Here in California, there are places that are firmly embedded in the collective psyche as pristine models of natural wonder. Think Yosemite Valley. Joshua tree. The giant sequoias.
And then there are the places whose majesties remain largely unknown to the masses, until they end up on TikTok. Stoddard Canyon Falls, near Mount Baldy, are one of those places.
In recent months, nature lovers and backpackers alike have fawned over Stoddard on social media for its crystal-clear pools and waterfall that doubles as a slide. Naturally, he wanted to see what all the fuss was about.
Thinking I could beat the crowds, I drove to Mt. Baldy on a hot Friday morning. Unfortunately, the main lot was already full when I arrived at 9:30. I parked across the street and put my Adventure Pass on the dashboard (you'll need one too).
As the YouTube tutorials had instructed, I took the paved road that branches off to the right of the main lot. Before me rose overgrown mountains dotted with spruce and pine trees.
The first sign of the falls chronicled on Instagram was the sound of the waters of San Antonio Creek and the screams of ecstasy rising from the canyon. ID read that you can get there in different ways, one of which involved descending into the canyon from the top of the waterfall and another that required descending into the stream on a “very vertical” rope. No, thanks.
While searching for the third and easiest route, I came across a panting Australian Shepherd dog and his owner, Mike McLoughlin, who lives 20 minutes away in Eastville. McLoughlin has been visiting this place every other weekend for years. I asked him how he feels about Stoddard receiving so much attention this summer, seemingly overnight.
“I was surprised at how many people were already parked here on a Friday,” he said. “It used to be the secret of our area. “You always want to have that gem hidden in your back pocket, but social media has exploited it.”
I sympathized with McLoughlin, but I also have complicated feelings about the explosion of places like Stoddard. On the one hand, this type of amplification makes these places more accessible to those who otherwise would never have known about them, including people with fewer natural resources in their own backyards. But greater access can be a double-edged sword if visitors don't respect the land. During my visit to Stoddard Falls, I saw many crushed plastic water bottles and Modelo and Truly cans lying on the canyon floor.
“The outdoors and the benefits we get are for everyone, not just those lucky enough to already be integrated into the community,” writes Heidi Anderson, executive director of the Truckee Meadows Parks Foundation, in a blog post about outdoor surveillance. “Introducing the community to the outdoors must be done in a thoughtful way that protects the land. Finding a balance between welcoming new people who live outdoors without destroying what brings us out into the light.”
After half a mile of easy walking, the paved road gave way to a narrow dirt trail. I found the second set of short gray concrete posts that lined the left side of the trail and were supposed to mark the way down. Sure enough, a “small waterfall” and a downward arrow were scribbled with a marker on the last post.
Since this hike has become so popular, I was surprised that the “easiest” downhill path was so steep and risky. At one point I had to use the palm of my hands to slide across the loose rock and dirt. When I got to the bottom, I followed a short trail that ran along the creek and was very close to Allan Santaisabel and Jilianne Ong, 23-year-olds who had driven from Chino after seeing the falls on TikTok.
Ong dipped his hand into one of the cold, clear puddles along the path. “The water is very beautiful, but we are trying to see the waterfalling waterfall. “Where is she?” she asked.
I didn't know for sure. But it was becoming increasingly clear that the only way to reach our final destination was to completely submerge ourselves in the stream.
The voices grew louder as I moved gracelessly upstream, jumping from slippery rock to slippery rock. He was wearing waterproof hiking shoes, but I recommend wearing Chacos, Tevas, or another sandal with good traction. My socks ended up soaked.
A visitor uses a rope to climb a section of Stoddard Canyon Falls before jumping into the pool. (Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times) A visitor swings in a hammock at Stoddard Canyon Falls and Slide. (Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times)
I arrived at the main pools, which are a turquoise color rarely seen in Southern California. A dozen people were already swimming and splashing in them. Several were holding a phone or posing for one.
I couldn't see the waterfall yet, but I saw people heading toward it, which required scrambling up the final stretch while holding on to a rope attached horizontally to the side of a steep rock face.
I followed suit, hoping and praying that this would be the last betrayal of this morning. Clinging to the rope, I scrambled up the rocks and waded into waist-deep ice-cold water, a relief during this 90-degree day. I watched braver souls than me slide down the waterfall and crash happily into the pool. Every time he thought about slaloming down the waterfall, he remembered a Google review he had read earlier that week: “I slid down the waterfall, scraped my elbow, and bit my tongue. It's worth it!”
I'll leave the rest to your imagination, because it's the kind of place you have to visit yourself to really know how special it is. Just be sure to take your trash with you when you leave.