Mendocino Coast: Van Damme State Park

In my first 11 years living in Northern California, I never made it to the dramatic coastline of Mendocino County, but I have learned the error of my ways, and made two camping trips there in the last year. The first was to Russian Gulch State Park, just north of the town of Mendocino on CA 1, the Shoreline Highway. This time I stayed at the sister park to that one, Van Damme State Park, just south of Mendocino on CA 1.

Last time I planned my own route, based on previous experience. This time I followed Google Map's suggestion for the quickest way there. I don't know if that route, down to Vallejo on I-80, over to Novato on CA 37, north on US 101 to Cloverdale, and then west to the Shoreline Highway on CA 128 was any faster, but it did take me through areas I hadn't previously explored. I took advantage of the opportunity and shot photos of vintage neon signs along the old US 101 route, pre-freeway, in Petaluma and Cloverdale.

From Cloverdale, CA 128 winds on tight curves up and down for a considerable stretch before straightening out enough that you can make good time. In the town of Boonville I was surprised to see hundreds of people lined up to enter the county fairgrounds. I guess some sort of beer festival was taking place that day. Then it was through redwood forest in Navarro River Redwoods State Park. Right before the Navarro River empties into the Pacific, CA 128 merges onto CA 1, heading north.

What with my stops to photograph signs, to gas up, and to eat breakfast, I made it to Van Damme State Park at 2:00 p.m., which is right when I had planned on checking in. I had reserved and paid for my campsite in advance, nabbing the last open site on Little River, which is so little that I would call it a creek, stream, or brook before I would refer to it as a river. It turned out to be an excellent campsite, #19, handy to the bathrooms and showers, but not so close as to be bothered by people, or hit with light from them at night.

After setting up my tent, buying some firewood, and getting ready, I headed out on a hike along Fern Canyon Trail to the Pygmy Forest. You can apparently drive right to the Pygmy Forest on a road outside of the park, as my map showed a parking area right next to it, but, as it turns out, the hike there through Fern Canyon is more delightful than the Pygmy Forest.

The hike begins at the end of the road, campsite #30. It follows an old paved road that is now crumbling. But it's wide, flat, and easy, and bicycles are allowed on it. It's all through mixed conifer forest, with many Bishop pines and coastal redwoods, alongside Little River, with plenty of ferns on the sharp slope of the south side of the canyon, across the creek from the trail.

The area that comprises Van Damme State Park was used for lumber operations until the mill closed down in 1900. I'm guessing that this explains why there are so many giant stumps of coastal redwoods in Fern Canyon, but no surviving trees of a similar girth. They must have logged all the giants.

I wasn't thinking of this as a hike that would be good for wildflowers, but there was quite a display. Along the early portion of the trail, there were hundreds of true forget-me-nots (Myosotis scorpioides), as there were back at the campsite. These are tiny groups of blue flowers with five petals and yellow and white centers. They are a little too small for me to get a good photograph of. There were also a few bunches of what I assume must be red columbine:



Only they were much larger than any of those flowers I have seen in the Sierra Nevada. I really wished that I had my reflector disc with me to get better lighting on them, but I hadn't planned on this being a wildflower hike, and I left it in the trunk of the car. Instead I used a section of the park brochure that was mostly white to reflect some light on the underside of the flower.



There were several nice examples of western trillium (Trillium ovatum, above) in varying shades of white and purple, and then several other types of flowers I haven't identified, a few of which I photographed:







About 1.75 miles in, the trail reaches a series of "environmental" campsites, which basically means there is no plumbing, just pit toilets. It looked like an even better place to camp than where I was, and I regretted not having gotten one of these campsites that I didn't know about beforehand. There was nobody using any of them on my way out, but one spot was occupied on my return trip.

At one point the trail splits, one way going a short distance along the creek, the other the same short distance up higher, before they meet up again in a large clearing and a junction. This is the end of the old road, at 2.5 miles out, according to a marker. From here you can head to the Pygmy Forest via a fire road for 1.3 miles, or continue along a single track hiking trail through Fern Canyon, reaching the Pygmy Forest in 2.3 miles. I planned to take the trail on the way out, and the fire road on the way back, making for a gentler climb there, but a quicker return.

At one point on this trail, just before I crossed two bridges in quick succession, I saw a man and woman off the trail down by the creek. I looked over at them to see if there was something interesting there, and at that point, the woman pulled down her pants and exposed her bare bottom to me. I'm not sure what that was about, but I just kept on walking as though I hadn't seen anything. I can't promise that you will see anything like that if you take this hike.

The map shows the trail crossing a small tributary creek, and then Little River, but there were quite a number of small bridges across brooks. Some of them are likely seasonal, but they were running when I was there. After the crossing of Little River, the trail doubles back to the east and starts climbing up the south wall of the canyon steeply. Before long, I could tell I was leaving Fern Canyon behind, as no longer was the soil moist, reddish-brown dirt, but instead it was a dry, gray mixture of gravel and dirt. The tree canopy started to open up, and the trees were much shorter. There were no redwoods here, although there were many lovely rhododendrons in bloom.



I hit the fire road, and turned towards the parking area, and soon hit the self-guided, interpretative trail for the pygmy forest. It's a short loop on a raised wooden platform with side railings and signs explaining what you are seeing. The short and slender trees are fully mature. Trees that at 80 years old grow to 100 feet in good soil, like the Mendocino cypress, may only be 2 feet tall here, although most of the trees were more like 7 feet. It was interesting to read about, but not particularly dramatic to look upon.

Then I started back on the fire road to the junction. I always prefer narrow trails to roads, but this one wasn't bad, especially on the final descent to Little River. I had to jump across it to get back to the junction, as there was no bridge.

On the way back on the first portion of trail, I stopped to take a long exposure of a tiny waterfall under a bridge, and I read the interpretative signs that I had skipped on the way out, when I wasn't sure how long the total 8.6-mile hike would take me (3 1/2 hours, it turned out). One explained what I saw under the bridge. In the 1930s, the California Conservation Corps had built rock bridges low across the creek, which were quite attractive, and fairly natural looking. But they stopped the salmon from migrating upstream. So they have since been broken apart in the middle, and wooden bridges now arch well above them.



Back at the campground, I hopped in my car and headed up to Ft. Bragg for dinner. One bar and grill that had a menu in the window listed a burger for $12.95, so I decided to skip the historic downtown area, and look for something roadside on the edge of town. I found Jenny's Giant Burger, where I had my dinner.

Afterwards I returned to camp, and started a fire, just so I wouldn't have to turn in early. As it died down, I went to my tent to read some of My First Summer in the Sierra by John Muir. Just after reading how the men in camp would throw themselves down anywhere and use a rock for a pillow, I started my fitful night of sleep in my down sleeping bag on a sleeping bag pad in my tent. I've had chronic back pain for 7 years now, from sitting at a computer all day at work, then sitting at a computer in much of my leisure time. I haven't had a good night's sleep camping since I started camping last year, but the last couple of times have been a little better.

At 5:30 a.m. I started to hear birds irregularly. By 6 a.m., there were calling out to each other nonstop in a great variety of songs, while Little River was, as always, audible as well. I was thinking about a friend and the nature recordings he likes to listen to. Here I was getting to hear the same thing live in concert. But by 6:15 it was light enough that I started getting moving on my day.

After showering, eating breakfast, and packing up, I headed out at 7:15, just as other people were starting to get up--which has been the case every time I've gone camping in the last year. I see people just coming out as I'm driving away. I'd like to sleep more, but I'm glad to be out shooting photos in the early morning light, something I can rarely drag myself out of bed for at home.

I ran up to Ft. Bragg to photograph some things I had noticed the evening before, then started working my way back down the coast. There are brown signs with white lettering everywhere along CA 1 indicating that there is a coastal view at a turnoff, or coastal access. I wanted to see all of them, but I knew I didn't have time to stop at all of them, as I had particular things I wanted to see that day, and I had a long trip back home. I was tempted just to skip all the unplanned ones, but that's not very much like somebody who fancies himself an explorer, so I just arbitrarily chose a few to check out. I'll be back there to try the ones I skipped another time.

One of the first was marked "coastal view" just on the southern outskirts of Ft. Bragg. There was also an advertising sign there for a restaurant with ocean views and beach access. I turned onto the road and immediately there was a parking area for a trailhead. The trail leads down through trees and clearings where I stopped to take a couple of wildflower shots.





Eventually it came out on some bluffs with an overlook on the ocean. I carefully treaded the narrow pathway that's close to being eroded away onto a piece of land jutting out, and got some more shots there.





Then I rushed back to the car and headed of to Point Cabrillo Lighthouse. There I parked at a visitor center and marched off on the 1/2 mile walk down a paved road to the lighthouse. The wind was really whipping there, but the sun was shining. The visitor center wasn't open yet, so I just made a quick visit and left.



From there I proceeded to the real reason for my trip, Buckhorn Cove. My mother and her boyfriend had made a trip down the Mendocino Coast a few weeks earlier. They stayed at the Seafoam Lodge, and on the advice of people there, had walked down to Buckhorn Cove at low tide. They saw a sunflower star, which I have only seen once, and have been anxious to see again. They saw something my friend identified from their photo as a yellow bat star, which I have never seen (I've seen plenty of orange ones). And there was a neat sea cave there.

There is no public parking for access to Buckhorn Cove, but I recognized part of it from the photos I had seen on the highway driving by. I figured my best bet was to park just north of it, where there was a small area to pull off the road near a sign indicating a curve with a recommended speed of 35 mph as you are headed southbound, north of Seafoam Lodge, but south of Little River Inn. But I had plenty of time, so first I parked a little farther north at the Littleriver Cemetery, where I was sure I would not be illegally parked.

I parked at the south gate, and there was a path that led straight through the cemetery to an opening in the fence at the back, and a trail behind it. I hoped that would lead to the beach, and I could work my way over to Buckhorn Cove. It led to an area where a sea cave had collapsed and left a gaping whole, with a tunnel that the sea rushes into at high tide, undoubtedly, given the sands at the bottom. There was a steep trail down, with a rope along the way so people can pull themselves up the tough sections. Fascinating. But I didn't venture down.

I kept going and found I couldn't get to the beach or Buckhorn Cove here, so I headed back to the car and parked at the area I had spied before, where there were now two other vehicles parked. I took that as a good sign. There was a pretty clear path along the side of a road down to a guard railing where there were no parking signs. I was alongside an unpainted picket fence with all kinds of no trespassing signs on it. Behind the guard railing, there was a clear trail that I followed right down to Buckhorn Cove.


Buckhorn Cove

There was a mass of rocks with tidal pools leading out to what is an island at high tide, but not at low tide. There were also five guys in wetsuits out there, probably abalone fishermen. They all started leaving just after I arrived, which confused me, as I thought it was still about 40 minutes before low tide. I started my explorations.


Black Turban Sails

I didn't find much of anything, other than hundreds of black turban snails (Tegula funebralis), until I finally ventured out as close to that island as I could get. I had to climb across wet rocks between tide pools, and step on a lot of rocks covered with surf grass and other plant life. There I saw the sea cave that I recognized from my mother's photo. It was surprisingly colorful inside, but the tide was coming up between me and the cave, so I couldn't get too close. Near here, I found some small bat stars, and I figured that would be the highlight of my tide pool explorations. I searched some other areas, and then headed back to the trail.


Red Sea Urchin

I had been planning to give up and go back to the car, but checking my watch I saw that it was just reaching the time I expected it to be low tide. Since I had come so far, I ventured out to examine the sea cave area one more time. On the way there I spotted something I had missed before, something I have never seen outside of an aquarium before, a red sea urchin. That would have been worth the return trip. But I was also able to get a little closer to the cave, now that the water was slightly lower, and get a picture inside of it. I was happy with that, even though I still didn't see any sunflower stars. After that I headed back to the car.


Colorful Cave

After changing clothes (from all the crawling around and lying on wet grass, rocks, and sand, I was quite filthy), I started driving south. I won't go into detail of all my brief stops from here on out, but will limit myself to my two planned destinations, Point Arena and the Sea Ranch Chapel.

The lighthouse at Point Arena is quite a ways west off of CA 1. The last section of road before the gates to the lighthouse property takes you along dramatic coastline where you can park for free. The most dramatic view of the lighthouse, the shot at the top of this blog entry, is available from the free parking right at that gate. I stopped and took that and many similar pictures on my way back.



The lighthouse is a commercial operation. They have a tiny museum and a souvenir stand, and charge five dollars to let you walk up to the top of the lighthouse. I went ahead and paid, and quickly took two shots from the top, one out the window, and another of the lens, before heading down again. I took a few more shots on the stairway inside, but I was getting tired, and anxious to go home.





From there I cruised along to Sea Ranch. I stayed at Sea Ranch once, when a friend from Montana who was visiting family rented it out, and invited other old Montana friends who have moved to California to join her there. I had never heard of the place before that. When I got home from that weekend, I checked Flickr for photos of Sea Ranch, and discovered I had missed an amazing chapel. I was really annoyed that I had been that close to it and not had the opportunity to see it with my own eyes.



So as I entered the long Sea Ranch area, I kept my eyes peeled on the right (west) side of the road, where all the buildings are. I nearly missed it out in the open on the left side. But I didn't. I stopped and took several photos of the outside, and several on the inside that didn't turn out because I didn't change the ISO setting on my camera. What can I say, I was getting tired.



After that it was a long and wearying drive back to Sacramento, via Guerneville, Sebastopol, Sonoma, and then back onto I-80 at Fairfield. There were many lovely things I passed that would have been worth a stop for a photograph, but all I wanted to do was get home at that point.

South Yuba Trail/Humbug Trail/Malakoff Diggins

Spring is the ideal time to hike in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada, a historic gold mining area. So for this April weekend, I searched for good hikes in the region, and ended up on the the Bureau of Land Management's website for South Yuba Trail and Campground, where I downloaded a map and planned out my hike. Having seen a beautiful photo of Malakoff Diggins for sale the previous weekend at the visitor center for South Yuba River State Park, I selected that as the destination of the hike. It turns out that my friend Erik was able to make it, so I picked him up Sunday morning and headed to Gold Country.

Highway 49 skirts around the beautiful old gold mining town of Nevada City, forcing you to make a left-hand turn at a light, where straight ahead is CA 20. Very soon you come to another light and North Bloomfield Road. After a while, North Bloomfield Road narrows and gets rougher, and then it descends to the South Yuba River, where there is an old bridge with a wooden deck. On the other side of the deck, the road is gravel. A short distance on this road takes you to South Yuba Campground, where camping is only $5 per night.

We parked in the parking lot for day users above the campground, and started out. The trail initially parallels the campground road, until reaching the main trailhead. It was a brisk morning, and the whole area we were hiking in at the beginning was in shade, so I kept a jacket on.

I didn't have high expectations from this hike. It is not mentioned in my hiking books. I just knew that we would have an opportunity to see some of the wildflowers of the foothills, and that this is a hike best done before it gets hot (unless you plan to go swimming), as it is at low elevation.

But right away we saw promising signs. The wildflowers were there, alright, as we spotted a shrub with bright yellow flowers (Scotch broom?) and and several tiny little blue flowers with white centers right near the trailhead. And we were barely started when we came across Kennebec Creek and a sign for a waterfall. Rounding a corner, we found the stream flowing across a smooth section of granite, with a small horsetail waterfall above it, and a few clumps of tiny pink flowers on the banks of the creek below.



After the obligatory photos, we started off and immediately encountered some deep red flowers. Soon the trail joined an old road grade from gold mining days, which heads down to Illinois Crossing. Erik kept pointing out plants that he thought looked like poison oak here. Some people do not develop a rash even if they rub against poison oak. Me, I am very sensitive to it, and don't even need to touch it. The oil that causes rashes can be borne on the wind. I've resigned myself to the fact that I'm going to get poison oak and itch for three weeks, and I don't worry about it (although I still try to avoid touching anything that vaguely resembles the descriptions I have read).

We followed the old road grade only as far as the junction where South Yuba Trail turns off of it to run parallel to the South Yuba River along the north wall of the canyon formed by the river. There were small ups and downs, but the trail is not too challenging, and it is clear and relatively smooth. It might make for a challenging bike ride (bicyclists are allowed on it), but it's easy for hiking. We encountered many more types of wildflowers. Only one was in great abundance, covering large swaths in this area just where the trail begins to follow the river, but there were small clumps of different varieties here and there. Occasionally we could glimpse the river below, seeing bits of white water and emerald pools. Usually we could see the south wall of the canyon, covered with intermixed conifers and deciduous trees.



At 1 1/2 miles out we encountered the sign for Overlook Point Picnic Site. We found the picnic tables, but not much of an overlook. Perhaps the vegetation has cut off a view that the area used to have thirty years ago. Along with names, carved in one of the picnic tables was the year 1978, with moss growing in the depression of the carving. Around this area we started to take note of one type of flowering chaparral, fully decked out with small purplish pink flowers, possibly western redbud.


Dudleya

When we reached Long Point, we had our most spectacular view of the river and its canyon. At this point the river swings to the north on a large horseshoe bend, and the south canyon wall protrudes in a smooth curve further softened by the lush vegetation. Unfortunately, we were on the north side of the canyon looking south, giving poor lighting for a photograph.



I don't recall if it is right before this, or right after, but a spur trail down to river is very near here, labeled North Canyon Spur. The signage there indicates that it is 3 miles from the trailhead at South Yuba Campground. We pushed on and as the river continued to rise in elevation as we hiked upstream, we finally descended to just above it at the junction with Humbug Trail, 4 1/2 miles out from the campground, where there are two picnic tables, and the second best view of the river on the portion of the South Yuba Trail we covered.



The mercifully short initial portion of Humbug Trail is extremely steep. We huffed and puffed, and right at the top of it found the same deep red flowers we had seen early on the hike, only in better lighting, which made for a good excuse to stop for a moment. The rest of the trail wasn't that bad, but it was certainly more difficult than South Yuba Trail, and required a bit of scrambling over rocks now and then.

Humbug Trail follows Humbug Creek, named in response to the disappointment of gold miners who were led to believe they would get rich there. Initially the creek is far below the trail, but as we hiked upstream it got closer to the trail, and we began to see many fine small waterfalls. Where it was easy to get down to the creek at a particularly rich area of them, we stopped to take some photos. There are old and rusted iron rods coming out of the granite there, no doubt remains from the gold rush.





Erik wanted to attempt to cross the creek here, for a better view of some falls below, but I thought it would be best for us to continue on and see all there was to see, before deciding on what was worth spending time going off trail for. So we kept going.

Then we reached a totally unexpected delight, a massive tiered waterfall, with a final plunge of about 25 feet. Humbug Creek Falls, it is, as we found out later from a sign we saw at the end of the trail. I had no idea we would see anything like that.

Above the falls, Humbug Trail enters a more subdued region of forest, without the steep canyon walls, and the creek farther distant. We crossed two small tributary streams, one dry, and the other just a trickle, and passed above a campground. Finally, we came to a gravel road and the trailhead, the start of Humbug Trail for most people, although the end for us. Judging from the map I figured if we turned right and headed east on the road we should soon find a trail over to Malakoff Diggins.

That turned out to be the case. Specifically, we ran into a sign explaining the North Bloomfield Drain Tunnel, a 7,874-foot tunnel 200 feet below. A creek flowing here across orangish mud--orange from all the iron in it--drops down into the tunnel through an old shaft. Another sign here indicated that the trail alongside it provided access to Malakoff Diggins.

We were soon upon them. The diggins are the strangely beautiful aftermath of massive environmental destruction in quest of gold. This was not the romantic scene of thousands of gold miner venturing west, clambering down steep canyon walls and staking claims in the hopes of a finding enough gold to provide them with a comfortable life. This was the work of a massive industry financed by major financiers, designed by engineers, and carried out by legions of low-paid workers.

The walls of the canyon were washed away with high pressure hoses, exposing more and more ore to be processed for gold, and sending dirt and debris downstream in massive amounts. This killed off the fish in the creeks and rivers, and put so much silt in the system downstream that towns had to build high levee walls to contain rivers with ever rising beds. The town of Marysville, built along the banks of the Yuba River near where it flows into the Feather River, now sits below the level of the river, protected from it by a massive levee. Out in the countryside, crops were frequently damaged from floods resulting from all the sediment and tailings washing downstream.


Malakoff Diggins

It was this very mine that was the subject of the landmark court decision in 1884 in the case of Woodruff v. North Bloomfield Mining and Gravel Company that would eventually put an end to hydraulic mining in California, although it took many years to fully enforce it. In all the time since, nature has made progress in reclaiming this area, but the massive scar along the edge of the park, caused by work that started more than a century before I was born, will long outlive me.

In all, we hiked about 7 1/2 miles from the campground to Malakoff Diggins. We could have taken a shortcut back, following North Bloomfield Road. But, of course, we wanted to photograph the waterfalls, and I wanted to see some of the different sights along the way in different light.

When we got back to the big waterfall, we took a small side trail over to a granite area between the two tiers of it. We were right at the plunge pool for the smaller upper falls, and on the verge of the larger lower falls. I laid myself out on granite and stuck my camera out to take a photo over the edge.


The Edge of Humbug Creek Falls

Back on the trail, I could see that it would be possible to get to the base of it via a scramble down the canyon wall for the best photos. But I thought maybe farther down the trail we might have easier access to the creek, and be able to work our way upstream to it. I did find a place where the scramble was easier, and we went to the creek. But I found huge boulders here blocked the view of the falls, and I couldn't find a way to get far enough upstream for that view from there. So I scrambled straight up to the trail again, which left me winded. It was getting to be quite a long and tiring hike, so I didn't have the energy to go back and try the more difficult scramble.



Instead we went down trail. At one point there is view of a fine series of small falls. I took a long exposure here, using my backpack as a tripod (I stupidly forgot my Gorillapod in the trunk of the car). Erik wanted to scramble down here and take more shots, but I was too exhausted, so I went ahead and took more long exposures of other small waterfalls.



It took Erik a while to catch up to me. He told me that he had been obsessing over some dudleya. As I left him, I saw him paying attention to more dudleya. When I got back to the very steep initial portion of Humbug Trail, I stopped just above it to wait for Erik, who must have once again have found himself obsessed with dudleya. But if something more serious was holding him up, like an injury, I didn't want to have to reclimb that steep portion to look for him, which is why I waited until I saw him before starting down it. Shortly before he appeared, I heard bird noises that vaguely reminded me of turkeys, but they were coming from up in the trees behind me. I was reminded of John Muir's descriptions of all that you can hear and see if you stay still and quiet in the wilderness for a while, and let its denizens return to their daily routine. Erik's approach silenced my unseen companion.

Back on South Yuba Trail we met two mountain bikers at picnic tables. Other than a couple we passed in both directions on Humbug Trail, these were the only people we had seen all day. Later we would encounter one more person, a man jogging past us in the opposite direction.



Other than more stops for wildflowers on the way back, the highlight was an encounter with a rattlesnake. I saw him up ahead on the trail and thought I would quickly sneak up on him so I could get a good photograph. Thinking on it now, I recall the advice I have read about rattlesnakes--to make lots of noise with your footsteps so that they have plenty of warning and will get out of the way before you can startle them. Quickly sneaking up on a rattlesnake is the last thing you want to do. He was startled and took off while rattling at the same time. I got a lousy photo.

I thought he might have taken off entirely, but as I continued forward, he started rattling again. He was in the rocks at the edge of trail, taking cover. I just kept walking and he stopped rattling. When Erik came along I warned him that there was an angry rattlesnake in the rocks that would rattle at him as he passed. He kept asking me "Where?" I kept repeating "In the rocks," while pointing at a pile of rocks. Erik seemed quite nervous and when the snake started to rattle he momentarily stopped and looked to the side. I told him to keep moving, and soon he was past and the snake stopped his noisemaking.

Being on fairly easy trail again, we were able to recover and make better time than I expected coming back, which allowed the leisure of a few more wildflower photographs. I waited for Erik at a split in the trail at the end--one way leading back to the campground, the other leading to the parking for day users. While waiting I heard rustling, and looked down to see a quivering mouse trying to burrow under leaves to hide from me. When it was finally out of sight the rustling stopped.

Despite making better time on the final portion than I expected, it still took us a full 8 1/2 hours to complete the hike. Even though it was a cool day, I went through all of the water I brought with me.



Today, the day after, my legs don't feel too bad. Erik was right about the poison oak, however. I've already developed rashes in several areas, and my past experience leads me to believe it is going to get a lot worse as the week goes along.

Auburn State Recreation Area: Foresthill Divide Loop Trail

I wasn't really committed to hiking on this particular day, until after I had breakfast with two photographer friends. I chose a vintage diner for us to eat at and had a traditional "Hearty Breakfast"--and they weren't kidding about the hearty part. Two sausage links, two slices of bacon, two eggs, and two biscuits drowned in an ocean of gravy. After that meal, I figured I needed to hike 10 miles, or start shopping for clothes in a larger size.


Hearty Breakfast #4

So I took off for a conveniently close hike--35 miles to the West Trailhead from my apartment. The close proximity of this trail to civilization is a major convenience, but it's also one of the liabilities of it, as should become clear in my description.

Just outside of the old gold rush town of Auburn, the Auburn State Recreation Area includes the scenic canyons of the North Fork American River and Middle Fork American River, and the confluence of those two rivers. It's at the start of the foothills for the Sierra Nevada, so there are hikes with some climbing to do, but it is still at a low elevation. That means you can hike there in winter, but in summer it is generally hot, dry, and dusty. Early spring is about the best time to go, before it is too warm, and while the wildflowers are in bloom.

Seeing as how it was a nice day in early spring, a lot of people chose to get out on the trails the same day I did. The designated parking spots at the trailhead were all full, and there were a number of us who squeezed our vehicles into unmarked areas off the road.

From the West Trailhead, it is actually a .5 mile hike to the loop trail, which is 8.2 miles long. So starting and ending from there makes it a 9.2-mile hike. This short spur parallels Foresthill Road, and is not out of sight or earshot from it, although a lovely meadow dotted with gnarled oak trees separates the two.

The directions from the park's website said to take a right at the fork signed for Drivers Flat, but there is another fork before that. I took the lesser traveled right fork just to see where it led. It took me a short distance to a gate for Mammoth Bar OHV road, which appeared to head down steeply and roughly to Middle Fork American River. Getting back on the loop, I soon hit the Drivers Flat sign, and headed right.

It's a multi-use trail, and all along it were mountain bikers and the occasional steaming piece of evidence that horses had been there (although I didn't see any equestrians). Cyclists coming the other direction are supposed to yield to hikers, and 3 actually did. Cyclists going the same directions as hikers are supposed to warn them, let them know which side they will be passing on, and let them know how many more cyclists are right behind them. Many did this, but more did not. I spent much of the hike along, or just off of, the edge of the trail, listening for the sounds of bicycles behind me.

At one point I spotted this unusual bug, subsequently identified for me as a Jerusalem cricket, aka potato bug. I think one of its legs was damaged. It kept falling over, and then walking in circles after righting itself.



At 1 mile from the trailhead I hit an unsigned spur trail mentioned in the trail description from the park's website. The spur, which out and back adds .8 miles to the length of the hike, leads out to a point with better views of the Middle Fork American River Canyon. The area was also, on this day, covered with large areas of densely packed wildflowers. There were many tall, dark, and handsome butterflies at work there, making hot, sticky love to wanton flowers, lasciviously painted in showy colors.



Back on the main trail, I passed through chaparral composed largely of manzanita. At some point I was supposed to have a great view to my right, but I didn't see it. I think it may have been at the top of a climb where there were a number of cyclists off the edge of the trail resting. I didn't look around there, but kept on hiking. After coming down from that high point, I saw four wild turkeys a ways off the trail--I thought about going over there, to see how close I could get, but there was a man near there resting under a tree and watching the turkeys. I didn't want to spoil his show by frightening them off.

At three miles in I crossed a bridge, used as a reference point in the trail description. But after that things got more confusing. The trail reached a dirt road, where a sign used to indicate which way to go, but was just lying on the ground. However, the bicycle tracks made it pretty clear which way to go. I passed by small concrete slab with an old rusting hunk of metal on it.

Then eventually I came to an old, crumbling, paved road. I took it to be Drivers Flat Road, mentioned in the trail description. The directions said to continue along the trail across this road, or turn left on it. Either way was to take me to Foresthill Road, where I would cross to a parking lot for the East Trailhead. While I was studying my map and directions, a woman on a bicycle who had lost her brakes rode up and asked for help. When I shared my information with her, she headed left on the road, and not seeing trail ahead, I followed her.

We came up to a major road in use--which initially I took to be Foresthill Road. But I could find no parking lot or trailhead. I thought maybe this was Drivers Flat Road, and the old abandoned road had not been mentioned in the trail description. I started heading down it looking for it to intersect Foresthill Road. But quite a ways down I had not come to an intersection, a parking lot, or a trailhead. Instead I saw a sign for Upper Lake Clementine Road, which confused me, as on my map that indicated I was much close to my starting point that I expected to be.

Not at all sure where I was and if I was headed in a direction that would get me back to my car, I returned to the abandoned road, adding at least another mile to my hike. On the way back I could see that to the right of where I had reached the road there was trail leading off of it again, so I took this.

Eventually, I came out at a parking lot and a sign for Ruck-a-Chucky Campground. Nothing here seem to fit the trail description, but as I figured it out later, Drivers Flat Road leads from Foresthill Road down to this parking area. The old road, now blocked off by a gate, then heads back to where I had come from until it hits Foresthill Road, just below and embankment. Although the trail description says you can head across Drivers Flat Road, or just take a left and follow it, this is inaccurate. You should go straight ahead if you want to follow the road--turning left takes you the opposite direction of the East Trailhead. And the continuation of the trail is on the other side of the parking area, next to some green trash containers.

Back on trail again, I was disappointed to find that the trail just led a little ways off from the road and parking lot, and then doubled back on the road. This is typical of the whole loop--you start to leave the road and road noise, but never get too far away, and you keep returning to it.

At the end of this part of the trail, I scampered across Foresthill Road during a break in traffic, and started from the East Trailhead, passing a picnic table near the parking area.

This portion of the trail runs along the upper edge of the North Fork American River Canyon. I've hiked many of the trails along the wild and scenic North Fork American River farther up in the mountains, and enjoyed its isolation and beauty--well protected by steep canyon walls that make it a challenge to access. But on this trail I only caught glimpses of it a couple of times through the trees from far above.



I encountered fewer bicyclists on this portion of the hike, so I spent more time taking photos of wildflowers--not having to worry as much about getting out of the way. The trail description said this portion was largely unshaded, but I didn't find that to be the case. When it was shaded, and the sun was behind the clouds, and I wasn't climbing, it was a little chilly.



At one point I reached an area where I could see Foresthill Road again, and I recognized the portion as the one I had been walking along while lost earlier. Had I known, I could have just gone 50 yards across the meadow and joined with the trail on the return portion of the loop, but then I would have missed out on quite a bit of hiking, and wouldn't have fully worked off my biscuits and gravy.

Shortly after that, 2.5 miles from the East Trailhead, according the the description, the trail crosses Upper Lake Clementine Road. It took me longer to reach there than I was expecting, so I thought I still had quite a bit of hiking ahead of me, but this turned out not to be the case. Pretty soon I was back at a meadow next to Foresthill Road again. The trail leads up to the road, then I had to cross it and get on a short trail that leads back to the signed junction for Drivers Flat and the short spur back to the parking lot, which was visible a ways down the road.

All added up, I hiked at least 11 miles, and didn't eat anything between 9 a.m. and 5 p.m. that day, so hopefully I took care of breakfast.

Index: Culture

Old Highways

U.S. 40: North Sacramento's Del Paso Boulevard
U.S. 40: Sacramento's Auburn Boulevard
U.S. 40: West Sacramento's Motel Row

Roadside Attractions

Highway 99: Pollardville & the Chicken Kitchen

Restaurants

East Bay: Classic Restaurants
Sacramento Area Pizzerias

Sacramento

Sacramento: Aerospace Museum of California
Sacramento Area Pizzerias
Sacramento: Towe Auto Museum

Index: Nature

The Coast

Marin County: China Camp State Park
Marin County: Steep Ravine and Stairstep Falls
Mendocino Coast: Russian Gulch State Park
Mt. Diablo Summit from Mitchell Canyon Road
Mt. Tamalpais State Park & Muir Woods
Mt. Tamalpais Watershed: Cataract Falls
Mt. Tamalpais Watershed: Two Lakes Loop
Point Reyes: Alamere Falls
Point Reyes: Alamere Falls Revisited
Point Reyes: Arch Rock Revisited
Point Reyes: Bear Valley & Arch Rock
Point Reyes: Drakes Head & Sunset Beach
Point Reyes: Five Brooks to Alamere Falls
Point Reyes: Lighthouse & Chimney Rock
Point Reyes: Mt. Wittenberg & Woodward Valley
Point Reyes: Muddy Hollow & Drakes Head
Point Reyes: Ridge Trail
Point Reyes: Rift Zone Trail
Point Reyes: Sculptured Beach
Point Reyes: Tomales Point & McClures Beach
Point Reyes: Woodward Valley & Sculptured Beach
Sonoma Coast State Beach

El Dorado National Forest
(Additional hikes in El Dorado National Forest can be found below under Lake Tahoe Basin.)

El Dorado National Forest: Carson Pass to Emigrant Lake
El Dorado National Forest: Echo Lakes to Lake of the Woods
El Dorado National Forest: Emigrant Lake Trail
El Dorado National Forest: Grouse & Hemlock Lake Trail
El Dorado National Forest: Highland Trail to Forni Lake
El Dorado National Forest: Lyons Creek Trail
El Dorado National Forest: Lyons Creek Trail in Snow
El Dorado National Forest: PCT to Showers Lake
El Dorado National Forest: Pearl Lake
El Dorado National Forest: Pyramid Creek Loop & Horsetail Falls
El Dorado National Forest: Ralston Peak
El Dorado National Forest: Silver Lake to Granite & Hidden Lakes
El Dorado National Forest: Twins & Island Lakes Trail
El Dorado National Forest: Tyler Lake Trail
El Dorado National Forest: Winnemucca & Round Top Lakes

Lake Tahoe Basin

Lake Tahoe Basin: Bayview Trail to Middle Velma Lake
Lake Tahoe Basin Dardanelles Lake
Lake Tahoe Basin: Eagle Falls to Velma Lakes
Lake Tahoe Basin: Eagle Point to Emerald Point
Lake Tahoe Basin: Ellis Peak & Ellis Lake
Lake Tahoe Basin: Glen Alpine Springs to Half Moon Lake
Lake Tahoe Basin: Glen Alpine Springs to Lake Aloha
Lake Tahoe Basin: Meeks Bay to Stony Ridge Lake
Lake Tahoe Basin: Mt. Tallac Trail
Lake Tahoe Basin: Rubicon Point to Emerald Bay

Tahoe National Forest
(Additional hikes in Tahoe National Forest can be found above in Lake Tahoe Basin.)

Tahoe National Forest: Bearcroft Trail
Tahoe National Forest: Heath Falls
Tahoe National Forest: Loch Leven Trail
Tahoe National Forest: Mumford Bar Trail
Tahoe National Forest: Penner Lake

Other

Auburn State Recreation Area: Foresthill Divide Loop
Bullards Bar Reservoir
Calaveras Big Trees State Park
Mount St. Helena
Napa County: Skyline Wilderness Park
Plumas National Forest: Feather Falls Trail
Rancho Seco: Howard Ranch Trail
Solano County: Stebbins Cold Canyon Reserve
South Yuba Trail/Humbug Trail/Malakoff Diggins
Spenceville Wildlife Area
Stevens Trail

Classic East Bay Eateries

I love to experience restaurants. New and different foods are a delight to sample, but I'm not just there for a meal--I go for the atmosphere too. I like unique restaurants that go all out to make the surroundings unique. I'm a sucker for revolving restaurants, and other gimmicks, but I also appreciate more mundane mom and pop restaurants that have a long history--the kind of places the same people have been going to all their lives, and couldn't imagine being without. These are places that strongly establish local identity, that anyone from that city or that neighborhood knows well, but are unfamiliar to most out-of-towners.

When I head down to my grandmother's, she often indulges me and we head off to visit restaurants I have read about. We've been doing this much longer than I have been taking photographs of restaurants and food, or researching the restaurants, so my memory is spotty on some of them. But I plan to continually revise this blog entry as I visit more places, or revisit ones I haven't been to in some time.

Here, then, are some classic eateries I have visited in the East Bay, particularly in Contra Costa County.

Fondue Fred
2556 Telegraph Avenue
Berkeley

What could be more delicious or sociable than sharing fondue? It has always been a treat for special occasions in my family. This specialty fondue restaurant, tucked inside the Village Mall, has been around since 1958. It's a dark and cozy restaurant with dark wood tables. Fondue is the one dish I specialize in making at home, and I've eaten it at restaurants in Lucerne, Paris, and Quebec, so it's hard to impress me with fondue, and, well, I wasn't impressed. But still, mediocre fondue is better than no fondue at all, and the taste, price, and ambiance were all better than at The Melting Pot. I'd like to go back, only hopefully I won't have to drive next time, as parking is a problem.



Spenger's Fish Grotto
1919 4th Street
Berkeley



In 1890, Bavarian fisherman Johan Spenger opened this Berkeley institution. Johan's grandson Buddy Spenger was the last of the family to run the restaurant. It was Buddy who made it into so much more than a place to eat fresh fish. He used the salvaged remains of two shipwrecks to cover the walls and floors, installed 500 antique guns, and acquired a 34-carat diamond ring formerly owned by a Hawaiian queen to display in one of the bars.

In the late 1990s, Buddy suffered a stroke, and retired. None of his progeny was interested in carrying on the family legacy, so the restaurant was set to close. But an executive from the McCormick & Schmick chain of high-end seafood restaurants who had grown up in Berkeley urged the company to purchase the restaurant. On her urging, Doug Schmick flew out to dine there, and subsequently, the chain bought the restaurant.



And that's how I came to hear of the place. I was given a $20 gift certificate to McCormick & Schmick restaurants by Alaska Airlines for having flown with them on Christmas day. Spenger's Fish Grotto was the only restaurant listed on the back anywhere near me (although they recently opened a restaurant in the Elks Building in downtown Sacramento). So my grandmother and I had dinner there.



It is an enormous, and magnificent place to behold. I highly approve of Buddy's decorating. They have many dining rooms, and more than one bar. As for the food . . . the seafood is very fresh. You can't go wrong with simply prepared fresh seafood. If you are looking for artistry and delicious sauces and the like, head off to some chef-driven restaurant, rather than a corporate notion of high class dining. For that kind of money, you can definitely eat something more interesting and delicious. I enjoyed my fish (though not so much the sauce with it), but the clam chowder was pretty lame--I would think a high-end seafood chain would have had to master that before expanding.

But even if the food there is not to your liking, it's well worth going for a visit--at least to have a couple of drinks in the bar and see the 34-carat diamond.

Hotel Mac Restaurant & Bar
50 Washington Avenue
Point Richmond

This is one of those places I have vague memories, and no pictures, of. I dined there with a host of relatives when I first moved to Northern California. I wasn't fully settled in my apartment yet, and I certainly didn't know my way around that well. I just remember driving through a lot of ugly neighborhoods, and then getting to a lovely old town center.

The restaurant is in a historic hotel, built in 1911, and on the National Register of Historic Places. We ate in a private dining room, which was also being used as a wine cellar. The waiter couldn't remember one of the desserts, and hemmed and hawed about it, before it finally came to him: tiramisu. Other than that, most of what I remember is our conversation and the clothing I wore--I have no recollection of what I ate.

Casa Orinda
20 Bryant Way
Orinda

When I read about Casa Orinda, I was excited. Jack and Tommy Snow, from Montana (where I am from), opened a bar that became this Orinda institution in 1932. It was a den of vice in the early going, with gambling and prostitutes and bootleg liquor, but a deal with the sheriff insured they were always clean when there was a raid.

I guess I figured a place with that kind of legacy would be pretty casual, because I was terribly under dressed when my grandmother and I visited. I was, as is often the case when visiting these old restaurants, surprised by the high prices, but they corresponded to the elegant atmosphere and valet parking . . . and the fact that it was Orinda.

The place is an upscale western restaurant, dimly lit with large western paintings on the wall. The menu touted their famous fried chicken, which has been served there since the beginning, so that's what I had. I'm sure I enjoyed it, although I don't recall anything unique about it.

Petar's
32 Lafayette Circle
Lafayette

This classic steak and seafood house with a neo-Tudor interior opened in 1959. It was a favorite of my grandparents, and when my cousin came out to visit a few years ago, this is the place my grandmother and I chose to take her. Some time I've got to check out the piano lounge.

The Squirrel's Coffee Shop
998 Moraga Road
Lafayette



Finding an affordable vintage diner in upscale Lafayette was certainly a delightful surprise for me. There's nothing fancy about this place. It has a short menu of breakfast and lunch items, and an old counter with stools. This is the sort of place I would make a habit out of eating at, if it were at all handy to me. I believe the breakfast featured in the photo is fluffy eggs with ham.

Nantucket Restaurant
501 Port Street
Crockett


Crab Cake Sandwich

My grandparents took my mother and me here sometime in the 1980s, and when I moved in 1996 it was my choice for my first birthday dinner as a resident of Northern California. You have to drive down below Interstate 80 as it approaches the bridges to cross from Crockett to Valejo, and then park in a dirt and gravel lot, but the reward is waterfront dining, with several outdoor tables.


Al Fresco Dining

The restaurant has operated under different ownership and slightly differing names over the years, but still maintains a venerable character.

Warehouse Cafe
5 Canyon Lake Drive
Port Costa


One-Pound Prime Rib

Tucked in a narrow valley up against the bay and railroad tracks between Crockett and Martinez, Port Costa is only accessible via narrow and winding roads. In this small town is a lovely old schoolhouse, church, hotel, and a big old warehouse building. In this building is a funky bar that serves 460 different types of beer, and is decorated with salvaged historic pieces and lots of kitschy decorations. I'm not sure what classification the enormous stuffed polar bear falls under.



There's a dining area there, and on Friday and Saturday nights it is open for business as the Warehouse Cafe. It's a very limited menu, with a minimum charge of $12.95 for the all-you-can-eat soup and salad bar, a baked potato, and mushrooms. I had the $20.95 1-lb prime rib, cooked medium rare, which came with all of the above.



I've only had prime rib a handful of time in my life, but I would have been ordering it a lot more often if I had ever had prime rib like they serve at the Warehouse Cafe before. It was fabulous--so tender and juicy, and with a delicious and crunchy coating around the outside. I had half of it for dinner, and half for breakfast the next day. Lobster is also quite popular there, and they have a tank in the dining room with the live lobsters on display.

Pinky's Pizza Parlor
1379 South California Boulevard
Walnut Creek



Pinky's is an old hole-in-the-wall pizza place that opened in 1962, and is still cranking out the pies.

The Original Hick'ry Pit
1259 South Main Street
Walnut Creek


Grandma's Reuben

This restaurant opened as Emil Villa's Hick'ry Pit in 1958. They are still serving up pie and smoked meats to large crowds--we had to wait for a table. Being that it's in Walnut Creek, it is a bit higher priced that what you would find for a similar restaurant in Sacramento, but it has a lot more character than most of Walnut Creek.

Skipolini's Pizza
2001 Salvio Street
Concord



This is one of the youngest restaurants on this list, and I haven't even visited their oldest location, the one listed above in Concord, which opened in 1974. My grandmother suggested Skipolini's when I told her what kind of restaurant I was looking for, as it used to be a favorite of my uncle's. I found they had a closer location in Walnut Creek.



The Walnut Creek location has a beautiful mural of Mt. Diablo on the walls, and sawdust acovering the floors. There's a lovely closed-in, outdoor dining area as well. The veggie pizza we had the first time we were there didn't impress me, but the fully-loaded pepperoni and black olive pizza we had the second time was fully satisfying.

Sugar Plum Coffee Shop
1815 Colfax Street
Concord

According to the Contra Costa Times, this vintage diner opened in 1959. It's a cozy little place, lined with historic photos of Concord, from when it was a much more interesting place. I'm sure they do fine breakfast standards there, but I made the mistake of ordering huevos rancheros. Really, I should have known better than to order Mexican food at any place other than a Mexican restaurant when in California, where there are so many great Mexican restaurants.

Copper Kettle
1711 Concord Avenue
Concord

We checked out this place because we had a coupon. Not all of our dining adventures turn out delightful. I don't know the origins of this old restaurant, and I don't think the Contra Costa Times is going to run an article on it that would give me that history. It's right in front of a motorcycle shop, and the bikers inside didn't seem to mind the cheap furnishings or the flies, but my grandmother did. She didn't feel well after breakfast there.

Bella Roma Pizza
101 Main Street
formerly 4040 Alhambra Avenue
Martinez

I haven't been to the new location on Main Street in Martinez, but have visited the Alhambra location several times. This place was a favorite with my grandparents when my uncle and aunt were young. It was a favorite with kids, and with me too, for the Wurlitzer organ, driving many instruments and a bubble machines, and the miniature railroad that ran above everyone's heads. I presume these features are all at the new location to, but haven't had the chance to check yet.






JT La Beau's
436 Ferry Street
Martinez

I don't recall much about our visit to this restaurant in downtown Martinez, except that they served Louisiana style cuisine, and had an energy surcharge, as we were there during the California energy crisis. I'll have to try and make it back soon so I can make a fuller report.

Wink's Restaurant
3835 Alhambra Avenue
Martinez


Biscuits and Gravy

This old diner has been around since at least 1961, and photos inside show that it was an old drive-in restaurant before that.

Riverview Lodge
I Street Wharf
Antioch

On a fishing pier on the edge of historic downtown Antioch, this time warp of a restaurant was built in 1948. It burnt down and was rebuilt in 1961, but apparently they tried to recreate the look of the original, as the old wood floors, ceiling, and paneling all look more 1940s than 1960s.

The menu hasn't changed much over the years it seems--you can still get pan-fried frog legs. If you go, you are best off getting one of the most expensive dishes, like cioppino or lobster, which are fairly priced in comparison to other restaurants. The least expensive dishes, like a ground beef, onion, and pepper omelet for $15, are grossly overpriced.

Mac's Old House
3100 East 18th Street
Antioch



While it's last on my list, Mac's Old House is probably my favorite of all these restaurants. According to the Contra Costa Times, Floyd "Mac" McKinney opened it as a bar in his own home in the mid 1950s. They have a beautiful vintage neon sign, a nice and cozy dining area, and quality food. Best of all, all of the food and drinks are inexpensive. So why have I only been there once? It's the location. But it is worth making a special trip for, even at today's high gas prices. I'm sure I'll be back sometime in the next few months.

Summit of Mt. Diablo from Mitchell Canyon Road

For this particular day on which my hiking buddy and I were determined to get out, I had hoped to hike on the coast, or to a waterfall in Marin County. But the tide tables indicated it was an inopportune day for a coastal hike, and despite studying a trail map intensively for more than an hour, I could not come up with hike to a waterfall that we hadn't already seen that would be long enough to satisfy me. I'm not going to drive for 2 hours each way to get in a short hike.

Finally I thought of Mt. Diablo. At the end of March, it was about the end of season for seeing Mt. Diablo at its best, blanketed with green grasses and vivid wildflowers. It only takes a week or two of hot weather for the hills to turn golden (or brown, to those who don't appreciate the austere beauty of Northern California in summer).

After Googling, I found the Mt. Diablo Interpretative Association's website, listing hikes by difficulty level. I chose "most difficult," because I'm used to National Forest websites listing anything that is beyond a casual stroll for a family hiking on a whim as "difficult." For regular hikers who plan ahead, these hikes can be quite easy.

But to my surprise, there were some hikes that did indeed sound difficult to me, including the one I recommended to Erik: 17 miles, 3400 feet of climbing. We've done 3400 feet of climbing before, although I was sore for 5 days afterwards. And I've hiked 17 miles on my own before, at Point Reyes. But I've never done anything like the combination of the two (I can't speak for Erik's hiking experience before he started hiking with me).

And this wasn't at the end of an intense hiking period, like September after hiking the Sierras all summer. Neither of us had done attempted a difficult hike since last October. But something about the challenge had me excited. I wasn't sure how Erik would react. But it turns out the hike excited him too, and he thought we should undertake it, unless, as he said, I was only suggesting it as a joke.

No, it wasn't a joke. I set about trying to match up the terse--perhaps absurdly so--directions from the Interpretative Association's website with the trail map in the park's brochure, downloaded from the park's website. But the trail names in the directions didn't always match those on the map. So I just made up some of it from the map, like Back Creek Trail looked nice, with a squiggly blue line running alongside the trail. I wrote it all down on a 3x5 index card (I tried to print out the map, but I need a new ink cartridge). I knew we would have to pay a fee to enter the park, so I hoped there would be a manned kiosk there, and they would give me a trail map.

I picked up Erik in the morning and we sped off on the all-too-familiar trip to Contra Costa County via I-80 and I-680. I didn't need any map to find the park entrance on Mitchell Canyon Road, as it wasn't that far east of my uncle's house. There was no kiosk at the entrance, just a place to deposit an envelope with $3 in it. We parked in about the closest space to the trailhead, and after Erik got back from the restroom, we started off. There was a map right at the beginning that I photographed, but there were strong reflections coming off of it, and I was having trouble getting the camera to focus, so I wasn't able to get a shot that would be of much use to us.

The area at the foot of Mount Diablo is wonderfully bucolic, especially at that time of year. Green grasses, gently undulating land, gnarled oak trees just beginning to bud, a creek running alongside the trail, and wildflowers in bloom--not in mass profusion, but regular enough--all put me in a relaxed and positive frame of mind. There wasn't anything dramatic that forced me to stop and take photographs, but it was . . . pleasant. Even the dramatic mining scar on the hillside to the west of us had its own kind of beauty, suggesting to Erik a terraced landscape. I'm sure we'd both be sick if we knew of the environmental impact of the mining.

For all of the climbing that was involved, the old Mitchell Canyon Road was gentle at the beginning, and I wondered, out loud, a couple of times about when we would start to climb. That time came, sure enough. We saw a great abundance the wildflower Henderson's shooting star along the trail, but not knowing how long this hike would take, we didn't stop to take photos, even though I've rarely seen this wildflower in the past. Dawdling is a luxury for the descent, when you know you are going to make it back to the car before dark.

A while after we began to climb more steeply, I noticed the 3x5 note card I had written the directions on was no longer with me. I suggested to Erik that he run back and find it, but he was Bartleby-like in his response to that suggestion. Since the heavily trod Bay Area trails are usually well signed and full of people, I didn't worry about it.

Two women on the way down who saw us laboring on the way up assured us, "You're almost there!" I don't think they knew we were planning to go all the way to the summit, as we were nowhere close to there. We soon reached Deer Flat, 2120 feet, which they must have though was our destination. I did stop to take a photo of a flower there, with a caterpillar on the side of it.





We continued on a dirt road until just before a small parking area for the Diablo Valley Overlook. At that point, a single track trail, Juniper Trail, veered off. At last trail, rather than road. We soon came upon an earnest looking woman, accompanied by two earnest looking men. The woman earnestly informed us that what was before her were owl pellets, and she said something to one of the earnest men about being able to break apart the owl pellets with a stick. I nodded my head and kept marching.

I know my original plan, as derived from the website directions and the map .pdf, had us going to the Diablo Valley Overlook. But I couldn't remember if we went straight up to the lower summit parking lot on a trail on the east side of the lot, or took a more circuitous route to the south to meet up with Summit Trail--both ways are part of Juniper Trail. The latter way looked more interesting to me, so we took it.

It was a decision I soon began to question. Not only would the hike be longer this way, but we were heading downhill gradually--and any elevation we loss would have to be made up when we started climbing to the summit again. But it was a lovely trail with views of the East Bay to the south and east, and of the road to the summit winding through the park. Chemise chaparral densely surround the trail, with the occasional juniper mixed in. We crossed the newly created Trail Through Time, which sounded interesting, and eventually reached Summit Trail.

That's when we started climbing again, and steeply too. This was definitely the most difficult portion of the hike. We went up to the edge of the paved road, then east along a dirt road for access to some utility or something, then climbed up on trail again to Devil's Elbow, where there is a junction with North Peak Trail and a large map.

From there, it was a short, but still steep, climb to the lower summit parking lot.. There was plenty of unused room in this lot. We hiked up the road to the summit until it split into separated lanes of one-way traffic, at which point the summit trail resumes in the space between the two lanes. A dense cover of large shrubs or short trees covered us and blocked the view of cars.



Finally we arrived at the very small parking lot next to the 1930s visitor center. There were people in there cars with the engines idling, spewing greenhouse gases into the air and burning $3.50-per-gallon gasoline, just waiting for a parking space to open up so that they would not have to make the short climb from the lower parking lot.



We checked out the view from on top of the visitor center, and went inside of it as well. Just inside the door they have an area exposed in the floor where the true summit of Mt. Diablo is. I checked into buying a map while there, but balked at paying $10.75 for one.

After filling up with water from the drinking fountain, we started making our way back down. We returned to Devil's Elbow where I went over the map and told Erik the plan once we headed off on North Peak Trail, rather than how we had come: left on Prospector's Gap, right on an unnamed fire road, and left on Back Creek Trail.

There were large outcroppings of rock along North Peak Trail, and many more hikers than we had encountered previously. I believe it is part of the popular Grand Loop. At the end of the narrow trail is a saddle and a junction with Prospector's Gap Road. We turned to the left onto that, and passed another junction and another trail map.


Along North Peak Trail

Prospector's Gap Fire Road was quite a surprise because of how steep it was. We were descending at an angle that made it very hard to keep our footing. I told Erik, "I'm going to fall on my ass," and about thirty seconds later made good on that prediction. We both slipped a couple of times after that, but managed to stay on our feet.

The map had indicated that the first junction we would hit would be with the unnamed fire road, but instead we hit a junction with a narrow trail, which threw me. But we continued on. At one point there was a sign indicating Big Springs and an elevation of under 2100 feet, meaning we had already dropped more than 1700 feet. We went over to a creek there for a short while.

The next junction was with Meridian Ridge Road. There, trail signs indicated a distance of 11 miles back to Deer Flat if we continued on Prospector's Gap Fire Road, or a much shorter distance down Meridian Ridge Road to Donner Fire Road.

I wasn't sure what to do--this seemed like where we should be reaching the road to take over to Back Creek Trail. It was, after all, supposed to be the first road we intersected, but I didn't recall seeing that name on it at the map back at Devil's Gap. So we talked about it, and I spent a long time trying to read on my camera's LCD the map that I took the photo of back at the beginning, without any luck. I've mentioned other maps we had passed, but I had not bothered to try to photograph them.


My Lousy Map

Meridian Ridge Road definitely led down and to civilization--we could see houses at a distance, but I was worried because there was still a large ridge between us and the view of mining scars we had seen from where we started out--I didn't want to have to climb over that ridge. But eventually we set off on Meridian Ridge Fire Road.

This road was also extremely steep. While working to keep our footing, we discussed our predicament, and a couple of times Erik told me that he was pretty sure we would make it back this way within a couple of hours, although he also indicated that he couldn't say why he felt that way. At one point we saw two rabbits along the trail, and I asked Erik if that was an auspicious sign. Only the next day did I realize that of course seeing two rabbits on Easter Sunday is an auspicious sign.

A ways down, we could clearly see the end of the mountain up ahead--gently rolling green meadows, followed by suburban tract housing. And then our reassurance came--a junction with a trail and a sign indicating Back Creek Trail was only .59 miles away. As we approached Back Creek, I heard voices--the first people we had encountered in quite some time.


Along Back Creek Trail


Henderson's Shooting Stars

From then on we had no worries, and could once again take time for photographs. Our only "concern" in getting home was whether we could make it back to the car within 8 hours of having started out, which is what we had guessed the hike would take. Back Creek Trail crosses the creek several times, and late in the day was shadowed by the ridge to the east. The coolness of the shade and the creek were welcome after the steep downgrade on open fire road in the sun.

When we got back to a bucolic area much like the one we had started out the hike in, we saw another junction, this one indicating the way back to Mitchell Canyon Road. We headed off on that and ended up later walking in a large, green open space with the occasional oak, on Bruce Lee Road. It went past a large pond, and then ended up just above the Mitchell Canyon Staging Area, where we were parked. We could see a trail down below that led to the parking lot, and it would have been easy to scramble down the hillside to that trail. But there was an area where people had been doing that where branches had been placed to indicate that we should not take that short cut, so we went the long way, hiking to the south past rich outbursts of orange California poppies amongst the green grasses, until we were just a few feet from private houses, where the road doubled back to the parking lot. As we passed where we had been overlooking the parking area from above, we noticed that if we had turned left there, instead of right, we would have immediately hit a switchbacked trail to the parking area.


Near the End
Off the edge of the lot we saw two turkeys, the last interesting part of the hike. We passed a trailer that was a park information center now closed, where I suspect we could have gotten a map in the morning. I asked Erik if it had been open when he passed it to use the bathroom in the morning, and he said he thought it was. Finally, we got back to the car, having completed the hike in under 8 hours: 7 hours and 50 minutes. There was still enough daylight left that I decided to drive back home on CA 160 along the delta for scenic views and light traffic, rather than return on that massive scar, I-80. I'm still not sure exactly how far we hiked, although it's probably around the 17 miles that we had originally planned on--I'm still waiting on the elusive map to say for sure, in a book I have requested from the library.