Set between Lake Elsinore, Temecula, and Menifee, this stretch of Southern California feels like a pocket of open space wedged neatly between growing communities. These low, rugged peaks rise out of the valley almost unexpectedly, creating a small network of trails that offer big views without committing to a full mountain day. It’s the kind of place where you can park, start climbing almost immediately, and still feel removed from the surrounding development.
Some places never lose their magic — no matter how many times you return. Torrey Pines State Natural Reserve is one of those rare spots. Perched above the Pacific in La Jolla, it’s a dramatic mix of rugged cliffs, rare pine trees, and golden beaches that somehow feels wild and refined at the same time.
Some hikes start at trailheads. This one started on a train.
Photo: Coaster Train Along the San Diego Coast
I was up in North County, so my Seven Bridges adventure began on the Coaster, rolling down the coast to Old Town. From there, a quick transfer to the Blue Line trolley took me a couple stops to Middletown. It’s a short but very San Diego walk—palm trees, old homes, and a slow incline—toward the corner of West Laurel and Union.
At 4,973 feet, Black Mesa is the highest point in Oklahoma, ranked #23 among all U.S. state high points and my own #37. Tucked into the far western tip of the Oklahoma panhandle, it sits closer to New Mexico and Colorado than to most of its own state — the kind of place you don’t casually pass through unless you really meant to be there. Luckily, a cross-country drive from San Diego to Nashville created the perfect excuse to finally check it off.
At 13,161 feet, Wheeler Peak is the highest point in New Mexico, ranked #8 among all U.S. state high points and my own #36. I’ve climbed higher mountains before, Kilimanjaro twice and a few peaks in the Alps—but Wheeler is still my highest U.S. high point so far. Even with those bigger summits behind me, I felt this one. On paper, it’s an 8.7-mile round-trip with 2,972 feet of gain, but altitude has a way of making even simple numbers feel different. With an average of 683 feet gained per mile, Wheeler demands a slow, steady kind of grit.
What surprised me most wasn’t the altitude or the trail; it was how mentally challenging this climb became for me.
Mount Marcy, the highest point in New York at 5,344 feet (ranked 21st among U.S. state high points), became my 35th state high point — and one I’ll never forget.
Most of my summit stories begin with sweeping views and triumphant moments. This one began with rain sweeping sideways, fog swallowing the treetops, slick boulders running with water, and wind strong enough to push you off balance. And yet, in its own rugged way, it became one of the most meaningful Adirondack climbs I’ve done on this journey.
Marcy gave us no views.
But it gave us a story that will stay with me forever.
And a group of friends who found their way through all of it together.
In terms of sheer intensity, this climb rivaled — and in some ways exceeded — my experience on Mount Katahdin.
Different mountains, different terrain, but the same reminder: when conditions turn, the margin for error disappears fast.
Let me start by saying this: El Cajon Mountain does not mess around. This isn’t one of those “wow, what a nice stroll through nature” kind of hikes. This is more like “why am I going uphill again?” with a side of “my quads might never forgive me.” And yet — I’d absolutely do it again.
This is an ~11-mile out-and-back with over 3,500 feet of elevation gain, and it earns every bit of its reputation. Short on paper, relentless on the trail — the kind of hike that doesn’t just test your legs, but your patience.
This summer (2025), I’m leading a group to the summit of Mt. Marcy, the tallest peak in New York. At 5,344 feet, it’s a challenging but rewarding hike through the heart of the Adirondacks and a true full-day adventure.
The route covers roughly 14.4 miles round-trip with more than 3,500 feet of elevation gain and typically takes 9–10 hours to complete. It’s not technical, but it is long, demanding, and requires thoughtful preparation—especially when you factor in changing weather, terrain, and fatigue over the course of the day.
Some hikes impress you with views.
Others surprise you with stories.
Hiking Lake Hodges did both — quietly and unexpectedly. What began as a straightforward out-and-back turned into a walk through early water engineering, subtle trail art, wildfire reminders, and one lingering mystery that stuck with me long after I left the trail.
I parked across from Hernandez Hideaway, crossed the road, and headed south toward the dam. From the first steps, this hike felt like more than just mileage.
Catching up on some hikes from 2024, I found myself at Daley Ranch Park, a 3,201-acre conservation area in Escondido, California. I really didn’t know what to expect. I figured I’d get some miles in, gain a little elevation, and—hopefully—avoid the kind of crowded trails that tend to attract hikers lacking any semblance of trail etiquette. Normally, when I pull into a packed parking lot, my first instinct is to turn around and head somewhere quieter. But I stuck with my plan, and outside of a close encounter with a rattlesnake, Daley Ranch exceeded my expectations.
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