Man of the Woods

I like to hike.

Well that's not quite true. Hiking is something I do so I can have a hobby to discuss with rational adults at the office.

While in reality the majority of my weekends are spent listening to early oughts EDM and cracking beers before noon, it's important to occasionally have a tale of high adventure that is appropriate in a family setting. Alas, I set my sights for Mount San Antonio on Saturday morning thinking that if I could leave Los Angeles for even a day, I could at least avoid some of my vices.

The day couldn't have gotten off to a better start, we found the last camp site at Manker Flats campground and had a relatively quick three hour summit to the top of Mt. Baldy.

But that wouldn't be a story now would it...

DISCLAIMER: The following contains passages of heavy drug abuse, drinking, violence, poor decision making and a couple broken laws. 

I've never been one to plan in advance. I just kind of make up my mind and go. It's been a downfall of mine in many personal and professional endeavors. One or two strategic changes in my entertainment career and I would probably still be in a writer's room but alas I suppose my impulsiveness is part of my charm.

On Friday night instead of packing for a long and arduous journey I went to see a girl, then came home and proceeded to crush beers with my roommates until 3 in the morning. On four hours sleep I made the trek to Mt. Baldy with nothing but the clothes on my back and approximately 4 liters of water, water that I nearly finished on the way up the mountain, because theoretically walking down would be easier.

We were about three miles in when I realized none of the surrounding area looked familiar. I had done the Baldy loop a year prior but that day I had been more diligent, carrying a map, looking for landmarks. This day I was just trying to race to the bottom to get a beer. In the three miles of descent we had gone from an elevation of 10,000 feet to about 7,000. A little over half of a mile in elevation. I knew that there was no way I could make it back up.

Without a map or reliable cell service I started to understandably panic. I assumed that this unknown trail would eventually spit me out by some sort of road...but when? In a mile? In 5 miles? In 20? Mt. Baldy sits above the eastern LA County city of Claremont known for its five colleges, that produce half of the population of Echo Park and Burning Man. With the amount of food and water at my disposal I figured I was safe for another 5 miles max, but after that I was going to be royally fucked.

On the trail, my hiking partner Andrew tried to calm me down. As I started hyperventilating cursing the lack of signs, audibly pontificating about my impending death, he kept quietly walking ahead.
You never think you are going to die by getting lost in the woods. What a loser you would have to be, right? Two more miles down the path, I slipped into a thorn bush ripping open my hands and arms. I could see signs of civilization, a mile below me, possibly the most helpless feeling in the world. Another two miles down the road, I received a single bar of service.

With 4% battery life I called my mom and begged her to find the name of the trail I was on and if it was going to spit me out or I was going to die. The house's internet was down and my phone died. I started privately writing my obituary. "Here lies David Moeller, a guy who never quite figured it out."

Another mile down the path and on the edge of collapse we ran into a stream. Fresh water that could keep us alive for a couple more days perhaps. Still there was no trail exit in sight.

Finally, 2.5 hours and five miles after discovering we were lost, Andrew and I exited on a small neighborhood trail that led us to a small village.

We had survived, BUT...

Notice how the red and green pin are not close to one another.

Oh so that's what we were supposed to do.

Anyway...

We get into town and I head to a bar to inquire about a ride back to the campground which is 6 miles and 2,000 feet of elevation away. 

We're told that Uber and Taxis do not service the area so we will have to hitchhike. 

I have never done so before, but it's actually easier than it looks. (When you don't look homeless I guess) Some guy named Shane picked us up and told us about the towns most famous resident, Eddie Van Halen and some of the parties he threw in the 80's.

When he dropped us at the campground, I figured the excitement of the day was over. After being lost, pondering my death and committing a minor misdemeanor by hitchhiking, all I wanted was a cold Magic Hat #8, BUT NO...because waiting for me at my campsite WAS THIS FUCKING GUY.

Yes, that is a god damn bear at the Manker Flats campground. And let me tell you what, that bear sucks.

We were able to briefly chase him away and make dinner, it would not be the last we saw of him.

Our neighbors at the campground appeared to be celebrating a birthday and they seemed friendly enough. We wandered over and enjoyed a few beers with them. Turns out they were a large group of Burners so we had something in common.

We lost track of time and soon enough it was approaching 10 o clock and the woman sitting next to me (who was wearing a Stormtrooper outfit) said "Did I take too much acid or is that a bear?"

I turned around and the bear was now not 8 feet from me. In between Coors Lights and the pumping Deep House, we hadn't noticed that he snuck into the party. I immediately charge at him trying to scare him away, but only succeeded in chasing him up a tree where he would stare at me for the next three hours.

It's hard to relax when you are at a party but you know there is a creature stalking you from above, trying to make you you the next drop bear victim.

Eventually I decided that I couldn't wait the bear out all night and retired to the campsite hoping he would lose interest in me. Anyway the Burning Man kids were going to stay up all night smoking DMT so I assumed if the bear made a move for me they would chase him off with their acoustic guitars and hula hoops.

I don't often have nightmares but it was probably around 3 o clock in the morning that I woke up screaming, believing the bear to be in the tent. I kicked my tent mate in the face and started thrashing around like a psychopath. Now I know what night terrors are!

But it wasn't quite a false alarm because upon awaking I heard the burners whispering, "He's going for Drew and Dave's tent." I heard some pots and pans clanking and then someone set off a car alarm.

I heard his snort, probably mere inches from my face. Only a thin layer of nylon separated me from the powerful jaws of a California Black Bear. I don't know if I was more nervous of his teeth or his claws, but I knew he wasn't happy. I waited for the inevitable, but he seemed to have felt something else to chew on. It sounded like plastic bottles? I sat paralyzed in fear for what seemed like hours until he was gone.

I awoke at 8am, the Burning Man party still going strong. They offered me a beer and told me 'they stayed up all night to make sure the bear didn't get me.' Certainly they were a friendly bunch, but what was most alarming were the tattered remains of my backpack a mere two feet from where my head had been laying. I had forgotten a banana inside my pack and the bear had eaten essentially the whole bag looking for it.

My body sore, my gout acting up, I wanted nothing more than to get back to Los Angeles and take a two hour shower. Maybe I'm not the outdoorsy type. Maybe it is safer for me to just live like a rock star than pretend to be Indiana Jones. I've never been attacked by a bear while day drinking. I've never gotten lost on my way home from an after party! And while I do feel less than 100% most Sundays, a Gatorade usually fixes that...I don't know who the hell is going to extract all these thorns that are still embedded in my hands.

Check out the pod in the upper right corner for more details of my incredible survival story I'm sure it's only a matter of time before the Lifetime Movie Network reaches out to dramatize this tale of bravery.