“Misty, this is Dad, don’t you dare, don’t you dare try to go up to that Hollywood sign! You hear me?” That was the voice-mail Dad left me Sunday, August 16th, the day my accomplice and I climbed up to the Hollywood sign… I didn’t actually get the voice-mail until the next day when I checked my voice-mail at lunch, but I do have to presume that Dad in fact did want me to climb up to the sign, as it was clear he had been reading my posts (hi Dad (-: ) and I do remember expressing the fact that when someone tells me not to do something, well it just becomes that more attractive…
It was Sunday, my last full weekend in California, and the day my friends and I had originally chose to climb up to the Hollywood sign. My recent research about the famous sign’s security system had put a damper on our original plan. So I headed out to the bus stop, ready for my hour bus ride to downtown Hollywood. Although it was well over 100 degrees, I was dressed in solid black, just in case my friends changed their minds about ‘the mission’… Little did I know, that by the end of the evening I would have spoke with 3 different police officers, scaled a 10 foot fence, hid from security helicopters, and I would own an orange shirt that displayed the words Los Angels County Jail…
OK, so it’s not exactly what you might think. My friend and I purchased the orange t shirts at a gift shop, 4 for $12.00. And the police officers… well, the first one, Officer Garcia the traffic cop gave us directions to the sign. When we inquired about the legal ramifications of trekking to the sign, officer Garcia warned us of snake bites and injury, but assured us that we would not be arrested, or in my friend’s case, deported. We decided that Officer Garcia’s assurance, along with the testimony of the liquor store cashier, and our friend the Harley rider, was enough to go on, so we were off. We were on our way, and although I was dressed in black and fully accessorized with sequins and my zebra striped cuff bracelet, somehow our adventure just didn’t seem, well, quite as adventurous as our original plan. For starters, there were only two of us instead of the original 3-5. Worse yet, we almost had permission from the police officer… how adventurous could this be anyway? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t make a habit of committing crime, as a matter of fact the most unlawful thing I’ve ever done is 85mph in a 70mph. I wasn’t looking to break the law, I just wanted to go on an adventure… and boy, did I ever!
It was about 5 miles to the base of Mount Lee, where the coveted Hollywood sign stands with all her glory. The first time you see the sign it’s very surreal. I had been in California exactly a week, when I first saw the sign off the Highway during my 2 hour bus ride to Santa Monica Beach. That was the moment I finally felt like I was actually here in California. It took us more than an hour to get to the base of Mount Lee, and before the evening was over, we would have walked, climbed, and crawled at least 5 additional hours.
After a couple of false starts, an older gentleman with a late model VW van/bus who resembled a hippie/serial killer, offered some advice on how to get to the sign. Once again we got the usual, “you can’t actually get to the sign, but you can get close…” a phrase we had heard several times over the last few days. As we walked up the path, we passed several people making their way up the mountain, posing for pictures with the sign in the background. About a half hour up the path we heard a small voice coming from atop the mountain “Girls, girls, this way…”, it was the strange man from the entrance. We quickly changed direction, and followed the voice. We continued on the path, once again the man’s voice rang out… I can’t recall how many times this actually happened, but we did follow the voice for a while. I do remember, however when it occurred to us that following a strange man into the woods where he could easily remove our skin, and use it to make a decorative lampshade, was not in fact the smartest choice we could make. We deliberated, and decided to shift gears and go in the opposite direction than the man on the mountain. After assessing the perimeter, code name, Mambo Momma, decided we should approach the sign from underneath, and this sounded good in theory…
We approached a large fence, and found a small opening we were able to squeeze through. We made our way over a few small obstacles, including a small cement retainer wall. Mambo then pointed out the 5 security cameras pointing directly at our heads… I turned, and staring inquisitively at the cameras, I slyly put on my dark sunglasses. We shimmed just out of view of the cameras to continue deliberating our strategy, and the impending consequence of our actions. I continued to advocate the credibility of the traffic cop, the Harley rider, and the liquor store cashier, while Mambo tried to process the possibility of deportation. After some persuasion, we started up the mountain to the very far right of the sign, just out of view of the cameras. We concluded the heavy metal conduit must be a security measure, and we were careful to stay clear of all of the wires…
It was growing dark at an alarming rate, and we were no longer climbing, as much as crawling up the mountain. My body shook with fear as I came to the realization that what we were doing was much more dangerous and painful than walking through my seven-year-old’s Lego filled bedroom barefoot, with the lights out. Somehow heading all the way up the mountain behind the sign and climbing the 10 foot fence with double barbed wire sounded more appealing than trying to make our way down the way we came up. We were now clinging to the conduit, making our way up the steep incline. My 20 pound back pack full of souvenirs, water and my patent leather peep-toe heels was now a huge hindrance, as was the decorative purse I had purchased the day earlier in Venice Beach. The second set of security helicopters flew by, and we hid under a couple of bushes. Finally, we made our way to the fence behind the sign. We were now just over 50 feet to the right of the sign, and 100 feet behind the sign. It was now completely dark, and we had accepted the fact that we were not going to be down from the mountain in time to rendezvous with our driver. We took in the amazing view as we clung to the fence and sorted our options.
We chose option 3, which was to shimmy our way down the way we had come up. I finally accepted the gravity of our predicament when I was forced to surrender my zebra striped cuff bracelet and decorative ring to Mambo’s purse so I would have more traction, things are always more serious without accessories. Sliding, falling, and crawling down the mountain, we composed ourselves by practicing our usual form, Mambo texting, while I talked and told stories. A responsible student, I declared a concern for my homework assignment while clinging to a rock. In an equally random manner, Mambo expressed a concern for her hair’s curl pattern during her dangerous decent, now carrying my 20 pound back pack. Soon we had made our way to our original point of entry.
Ecstatic that we were still alive and without any serious injury, we ‘high fived’ and exclaimed “we did it” as we made our way out of the small opening of the fence. We had achieved our goal to make it out alive without injury or arrest, and the sign was a distant memory… Until, we got back on the path, and took another route witch lead us to another paved path… that led all the way up to the sign. We looked at each other and decided, maybe on another day…
We walked our original path for a long, long time, thoughtfully dodging good sized reminders of the digestive cycle of a horse. As we neared a darkened pathway underneath a canopy of trees, we briefly reevaluated our navigational skills, but continued on to find the park entrance… with a 10 foot locked fence. Mambo with her tall model like figure could have easily slid her way through the small opening, myself, however with my childbearing hips and 20 pound overstuffed backpack did not have clearance. Taking it in stride, Mambo graciously hopped up the fence, grabbed the back pack, and slid to the other side. Although not as eloquently, I made my way over the fence and hopped to the ground with the grace of a one-legged penguin.
We composed ourselves briefly to gain directions to a cab from officers 2 and 3. Sharing the sacred bond of misdemeanor criminal activity and horse manure, we walked off into the moonlit Hollywood night, Mambo with her blister the size of an eleventh toe and her tosseled hair, myself with a skinned knee and no accessories…
