Iron Mountain entrance.

• Located in Poway, Iron Mountain is a fairly challenging hike. With a length of nearly 6 miles and an elevation gain of around 1,300 feet, the hike will take most people 3 hours. Dogs are allowed.

• Distance from downtown San Diego: 26 miles
• Hike length: 5.7 miles • Difficulty: Fairly challenging • Season: Year-round

“Hey buddy, I think this is yours,” I said, holding out a large soda with a Chick-fil-A logo stamped on it.

The kid looked to be in his early twenties and was dressed in a baggy hoodie and black shorts. His skin was pale, maybe from spending too much time indoors studying or perhaps from scrolling through TikTok and playing Fortnite.

I shook the soda gently, waiting for him to take it. At first, the kid looked bewildered, maybe wondering why this stranger was handing him something in the middle of a dusty trail in the hills of Poway. Then his eyes darted to the cup and widened, as if he had seen a ghost. I frowned knowingly, and the kid looked taken aback as he quietly took the cup from out of my hand.

Looking forward on the straightaway towards Iron Mountain.

Half-an-hour earlier, I had passed this kid with a friendly, “Hullo,” while heading up a series of switchbacks to the peak. He and his friend were on their way down, and to my surprise, I saw him sipping not from a CamelBak or Hydro Flask, but a Chick-fil-A soda cup. Having seen a lot of odd things on the trail, I was by no means shocked, but still, I was amazed to see that someone had the patience to carry a sticky soda 1000 feet up the back of a mountain as their only means of hydration. As I turned up the last few switchbacks, I etched the encounter onto my mental checklist of bizarre and funny trail moments, then carried on with my life.

The sunny day was a welcome respite after the recent rains, and I passed dozens of people from all walks of life as I climbed the mountain. If you spend enough time on the trail, you see the same patterns in different people — almost like you’re seeing the same persons, but with different faces. While hiking up Iron Mountain, I saw the affluent woman from North County who dresses in black Lorna Jane leggings and top, and owns the polished European car in the parking lot; the older couple visiting from Oregon or Idaho, one of them wearing an Oregon Ducks cap, who converted an ambulance into a camper; the 20-something man whose broken heart has him trying to get in shape by wearing sweats and running up the mountain like he’s Rocky Balboa.

Looking back on the straightaway.

Identity isn’t just unique to us; it’s also something that we participate in. It’s not exclusively yours or mine, but divided and shared with others. Said simply, you are who you are primarily because of the people around you and the things you do. More often than not, I can figure out someone’s hiking pace just by their clothes or shoes; and I’m pretty good at guessing which people are going to say “Hi” to me on the trail and which ones are going to keep their heads down.

As I passed the kid with the Chick-fil-A cup, he fell into the category of sullen young adult who doesn’t have much life experience, let alone outdoor experience. Having been a bookworm who became an outdoorsman later in life, I’m usually glad to see inexperienced people on the trail, because they might be at the beginning of a wonderful love affair with nature. But this time, the kid swiftly left my thoughts, and I busied myself with stepping over puddles of mud while taking in the marvelous landscape.

A pleasant woman from Boston who I chatted with.

At the peak, I looked east and saw snowy mountains on the horizon. Rising above them all like Mount Olympus was a snow-capped Cuyamaca Peak glimmering in the afternoon sun. A bit of slush clung to the rounded hills above Julian and across the Palomar range. As was my custom, I drew the brisk winter air into my lungs and sighed with comfort. With the snow so close at hand, I felt like I had left Southern California and was in Colorado, staring at the Rockies.

It was during my descent that I sighted the Chick-fil-A soda cup, sitting alone and abandoned in the middle of the trail with a bluish Woolly Leaf Ceanothus flower protruding from the straw. I sighed and grimaced at the kid’s thoughtless action, then grabbed the orphaned cup to give it a forever home in the nearest trash can.

The Iron Mountain trail in the foreground with Cuyamaca behind.

But as I journeyed down the mountain my plan took a turn. You see, Iron Mountain is broken up into three sections. The last section takes you to the summit via a series of switchbacks where you’ll gain 300 feet of elevation over .7 miles. You top out on the peak and get staggering views of Mt. Woodson, Cuyamaca Peak, El Cajon Mountain, and several other less recognizable peaks. The midsection of the trail is about 1.3 miles long with an elevation gain of 450 feet. It starts when you cross a small creek, which often flows after winter rains, and climb up a small gully that opens to the east. And the first section consists of a mile long straightaway with a gorgeous view of the conical mountain. This time of year, with the ceanothus in bloom, the westward slope is painted in silvery-blue flowers. This section starts after you pass through a storybook tunnel of oak trees; each time I pass through this woodsy portal, the sound of car traffic on SR-67 seems to fade and I feel like I’ve been whisked away into a mythical realm.

A small creek flowing from the recent rains.

Having descended the midsection of the trail, I stood atop the small gully and spotted the litterbug down below, some distance away on the straightaway. Like a hawk, I studied his gait and measured the distance between us. I determined that I could catch up with him if I walked fast. So, I stretched my back, turned up my music, and shifted my legs into fourth gear.

Tunnel of oak trees.

We met just before the tunnel of oaks. The only other comment I made to him was, “You should know better than to litter at your age.” Then I nodded to his friend and passed them by.

I don’t know whether I did the right thing. Maybe that kid learned his lesson, or maybe he’ll hold a grudge. Who knows? But I believe that people should be held accountable for their actions. I don’t mean judged and condemned — just held accountable, without being blamed or bullied.

Hiking is more than just going for walks outdoors and owning an REI membership card. It’s a way of treating others and the environment. So, I want to caution you, reader. Carry with you the fact that when you step into the wild, you are a visitor. I urge you to be respectful and friendly.