trail

This summer, Southern California hiker Mark Orr spotted a hazard he struggled to stop thinking about: a crumbling, narrowing section of the Devil’s Backbone Trail near Mt. Baldy.

Orr wanted to help.

In early August, he trekked about 5.6 miles from the trailhead near Manker Flat campground to the site, hauling 85 pounds of gear with him over two trips. Orr first spent two hours digging out a wider route and then built what he dubbed an “anti-erosion fence” by installing 30-inch rebar stakes, stainless steel wire, clamps, aluminum flashing and zip ties. A few weeks later, Orr posted a video documenting his work to his YouTube channel, where he’d previously shared about hiking and other DIY projects. In the video, which Orr has since made private, he said he’d never performed trail work.

A view from Baldy Road leading up the Mt. Baldy Notch in the San Gabriel Mountains.

(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)

The people of the internet were initially grateful. “I can’t imagine doing this in my backyard let alone at 9,350 ft. You are THE MAN,” one YouTube user wrote. “I’ve hiked the backbone dozens of times and will remember you with gratitude every time I come across this section,” another person said. One person said his son was one of the three people who died while hiking the Backbone Trail in late December, and he wanted to connect with Orr.

But, as the video’s view count ticked up, concern over Orr’s work mounted into rage.

Two camps developed: Those who lauded Orr’s efforts and those who felt he should be held accountable for what they argued was damage to the trail. “I give this guy an A+ on his intentions and effort,” a Reddit user wrote on a post about Orr’s video. “If a section is dangerous, it should ‘look’ dangerous. To make it look safe, creates a bigger hazard as people will come to rely/trust in what is actually a DIY retaining wall. What happens when that eventually gives way? What if someone is hurt/killed as a direct result of this DIY project?”

In this edition of The Wild, our weekly outdoors newsletter, I will report out the current status of the trail where Orr completed his work. I will discuss how we got here — where an individual, not the U.S. Forest Service, tackled a trail repair — and where we go from here, including how you can do your part without upsetting half the outdoors corner of the internet and violating federal policy.

First, let’s talk about Mt. Baldy and how people usually get there.

A segment of the Devil’s Backbone Trail that hikers take to the Mt. Baldy summit.

(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)

Mt. San Antonio, commonly referred to as Mt. Baldy for its appearance, is a 10,064-foot peak in the San Gabriel Mountains and is the highest point in Los Angeles County.

Outside of winter, when much of the trail can become covered in snow and ice, most hikers reach Mt. Baldy via two routes. They start near the Manker Flat campground and walk Falls and Baldy roads until they either turn north-ish onto the Baldy Bowl Trail, often referred to as the “Ski Hut” route because hikers pass the Sierra Club’s green building, or hikers continue on Baldy Road until they reach the Mt. Baldy Notch. From here, hikers start the Devil’s Backbone Trail first by trekking up a fire road and then taking on a grueling, narrow 1.9(ish)-mile jaunt that gains about 1,500 feet and always makes me question my life choices about halfway through.

The Devil’s Backbone is named as such because of its shape, including segments where hikers walk a narrow stretch with steep drop-offs on both sides. This steepness is part of what makes it susceptible to erosion — and why only serious, well-equipped mountaineers should traverse it during the winter.

The Devil’s Backbone Trail, per the U.S. Forest Service, is 3.24 miles long, starting at Baldy Notch and ends at Mt. Baldy Summit.

(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)

On Sunday, I headed up Baldy Road to see how Orr’s repairs were holding. I am active in the r/socalhiking Reddit community, where I first learned of the story, and had already seen images showing a hole developing at the start of Orr’s repairs.

But no one had pinpointed exactly where they were.

Once I reached the Devil’s Backbone, a hiker warned me about a particularly steep and narrow section he’d just traversed.

“Is this the part with the repairs?” I asked.

“No, that part is way up, and it is already breaking down,” he told me.

I then chatted with two high schoolers coming back from summiting Baldy, one of whom hopes to attend a University of California school to study environmental science. “A little bit of rain,” and it’s gone, he said of Orr’s repairs.

A segment of a repair performed by a local hiker that has started to fail.

(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)

Just over a mile into the Devil’s Backbone, I spotted the shiny aluminum of Orr’s anti-erosion fence. And I spotted the hole where fill dirt has fallen through. Before Orr started his work, the trail was narrow — his work did widen the route, but how long will it hold?

Alan Coles, a trail crew leader with the San Gabriel Mountains Trailbuilders, which maintains routes in the backcountry and Baldy area, told me the answer is probably not long, especially given the rain and snow we could get this winter from El Niño.

A segment of the Devil’s Backbone Trail where a hiker attempted to widen and repair the crumbly trail.

(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)

“Taking another look at the video, the problem with the trail may be due to a buildup of material washing down from above,” said Coles, who has 35 years of trail maintenance experience. “Often the best solution is to dig it out and lower the trail to the original alignment, which will also widen it. The problem with the repair is that the hardware he installed would make that difficult. In time, the material he used will come apart, and those stakes will get more exposed, leading to problems with people tripping on them, especially if there is snow.”

Coles said to begin work in Angeles National Forest, he must submit a list of trails that his organization wants to work on to the U.S. Forest Service. The agency’s archaeologist, biologist and other technical experts will review his list. If there are any issues with a particular trail that Coles has identified needs repairs — like if an endangered species is known to live in a creek next to the trail — the Forest Service could deny his request, thus leaving the trail unmaintained.

A hiker walks near the hole created by unauthorized repairs performed in early August.

(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)

Coles said the Devil’s Backbone Trail is a “very difficult repair” for a lot of reasons, including its high altitude and the need for a crew to get permission to use the fire roads to shorten the distance they have to haul their gear. Coles said hikers often ask him when his crew will work on the Three T’s Trail, as the route has several downed trees and other issues, and his crew faces similar access issues.

Coles said he sympathizes with Orr’s reasoning for repairing the trail: People died in that area.

“His heart’s in the right place, but it really needs to be done with someone who says, ‘OK, here’s how you properly do a repair like that,’” Coles said.

It’s impossible when thinking about Orr’s repairs not to think about the old adage of, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” and the brutal irony is that, once you reach the Devil’s Backbone, you’re going to need more than that.

Two hikers navigate down the Devil’s Backbone Trail after summiting Mt. Baldy, the highest point in L.A. County.

(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)

When I spoke to Orr after my hike, he said he hopes that he can join the trail crew to remove what he did and repair the trail properly.

“The first thing is, it was nothing but well intentions by somebody who loves the mountain and wants it to be safer for everybody,” Orr said. “I totally get that my first crack at this, I didn’t do everything right, and I’m actively working with the San Gabriel Mountains Trailbuilders to get it right before this winter.”

The final challenge, though, will be getting officials at the U.S. Forest Service to approve the work plan. A spokesperson at Angeles National Forest did not respond to my request for a comment or an interview for this story.

Orr’s trail repairs come at a time when outdoors lovers are feeling particularly protective of public lands. The Trump administration has continued its efforts to peel back layers of environmental protections, like the Roadless Rule, raising the alarm of park advocates who fear not even Yosemite is safe from development.

The sunset as viewed Sunday on a trail often referred to as the “Ski Hut” route.

(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)

At the same time, the U.S. Forest Service and National Park Service have both seen massive staffing cuts during Trump’s second term, and this comes after decades of underfunded trail construction and repair.

In the early 1980s, “each of the five Angeles Forest districts had a full-time, paid trail crew of eight to 10 members. Now there are only summertime crews with three to four members. Forest Service officials and the agency’s critics agree that if it were not for the volunteer corps of 700 trail builders, the mountain paths would not be repaired for years,” according to a 1993 Times story.

Those crews, Coles said, were one of the casualties from a swath of federal budget cuts in the 1980s. A 1986 Times story noted that, in just four years, “the amount of federal money allocated for trail maintenance nationwide and in Southern California … dropped about 50%.”

“For the most part, without the volunteers, you wouldn’t have a trail system today,” Angeles National Forest official Don Gilliland told The Times in 1993.

The sun goes down, casting orange and pink hues through the clouds above the San Gabriel Mountains near Mt. Baldy Village.

(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)

The agency continues to rely heavily on volunteers. The U.S. Forest Service estimates that it has about $10.8 billion in deferred maintenance, including $241 million in deferred trail maintenance and almost $70 million in trail-bridge deferred maintenance, according to a recent budget document.

In an analysis of that backlog of work, officials with the U.S. Government Accountability Office heard from one regional official who told them that the trail maintenance program “is held together by Band-Aids and baling wire.”

If you’d like to be part of that baling wire, you can join Orr in joining a local trail crew. There are several who service the San Gabriel Mountains and their foothills.

It is easy to read about Orr’s efforts and point out the obvious mistakes he made. It’s another thing to take action, whether that’s donating to local trail crews or volunteering on their work days. I’ll see you out there, focusing on the latter.

3 things to do

A coyote drinks water puddling near the golf course at Griffith Park.

(Mel Melcon / Los Angeles Times)

1. Document dicots and deer in L.A.
The Los Angeles Public Library, along with other city agencies, will launch this year’s L.A. Nature Quest at 9 a.m. Saturday at the Griffith Park Visitor Center. The L.A. Nature Quest is an annual monthlong effort to document as much of L.A.’s flora and fauna as possible using iNaturalist, a citizen science app. Attendees will be guided by rangers and other experts in a morning of outdoor exploration and nature journaling. Downloading iNaturalist beforehand is recommended. Register at eventbrite.com.

2. Sit down and spy birds in Pasadena
The Pasadena Audubon Society will host a seated birding experience at 8 a.m. Saturday on the Gamble House lawn (4 Westmoreland Place in Pasadena). Guests should bring water, sunscreen, a lawn chair or blanket, and a hat. Participants can bring their own binoculars, but there will be some to loan out for those without. Register at eventbrite.com.

3. Marvel at mushrooms in Monrovia
Monrovia’s Canyon Park Nature Center will host the opening reception for the Mushrooms of the San Gabriel Mountains at 10 a.m. Sunday. Mycologist Aaron Tupac will share with guests about how and why they photographed the specimens shown in the exhibit, along with sharing information about our local fungi populations. Learn more at Tupac’s Instagram page.

The must-read

Biologists collect olive ridley sea turtle eggs from nests on Southern California beaches.

(Huntington Beach Police Dept.)

In mid-September, two heart-shaped olive ridley sea turtles made history when they dug nests on Seal and Huntington beaches, marking the first documented natural sea turtle nests on the U.S. West Coast. Times staff writer Corinne Purtill wrote that biologists and cheloniophiles barely had time to celebrate before realizing that these nests were at risk of being destroyed by incoming storm surges and high tides. Biologists recovered just over 200 eggs. “We had to make some quick decisions,” said biologist Jonathan Snyder of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service at the Aquarium of the Pacific in Long Beach on Friday. “This is the decision that we made, and I think it’s the best one for species recovery.”

Happy adventuring,

P.S.

Montrose Search and Rescue recently highlighted the perils of taking the wrong route to hike Strawberry Peak. Strawberry Peak, visible from several L.A. hikes, is the highest point in the front range of the San Gabriel Mountains. Montrose Search and Rescue recently rescued hikers, though, who’ve ended up on the mountaineering route. Their video highlights how crucial it is to know your route before you go — and to ensure you have a physical map with you in case you get lost. Stay safe out there, folks! (And don’t hike Strawberry Peak right now — it’s too hot.)

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.

Here’s the equation that arrived in my mind:

Love of books + love of walking = Library Trail.

Could I walk to all the libraries in L.A.?

I asked myself this question and then one second later I asked Google, because my phone was in my hand as it is 50% of the time, and 75% of the time when I’m not being social. I spend a lot of time alone, writing books that I hope will end up in libraries.

I knew there were many public libraries in L.A., and that walking to all of them would probably result in a trail that looked like a snarled nest. This turned out to be correct. The city of Los Angeles has 73 libraries. The county has 86. And Santa Monica has five.

So, I decided to simplify. I would walk about 15 miles from the Central Library in downtown L.A. to the Ocean Park Library in Santa Monica, and, since every trail needs a name, I would call it … the phrase “booking it” arrived in my mind. I crossed that out, and then I crossed out some other bad options, and then I decided to let it go and name the trail after I was done, which is often what I do when writing a novel, because you don’t really know what a thing is until it exists. With books, and with trails, and with life, the only thing we can ever be sure of is that our plans will always turn out to be wrong.

An illustrated map of the 15-mile trek from the Central Library in downtown L.A. to Ocean Park Library in Santa Monica.

Case in point: The day before the trail, I planned to draw some lettuce on my sun hat with fabric pens. I envisioned that on one side, the lettuce would be beautiful and perfect, and on the other side, it would be goopy and rotting. What ended up happening was that I drew two lovely romaine leaves, and I liked them so much that I stopped there.

As I said, I spend a lot of time by myself, and I imagined that walking this trail would be a solitary adventure. I’m currently in the process of writing a new novel, and since walking is so conducive to writing, I thought the trail would give me a nice big swath of time to ponder the fictional world I’ve created.

I was told that a photographer named Scott Strazzante would meet me at the Central Library at 7 a.m. I assumed he’d take some shots and maybe walk with me for a little while, and then we’d part ways. What actually happened was that Scott stayed with me the entire time. This caused me to see the two romaine lettuce leaves on my hat as a foreshadowing. I was one leaf, and Scott was the other.

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1. L.A. Central Library. 2. The Lodrick M. Cook Rotunda inside the library. (Scott Strazzante / For The Times)

But back to the Central Library. It’s a masterpiece. Maybe you already know that. In case you don’t, I recommend a visit. Scott and I ended up in the rotunda, surrounded by murals, and it felt like taking a quick trip to Italy. Although really, it was a trip through California’s history. That’s what the murals depict.

An important part of the library’s history is that people (or one person?) tried to burn it down. Twice. In 1986, there were two arson attacks, spaced a few months apart. Who would want to burn down a library? It’s still unclear, although the main suspect for the first attempt was an out-of-work actor named Harry Peak.

The route from the Central Library to the Ocean Park Library is so easy that you could do it without your phone. You walk down four blocks to Olympic Boulevard, then head west. At some point, switch over to Pico Boulevard and keep heading west. Eventually, you’ll veer off at Gateway Boulevard, which turns into Ocean Park Boulevard, and boom! You’re there!

If you do this trail, I suggest you bring sunscreen, a hat and an external battery to charge your phone. I would also bring water and snacks, although, of course, there are many places to get those things along the way.

As Scott and I walked down Olympic, I said hi to a few people we passed, and Scott did too. After one of these interactions, Scott said, “People must think we’re missionaries or something, saying hi like that.”

A woman holds a religious sign at Olympic Boulevard and Alvarado Street.

I didn’t respond. But as we kept walking, I wondered about the implication of Scott’s statement, which is that if you’re going to be nice to a stranger, then it must be because you want something from them.

Scott and I stopped for beverages at Rok Coffee & Tea at Olympic and Ardmore Avenue, which I highly recommend. They have a free photo booth! Without the booth! It’s a modern, open-air version. Scott and I took a selfie. The people behind the counter were exceptionally friendly. When we walked out, Scott made a comment about it. “They were so nice,” he said, kind of in awe.

The arc of this story, I would say, is that Scott’s heart melted more and more as we walked, and so did mine.

At the start of the trail, Scott kept stopping to take photos. Which, you know, was his job. But I was annoyed about it. I was thinking, Damn, I was planning to dream about my novel and maybe call my sister and now I have to wait for this dawdling photographer?

Internally, I had a quick chat with myself. I could either choose to be irritated, or I could choose to love Scott. By the time we took the selfie at Rok, I loved Scott. Then he told me about his life and I loved him more. Scott’s new to L.A. He moved down here from Marin County, but he’s originally from Chicago. He hates shopping. When I complimented his shirt ( which said “Lucky Brand” on it) he said, “I didn’t even see that.” I noticed he was especially interested in signs about lost animals, which I thought was sweet. “Somebody lost a cockatiel!” he said, jogging to catch up, because I hadn’t waited for him.

Scott ended up jogging a fair amount. “We’re making this light!” I shouted a few times, and he sprang into action. He was a good sport about it. Running uses different leg muscles than walking, he pointed out, and his walking muscles were tired.

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1. A Chevrolet van parked on Sherbourne Drive. 2. Writer Swan Huntley walks along Olympic Boulevard. 3. A jogger passes Love Psychic on Olympic Boulevard and Citrus Avenue. (Scott Strazzante / For The Times)

In other moments, Scott took the lead. He wanted to cross the street to take a picture of the Koreatown sign, so we did that. He stopped to ask people if he could photograph them, which meant that we had more conversations with strangers than I would have had alone. Scott made my solo journey into a social one, and by the time we cut down to Pico, I couldn’t believe there had ever been a moment when I didn’t want this awesome man to walk with me.

Here’s another equation:

Being alone + reading news headlines = I think the world is bad.

When I’m by myself for too long, scrolling through articles about the worst things that have happened recently, I inevitably start to think that strangers suck and that kindness is an outlier. When Scott said that us chirpily saying hi to strangers must have made them think we were missionaries, I thought that was sad. As the day went on, I realized I spend more of my life than I want in that sad place.

Near the intersection of Pico and Robertson, Scott and I met a guy whose job it is to change out the batteries on Coco delivery bots. He told us that Cocos are not autonomous. They’re operated by people overseas, who might never come to Los Angeles. After our conversation with this guy, I said to Scott, “He was so nice!” Scott said, “I know!”

So, you can see how our hearts were totally melted. Strangers, as it turns out, often don’t suck.

By the time we got to the Ocean Park Library, my legs were noodles and Scott’s T-shirt was soaked in sweat. There were five people inside. One was on a computer, one was sitting at a table, one was napping in a small chair and two were in larger chairs, charging their phones, with a bunch of bags laid out by their feet.

Inside the community-centered Ocean Park Branch of Santa Monica Public Library.

Thomas Alexander, one of the librarians, told me that people come to the library for all sorts of reasons. Sometimes it’s for books. Sometimes it’s for events, like the zine workshop they put on recently in the basement, which was very well-attended. And sometimes it’s to charge a phone or use a computer or just be quiet for a little while.

I asked Thomas why he became a librarian. He said, “I like working with the community.”

On some other day, this statement might not have made that much of an impact on me. But on that day, it did. Scott and I had spent the last six hours communing with each other and with all the people we met along the trail. I thought about Harry, the out-of-work actor who had possibly lighted the Central Library on fire in 1986. I don’t know anything about him, but my guess is that he was someone who had forgotten that he was part of a community. I wish that Harry could have met Thomas, who has a calm, sincere demeanor and big, brown inviting eyes that seem to say, Hi, I just want to hang out.

Or I’m projecting. By the end of this walk, that’s what I was thinking. I’d gone from being a one-woman show to: Hi, I just want to hang out.

Swan Huntley arrives at Ocean Park Branch of Santa Monica Public Library.

So, my plans were wrong, as they always are, and I’m glad. The original goal of inventing (discovering?) the Scott Romaine Library Trail was to inspire you to care about books. I ended up inspiring myself to care about what libraries are actually about: community.

At 69, I had never hiked with a backpack and I had no idea what land art was. Nonetheless, when my friend Jackie, a nature documentary film-maker, invited me to join her and her friends Wendy and Sasha on a hiking trip to Refuges d’Art in the mountainous countryside of Haute-Provence, I said a resounding “yes”. We would be sleeping alongside sculptures by the renowned land artist Andy Goldsworthy.

First, I watch Rivers and Tides, a documentary on Goldsworthy’s work, and discover he has built exquisite ice sculptures and stone cairns in my own country, Canada. His work seems to speak to an older part of the soul. Then, I start walking up hills, gradually adding weights to my backpack until I can comfortably carry 9kg (20lb).

We meet in Digne-les-Bains, a bustling mountain town in the centre of the Unesco geopark of Haute-Provence, and the starting point for a 10-day, 150km (93-mile) hiking route that includes the possibility of staying overnight at seven reservable but free off-grid sleeping cabins. Goldsworthy worked alongside local teams to restore the abandoned shepherd huts, farmhouses, chapel and stone shelters, and created a site-specific artwork for each one. Over four days, we will visit three of these refuges and hike about 45km (28 miles).

Our first stop in Digne-les-Bains is Maison Alexandra David-Neél, a museum dedicated to the adventurous, peripatetic life of a woman who, in 1924, disguised herself as a beggar to become the first western woman to enter the Forbidden City of Lhasa in Tibet. The keys to the refuges are kept here, no doubt, to inspire hikers for the adventures that lie ahead.

On the first day, we encounter one of three sentinels that sit like giant mysterious eggs watching over the route. These 2 to 3-metre tall cairns were made by Goldsworthy without mortar or cement and rely on fitting the right shapes and weights of the stones.

Jackie has told us the trail is mostly flat and indeed, we start on even gravel, chatting and laughing, getting used to the weight of our packs. After 5km, she says we should look for a path leading up the hill on our right. She checks her satnav and points to a goat path going straight up the rocks. I panic. My backpack suddenly feels extremely heavy. In desperation, I check further down the road and, to everyone’s relief, find a path marked with white and red horizontal lines signifying a grande randonnée, a trail certified by the French government.

We begin our ascent, pausing to photograph curlicued and wispy plants right out of Dr Seuss, yellow, scarlet and blue wildflowers, an orange moth sitting on purple brush. Spanish broom perfumes the air. We lift our gaze and see multiple valleys and unique geological formations. It’s easy to imagine our ice-age ancestors walking these trails 15,000 years ago and it’s gratifying to be travelling under our own steam, as they did.

We arrive at the first refuge, La Forest, as the sun is setting. The key unlocks the door. Inside, the air is cold. Our eyes adjust to the dark. A table and benches stand in front of us. To the left, a stairway leads to sleeping platforms. To the right, a doorway into a dark, empty room. From its depths glows a cylindrical obelisk, light falling on one large stone where someone could sit. It’s concave, constructed of light grey stone ending in a porthole to the sky. It’s illuminated by natural light and changes with the time, the weather, the season. This art is living and feels sacred.

That evening, we eat freeze-dried mushroom risotto in the flickering candlelight, play cards, eat chocolate, laugh and share stories. Sasha, who works in film in Germany, teaches us two words: der salzlose – someone who is bland and without flavour; and extrawurst – someone who always demands more. Neither apply to our group. The camaraderie and conviviality bring pure pleasure.

We climb the stairs to the sleeping platforms. Wendy and Sasha have brought sturdy sleeping mats on Jackie’s recommendation. We lay them out and say goodnight. The quiet is complete. Then, a tidal wave of sound erupts. Wendy and Sasha have rolled over. The friction on the technical fabric of their sleeping mats is deafening. The price of comfort has been revealed; they must lie like mummies.

The next day, we descend, picnic by a river on crackers, avocados and cheese, then start climbing again. Sasha and I subversively agree that it’s psychologically better to be told something is going to be hard and then it turns out easier. I console myself that climbing with a backpack is good for bone density and way less boring than lifting weights.

The next refuge, Le Vieil Esclangon, is in a mountain-top meadow. A majestic fan of lifted rock shines across the wide valley. Everywhere we turn there are more mountains and valleys. The first floor of the refuge is a large dark room split in two by a massive fireplace. Upstairs, the sleeping platforms look out on to a sunlit verge. Across from the fireplace, a tall serpentine shape made of dried mud loops back and forth like a meandering river, ending at the top in the source.

The wind picks up and the temperature drops. We gather wood and light a fire. In the flickering orange light, the sculpture comes to life, looking like one of Plato’s eternal forms. We eat our freeze-dried pad thai, the art and the hikers transient and temporary but together in this warm and cosy moment.

Later, we sleep to the sound of wind and rain, woken only by a mouse rave in the middle of the night.

We arrive at the third refuge, La Ferme Belon, in time for a late lunch. In the basement, huge interlinked semicircular stone arches look like a dragon’s body swimming through earth. Upstairs, the sleeping platforms are lovely except for one small detail. A colony of bats hang above. I can feign nonchalance because I know Wendy, who is quietly uber-capable, will find us a delightful B&B for the night. Over pizza and cold rosé, Sasha and I confess to Jackie that we would have rather known how challenging the hikes were going to be. “But you wouldn’t have come if I’d told you,” she answers with a twinkle in her eye.

Andy Goldsworthy said: “To me there is a tremendous difference between works of art that we observe in a museum just for a few minutes and works of art in which we live for a short while, in which we sleep. To sleep in a sculpture is a wonderful idea.”

In Digne-les-Bains we return the keys and soak our stronger bodies in the town’s hot springs. We’ve already said yes to Jackie’s next adventure, sight unseen.

Claudia Casper’s novel The Mercy Journals won the Philip K Dick award for distinguished science fiction in 2017 (Arsenal Pulp Press)

A grainy photograph, dated 1938, hangs in a frame on the downstairs wall of my B&B. It shows 100, perhaps 200, elegantly attired trippers sitting on the green at Shipley Glen in West Yorkshire. They’re picnicking, chatting, taking the air and enjoying the sunshine, while admiring the rocks and woods that frame the deep gully below. It’s local, low-carbon, cheap-as-chips tourism before the jet age – and also a model for how we may travel in the future.

I arrived here thanks to a new trail, launching on 19 September, that runs through the also newly established Bradford Pennine Gateway national nature reserve – astonishingly, the first reserve of this kind to be created in West Yorkshire. The trail uses almost the same name and is a savvy bit of sustainable planning, connecting the three towns of Ilkley, Saltaire and Haworth but, by appealing to walkers, hopefully inspiring people to explore beyond the confines of these honeypots.

I began at Ilkley on a Monday morning. I’d been on its moor once before, for a long circular hike. But I actually prefer linear walks, and it felt like a challenge to start out by crossing the moor. The first half hour was all upward, with lots of stone staircases and some steep sections. A hovering kestrel welcomed me to the top as a reward.

In fact, the great ridge of moorland above Ilkley is called Rombalds Moor; named after a legendary giant, and which comprises several named moors. I tramped across Ilkley, Burley and Bingley moors in a single lunge, stopping only a few times to drink water, take in the massive views back to the “golf ball” radomes of RAF Menwith Hill near Harrogate, over to Leeds – increasingly a high-rise city – and down to the Emley Moor transmitter near Wakefield (the tallest freestanding structure in the UK), and to admire the Twelve Apostles stone circle near the summit.

I had an easy downward stroll before ascending, more gently this time, to the shoulder of Baildon Moor. The vegetation on these moors is mainly heather (pinkish purple now), dense swathes of bracken, tough upland grasses and peat bog, broken up by gritstone outcrops. The NNR designation recognises that it is an area rich in biodiversity, for flora and fauna, and that it plays an important role in tackling challenges like the climate crisis, floods and wildfires. I was walking more than I was watching, but I clocked skylarks, meadow pipits, wheatears, swallows and, on the south side of Baildon, a colony of tree sparrows. As well as clusters of forestry conifers, there were patches of native trees, including birch, rowan and elder, and the occasional willow. Though it’s not wild all the way: I passed tourist chalets, crossed a few fast roads, and walked through a busy golf course (where there were benches, few and far between on the first half of the trail).

The moors are dotted with human history. A big hole, like a meteor crater, turned out to be an abandoned pit, for extracting coal in the preindustrial era. Signage and traces in the landscape point to second world war tank training. Quarries litter the moorlands and dry-stone walls and extensive ditches point to centuries of management.

The trail is 18 miles (28.9km) long. I could probably have walked it in a day with a bit of effort. I’m glad I didn’t, not least because Shipley Glen was a revelation. Despite having visited nearby Saltaire several times, I’d never gone up the hill to see the ravine, which probably became a “glen” because it sounded Scottish and picturesque. For more than a century and a half, it has served many purposes: as a place for radical rallies and suffragettes’ meetings, a temperance hotel and teashop, Victorian pleasure gardens and quirky amusements and rides – and a tramway, opened in 1895, which still operates. I recommend breaking the walk here, even if it’s not quite a midpoint, because the setting is glorious; Bracken Hall House is a gorgeous B&B (doubles from £110 a night), and Saltaire is full of art, industrial history, and great food and drink. There are benches beside the glen, if you decided to pause for a picnic.

While overnighting, I met Danny Jackson, the former countryside and rights of way manager for Bradford council, who devised and plotted the trail. “I want to change people’s perceptions of what Bradford is,” he said. “It’s not just a city. It’s a district. And it’s very rural.

“I also want to highlight things that are overlooked. Through the NNR and the trail, we want to maximise the benefits from air quality, carbon capture, wildfire and flood reduction, rewetting, peat restoration – and obviously all the health benefits from being outdoors.”

From Shipley Glen, I walked on via a series of nature-rich spots to Haworth. The first, Trench Meadows, is a Site of Special Scientific Interest (SSSI), notable for its grasses and wildflowers, including red fescue, sweet vernal and crested dog’s-tail. The path took me through an elaborate beautiful old kissing gate, and along cobbled and flagged paths; Victorians and Edwardians made their footpaths beautiful as well as functional – and built them to last.

I passed through Bingley by way of several smart housing estates above the town. I recalled John Braine’s 1957 novel, Room at the Top, set precisely in these airy heights; the novelist renamed it “Warley”, perhaps to make more locally innocuous his tale of social-climbing and adultery. The trail takes in the Five Rise Locks and Three Rise Locks sections of the Leeds-Liverpool canal, which I had only ever spied from the main road. Between the two lock-ladders is Bingley North Bog – a small but precious site that supports a variety of insects, birds and amphibians.

Over the previous 10 miles or so, I’d swapped Wharfedale for Airedale and now found myself walking along attractive stretches of the River Aire. At Bingley St Ives, I skirted a large pond full of waders, another golf club and a large equestrian centre; some mouldering old properties had ecclesiastical-looking doorways, perhaps harking back to the pre-dissolution period when the estate was in the hands of Rievaulx Abbey and Drax Priory. A splendid hide has been built where you can watch bullfinches, goldcrests and siskins that come to use the feeders.

I got my first proper blast of a west wind on Harden Moor – the third of the day’s special sites, being a very rare dry heath alongside mixed woodland, and an ideal habitat for bees (including the nationally scarce tormentil mining bee), wasps, spiders, flies, grasshoppers and other invertebrates. With Haworth now on my mind, slightly irritating Kate Bush-related earworms began to wriggle. I had a cheese butty and tea at a suitably Heathcliffian area called Catstones End, all wild heather and quarried rocks – with huge boulders forming natural sculptures.

Rain came in with the wind and I got absolutely drenched on the final approach to Haworth. But soon after, I was entering Bradford’s prettiest township and thinking about coffee and cake. The walk officially ends at Penistone Hill country park, but after taking walking therapy a few years ago, I am no longer a completist – and was satisfied with my walk and mini achievement. I bowed out on Haworth high street, without so much as a glance at the Brontë Parsonage Museum.

The visit was supported by Bradford Culture Company, which is developing projects related to the 2025 UK City of Culture

Ilkley, Saltaire and Haworth are easy to reach by train or bus. If arriving by car, park at Keighley and use the 62 bus to get to Ilkley and the B1, B2 and B3 Brontëbuses to travel from Haworth back to Keighley