Backbone trail malibu canyon7/9/2023 ![]() ![]() A rattlesnake that had recently eaten something, a mass moving through its body, slithered along the side of the trail, and 12 deer grazed in a field at dusk. I found a white and brown striped hawk feather that I wore in my hat for the remainder of the hike. I became acutely aware of time and distance, measuring hours in miles. On difficult uphills, I realized how much of walking is about overcoming mental blocks, turned off my brain, and put one foot in front of the other. I loved feeling surrounded by nature and also in contact with humanity, scrambling over rock formations one moment and crossing a paved road the next. It’s fun to imagine the stories behind the names of the trails that, stitched together, form the Backbone: names like Dead Horse, Fossil Ridge, Saddle Peak. The next day, I walked 15 miles from Musch Camp to Malibu Creek State Park. The scar that runs the length of my back is a constant reminder of my body’s resilience, and I never take my own movement for granted. After my surgery, I became a hiking enthusiast and lover of the outdoors. Seventeen years later, the Backbone Trail held special meaning for me because of its name. I was a serious soccer player at the height of my athleticism, but my doctor told me not to engage in strenuous physical activity, much less contact sports, for at least a year. The operation was a success, but the long recovery period was a blow. Upon regaining consciousness, I was overwhelmed with relief that I could wiggle my toes. While I slept, the surgeon cut open my back, put a titanium rod on either side of my spine, and bridged the gaps between my vertebrae with bone from a cadaver. The last thing I remember before succumbing to anesthesia is seeing my parents cry and realizing that, though they’d been hiding it to keep me calm, they were scared as well. In the days leading up to my surgery, I was terrified that I would wake up in the hospital paralyzed, or that I wouldn’t wake up at all. I’ll never forget the X-ray of my spine on display in the office of my orthopedic surgeon at Children’s Hospital in LA: It was so curved it looked like a snake. When I was 16 years old, I had spinal fusion surgery to correct severe scoliosis. I pitched my tent, the only one at the campsite, beside the cottontail rabbits, and made dinner over my camp stove. Sitting under the sandstone outcrop of Eagle Rock, I looked out upon a landscape that had been scorched by fire in May 2021, and I admired the oak trees that were growing back, green leaves on black branches. It’s a beautiful trail, with layers of mountains gently rolling and rising toward the sky, the ocean in the distance sparkling in the sun. I used a National Geographic paper map and the Gaia app to navigate. The Backbone is well-marked, with brown signs on wooden posts, but there are forks in the road. My mother dropped me off at the Will Rogers Trailhead, and I hiked 10 miles to Musch Camp in Topanga. Though I’d spent many hours walking in the Santa Monica Mountains, I hadn’t before walked continuously for days through this coastal range. I was born and raised in Los Angeles, and my parents moved to Malibu after my brother and I left for college. I hiked the Backbone Trail, spanning 67 miles from Pacific Palisades to Malibu, over five days in October 2021. Years after back surgery, hiker walked 67 miles over five days through Santa Monica Mountains ![]()
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