Photo Essay: Happy Hour Hiking: Runyon Canyon

I roll my eyes every time someone in LA hears that I'm a hiker and responds with, "Oh, so you do the Runyon thing?"

It's such a common question that I've pored over my map of LA to find hikes that aren't in Runyon Canyon. Just to be contrary. I guess.

I did hike the less popular upper portion of Runyon once, and was appalled at how crowded and eroded it was. I didn't have much reason to go back. Except the fact that its lower portion remained unhiked kept nagging at me.

Since I've been looking for ways to squeeze hikes in after some temporary office work I've been doing, I could no longer ignore Runyon - perhaps the closest, fastest, and most accessible hike I could do before the sun goes down.

Vehicular traffic up to the trailhead was a nightmare.

Foot traffic on the trail was a nightmare. I hiked past strollers. Bare-chested trailrunners huffed past me. Bosoms heaved at me. Dogs literally ran between my legs.

But as I climbed the loop trail (clockwise, the easy way) past ruins of old estates, up to a scenic overlook to glimpse the Hollywood Sign and bask in the late-day glow, overlooking the black-and-white city grid below, and back down the hard way past the abandoned tennis court, I understood Runyon's charm, why it's so damn popular.

I just wish I could've had a little time alone with it.

Related Reading:
Photo Essay: Trebek Open Space

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What Lies on the Other Side

The first time I hiked Runyon Canyon, I entered from the north at Mulholland Drive. I hiked down a slippery, eroded trail until I hit basically a huge boulder that looked like the end of the trail. I could see more hikers down below, but I couldn't really figure out how to get down there.

Subsequently, I entered Runyon from the south entrances at Fuller and Vista and hiked up and around, but never made my way back to that first blockade.

What lie beyond that boulder?

As of this past Friday, now I know.

This thing:



It's a marker of sorts, to commemorate your ascent up the steep, scrambling trail from the Vista entrance to the south of Runyon - not up the slow sloping paved fire road, but up a dirt trail that's just as likely to lead you into bramble as it is to expose its trail down to pure rock.



But when you get to the top of that first climb, your hike is not over.



Although you can see the city - Hollywood, West Hollywood, Downtown and beyond - sprawling out below, beyond the hikers and dog-walkers leisurely sauntering along the "easy way," you've got one more hill to climb.

This one:



I wish I'd taken more photos to show how steep and intense the climb was, because I had many moments when I didn't think I would make it, but I needed both of my hands to hold on for dear life.

Who knew Runyon could get so high?

Who knew a climb like this could get you so high?

On the other side of that miniature mountain, the descent was so steep I had to crab-walk my way down on all fours, scooting along and resting my rear on a flat surface when I found one. Hikers attempted to climb up, changed their minds, and turned around.

I walked a short distance more, and saw the familiar path that would take me back up, as far as to Mulholland Drive, or looping around to meet the paved fire road which would take me back down to the bottom of the canyon.



And just went I thought my hike was complete, when I thought I'd conquered Runyon and all of its trails, I witnessed two men run sideways down the canyon wall, where a short distance beyond them lie a circular plot of stones, laid out as though part of some pagan ritual.

I looked around from the fire road and realized that the whole canyon had been carved out by foot into an entire web of unofficial trails, paths, walkways, and clearings. Old building foundations rise from behind thick overgrowth, drooping fan palms and dense brush.

I may now know what lies behind that first blockade I encountered upon my initial visit to Runyon, but I still don't really know what lies on the other side of the trail.

At least, not all of them.

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Photo Essay: Back on the Trail at Runyon Canyon

Boy am I out of practice.

I haven't done a hike since August, when John and I climbed up to a tower and got only slightly lost on the way back down, but enough to necessitate rescue from our fellow hikers who'd left us behind in their dust.

And now that I'm back in LA and decided to squeeze an afternoon hike in between meetings and events, I realized I'd become a total amateur again.

I brought the wrong sneakers.

I forgot to apply sunscreen.

I really needed insect repellent.

I didn't research how to get to Runyon Canyon and my GPS sent me on the craziest, most circuitous route through private roads and driveways in the hills to get there, depositing me into the parking lot and northernmost entrance on Mulholland Drive.

My legs felt weak.

And the sun was setting soon.



But, I managed to bring a big bottle of water, my camera, a backpack and my hiking clothes (into which I changed in the Greystone Park parking lot, true to form), certainly enough to put me back on the trail. I've seen LA locals hike in merely a bikini and flip flops carrying only an iPod.

Runyon Canyon is definitely an urban canyon hike, situated right in the middle of Los Angeles, basically right off of Hollywood Blvd. It's a popular place for locals to hike routinely, many with dogs in tow.



There are power lines everywhere.







It's also one of the worst places to try to hike improperly shod, because it's so popular that many of the paths have been tightly packed to the point of being slippery, and other paths are so eroded - from footsteps and water - that it felt like walking on a dry creek bed.



And this summer I established how unsuccessful I am at that.



In Runyon Canyon, hikers have to tiptoe through gravel, on rocks, down steps, and around gullies formed by running water, now so big and so deep they're practically ravines, only exacerbated by all of the foot traffic on them.

I was trepidatious with my own unsure footing, but I only turned back once, choosing to not climb a steep, narrow path to a lookout point. I've seen the city from above - practically that same view - plenty of times.

Because I entered from the north, I only did a loop around about half of the canyon park, leaving the more popular southernmost half for a future trip. After only about an hour or so on today's hike - not wanting to do more before having to change back into my nice clothes and go out to an event - the sun was at a very low angle in the sky and I was ready to go.

But I was glad to be back on the trail. I haven't hiked at all in New York City since returning from my last LA trip, partially out of not wanting to be alone, partially out of being otherwise occupied with life, work, lack of work, living, general crisis.

But my legs need to move, and now that they've started moving again, I hope they won't stop...

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Photo Essay: Saved from the Sunset Fire

On January 8, 2025, I was already glued to the local news, listening to updates about the Palisades Fire (about 8 miles west of me) and the Eaton Fire (about 20 miles east of me). 

And then around 6 p.m. came some terrifying news: After a full day of new fires popping up seemingly everywhere, there was yet another blaze, just 3.5 miles northeast of where I live.

I looked out the second-story window at the front of our building, and I could see the flames. The Hollywood Hills were on fire. 

And then I got a screaming alert on my phone that I was in an evacuation warning zone. 

This was new for me, after living in "the flats" for nearly 14 years. I always thought if we were in danger of anything, it was of a tall skinny palm tree toppling over onto my car parked on the street. 

But by then both the Palisades and Eaton fires had destroyed more of their respective city areas—nearly the entirety of Pacific Palisades and Altadena—than anyone ever thought could happen. 

As it turns out, the warning on my phone was a false alarm for me—but I was, in fact, less than a mile down the hill from the real evacuation warning zone. 

I took a shower (which I hadn't done in days) and washed my hair (which I hadn't done in over a week). I packed a suitcase to take along with my already-packed "go bag." 

And then I got back into bed and let my cat fall back to sleep on me. I watched the news. And I waited for the official word to "go."

There were so many fire crews in the area at that point, and there were so many first responders already on high alert, that the Sunset Fire—which erupted on the western ridge of Runyon Canyon—spread neither to the residential areas of Nichols Canyon or Laurel Canyon, nor the historic commercial district of Hollywood Boulevard.

But there were a few places that were in the crosshairs—and we might've lost, had the winds been stronger that night. 

 

Today I went to assess the damage and get some proof of life of what was saved. I could see the charred hillside from a little father south on Fuller Avenue (above).

On the Way Down

People say that there are two ways to hike Runyon Canyon: the hard way and the easy way.

The "hard way" is taken when you turn right at the fork, and soon enough you meet a sign that warns of such steep slopes, you must be in good physical condition to take them.

It's a scramble all right, though really dedicated athletes sometimes run up the slope. But when I hiked it tonight, by the time I finished the entire loop, I thought, "That was too easy."

The last time I hiked Runyon, I went the "easy way," turning left at the fork. After a steady climb, with a nice payoff of a scenic overlook, I reached the top of the steep slopes and said, "Oh my God."

Vertigo kicked in. Panic ensued. I tiptoed across the wood planks and down the uneven terrain, sliding along the gravel. I felt top-heavy, weak-ankled, and, at times, paralyzed. I pretended that I was taking a breather, or taking in the view, but I was really taking inventory of my bravery, since I'm occasionally so easily undermined by such simple things.

I made it down that day a couple weeks ago, but not easily, and not without paying the price of sore quads and wobbly legs for days.

Most hikers are relieved when they reach the descent of a hike, when they've climbed a few hundred (or thousand) feet and have to climb back down. But I would rather climb uphill the whole way (if that were even possible), sweating and chest heaving, than catch my breath and slow my heart rate while teetering along a narrow ridge, surely to tumble head-first to my inevitable maiming.

Downhill has never been easy for me. I'll stick with climbing upwards, tackling the steep ascents, and I'll take the more gentle slopes back home.

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Photo Essay: The Stairs of LA

In a country full of elevators, escalators, and moving walkways, LA is a town that climbs and runs its stairways for fun.

A friend of mine conducts walking tours mostly around Downtown LA and the city's easternmost reaches, focusing on the hidden stairways along the route, and taking each stairway that they pass (even if it means making detours of varying lengths).

But in LA, plenty of stairs have become tourist attractions, with their own Yelp pages. Case in point: Santa Monica Stairs.

Santa Monica Stairs is actually several different sets of stairs, including one off Adelaide Drive...







...the really well-known and heavily-trafficked one at 4th and Adelaide...





...a little spur staircase off the 4th Street one that leads to a creepy, overgrown sidewalk path behind the residences in the trees...



...and the Palisades Park stairs amongst the bluffs.







These stairways were built as necessary access points, but here I was, descending them and turning around and going right back up them. Is this form of recreation inspiring, or completely frivolous?

In my mind, it's an industrious way to get exercise. After all, it wasn't the first time I'd climbed stairs in LA for (supposed) fun.

See also:


Baldwin Hills Scenic Overlook


Runyon Canyon

...and the ultimate...


Murphy Ranch

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Photo Essay: Stough Canyon & Old Youth Campground

It's amazing how few people have ever heard of - much less been to - the Verdugo Mountains.

Hasn't anyone who lives here ever looked at a map?

When people ask me where I like to hike, after I scoff at the suggestion of Runyon, I rattle off some of my favorite trails in the San Gabriel mountains, Griffith Park, the Verdugos -

"Where's that?"

Doesn't anyone who lives here ever go to Burbank or Glendale?



One of the reasons I love the Verdugos so much is that they're full of relics and ruins.



So upon my first visit to Stough Canyon, with only a couple hours left in the day and threatening skies overhead, I hiked only a short distance into the canyon...





...past wildflowers...





...scenic overlooks...



...with a view of the nearby 5 Freeway [Ed: I guess this is actually the 210?]...



...and lots of spring greenery.



I took a diversion for my return path to my car along the Old Youth Campground Loop trail...



...a single-track hiking-only trail...





...through some pretty thick overgrowth...



...with hopes of finding something that someone might have left behind.



There is one foundation left from the Old Youth Campground, a Boy Scout camp built in the mid-20th century, and vandalized after its closure, burning down to few remains...



...like a chimney...




...plus another graffitied box looming from the hill above.




You can see why it would have been such a good location for a Boy Scout camp...



...because you're so close, yet so high, on a clear day you can see the whole city below.

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