Gobbler's Knob

May 30

I took a full day off in Wrightwood, a zero, as in zero miles. Lily and I checked out of the hotel, did some chores around town, and then packed up some donuts and beer to do some "trail magic."
Much, maybe even too much, enthusiasm has been generated around this idea of trail magic. It entails doing something nice for thru-hikers (or section hikers, or maybe for anyone happening down the trail, depending on the disposition of the "angel"). Some trail angels leave water at road crossings, providing badly needed hydration for people too stupid to bring their own water. Including, at times, me. Others open their homes, offer rides, do laundry. Generally, they bring a little of the fruits of our post-industrial society up to a bunch of people who have volunteered to do without. They get gratitude, and we get whatever sprang to mind when they envisioned us hiking. Usually works out great.
Water, transportation and laundry are all well and good, but Lily and I are more of the "beer and a donut" school of trail angeling. Packed to the gills with empty calories and fun times, we pointed the trusty Kia up a dirt road toward a trail crossing in the desert south of Wrightwood. Turns out we had been beaten to that spot, as a couple was there leaving water. Man and woman, 4wd Toyota, sensible sun-protection clothing. We stopped to say hello.
"Thanks," I said. "I'm hiking this year, and it's really nice of you to leave water."
"Yeah, they've been emptying this cache out," said the woman.
"I was just here the other day," I said. "We're thinking of doing some trail magic. We did some around here a couple years ago at Gobbler's Knob." (It's a little mountain off the main ridge but on a dirt road and the PCT.)
"Trail magic, huh? You need to go back to Inspiration Point -- that's the place!" That crossing is just 6 miles further than Wrightwood. Lily and I actually tried to give away beer there two years ago, but all the hikers were bloated with burgers and chalupas and the like.
"We were thinking Gobbler's Knob," I said.
"Or you could back to drive to Cabezon, to the McDonald's," she replied.
"We think we know a place," I said, ever-so-slightly more insistent.
"Well, or you could just drive around! But Inspiration Point -- that's where you two need to be." She seemed exasperated. I was getting there myself. Lily put a calming hand on my arm because she knows how little tolerance I have for being bossed around arbitrarily.
"Great!" I said through gritted teeth. "We'll be seeing you later."
We proceeded to drive up to Gobbler's Knob. It's a pretty rough road, enough so that we discussed whether or not this had been a great idea. Maybe we should have gone to Inspiration Point. But as we rounded a turn, who did we see but the couple in their Toyota.
"You gonna make it in that thing?" the man asked, looking dubiously at the Kia.
"We did it before," I replied defiantly, now fully in the throes of Male Pride. By this time I would have driven the Kia to Vladidovstok via goat trail had they doubted me.
On we drove, occasionally bottoming out but finally arriving intact at the Knob. A couple was napping in their tent, and we got them up for beer. A few more people filtered in. A father and son in matching gear. A tall young man with a Go-Pro strapped to his chest ("I love filming people giving me lectures about it," he said). A man who claimed to have raided a pot grow operation and scored some weed, which he had stashed in the bottom of his backpack so it could dry.
One guy in particular, Frogger, was fascinating -- he had a degree in High-Performance Automotive Engineering, which we all agreed was the most bad-ass major we had ever heard of. He also reported that getting married in Vegas is harder than you'd think, but the divorce is pretty quick; Land Rovers are impossible to keep up unless, like him, you make your own parts; and people who used stakes for their tents were dumb.
We -- with the exception of Frogger -- then all used stakes to set up our tents, settled in, and had a warm, beautiful night of it.