inglorious wanderer

All of 2,638 acres, the Crestridge Ecological Preserve is located on an unincorporated town called Crest which I never heard about till now. El Cajon refers to the box-like pass between the hills in the vicinity of some East County towns like El Cajon, Lakeside and Santee. Learning that the ecological preserve was part of a Mexican land grant known as the El Cajon de San Diego stirs my NAFTA-centered sentiments glorifying Mexicans as Native Americans coming from the southernmost nation of the North American continent. Mexicans are the real McCoy. It is just so unfortunate that they are now displaced. Philip is a walking GPS. He talks in longitude and latitude and the UTC. Issa has renamed my Little Karlee as Mang Gellan and now I am calling Philip Maestro Magellan. Global Positioning Satellites are no match to Philip when it comes to trail blazing and mapping trails and to me he is the real Maestro Magellan. "What's UTC?" I couldn't contain my ignorance and had t...

I was looking forward to bragging about climbing Mount Whitney. I am glad I did not announce to the whole of Facebook world that I would be hiking Mount Whitney. Mount Whitney, not the highest peak in the contiguous US but a lesser one. Not in the Sierra Nevada ranges but in the hidden valleys of north county of San Diego. I did not even got close to Mount Whitney, the lesser one. I did not get to the hiking group I was joining in time. I was left behind. I didn't earn my bragging rights for the lesser Mount Whitney. Maybe it was the hiking boots I was wearing. I walk on with my tight pair of Hi-Tec boots. I couldn't waste the trip. This hiker left behind did not have to go home without adding another trail on her list. Mount Whitney, the lesser one, would have to be bagged another day. This hiker has have something to blab about. I say hello to Blue Dick and Monkey Flower. I know them. I have plucked them before as I have gone and plucked myself a lot.

I was returning to the lake for the third time. Less than two weeks ago I was at the trail marker for Lake Morena, about 10 minute drive south of the lake  with RN, my husband and the former precious little Karlee, now 14. I have been doing google search on the PCT Southern Terminus and I wanted to see it so badly. It was Karlee's spring break week and I made RN drive to El Cajon then to highway 94 to Campo, stopping by highway 188 along the way to show him the way to Tecate Peak. It was at Lake Morena that I encountered my first PCT marker more than six months ago. It was at Morena Butte, long before I learned to never mispronounced the word butte for butt. Malou was visiting from Oregon and we were hiking at the Torrey Pines Reserve to the Red Butte. Malou's LOL would always remind me to say butte as if I was to say beautiful but I changed my mind. Beaut....crap! A pleasant group as usual. Any group that would lead the way is always a pleasant group for me. It...

  The hike was I initiated by Kay. Lisa, a new graduate registered nurse, Kay's son Shawn, Larry, Kay and I hiked to the Mount Woodson summit where the Potato Chip Rock (PCR) is. The first time I came looking for the PCR, I was with RN and Karlee on a mother's day Sunday. We were less than a mile to PCR but I had to call off the hike because I wanted to avoid potential risk of heat stroke befalling on my love ones. I got to the PCR alone several days after and it took me probably more than two hours to get to the PCR. I had to ask one student from SDSU to take my photo using the 35mm SLR camera. "This is cool. I never saw a film camera before!" The student who looked in his late teens or early twenties exclaimed. "That camera is probably as old as your grandma." I told my amateur photographer as I thanked him. I was exaggerating of course, the camera may just be about 40 years old. It was my umpteenth time to hike to the Mount Woodson Summit which is ac...

There I was by the Mexican border jumping like an idiot. Out of the blue and  without a cue, I jumped!   Karlee was laughing. She is used to seeing me make a fool of myself. Karlee did not realize I was jumping for her not because I want her to have a good picture of me looking like an idiot. I was forever jumping for  being in America. For being with KG and Karlee in America. For having my babe as my husband. He plucked us out from this Southeast Asian archipelago and I have always jumped in different ways ever since. There I was by the Southern Terminus of the Pacific Crest Trail, a national scenic trail that transcends Mexico to Canada, jumping my heart out as usual. PCT is my NAFTA in perspective. NAFTA, my hope for the North America Free Trade Agreement, does not stop at the Mexican border. Neither did it stop on my immigration to America. My NAFTA transcends borders and includes the whole of continental North America: Mexico, United States...