I expected there to be a little bit of rain and mud along the trail to San Bernardino Peak, but not the extreme cold front that would turn my expected autumn hike into an intense winter trek.  

I didn’t see ice and frost on the ground until I was a couple of miles in, and by that time, I decided to keep going because I didn’t think things would get that much worse—I was wrong. Piles of snow accumulated along the trail as I continued my climb. It grew colder and darker as the blue skies turned gray and the wind began to whip past me.  

It was so cold that it felt like the snot dripping out of my nose was beginning to freeze. I looked around at the plants and fallen foliage to see the wind-swept icicles frozen onto brittle branches and dying leaves. The thought of calling it a day and turning back to the car crept into my mind after I had already put on every layer of clothing that I had managed to stuff into my backpack before I finally saw another group of people on the trail.  

They looked cold and miserable, but seeing other humans walking through the winter storm motivated me to keep going. I kept walking through the ice, snow, and frigid winds for another couple of miles before I thought about quitting again. I stopped on the trail and just stood there as I considered turning around once more. Just as I was beginning to retreat, I witnessed another hiker on the trail wearing clothes suited for a gentle breezy hike. 

"I wasn’t expecting snow,” another hiker said while passing me along the trail. He was wearing shorts and a light hoodie. I can see that, is what I thought in my head before responding, “Me either,” with an unsure chuckle. 

“It’s supposed to be 90 next weekend, though,” he continued while I glanced around in disbelief at the winter wonderland we were trudging through. My plan was to use the month of October to squeeze in a few hikes before the winter weather arrived, but the universe had made other plans.  

I continued my journey to the peak but grew nervous about moving forward as the hours piled on. I had a headlamp, but the thought of having to hike in the winter weather at night put me on edge. I wasn’t sure if I would make it back to my car at the trailhead before the sun went down. I thought about turning around for the third time a few miles away from the peak when I ran into another couple of people.  

“We’re going to turn around,” two women said as they sat on a log next to the trail. “It’s way too slippery on the ice, and we don’t have micro spikes.” 

“Really?” I responded. “I brought spikes. I guess I’ll go up a little further and put them on.”  

I kept moving forward and never actually put my spikes on until I reached the top. I had passed another group and the underdressed hiker I had referred to as “shorts” in my head and just kept going. I was already so close. Although the view at the very top was abysmal, the skies remained blue for a large section of the hike. It would be another couple of miles after the peak before I dipped into the winter weather again. 

I reached the peak’s top and was again met with intense weather on the trail. I looked around at the dense gray fog on my journey down the mountain that hovered ominously amongst the leafless trees and thought to myself, the only way out was through.  

I thought about turning around and abandoning the hike to the top multiple times on the trail, but I decided to keep going each time another person appeared out of nowhere along the trail. It may have also been out of sheer stubbornness, but I dug deep to continue facing the challenge in front of me head-on every time the world threw another person out there in front of me. By the time I was on my way back to the car, my only choice was to continue going because that was the only option I had at that point.  

I eventually felt a sense of relief when I saw the sun and blue skies again toward the end of the trail. The snow was already beginning to melt and make way for the summer heat that was returning to the wilderness area.