. This cut out four miles, bringing the total to 23. For long stretches, Fish and I walked in the bike lane, or in the bramble by the side of the road. That’s the penalty for straying from Google. Your sidewalks disappear and your chances of getting hit by a car go way up.

My legs were noodles by the time we got to Calabasas. I crawled across the parking lot to show my viewers how weak they’d become. The employee at the door smiled at me and handed me a basket, and I thought about the pain of my legs, which no one could see, and about all the secret battles people are fighting all the time, and I wished that we cared about each other as much as Erewhon cares about us. Multiple employees were perfecting the already-perfect plateaus of bell peppers and apples in the produce section. Their thoughtfulness was the opposite of the vibe I encounter in most public restrooms, which is that the strangers who were there before me didn’t have many thoughts about my experience. As lame as the fact that an Erewhon smoothie costs $19 is that so many of us need to be paid to be nice to each other.

When I tell people about my love for Erewhon, they either say, “Duh, I know,” or something along the lines of, “That place is ridiculous, right?” This is almost always followed by the mention of a food item and some amount of money. Like, “Doesn’t a carrot cost $12,000?”

Actually, I tell them, no. Although sometimes, yes. There is a Japanese strawberry that’s famously expensive ($20), but that’s avoidable. I then explain that contrary to popular thought, there is a way to shop at Erewhon on a budget. A jar of soup, for example, costs $15.50. If you return the bottle, you get $3 back. In my opinion, the soup can be two meals, so that’s $6.25 per meal. A lot of the produce is either the same price or only a little bit more expensive than at other health food stores, and it’s in consistently better shape. The most important piece of making Erewhon more affordable, though, is becoming a member. You get 10% off, a free drink of the month and discounts on a bunch of items.

You might be wondering: How many Erewhon memberships has she personally sold?

She’s lost count.

The other reason to go to Erewhon is the environment. It’s visually appealing and the employee-to-customer ratio is notable, and the result is that you feel like you’re at a resort. And frankly, these simple things — a nice environment, high quality food — should be available to everyone.

Back to the question of whether or not Erewhon is ridiculous — yes, of course it is. If you sit at any of the locations and listen to the conversations around you, you’ll probably feel like you’re an extra in a satirical movie. At Studio City, I overheard two moms in white pants and cashmere sweaters talking about how, based on their Instagram recon, they figured out that so-and-so was sitting next to so-and-so at a benefit dinner. Another snippet I overheard in Studio City: “You gotta make music from the heart, man, and the label will feel it.”

It didn’t occur to me to ask for free merch until after I’d finished the trail. Armando at the Santa Monica location was the lucky recipient of my request. I explained my uniquely heroic feat to him, and then wondered aloud if perhaps I could get a sweatshirt, or at least a hat.

Sadly, Armando was unauthorized to give me merch, but he did offer me a gift card in a tiny envelope. I was very grateful. I assumed the card was worth $50 at least.

After we parted ways, I opened the envelope.

Ten dollars.

Enough to put a down payment on a smoothie.

My dreams now are so different from when I was younger. Back in grad school, I imagined that maybe I’d write a bestselling novel, and maybe it would be adapted for the screen, and maybe my tombstone would read: She contributed very serious literature to civilization.

What I never accounted for was, of course, the unknown. Maybe one day, over a decade after school ended, I’d get a lot of attention for making performance art about walking to grocery stores.

Huntley’s novels include “I Want You More,” “Getting Clean With Stevie Green,” “The Goddesses” and “We Could Be Beautiful.” She’s also the writer/illustrator of the darkly humorous “The Bad Mood Book” and “You’re Grounded: An Anti-Self-Help Book to Calm You the F— Down.” She lives in Los Angeles.

The 67-mile Backbone Trail through the Santa Monica Mountains is a bucket-list trip for many Southern California hikers.

Often, though, it’s hard to carve out time to tackle the whole thing at once. There are limited backcountry camping options, and water can be sparse on the trail. That’s why hikers, myself included, often complete it in sections, similarly to how people will hike the Pacific Crest Trail or Appalachian Trail in segments.

Last week, I ticked off a segment that runs through Latigo, Solstice and Corral canyons that my friends who frequently hike the Santa Monica Mountains have told me is a “must” to try out. I can now see why!

I am eager to share my experience with you and how this hike offers essentially everything there is to love about hiking in the Santa Monicas: incredible ocean views, massive rock formations, native wildflowers and diverse wildlife experiences — all within a short drive from L.A. How lucky are we?

I often hike alone on the weekdays, and I have come to enjoy the solitude. But last week, I hiked a 9.8-mile segment of the Backbone Trail alongside almost 30 other hikers.

The group was hiking the entire Backbone Trail over a week, starting on May 2 at La Jolla Canyon Group Campground in Point Mugu State Park and ending at Marvin Braude Mulholland Gateway Park.

Hikers from the Santa Monica Mountains Trails Council’s annual Backbone Trek trudge along the trail.

(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)

It is an annual trip organized by the Santa Monica Mountains Trails Council, a volunteer-run group that maintains trails throughout the Santa Monica Mountains and nearby public lands. (The council has regular volunteer opportunities, including three trail workdays this month; RSVP required.)

This was its 21st year to offer the trip at a cost of $625 per person. Trail council volunteers set the route, provide daily hike leaders, set up camp for the group and lug most of the equipment — outside of daypacks, water and snacks — to the group’s next campsite.

The trip usually ends at the eastern terminus of the Backbone Trail in Will Rogers State Park. That area remains closed after the Palisades fire damaged the trail, destroying the Chicken Ridge Bridge. The bridge “is an important link on the [Backbone Trail] and will be the biggest single reconstruction effort for State Parks,” Rachel Glegg of the Sierra Club’s Santa Monica Mountains Task Force wrote last year.

A view from the Backbone Trail around the Newton Canyon area of the Santa Monica Mountains.

(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)

I joined the trail council‘s Backbone Trek last Wednesday as an enthusiastic interloper. I showed up late because of horrendous traffic on the 101 Freeway, earning me the trail nickname “Late Edition,” in honor of my punctuality and newspaper job. I felt immediately welcome (and forgiven).

We took a bus from Malibu Creek State Park’s lush group campsite over to the Latigo Canyon trailhead. There is a dirt parking lot there, making it an easy starting point for a day hike.

Our goal was to trek four miles east to the Corral Canyon area, where we’d have lunch among giant rock formations. Shaded by laurel sumac, oak trees and other native plants, we began our journey through the canyons. We were immediately greeted by a resplendence of wildflowers, including purple-pink woolly bluecurls, bright orange southern bush monkey flower, red bursts of cardinal catchfly and at least one Catalina Mariposa lily.

Clockwise from top left: Southern bush monkey flower, Catalina Mariposa lily, keckiella corymbosa and San Bernardino larkspur. Center: Variable checkerspot.

(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)

Because I love to dillydally, photographing flowers and taking in the views, I became fast friends with Denise Pomonik, a trail council leader who served as the day’s sweeper, making sure no one got left behind.

Pomonik, who lives in the San Fernando Valley north of the mountains, started volunteering with the council in early 2019 after seeing the 2018 Woolsey fire rip through the Santa Monica Mountains. “The more you hike an area or mountain-bike it, the more personal it gets,” Pomonik said. “I couldn’t control the fire, but I could control what I could do afterward.”

Denise Pomonik of the Santa Monica Mountains Trails Council waves from a large rock formation where the Backbone Trek group had lunch.

(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)

The council organizes the annual Backbone Trek not as a fundraiser but instead as a means of creating new land stewards who they hope will fall in love enough with the landscape to want to help protect it, either by donations, volunteerism or activism.

“The more people who fall in love with this mountain range, the more it will be protected,” said Pomonik, who works in the entertainment industry and had no prior trail work experience.

I did not anticipate how expansive the views would be, both of the Pacific Ocean to the south and the nearby peaks, hillsides and valleys to our north. I felt grateful and small.

Chatting with several of the hikers on the trip, I found they had signed up for two main reasons: adventure and healing.

A hiker on the Backbone Trek takes a photo of another as they trek along large boulders and ancient rock formations.

(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)

Vidya Oftedal, of Soldotna, Alaska, heard about the trip from a friend who serves on the trails council. Having someone else set up and haul all the gear was the biggest draw for her, she said, because then she could just simply focus on the hiking.

Oftedal, 71, said she loved pushing herself every day on the trip, finding a balance between knowing her limits and learning more about what her body can do.

“I’ve always loved the outdoors,” Oftedal said. “It speaks to me. I feel oneness with nature. Everybody is such an inspiration here. A lot of the women have done solo [trips] … and they’re all seniors like me. It’s like, ‘Wow, maybe I can pick up some courage and do things like that.’”

The camaraderie among the group was easy to see. Although many of them had been strangers just a few days prior, the hikers checked on each other and cheered one another on. After especially steep stretches, we’d pause to catch our breath, and someone would undoubtedly offer snacks to their fellow group members, including roasted fox nuts, or makhana, which the group had become especially taken with.

A raven flies over the rock formation that hikers along the Backbone Trail often say resembles an elephant’s eye.

(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)

At lunch, we sat in an area full of large, dramatic rock formations, including one that resembled an elephant’s eye. A few group members perched into small shady alcoves within the boulders. I commented that people had probably been sharing meals together in this area for thousands of years.

I was surprised by how many hikers on the trip were from Southern California but had never visited the Backbone Trail.

I spoke to Bill Edmonds, who told me he’d wanted to tackle the Backbone Trail for years. He grew up in Culver City and around the San Fernando Valley.

Edmonds said he led an active lifestyle, regularly running and skiing, and hiking with his wife, Kathy, who died last June after 51 years of marriage together.

“This has been special,” Edmonds said. “It helped me think about how much she would have enjoyed this.”

A view of the Pacific Ocean from a high point along the Backbone Trail.

(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)

We ended our day’s hike at a Backbone Trail access point off Malibu Canyon Road and then took the Tapia Spur Trail back to the campground.

I headed out as the group grabbed showers and prepared their taco dinner. I got into my car with a deeper appreciation for what the Santa Monica Mountains can provide us all, along with a few new friends — and a new trail nickname.

3 things to do

Cyclists on a previous Glow Ride hosted by People for Mobility Justice.

(People for Mobility Justice)

1. Illuminate the streets of Florence-Firestone
People for Mobility Justice, an L.A.-based transportation equity collective, will host a bike ride from 6:30 to 8:30 p.m. Wednesday starting at Ted Watkins Memorial Park. Riders are encouraged to decorate their bikes with colorful and creative lights for this free Glow Ride through the streets of the Florence-Firestone neighborhood. Register at eventbrite.com.

2. Ascend to new heights in L.A.
The Saturday Hike Crew will host a trek at 8:30 a.m. Saturday through Ascot Hills Park. Hikers will ascend steep hillsides to lookout points with sweeping views of L.A. Sturdy shoes are recommended. Register at eventbrite.com.

3. Pack out trash in Fullerton
Friends of Coyote Hills needs volunteers at 9 a.m. Saturday to clean up a trail in Fullerton. Participants are encouraged to bring their own gloves and water. You can also bring a trash grabber if you own one. Volunteers should wear sun protection and comfortable sneakers or boots. Register at eventbrite.com.

The must-read

A sign is posted on a eucalyptus tree stating, “Stop killing our trees,” on Glenrose Avenue, where the trees were previously cut down.

(Carlin Stiehl / Los Angeles Times)

Trees in and around the Palisades and Eaton fire burn scars are dying — or being inappropriately removed — at an alarming rate, Times staff writer Noah Haggerty wrote. After a fire, surviving trees in a burn scar often need support, including watering, to survive. Neither city nor county officials prioritized such efforts in the Palisades or Eaton fire scars. Additionally, contractors have removed trees that they were authorized to take down. Builders have also pressured homeowners to cut down trees that they claimed would die anyway, although advocates say native oaks incorrectly identified as dead could have recovered.

It makes me wonder about the fates of trees along hiking trails in the burn scars.

Happy adventuring,

P.S.

Angeles National Forest is home to at least three new ursine residents. Wildlife photographer Robert Martinez documented three cubs following their mom through the forest in late April. Interestingly, the Chaney Trail Corridor Project documented a mama bear and three cubs walking through the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains near Altadena in early May. I asked them: Could it be the same family? “In theory possible, but unlikely as the locations are more than 20 miles apart,” a volunteer from the Chaney Trail Corridor Project told me via Instagram. “Black bears with young cubs usually keep a smaller home range of just a few square miles. Both families are equally adorable though and about the same size and age!” If this news gives you a bit of the heebie-jeebies, then head over to my article where I explain how to best protect yourself if you encounter a bear while hiking. Be safe out there!

For more insider tips on Southern California’s beaches, trails and parks, check out past editions of The Wild. And to view this newsletter in your browser, click here.

Sometimes, beauty is a burden.

Such is the case with Burney Falls, a Northern California waterfall whose loveliness became such a siren song to costume-wearing Instagram mermaids, selfie-taking TikTok tour guides and off-the-beaten-track road trippers that crowds grew and grew, until the natural wonder just couldn’t handle it any more.

Crowds in recent years have damaged trails, trampled plants and clogged rural roads.

Now, as part of a pilot program to reduce overcrowding, the California Department of Parks and Recreation will require advance reservations to visit the Shasta County waterfall on many days this summer.

“Burney Falls is a crown jewel of the California State Park System, and we want all visitors to have an enjoyable and memorable experience when visiting this one-of-a-kind destination,” State Parks Director Armando Quintero said in a statement. “By allowing visitors to make a reservation in advance, we can help keep crowds manageable and not push the park’s resources past the breaking point.”

The reservations, which can be purchased online, will be required to visit the falls Fridays through Sundays and on holidays during peak visitation season, from May 15 through Sept. 27.

On those days, McArthur-Burney Falls Memorial State Park will offer 103 parking passes for 8 a.m. to noon, an additional 103 passes for 1 p.m. to 5 p.m., and 35 passes for the entire day.

The day use passes will cost $11 per vehicle, according to State Parks, with discounts for seniors and people with disabilities.

California State Parks annual pass holders will pay no additional charge but must make reservations. Visitors with overnight campground or cabin reservations will not need additional passes for day use.

The 129-foot waterfall — a wide curtain of white water cascading from a basalt cliff face — generates its own rainbow and once was dubbed the “Eighth Wonder of the World” by President Theodore Roosevelt.

Visitors often endure long lines to get a selfie at Burney Falls. Here, Rachel Brussbau poses with her 1-year-old daughter, Sage, and Crysten Michol in July 2023.

(Paul Kuroda / For The Times)

But for much of its history, it “experienced limited visitation due to its rural location … and lack of publicity,” the State Parks department said in a statement.

“For generations of visitors, it had the reputation of a small, family-oriented park and one of California’s best-kept secrets,” the department said. “However, over the past decade, and especially with the growth of social media, that secret is now world-famous.”

Crowds swelled during the COVID-19 pandemic, when indoor public spaces closed.

A State Parks spokesperson told The Times in an email Monday that in 2015, Burney Falls had 121,495 visitors. Numbers “have steadily risen since that time, peaking at 322,192 visitors in 2020 during the pandemic,” the spokesperson said.

Since then, about 220,000 people have visited the park each year.

The spokesperson said the numbers account only for people who come in through the official entrance and not those who park illegally on the side of the road and enter off-trail.

Because so many people have veered off established trails, the park in recent years has experienced increased erosion and damage to sensitive vegetation and sacred tribal land, according to the State Parks department. Heavy traffic and illegal parking also have created unsafe conditions along State Highway 89, one of the heavily forested county’s main thoroughfares and a critical fire evacuation route.

“Campers with reservations are hesitant to leave the park, knowing that it may take up to two hours to re-enter on busy days,” the department statement read.

Because of limited parking, the gates often close for several hours each day.

“If lucky enough to gain entry, visitors inside the park are met with extreme overcrowding, long restroom lines, and overflowing trash cans instead of a peaceful, rejuvenating experience at one of the nation’s most awe-inspiring natural landmarks,” State Parks said.

In the summer of 2024, State Parks closed all access to the waterfall for the season to repair trails and slopes damaged by heavy crowds and storm erosion.

The department said it will evaluate the day use reservation system at the end of the summer and make adjustments if necessary for future peak visitation periods.

State Sen. Megan Dahle (R-Bieber), whose district includes Shasta County, said the pilot program “is likely to disrupt some trips” until word spreads.

“Unfortunately, for several years it has been clear something needs to change at Burney Falls,” Dahle said. “I hope this is an interim measure on the way to longer-term fixes to accommodate visitors.”

Up here, the river was a mere gurgle; a babbling babe finding its way into the world. A few sheep roamed, a kite wheeled and a spring-clean wind ruffled the tussocks on the barren hills and rippled the pools. It was a stark yet striking beginning. As we followed a brand new fingerpost, skirted Llyn Teifi – the river’s official source – and picked up the fledgling flow, there was a sense great things lay ahead, for us both.

The Teifi rises in Ceredigion’s Cambrian Mountains – the untramped “green desert of Wales” – and pours into Cardigan Bay 75 miles (120km) south-west. It’s one of the longest rivers wholly within Wales and, historically, one of its most significant: the beating heart of the country’s fishing and wool-weaving industries, 12th-century abbeys at either end, Wales’s oldest university en route.

However, those abbeys lie in ruin now, salmon and sewin (brown trout) stocks have plummeted, and the mills are shuttered – though the factory in the village of Dre-fach Felindre now operates as the National Wool Museum. Even the future of Lampeter’s venerable university is uncertain following the decision to end undergraduate teaching there. It’s as if the valley has lost its purpose. So some determined local walkers are giving it a new one.

The Teifi Valley Trail, an 83-mile hike following the river from source to sea, officially launched on 25 April, but has been decades in the making. The idea was born back when Ceredigion, Pembrokeshire and Carmarthenshire came under one authority (Dyfed), said Kay Davis of the Teifi Valley Trail Association (TVTA), when we met in Llanybydder. “Then the three counties separated in 1996 and it went off the boil. A long time later, we thought, wouldn’t it be great if there was a trail? So we got together with others in the area and went from there.”

It has been a grassroots, cooperative effort between members of local Ramblers groups, Walkers are Welcome communities and footpath associations along the valley, working to reopen paths, secure permissions, nail up waymarks and create a guide. Thought has been given to route quality, places to stay and accessibility by public transport.

“One of the main reasons for the trail is to get people with backpacks and boots down here to spend money,” added the TVTA’s James Williams. “We’ve seen the economic effect the coastal paths have; we thought we could have a bit of that as well.” Backpacked and booted, my husband and I were here to give it a go.

There’s certainly something powerful about following a river. Walking from Teifi Pools on our first day, that trickle led us across the moor and through wild, wooded valleys or cwms with the exuberance of youth. It soon took us to Strata Florida, the abbey founded in 1164 by Cistercian monks seeking solitude in nature – not to mention access to the area’s abundant timber, pasture, peat, lead ore and, of course, water. Little remains of the abbey now – a grand arch, some fine medieval tiles, a cottage housing a small but fascinating exhibition. But this was once the Westminster Abbey of Wales, second only in fame to St Davids and much larger than the ruins suggest. Many pilgrims made the journey here.

Most have probably never heard of Strata Florida, and the Teifi Valley continued in this vein: a place of secrets and little-heard stories. These ranged from a buried elephant (behind Tregaron’s handsome Y Talbot Hotel, allegedly) to dry-stone walls built by Napoleonic prisoners of war. Llanddewi Brefi village was full of tales. On the old mountain-crossing drovers’ route, it has a soaring Norman church built on a mound said to have been miraculously raised by St David himself. These days, Llanddewi is better known as the scene of an enormous LSD drugs raid in 1977 or as the home of Little Britain’s “only gay in the village”. “Most here didn’t watch the show, and I didn’t mind it,” said Yvonne Edwards, landlady of Llanddewi’s New Inn, a proper no-frills-and-flagstones pub. “It was just annoying, having Australian journalists ringing in the middle of the night, and people stealing road signs.”

Further down the trail, just outside Llanybydder, we found one of Davis’s hidden gems: a woodland path, long unused, that her Ramblers group worked hard to reopen. “It’s tiny,” she’d told us, “but there’s a presence there, a good presence.” Indeed, it was like a shot of Narnia, a short stretch of moss-covered magic.

Over the following days, we flirted with the river. At times we were high above, peering from gorse-covered hill forts, across slopes of sheep-grazed green or through woods flush with bluebells. At others, we were on its banks, once close enough to glimpse an otter raise its silken head in the swirl. Beyond Llechryd, the path squeezed us through a tree-huddled gorge, the river’s murmurings joined by the gossip of thrushes, tits, blackcaps and wrens.

The general mood was soothing. It was hard to imagine this river roisterous with industry, fizzing with fish, busy with boats – Cardigan, within the Teifi’s tidal reach, was once the second-largest port in Wales. It’s a quieter town these days, and looking good, boosted by the restoration of its castle, which was rescued from ruin a decade ago. The castle hosted the first National Eisteddfod in 1176; in celebration of the 850th anniversary, the 2026 festival is being held at nearby Llantwd.

We stayed in one of the castle’s refined rooms, but still had a few miles to go to reach journey’s end. The trail runs via St Dogmael’s Abbey and climbs high for views across the estuary before dropping to meet it at sweeping Poppit Sands. We washed our boots in the shallows, “our” river now indiscernible, swallowed by the sea.

It was a good walk. And perhaps it wasn’t over? “Early on, we had this idea to create the Celtic Circle,” Davis told me: a 175-mile loop linking the Teifi Valley Trail, a section of Wales Coast Path to Borth, and the Spirit of the Miners route from Borth to Strata Florida. “But we’ll see if we still have the energy after this!”

The trip was supported by Discover Ceredigion, Discover Carmarthenshire and Visit Pembrokeshire. For information, downloadable maps and guidebooks, see the Teifi Valley Trail website. Accommodation includes Y Talbot in Tregaron (doubles from £70), the New Inn in Llanddewi Brefi (doubles from £76), the Cross Hands Hotel in Llanybydder (doubles from £108), Emlyn Hotel in Newcastle Emlyn (doubles from £79) and Cardigan Castle (doubles from £110)

It was my first time hiking through Tilden Regional Park, a 2,079-acre wooded hilly expanse near Berkeley, and I was looking for one very specific thing: a small red, white and blue rounded triangular trail marker with a tiny map of the United States.

I’d already struck out twice, parking at the wrong trailheads, and I was really hoping the third time would be the charm. I trudged up the Upper Big Springs Trail, a wide dirt path lined with fragrant eucalyptus, pine trees and California bay laurels and, peeking out of the invasive grasses, California poppies and orange bush monkey flower.

I crested a hill after about two-thirds of a mile, and there I saw a sign, both literal and metaphorical, on a small brown post letting me know I was exactly where I needed to be. I was officially hiking along the American Discovery Trail, a contiguous 6,800-mile coast-to-coast nonmotorized route of multiuse trails that runs from Point Reyes National Seashore in Marin County to Cape Henlopen State Park in Delaware.

The American Discovery Trail sign in Tilden Regional Park near Berkeley.

(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)

“The ADT is all about connections — people to people, community to community, urban areas to wilderness,” according to a website outlining its history. “… The ADT connects five National Scenic, 12 National Historic, and 34 National Recreational Trails; passes through urban centers like Cincinnati and San Francisco; leads to 14 National Parks and 16 National Forests” and visits thousands of historic, cultural and natural sites.

I’m excited to share not only about the joy that can be found along this route, but also how you can join a relay in July across America along the trail. I certainly plan to!

I’d never heard of the American Discovery Trail until last week when I attended the California Trails & Greenways conference in San Ramon. There, I met with American Discovery Trail co-founder John Fazel and John Mercurio, the trail’s California coordinator, to learn more.

The idea to create a coast-to-coast trail was born out of a 1980-81 hike across America called “HikaNation,” where several members of the American Hiking Society trekked more than 4,000 miles across the country. That adventure inspired Backpacker magazine and the American Hiking Society in 1989 to start developing the American Discovery Trail.

A view of the San Francisco Bay from the Seaview Trail in Tilden Regional Park near Berkeley. The route is a part of the American Discovery Trail.

(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)

Organizers contacted trail experts in 13 states, including Fazel in California. In 1990, three people headed out to test the route, an adventure they documented in “American Discoveries: Scouting the First Coast-to-coast Recreational Trail” (Mountaineer Books).

Then, in 1991, the American Hiking Society hired a national coordinator to work with volunteer state coordinators to develop the route, and in 1996, trail advocates formed the American Discovery Trail Society to ensure their dreams became a reality.

“It’s an opportunity to get to know America up close and personal and not as a flyover,” said Fazel, who grew up in Iowa.

The San Pablo Reservior as seen from Tilden Regional Park near Berkeley.

(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)

Most people don’t complete the trail in one trip, Fazel said, as it takes months to finish and requires participants to leave the East Coast around February to ensure that enough snow has melted by the time they reach the mountains in Colorado and California.

Although the trail has existed for several years, Fazel and Mercurio admit that they don’t know exactly how much of the route is a recreational trail, sidewalk or roadway. That’s in part because it’s a technically complicated task to complete, especially for a mostly volunteer group. But it’s also because the route is ever-evolving (which is actually exciting).

“Since we got involved, small towns, counties, even states are funding millions of dollars to build trails in their area, and when they see a national trail goes across the country, they want to connect to it, and when they do, where it is on back roads, we can move it off,” Fazel said. “And it happens.”

A labyrinth in Tilden Regional Park along the American Discovery Trail.

(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times )

In California, the only place hikers are on pavement for a significant amount of time is from the Antioch Bridge north to Sacramento as they travel through the Sacramento-San Joaquin Delta, Fazel said.

Mercurio said he is working with local officials to try to move the trail from this narrow roadway onto an old railroad track that’s owned by the state.

“It’s been sitting there vacant for many, many years,” Mercurio said. “Now, they should know that there’s this national trail, this coast-to-coast trail, [that] is interested in utilizing that to provide a safe way for us to make our way across the delta.”

Unlike the Pacific Crest Trail, Appalachian Trail and other multistate routes, the American Discovery Trail is not federally designated under existing law.

The National Park Service studied the American Discovery Trail in the mid-’90s and acknowledged that the American Discovery Trail doesn’t fit neatly into any of the existing categories outlined in the National Trails System Act, Mercurio said. The agency mapped out three options for Congress to consider, including creating a new category for discovery trails, he said.

A lush tree canopy along the Seaview Trail, part of the American Discovery Trail, in Tilden Regional Park.

(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)

Trail advocates have been pushing Congress for more than 25 years to create such a category. They came close in 2021 when U.S. Rep. Mark DeSaulnier (D-Concord) introduced such legislation that garnered 63 co-sponsors.

“We had people on the House resources committee who were far right and killed it,” Fazel said, adding the trail has otherwise garnered bipartisan support for decades in states it passes through.

There was a mix of suspicion and concern that the recognition of the trail would lead to eminent domain and requests for federal money, neither of which the trail’s organizers want, Fazel and Mercurio said.

“The thing is, we don’t build any trail at all,” Mercurio said. “All we do is route onto stuff that’s already there, and our presence influences local jurisdictions to create trail that would be good for our route. But they’re in this anti-federal feeling, so they just knee-jerk don’t want to support it.”

The Golden Gate Bridge as seen from Tilden Regional Park.

(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)

The duo remains optimistic that their trail will get national recognition. In the interim, they’ve got other big plans.

On July 1, as long as everything goes according to plan, the American Discovery Trail Society will launch its “America 250 Relay,” aiming to cross the Golden Gate Bridge by July 4 and ending in Delaware at the Atlantic Ocean on Thanksgiving Day.

Anyone can join to traverse the trail in a people- or horse-powered way. Participants will carry a copy of the Declaration of Independence in a celebration of America and the outdoors. (I’ve already texted two best friends to entice them to do part of the relay with me!)

A flax-leaved blue pimpernel in Tilden Regional Park.

(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)

In a time of rising authoritarianism across the globe, it’s important we seek both joy and connection, focusing less on what we’re fed by algorithms and more on our shared humanity. I know that sounds fairly Pollyanna, but especially as a transgender American who constantly worries about whether I can safely visit my family in the Midwest, where lawmakers are seemingly seeking to outlaw my existence, I do actually mean it.

As I neared the end of the trail, a golden Labrador retriever greeted me, and after lots of head scratches, I met the dog’s owner. He and I started chatting, and soon realized that, although we belonged to different generations, we had both grown up as farm kids.

He started to tell me the story of when his dad ran himself over with a tractor.

“My dad ran himself over with a tractor too!” I said. “Did your dad start the tractor from the ground even though he’d told you a million times as a kid not to?”

“No, but he did try to get off and get back on a moving tractor,” he said, which my new friend’s father had repeatedly told him not to do.

I didn’t expect to discuss tractors and hay bales with a stranger in the East Bay, but I found that these experiences are a part of what the American Discovery Trail provides.

3 things to do

A human and canine guest travel along a previous CicLAvia event route.

(CicLAvia Los Angeles)

1. Wander the car-free streets of West L.A.
CicLAvia, an L.A. nonprofit, will host a free three-mile, car-free open streets event from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. Sunday through West L.A. The event marks the 65th open streets event the organization has held around L.A., but it’s the first time that one has been held in West L.A. The route includes portions of Santa Monica and Westwood boulevards. Attendees are invited to traverse the route in any people-powered device, although there are certain restrictions on e-bikes. Learn more at ciclavia.org.

2. Prop up the pollinators in Castaic
TreePeople will host Pollinator Palooza from 9 a.m. to 1:30 p.m. Saturday at Castaic Lake. Volunteers will plant milkweed and restore habitat. The event will also feature plant giveaways, an environmental resource fair and a pollinator-themed fashion show. Learn more at treepeople.org.

3. Orient yourself in Irvine
Save Orange Hills and Naturalist For You will host a hike, yoga and meditation event from 8 to 10 a.m. Sunday at Irvine Regional Park. After a short warm-up hike, guests will take part in an all-levels yoga session. Tickets are $17.85, but no one will be turned away due to lack of funds. Register at eventbrite.com.

The must-read

San Joaquin River Parkway, currently operated by the San Joaquin River Conservancy, would join various properties into an 874-acre state park, expanding recreation opportunities and greater access along the river. The park would complement nearby Millerton Lake State Recreation Area.

(California State Parks)

California could soon see the development of three new state parks in the Central Valley. State officials announced the proposed parks on Wednesday, which are Feather River Park in Yuba County, San Joaquin River Parkway near Fresno and Dust Bowl Camp in Bakersfield, Times staff writer Hayley Smith wrote. State officials also aim to expand three existing parks in Mendocino County, Nevada County and San Mateo County. “California’s state parks are nothing short of iconic — with locations like Big Sur, Southern California beaches, and the world’s tallest trees — but our state has even more to offer,” said Wade Crowfoot, California’s natural resources secretary.

Happy adventuring,

P.S.

Hikers and trail builders have until April 30 to complete the California Trails Survey, which state officials will use to help shape how nonmotorized recreational trails are developed in the state — and how officials use millions from Prop 4, often called the “climate bond” because its money is supposed to be spent to combat climate change. The survey includes two portions, one for trail users and another for trail builders and advocates. If you fit both categories, you are invited to complete both portions. Early data, released at a trails conference I attended last week, suggested that white hikers were overrepresented in the results, so please spread the word, especially to BIPOC hiking organizations in your area!

For more insider tips on Southern California’s beaches, trails and parks, check out past editions of The Wild. And to view this newsletter in your browser, click here.