Distance mode. Proximity mode. Red light night vision mode. At 90 lumens, my new Black Diamond Spot headlamp is the newest addition to my backpacking kit in ages. For the second or third time on today’s maiden voyage hike, I unsheathe the Spot from my Gregory Z65’s brain pouch, cradle it in my fingers, and imagine how its endless wonderful qualities will make every trip better. The blood red bezel’s sharp lines attach to a diagonally-shaded retro headband conjuring the aura of Optimus Prime.

I’ve already perfected the push-button command rotation flowing seamlessly from one handy mode to the next. Now that I’m two miles along east county San Diego’s Noble Canyon Trail, I’m dying for nighttime and a chance to test it out.

A Noble Canyon Hiking & Backpacking Trip

Starting from the trailhead’s Pine Valley parking lot around 2:00 p.m., hiking buddy Chad and I weave with the path around rock strewn terrain before descending into an alluvial depression sandwiched beneath tangled chaparral hillsides. Even in mid-May, Southern California’s sun is withering on the path’s initial shadeless two and a half miles. Chad takes the lead. Snarled Cuyamaca manzanita and scrub oak eventually give way to javelin-touting desert agave and whipple yucca. Occasional patches of desert paintbrush give the trailside florescent red strokes.

Skirting the western fringe of Cleveland National Forest’s popular Laguna Mountain Recreation Area, Noble Canyon’s eight mile one-way trail is a short 45 minute drive from San Diego. The forest contains 460,000 acres of Southern California’s peninsular ranges and protects the area’s native chaparral, oak land, and evergreen sky island landscape. By mile three, the well maintained path continues its gradual 2,600 feet ascent between sharp slopes. A dense canopy of Canyon Live Oak provides protection from the sun while a tributary of Pine Valley Creek gushes over a stone-filled streambed.

Three miles in, we drop our packs in a glen containing a flattened spot for my cheapo Alpine Design tent ($30 on sale at Sports Chalet) as well as two perfectly spaced trees for Chad’s homemade hammock. Whitebark lilac’s lavender blossoms dangle like fluffy dusters above the undergrowth. Leaving our gear at the campsite, we explore the more wooded sections of the canyon further uphill and soon find ourselves surrounded by lofty Jeffrey pines.

Arriving at a narrow alpine meadow, Chad asks what’s further ahead. I have hiked the canyon several times before, so I offer a brief sketch: the path continues its gradual ascent towards Penny Pines on the Sunrise Highway where it joins the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) and offers incredible views over the Mojave Desert four thousand feet below. “Why not make a run for the PCT before dark?” he obviously proposes. With three or four miles to go, and not much more sunlight. Not wanting to be outdone in outdoorsy derring-do, I readily agree.

We trot briskly up the trail, and the sun seems to set with accelerating swiftness. I offer to pick up my pace, and Chad, taking me literally, breaks into a jog. I’ve never attempted trail running before, especially in mid-cut Lowa hiking boots. After a mile or so, I slow to a painfully hasty gait. The sun disappears behind Cuyamaca Peak in the west, and twilight dims rapidly. By the time we make the PCT, complete darkness limits our views over the desert to far off El Centro’s unimpressive glow.

This is the first time I’ve tried a night hike. Testing my body's and mind’s limits is a new thrill. I’m dehydrated and hungry. My body is exhausted after an eight mile hike-run, and we must now claw our way five or so miles to our campsite. A dull thud of worry hits my mind. I immediately catch a glimpse of life without modern comforts, and I’m not sure I like it.

Christopher McCandless, or Alexander Supertramp for those who have read or watched his biographical Into the Wild, exercised similar wilderness self-reliance. Immediately after graduating from Emory in 1990, McCandless abandoned his car, burned his spare cash, and donated his substantial bank account balance to OXFAM. He then disappeared for two years tramping solo around the American West. McCandless’ story appeals to something in my soul. It is difficult to read about his adventures without an indelible (and perhaps naïve) longing to share the dangers he sought.

Sharp, prickly bushes threaten our legs while loose, ankle-spraining rocks lurk at every stride. Our steps decelerate to a scuttle. Four miles to go. Anticipating a long schlep, pangs of anxiety give way to an alluring dependence on my own hardiness. I am suddenly at home with the unfamiliar simplicity of endurance and survival. The sensation is addicting.

McCandless was no histrionic kid trying to escape responsibilities. A broken family history left an emptiness in his heart, and McCandless tried to fill it by connecting to the simple emotions and mental concentration of survival. Relying on his own wherewithal filled him with the meaning that modern life left him without. Sadly, he would ultimately push himself too far and die of starvation while living solo in central Alaska. He was 24.

Chad and I tromp forward in relative ease and reach our campsite in less than an hour. Enjoying the aid of my foxy headlamp, we gulp freshly filtered mountain water and twin bowls of cheesy-ham Top Ramen. I can grasp McCandless’ satisfaction as he subsisted for months on self-found food sources in Alaska’s wild.

I wake up early the next morning to the creek’s cheerful crackle, refreshed from the night’s physical and emotional strain. Although never in much danger, I feel like a survivor. I’ve discovered a new me: brave, hardy, ready for the next adventure. I’m eager to test this new confidence, following my Spot headlamp one step at a time.

Need to Know

Information

I found that trails were well maintained, with a 15.6 mile round trip distance. The hike is moderately strenuous with 2,600 feet of cumulative gain from Pine Valley to Penny Pines. Permits are required for overnight backpacking along with a Daily Adventure Pass ($5) or the Yearly Pass ($30) for parked vehicles. You can stop at the Descanso Ranger Station at 3348 Alpine Blvd on the way to the trailhead. More information can be found at the National Forest Service’s website.

Getting There

I-8 east out of San Diego; take Pine Valley exit north. Follow Old Highway 80 then veer sharp right after bridge to Pine Creek Road. Noble Canyon parking area is clearly marked with a forest service sign.

Best Time to Go

The best time to go is typically November through April with the summer months being especially hot.

Maps & Books

For a great map of the area, purchase a Tom Harrison Backcountry San Diego Backcountry Map. For more on hikes in the region, see the 101 Hikes in Southern California guidebook as well as Hiking Southern California.

Editor's Note: This article originally appeared in Issue 26 of TrailGroove Magazine. You can read the original article here for additional photos and content.