Hiking the hidden stairs of Berkeley is maddening, painful and utterly gorgeous

Every now and then, you wake up and think, “I want to do a hike. But I don’t want a hike that’s exactly fun, or easy – I want one that will make me curse my decision with each plodding footfall, but that I’ll look back upon with self-inflicted amnesia as a rewarding use of time.”

Folks, here’s one such hike. In the hills of the East Bay lies an intricate network of stairways and paths known locally as the “secret” or “hidden” stairs. They supposedly number in the hundreds, some having been constructed as shortcuts down to old Key System streetcars and others who-knows-why.

There are many ways to explore them – if you’re a fan of architecture and nature, check out our guide to the historic stairs and fire trails behind UC Berkeley – but today we’re focusing on the neighborhood roughly between the Berkeley Rose Garden and Lake Anza. It is extremely hilly terrain with incredible views of the open Bay. Wild turkeys roam the landscaping of multimillion-dollar homes and the ever-present danger of fire and earthquakes scents the air.

On a recent trip, my companion and I climbed up and down at least 11 staircases and paths made from materials like concrete, wood ties and dirt, rough-hewn boulders and lily pad-like stone tiles. (It’s not the most ADA-friendly hike.) We encountered wildlife from Anna’s hummingbirds to hawks to deer, very few people and an unusual number of weird totems and sculptures, lending the day an overall “Blair Witch Project” vibe. Here’s a map of our route, chosen pretty much at random at stairs near Spruce Street and Santa Barbara Road:

Right at the start, while ascending the first step, my knee hurt immediately – knowing what’s ahead. The stairs rise and rise and soon lose all levelness, shifting downward to the left like a haunted mansion in some dang Tim Burton movie. That could be due to the Hayward Fault running right underneath Berkeley. It’s slowly ripping the city apart, and you can find visual evidence everywhere from misaligned curbs, torn-and-stretched asphalt and even the college stadium itself that was designed in two separate, moving pieces.

Part of the fun of exploring these East Bay stairways is peeping into people’s nice yards, all located within touching distance of the public right-of-way. (Not that you should.) In turn, you might see the locals peeping back at you – “Oh look, some more randoms.” On this porch today, though, there was only a zen statue taking in the afternoon rays.

The steep concrete path at this point resembles a luge track, ready to launch you over the water into the vicinity of Treasure Island. On the north side of Cragmont Rock Park there’s a natural, grassy amphitheater, where folks enjoy a picnic. We pluck a perfectly ripe blackberry from vines growing on the fence and move on.

We come across our first strange totem of the day. It’s a wooden horsey wearing a pink tutu.

And now we’re in another section of Cragmont Rock Park that’s home to the celebrated rock itself. It juts from the land like a stone giant’s forehead. You have to wonder how it got here. There’s a rock-climbing club in San Francisco named after this thing, the Cragmont Climbing Club, that dates to the 1930s.

“Our club and our local practice rocks, including Cragmont Rock in Berkeley, have hosted many fledgling climbers who later went on to greatness,” the club’s website states. “These include David Brower, Galen Rowell, Arlene Blume and Peter Mayfield.”

Sure enough, a couple people have climbed up there and are enjoying the killer view.

Our second surprise sculpture of the day summits the top of somebody’s garage. It’s a metal cowboy riding a metal horse. “Westworld” would’ve been much more fun, if it had these guys creaking and clanging around.

The roads have gotten so narrow, cars now park on the sidewalks. It makes one ponder Berkeley’s evacuation plan when wildfire season peaks. With cars potentially jammed up on these twisty roads, will people use the hidden stairs to escape a conflagration? That’s a scary thought.

We take a detour to look at a banner that we thought might herald a plant sale. Nope.

It helps to have a screenshot of a map on your phone, as cell service becomes spotty in certain areas, and the stairs can be hard to find. Some false leads actually go onto people’s property. On a previous trip, I asked a woman if a path along the side of her house was public, and she followed me down the block, yelling about where I got that information. Anyway, here’s a stairway concealed behind a massive construction machine.

Some of the paths are better-maintained than others. There are actually volunteer groups that come together occasionally to beautify these right-of-ways. You can really feel the path tenders’ love when you walk past the lovely flowers, charming stepping stones, fruit orchards, well-manicured trees and random lawn decorations.

There are many opportunities to gape at immense redwoods, like this guy spreading upward like a forest god’s umbrella.

We finally hit the top of our hike near Grizzly Peak Boulevard. From here, San Francisco looks like a city floating on a bed of clouds.

At this point, there’s a chance to extend the hike to Lake Anza via the Fred Herbert Path. It takes you through a shady copse of redwoods and wildberry bushes down, down to the road rimming the lake; from here, you have to find your own way to the water. We opt instead to head back toward our starting point, our calves already feeling like they’ve been crushed in a pneumatic press. The way down is full of interesting architecture and design touches, like this ominous Gate of Crows guarding one person’s yard.

There’s a creek with a wooden bridge you must cross – it’s really more of a plywood sheet right now – and some homes that share the rustic charm of the Russian River.

Near the end of our journey, a deer casually saunters out of somebody’s immaculately manicured lawn.

If you decide to do this walk, several resources may prove helpful. The Berkeley Path Wanderers Association (berkeleypaths.org) provides information on individual stairways and sells a popular map of the path network. Another well-researched guide on the subject is “Secret Stairs: East Bay,” by the L.A. Times’ walking columnist, Charles Fleming, with suggestions on hikes to do on more than 400 paths and stairways in Berkeley and Oakland.