We’ve been hiking for less than half an hour, and I’m already dripping sweat, trying to remember what it is that I love about climbing mountains. It’s 3 p.m. on an early August afternoon, and my sister Claire and I are about a mile into our climb up San Gorgonio, the highest peak in Southern California, located in the San Bernardino Mountains. We’re hiking up what feels like a nearly vertical grade in scorching heat, each carrying a 25-pound backpack stuffed with our food and shelter for the night. The footlong Subway sandwiches we inhaled before starting the trek aren’t helping. The reporter and her sister, Claire, at the start of the Vivian Creek Trail in the San Bernardino National Forest. (Maura Fox / The San Diego Union-Tribune) At the end of each switchback, we stop and laugh at the ridiculousness of our exhausted breathing, exchanging glances that seem to say: What are we doing?   The first section of the 18-mile out-and-back hike to San Gorgonio is the hardest, but for Claire and me — and hundreds of other hikers across San Diego and Southern California — it’s worth it. At roughly 11,500 feet, San Gorgonio is a challenge to summit, whether on foot, ski or horseback. The whale-shaped mountain, once known as Old Greyback, can be seen from San Diego County’s Laguna Mountains, nearly 150 miles south, especially on a cloudless winter day when the summit shimmers with a coat of snow. Seen from points south, it looms like an older sister behind San Jacinto, the often more recognizable second-highest peak in Southern California. But on the summit, its feel is far removed from San Diego’s more modest peaks, or even from San Jacinto. From atop the rocky and barren San Gorgonio, hikers feel as if they’re in a moonscape, gazing over earthly giants like the Eastern Sierra Nevada, Mojave Desert and Pacific Ocean. “It’s really cool to … get above the tree line and feel like you’re just so far above everything else,” said Sara Rosenblatt, 31, a marine biologist at San Diego State University who summited San Gorgonio in 2022 and returned in 2023, though she didn’t summit then due to snowpack. Rosenblatt is one of many San Diegans who keep coming back to the mountain — climbing it three, six, even a dozen times. Some love the challenge. Others find spiritual fulfillment on its slopes. More still simply relish the clout of saying they climbed the region’s tallest peak. This year, though, access to the mountain was limited; the San Gorgonio Wilderness was closed for a month this fall due to the nearby Line Fire that burned more than 43,000 acres in San Bernardino County. It was the latest in a series of wildfires in the area, many of which have lasting impacts. An Aliso Viejo resident who asked to be identified by his first name, Steve, and his hiking group were chased off San Gorgonio by the Apple Fire in 2020. (Courtesy of Steve) In 2020, the El Dorado Fire burned more than 22,000 acres in San Bernardino and Riverside counties over more than two months, including thousands of acres in the San Gorgonio Wilderness, and closed parts of the San Bernardino National Forest for nearly two years. The constant and ever-increasing wildlife threat in natural spaces like San Gorgonio draws a clear picture of what the future may hold. It’s a moment to take stock of what we stand to lose — and to celebrate access to Southern California’s monolith while we have it. “If you’ve been to Portland, they have Mount Hood; you go to Seattle, they have Mount Rainier. This is our big peak,” said David Lipsitz, a 38-year-old El Cajon resident and clergyman. “It feels like you can push the limits a little bit, but also feels like home.” Carlsbad resident Richard Conner camps above Dry Lake, located along the South Fork Trail approach, another route up San Gorgonio, in April. He’s accompanied by his dog, Askel. (Courtesy of Richard Conner) San Gorgonio is one of several strenuous climbs in the region; San Jacinto is to the south at 10,839 feet, followed by Mount San Antonio, or Mount Baldy, located to the northwest in Los Angeles County, at 10,070 feet. But most hikes to those peaks involve far less vertical ascent. Plus, as the tallest, San Gorgonio naturally has a higher level of regard. “People have always climbed it and set that as a goal,” said Valerie Silva, the executive director of the San Gorgonio Wilderness Association. This year, the association issued 12,500 day-use and overnight permits for the peak, a number that Silva said has remained relatively constant over recent years. Many hikers choose to summit in one day — but others, like Claire and I, camp for a night or two on the trail. Though the association issues about 200 permits per day, mostly on the weekends during the spring and summer months, Carlsbad resident Richard Conner says he doesn’t mind the crowds. For Conner, 57, who hikes and ski mountaineers, San Gorgonio filled a void for him when he and his wife moved to San Diego from Seattle 13 years ago — it’s one of the few undeveloped peaks in Southern California that you can ski down. “I like to see as many people as possible” on the trail, he said. “You can always find your own solitude.” For him, as much as for others, “it’s about the beauty and getting out there.” ‘A love-hate relationship’ San Gorgonio is often included in organized hiking challenges or used as training for hikers preparing to climb taller mountains — so-called 14-ers like Mount Whitney in the Sierra Nevada or Mount Rainier in Washington. But the peak is a behemoth all on its own. There are several routes up San Gorgonio, but most hikers take the Vivian Creek Trail, whose trailhead is easily accessible from the sprawl of the Inland Empire. They’ll start at a base elevation of around 6,000 feet and gain about another 5,500 over the 9-mile one-way trek. The terrain adds to the complexity of the hike. Hikers slog through a rocky creekbed before traveling up a steep hard-packed trail. They get a reprieve through a forested section, but shade cover becomes sparse as they climb a series of switchbacks. The final push to the summit is on an exposed, sand-like surface with a grayish-white color that can be nearly blinding. The wind picks up the higher you climb. The author’s sister hikes on the Vivian Creek Trail on the duo’s first day of the trek, heading toward Halfway Camp, where they stayed for a night. (Maura Fox / The San Diego Union-Tribune) The descent off the mountain is equally challenging, if not more so — especially as hikers near the end and their legs and feet start to feel like they belong to someone else. “I have a love-hate relationship,” with San Gorgonio, says Cynthia Hunter, 45, who lives in University City and has climbed the peak about five times. “I love to summit, and of course, it feels great. But every time I do it, I’m like, ‘I’m never doing that again.’” Hunter has had her fair share of experiences on the mountain. She once climbed it with a broken toe and watched as a hiking partner slipped on the snowy trail and slid down a hillside. She climbs San Gorgonio partly to prove to herself that she can still do it as she gets older, but it intersects with her work, too. Hunter creates training programs for people climbing the world’s tallest mountains, like the 19,340-foot Mount Kilimanjaro and 29,032-foot Mount Everest. She includes San Gorgonio in her regimen to help hikers get accustomed to elevation gain. But amid the struggle up San Gorgonio, hikers are rewarded with the scenery, which changes in unique ways — the mix of towering pines and cedars, rushing creeks and manzanita thickets gradually yielding to a monochrome expanse of quartz monzonite and gneissic rock. In August, clear, cold water tumbled down the streams along the trail — ambient music, courtesy of nature. “It’s a beautiful mountain,” Hunter said. “It’s definitely a rite of passage for adventurers in Southern California.” The view of San Jacinto to the south from the Vivian Creek Trail. Trees burned by recent fires cover the lower hills. (Maura Fox / The San Diego Union-Tribune) Many people complete the hike in one, long day. But part of the reason Claire and I chose to summit San Gorgonio in two days was to enjoy the mountain. The first day, we hike just 3 miles to Halfway Camp, the misleadingly-named campsite where we would pitch our two-person backpacking tent. The camp is tucked off the trail, amid pine trees and shrubs, and we choose a spot next to a felled tree converted into a makeshift bench. Though there’s enough space for at least a dozen tents, we share with only two other groups that night. That evening, we eat a vegan three-bean chili mac — the just-add-water, freeze-dried kind — and finish it off with a few swigs of whiskey from a plastic camping flask. And the next morning, we leave our overnight packs dangling from a tree, in case any inquisitive bears come by. Then we start hoofing it up the trail. ‘A little emotional’ Near the 7-mile mark, after about a dozen switchbacks, hikers reach a ridgeline with views to the east where they can rest before the final push to the peak. Here, Claire and I tuck into the shade and pull out our latest snack on a trek that demands a lot of them: two cucumbers. They may not be the ultralight hiker’s ideal, but now that we’re summiting San Gorgonio with daypacks, we can afford to splurge on weight. As we munch, we take a look around at familiar faces — hikers we saw at camp last night, and those we’ve kept pace with today. We may see each other again soon at the top. “You don’t feel alone” on the Vivian Creek Trail, said 50-year-old April Armijo, a hiker who lives in Orange County and has climbed San Gorgonio nearly eight times. “You are kind of protected all the time, and it’s more of a community.” Scott Arthurs, April Armijo’s fiance, poses for a photo along the snow-covered Momyer Creek Trail, another route up to San Gorgonio. Armijo says it was the hardest summit she’s ever done due to the snowpack and the steep trail. (Courtesy of April Armijo) But it’s not a large community. Despite the high volume of permits issued annually and the general popularity of the Vivian Creek Trail, the hike to San Gorgonio doesn’t feel crowded. On the day my sister and I summited, we had plenty of room to ourselves on the trail and saw about 20 other people at the peak. Lipsitz describes it as feeling like a “secret trail.” “It feels almost like an insider thing, something that you and some of your friends from Southern California know about,” he said. The people we hike with or those we pass on the trail play an impactful role on the overall experience, especially when climbing a tough peak like San Gorgonio. Escondido resident Steve Weiler and his son at the summit of San Gorgonio over Labor Day weekend this year. (Courtesy of Steve Weiler) My sister and I have gone on several such trips together. Even when our water filter malfunctions or our pace slows at higher altitudes, there’s a childlike happiness out in the fresh air, where we can curiously identify plants and animals and have meaningful conversations. We’re motivated by our father’s adventurous edge. His stories of climbing big peaks, including San Gorgonio with his friend some 15-odd years ago, inspire us, and we’re lucky to have climbed Mount Whitney and peaks in Baja California with him over the years. Escondido resident Steve Weiler understands the power of sharing the outdoors with kids. The 58-year-old spent his own youth exploring these mountains, and now takes his 16-year-old son’s Boy Scouts troop on backpacking trips around the Western U.S., including a recent trip in September up San Gorgonio. “It’s a little emotional being out there with my son,” Weiler said. “To be able to go out in an environment like that — where you don’t have the distractions of home — and be able to sit and talk with your kid and really start to bond with them and get to know them, it’s a pretty cool thing.” ‘You feel connected’ Since the first recorded ascent of the peak in the 1870s, San Gorgonio has met thousands of hikers, each taking away something valuable. The mountain has also seen a lot. Several plane crashes have been reported on its slopes, including one in 1977 that killed Frank Sinatra’s mother and another in 1987 that killed Dean Martin’s son. From the 1940s to the 1960s, conservationists fought against efforts to turn San Gorgonio’s slopes into a ski resort. In 1964, Congress passed the Wilderness Act, which officially created and protected the San Gorgonio Wilderness. These days, the biggest story is the threat of wildfires and impacts from climate change. Over the last decade, at least three wildfires have burned in the wilderness — scorching trees, destroying trails and at times sending hikers racing off the mountain with large clouds of smoke brimming behind them. Silva, from the San Gorgonio Wilderness Association, tries to look at the upside: Less tree cover means a better chance for wildflowers to bloom, and she’s amazed by new growth on oak trees after the burns. Smoke from the Apple Fire builds behind Dry Lake and Kris Watkin, one of April Armijo’s hiking partners, after their ascent of San Gorgonio in 2020. They hiked quickly back to the trailhead, where a ranger was already posting signs saying the area was closed. (Courtesy of April Armijo) But the reality is that the landscape is changing irrevocably. “It breaks my heart,” said Silva, who has worked for the association for 40 years. “It’s really not like it used to be. It keeps burning, and it’ll never come back in my lifetime.” Silva has summited the peak on horseback more times than she can remember, and she knows the area like the back of her hand. The San Gorgonio Wilderness Association, which partners with the U.S. Forest Service, is responsible for patrolling the wilderness and maintaining its miles of trails, including cleanup after a fire — tasks predominantly done by a group of about 100 volunteers. This season, volunteers cleared nearly 500 felled trees and repaired more than 50,000 feet of trails. Some of the work required cutting into the sides of ravines that had been carved out by heavy rains in recent years, another effect of climate change. They also dismantled 101 illegal fire rings in the backcountry. Campers and hikers are prohibited from building fires due to the wildfire risk. There are dangers inherent to climbing San Gorgonio, even beyond the fires. Water levels in creeks aren’t always consistent from year to year, and hikers often rely on online forums for information about where to fill up their canteens. Silva said most rescues occur when people get lost, or find themselves stuck in dangerous situations due to winter weather. The reporter and her sister, Claire, summited San Gorgonio in Aug. this year, one of many backpacking trips and long hikes they have completed together. (Maura Fox / The San Diego Union-Tribune) But for those who summit safely, the experience is emotional, rewarding and impressive. After five hours of hiking, Claire and I reach the windy peak, no longer sweating as profusely as we did at the start of the trail the day before. A good mountaintop is hard to beat. On San Gorgonio, hikers get a 360-degree view of Southern California, while brave chipmunks dart in and out of the rocks, hoping for a drop of your lunch. We aren’t sharing, though. We settle onto a few rocks and prepare what feels like a gourmet meal of avocado and chana masala atop rice cakes — all for us. There are wooden signs at the top where groups gather to take photos, and a rusted metal box tucked between the boulders holds the much-coveted trail register — scraps of paper and notebooks where we all sign our names, making our achievement official. “The first time (I summited), I was crying… because you feel accomplished,” Armijo said. “You feel connected to the land and connected to nature.” It’s easy to wax poetic about San Gorgonio and its wilderness. The peak is a challenge — and yet the minute we arrive back at our car and pull away, we miss it. It’s not far from Southern California’s bustle, but it gives the chance to take time outside our own lives, to go somewhere gentler and yet far grander — if only for fewer than 48 hours. And sometimes, the sweetest moments are the simplest. In camp the night before, we were awoken by a large mule deer crunching on shrubs six feet from our tent. We were startled, but the animal regarded us calmly, just neighbors in the night. But as we drive back toward San Diego on the freeway and glance back at San Gorgonio behind us, we wonder if it even happened at all.