Point Reyes: Limantour Spit & Bucklin Trail

Low expectations were the order of the day as Erik and I headed out for another hike at Point Reyes National Seashore. The conditions weren't quite right for most of the more dramatic hikes there—not a lot of recent rain for Alamere Falls to be at full flow, and the low tide was not going to be particularly low, so no point in visiting the tide pool areas. So I just looked at the map and decided on a main hike that would cover some trail I haven't been on before—part of my quest to hike every last mile of official trail (whether still maintained or not) in the national park.

But before we set off on the main hike, I planned for us to do a short hike down Limantour Spit. Limantour Spit is a wide sand bar that stretches about 2 ½ miles from the shore out towards the actual point and Chimney Rock. On one side is the wide-open ocean, and on the other side is a small inlet of ocean water that divides the spit from the cliffs of the mainland, including Drakes Head. In between the cliffs are further inlets—the first (from east to west) very minor, the second forming Estero de Limantour, and the third forming Drakes Estero, large enough to have four named bays branching off of it.

There's a one-mile trail going down the center of Limantour Spit on the map, so I figured we would hike 2 miles out and back before heading off for our main hike. Only I hadn't looked at the map that closely when planning. The trail goes less than 1/2 the length of the spit, and goes along the top of a sand dune. We walked right past the start of the trail, headed down the beach, and kept going past the end of the trail and the end of the sand dune.

The initial portion of the hike was beautiful, of course, with a wide expanse of beach stretching on seemingly forever, and the waves gently crashing. But it got more interesting once we passed the end of the sand dune on our right. Then came a series of smaller sand dunes separated by open gullies through which we could see the muddy low areas on the north side of the spit exposed by the receding tide and backed by the cliffs on the other side of the inlet that separates the spit from the mainland. We walked along the edge of this wet tidal area, enjoying the views of the cliffs and the esteros.

We hiked out more than 2 miles, and since I had only planned on hiking out 1 mile, it took us longer than I had planned. I would have liked to have gone all the way to the very end of the spit, and we weren't that far from it. I know people go out there, because I've seen them from Sunset Beach, on the mainland. But we were at the point of low tide, and not having been out there before, I wanted us to get back without giving the tide a chance to rise any higher than it had been when we set out.

Before returning, I climbed up the last sand dune to check out the view, and immediately noticed a bunch of wood and cords that appeared to be part of a sailing vessel. I went over to check it out, and discovered a shelter had been built into the side of the sand dune out of various items that had been washed ashore, and a couple of lawn chairs that may have been left behind. Before it a bench and table were set up. The table was covered with a collection sea shells. No sign of the creator of this remote retreat.

We headed back along the beach, and before long met up with our footprints left on the way out. When we got back to the long sand dune, we climbed it, and followed what seemed to be a faint use trail, until it brought us to a wider path that must have been the official trail shown on the map. It appears that even at high tide this trail is well above the water line, so we could have made it to the end of the spit and still made it back with plenty of margin for error. The highlight of this portion of the hike was spotting two deer.

Back at the car, we drove back on Limantour Road to the trailhead at Muddy Hollow Road, and set out on that dirt road.

Soon there was a stream to cross, but it was pretty narrow, so I just ran up and leaped across it. Erik generally prefers to slowly step across rocks to cross a stream—rock hopping is the general term, but in Erik's case it is more like rock yoga. But not seeing suitable rocks to step across, he leaped too—and came about one boot length short of making it without splashing.

Past the junction with Bay View Trail, the trail climbed a bit, and Erik pointed out the trees we were passing by: bishop pines. They had pine cones growing straight out of the trunk of the tree, and there were no pine cones to be found on the ground. He told me that they stay on the tree and only open to release their seeds in fire.

We reached a nicely signed junction and started off on Bucklin Trail, which climbs quite a ways to reach Point Reyes Hill at 1,336 feet. Oddly, Point Reyes Hill is 54 feet higher than the peak of Mount Vision, yet only merits the label "hill."

Bucklin Trail turned out to be a real delight. It is well graded and without many ups and downs (which can add a lot of additional climbing beyond the net elevation gain). Much of it was through a young and dense forest of bishop pines, which formed a canopy over the trail. Erik kept commenting on how densely packed these trees were, and when he got home he did some research. This whole area was burned out in the Vision Fire of 1995, and the young trees grow narrow and close together, but as they get larger, 97% of them will die off, and the larger mature trees will be spaced much farther apart.

The time of year, the recent weather conditions, and the shade provided by the canopy of trees proved to be ideal conditions for fungi and banana slugs. Over the course of this hike we spotted more banana slugs than we have ever seen on a hike before. But more exciting to me was the profusion of different types of mushrooms. I've never seen anything close to this wide of a variety of mushrooms.

Deer Skeleton

Given the low-light conditions and the need to use a small aperture to get sufficient depth of field in macro shots, I had to shoot long exposures to get decent photographs, and that was just too much work and too time-consuming for me to photograph every variety of interesting mushroom, much less every interesting mushroom.

As we neared the end of 2.3-mile Bucklin Trail we came to a clearing with spectacular views to the west of a large expanse of the park and ocean. Unfortunately, we were looking into the sun and there was a mixture of fog and clouds, so it didn't look like it would make for a compelling photograph, but it was breathtaking to see in person. To the immediate east it was quite the opposite—a large, fenced-off radar installation on top of the hill used for air traffic control. We hiked alongside this until we reached Inverness Ridge Trail.

Inverness Ridge Trail pales in comparison to Bucklin Trail for hiking pleasure, but it looks like it would be a great trail for bicycles. It was wide with lots of ups and downs. At one point there was a narrow, unmarked side trail. We couldn't resist our curiosity and ran up it to see if it led someplace interesting. It kept going and had another unmarked junction, and at that point we decided to turn back and return to the mapped trail. On the map this area appears to be close to the park boundary and private land, so I'm guessing that this trail might have led there. It's not shown on the full park map or the north district hiking map.

From Inverness Ridge Trail we made our way back to Muddy Hollow Road via Drakes View Trail. As we were heading downhill, I expected wide open views of Drakes Head and Limantour Spit, so as to justify the name of the trail. But we had no such views. It resembled Bucklin Trail, only was generally steeper. As we got to the lower portion, it opened up to a more grassy area with a couple of large wooden arch bridges across streams. On this lower portion of trail I spotted four rabbits. Back on Muddy Hollow Road, Erik redeemed himself by clearing the creek with his leap.

In all this main hike added up to 7.1 miles, and we had hiked another 4+ miles out on Limantour Spit in the morning, so I was satisfied with that. I hate to drive such a long distance and do anything less than 10 miles of hiking. There was also quite a bit of climbing for Point Reyes, although not much in comparison to Sierra hikes.

The fact that in all my research of trails to hike in Point Reyes I have never read anything about Bucklin Trail gives an idea of just what a great variety of terrific hikes there are to do at Point Reyes, albeit we may have been very lucky on our timing for the mushrooms and banana slugs. For a day that had started with such low expectations, both Erik and I were thoroughly delighted with our day of hiking.

El Dorado National Forest: Pyramid Peak's Summit

One of the most dramatic scenes in all of the Desolation Wilderness is Lake Aloha in the Desolation Valley (from which the designated wilderness area gets its name). Lake Aloha is not a natural lake--it used to be a series of small lakes named the Medley Lakes, until a dam was built in 1875 and raised in 1917, creating Lake Aloha, until water levels drop in late September and it divides again into a series of lakes. The valley floor is an immense stretch of granite, and the vast expanse of blue water of Lake Aloha set off against the silvery gray of the stark granite is awe inspiring. I had seen it from the southern, eastern, and northern sides, but I wanted a view of it from the west, from high above it, on Pyramid Peak, the highest point in the Desolation Wilderness at 9,983 feet.

There are three ways to reach the summit of Pyramid Peak described on this handy website. Although it is the longest route, going via Lake Sylvia and the Lyons Creek Trail involves the least climbing (about 3300 feet of it), and at around 12 miles round trip is not as long as many hikes I take.

Seeing as how it is off trail and requires a good bit of scrambling, though, I felt it best to hike this with my friend Erik, rather than alone. We set off in October of 2007, but there was snow on the ground, and ultimately we decided not to go off trail, and instead we made a visit to Lyons Lake.


Lake Sylvia, October 2007

For attempt #2, we set out late in July of 2008. I had studied the map and a photograph from that website mentioned earlier, and thought it would be easy enough to find the way. We marched off to Lake Sylvia via the Lyons Creek Trail, and then it was time to climb to "the obvious notch SSE of the lake."

I've got to be honest. Erik and I are enthusiastic hikers, but we don't have much experience, and don't seem to be naturals at this either. We have some problems. Looking from the shore of Lake Sylvia, neither of us could spot a notch that was obvious. In fact, we had to get out the map just to clarify that north of the lake was Mt. Agassiz, and not Pyramid Peak--Pyramid Peak doesn't look like much of a peak or a pyramid from Lake Sylvia (although it does from the east). Additionally, the map made it look like we should just skirt the shore that we arrived at before starting up, which is what we did.


We should have been farther to the right in this photo

We tried to find the easiest way up, going gradually from west to east, climbing at a slant to what we decided was most likely our notch. But after a lot of work, and having to climb down and back up again on talus and slab to get around impassable objects, we reached a very steep portion with smaller rocks mixed with dirt--not good footing at all. We sent some rocks tumbling, and finally gave up, and went down the talus and slab portion with the largest boulders.

As we got down to the lake, I heard people discussing the way up and saw them pointing, and soon they started up. They headed towards the same notch we had been aiming for, but they started considerably more to the east. Rather than start climbing from the southwest corner of the lake, they started from the middle of the south shore, about where the trees end. We stayed and watched them, and more people who followed, and a man hiking down. They avoided entirely the steep portion with poor footing that had stopped us, and their route looked easier. Three guys who came later, though, climbed right up to where we had been, and made a very laborious ascent up the ridge from there, sending many rocks flying, and exchanging terse words with each other.

We had worked too much to start the ascent over, so we instead enjoyed Lake Sylvia--it was my third time there, but the first time I really spent time at the lake. And we went off trail following Lyons Creek for a portion on the way back, which took us through some lovely meadows where the creek meanders and has trout swimming in it. The trout are not native to streams and lakes above 6000 feet in the Sierra Nevada, but have been stocked there since the 19th century, and survive in some lakes and streams even in national parks in the Sierra Nevada, which are no longer stocked.

So we once again failed to make it up to Pyramid Peak, but at least we had scouted out the route, and knew how to approach it on our next attempt, which wouldn't be until early September.


Erik on the talus

One bad thing about starting later in the season is that it means less time before sunset, and we got a late start from Sacramento too. We did much better on this effort, making our way, rather slowly, up the talus to the notch, and continuing up from there. There was no clearly blazed use trail, but the general way seemed obvious enough, and every once in a while we would come across a section of use trail on the steep climb. We got very high up, just below the peak and the final scramble up talus. But we were pressed for time at that point--there was a good chance that if we continued to the peak, we would not make it back to the car before dark. It's not like the peak was going away anytime soon, so there really was no pressing reason to risk it. After resting and checking out the outstanding view of a pond on the slope up above Lake Syliva, we headed back. We made it back to the car just after sunset, while there was still a good bit of light. That was it for climbing Pyramid Peak in 2008.


The summit of Pyramid Peak to the right


Ponds between Pyramide Peak and Mt. Agassiz

For 2009, I briefly considered a different approach--taking the shorter route (with more climbing) from U.S. 50, which is more popular, or camping at Lake Sylvia so as to get a very early start on the climb. But no, I had to finally do what I had set out from the trailhead three times before intending to do, and not done. No turning back this time, no excuses.

So at the end of July I set off, alone this time, and on a weekday, with the hope that it would be just me and the mountain. I took a mechanical pencil along to jot down the time at various points along the trail so I would have a good estimate of how long my return would be.

8:45 Set out from the trailhead along the familiar Lyons Creek Trail.
9:25 Passed junction with Bloodsucker Lake Trail.
10:37 Reached fork in trail, one way heading to Lyons Lake, my way towards Lake Syliva.
10:47 Reached Lake Syliva
10:52 Started up the talus from the south shore of the lake.

We had successfully completed this portion of the hike the year before, so I hadn't been too concerned about it, until I actually started it. Looking up the huge slope of talus was pretty intimidating, and I started questioning my decision to go on a weekday. There had been campers at the lake, but nobody was around climbing the way I was going. As I started up, someone at the lake started playing the harmonica. It was rather strange, climbing by myself over huge rocks, with just the sound of a distant harmonica and the wind in the trees now and then.

I took my time, and took breaks along the way up, looking down at the lake. I noticed that someone was standing on the north shore apparently watching my progress the whole time.


Taking a break

Closer to the top, there is solid mountain on the left and right, with talus in between, and above that dirt with loose rock. The left side next to solid mountain looked best to me, so I went up that way, but farther up there was a distinct use trail on the right side next to the solid mountain. Sometimes I skipped around sketchy looking portions that were definitely heavily traveled, but looked terrible for footing. I reached the notch at 11:37, so it took 45 minutes for me to climb up from the lake.

All accounts I have read of this hike are pretty dismissive of the next portion, saying the peak is obvious, and you just head up. But really, the route you take up the steep slope can make a big difference in how difficult the hike is. There are portions near the start that have ups and downs, rather than just continuing up, which make going more difficult, and there are sections of talus. But it is possible to navigate around them, and take an easier way up. The patches of use trail help.

I had mixed success in finding the easiest route. I would find a patch of use trail and then lose it, and then find it again, sometimes closer to the ridge than I had been traveling, sometimes farther away from it. I began to suspect that there were two distinct use trails, and I kept alternating between them.

I had to stop to rest a couple of times on the way up, and I ate my sandwich, the only food I had brought on the hike. Where I stopped there were lovely views of Lake Sylvia and a pond just below the notch on the other side from Lake Sylvia. Father up, I could see a couple of cabins in a beautiful meadow down to the southwest. I think these are the cabins in Upper Forni mentioned in Robert S. Wood's 1970 guide to the Desolation Wilderness.

1:00 Or a little before, I reached the spot that Erik and I had stopped at last year. I forgot to check my watch until a little later.

Nothing to do from here but face that boulder and talus climb. Again, it appeared intimidating, but also quite beautiful, with the rocks bespeckled with green and pink/peach lichen. There were a few trees out in the middle of the talus, indicating soil in that area, so I thought there might be some easier hiking. I headed towards one on the left, only to end up veering back towards two on the right. Near them was some soil where it was easier going, but it was a short patch. I knew what was down over the ridge to the left--a sheer drop. I thought maybe there was an easier ascent over the ridge to the right, but I figured it might also be a sheer drop that way, and the latter theory proved correct.

I was really panting and my heart racing, but I reminded myself it wasn't just the effort, it was because I was approaching 10,000 feet in elevation and the air was thin. I was finally going to stop and, but having just reached much smaller rocks, I could see the summit was very close. I decided I'd rather rest with a view.

1:23 I reached the summit, 4 hours and 38 minutes after departing from the trailhead. There were several deep enclosures up there, where people have dug up the rocks and put them up as walls, undoubtedly nice for getting out of the wind on some days (not a problem that day). There was a container with the summit register, a cardboard crown for being king of the mountain, and various other bits. According to the register, one other group had been there before me that day, firefighters from Sacramento who came via the more popular route from U.S. 50.



But what about the view? I don't know any way to capture it in a compelling photograph, but it was stunning. There were too man lakes visible for me to be able to identify them all. Lake Aloha, of course, predominated, but I could also see Lake of the Woods, many small lakes, a fantastic cascade of water running down the granite between, I believe, Desolation Lake and Ropi Lake. Even portions of the Echo Lakes, Fallen Leaf Lake, and the south end of Lake Tahoe (and a couple of casinos) were visible. Even from that high up, I couldn't fit all of Lake Aloha in view with a wide-angle lens.

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Part of Lake Aloha

I stayed for half an hour at the summit, and then started the long, but relatively uneventful, trek back. As I started down from the notch to Lake Sylvia, I fell on my butt, and got a small cut on my hand. I took it as a reminder to be cautious on that portion. I remember working my way down it pretty quickly last year, but I think I was definitely slower this year. I made it to the lake by 3:25, which meant I had plenty of time. The only reason I had to hurry back was hunger. I reached my car at 5:23, and headed off for dinner in Placerville.

Tahoe National Forest: Warren Lake Trail

Tantalizingly Close to Warren Lake

My friend Erik and I decided to go hiking on Saturday. He suggested we take the Rockbound Pass Trail in the Desolation Wilderness, but I hiked that trail twice last summer, and was interested in something new. I checked _California Hiking_ and found one trail that was close enough to drive to for a day hike, was a challenge in terms of length and difficulty (which I was looking for), and promised to be a beautiful hike (the book gave it a 10 for scenic value): Warren Lake Trail.

I suggested it to Erik and sent him a link to a photo of the lake, thinking he would just trust me about it being suitable. But instead he looked up information online about the hike and found it was described as "very difficult," and recommended only as a 2-day backpacking trip.

Of course, that hike on Rockbound Pass Trail to the lakes just past the pass is also described as a 2-day backpacking trip, as is the one we had made a couple of weeks earlier to Rubicon Lake. That hike was 16.2 miles, whereas this one was listed in my book and online as 14 miles (turns out it is 15). None of the descriptions were too exact, but I figured from them that it would involve about 3,000 feet of climbing, 1,500 of that on a short and very difficult stretch. Frankly, it sounded perfect to me--something just a little more difficult than what we had ever attempted before. I talked Erik into it.

Let me tell you, if you are interested in doing a lot of hiking in El Dorado National Forest and Tahoe National Forest, you need to buy or borrow a copy of The Tahoe Sierra by Jeffrey P. Schaffer. The geological information is fascinating, but more importantly it gives very accurate and full descriptions of the hikes and accurate measures of distance and elevation gain on the hikes and the various ways to add variety to those hikes (with spur trails, or taking different ways back). I couldn't find my copy of it right off, and wasn't really concerned about the hike, so I didn't worry about it. Only afterwards did I find it because I had to quantify just what we had been through: 15 miles, and more than 4,000 feet of cumulative elevation gain (that is, counting all the climbing on ups and downs, not the net elevation difference from the trailhead to the goal of the hike). And most of the climbing and descending was steep.

We had a bit of a delay getting started. The Castle Peak/Boreal Ridge exit from eastbound I-80 was closed for construction, so we had to take the Donner Lake exit, get on westbound I-80, and get back to our exit.

Then I just turned north up a short distance from there to what looked like a trailhead, knowing that the lake was north of the freeway. But after walking up to a map on a fire road, I realized the trailhead was on the south side of the freeway, and I quickly checked the book and read a little more, as I should have done the night before. We drove over there to the parking area for the Pacific Crest Trailhead.

On this really easy early portion of trail that caters to travelers just stopping off the road for a few minutes to stroll in the high Sierra Nevada, we took a wrong turn where a portion of the sign with the information we needed was broken off. I'm going to say it was because of bears rubbing up against it to scratch their itches.

So we ended up at a rest stop for eastbound I-80, looking totally out of place in our hiking gear. We were looking for a tunnel under the freeway, but there wasn't one there. Another map indicated where we went wrong, and we headed back to the last junction and took the right path.

It was a short delay, and it was easy hiking, but not a good start for a hike on which Erik was concerned about us getting back before dark. I didn't really think it would be an issue. He asked me if I had my headlamp with me, and I told him "Possibly." I like to have it in my backpack in case it's needed, but I hadn't checked if it was there, and I couldn't really remember if I had it in there on my last couple of hikes. (Much later I checked, and I did have it.)

So we hiked through the tunnel underneath I-80, lined with corrugated tin. We crossed a small trickle of water going up every so slightly and came to a junction. I think the fork we did not take, from the maps we had seen, goes back to the rest stop on westbound I-80. If you can park there (I suspect it might not be allowed, and might not be as safe for belongings in your car), it would shorten the hike a tad.

We proceeded through forest to an open area filled with false hellebore. I really love the leaves of this plant, but experience tells me to rush through areas where it is still green, as there are always lots of mosquitoes around. We continued climbing at a very easy pace on dirt trail--so much easier on the feet than stone--to a junction signed for Summit Lake to the right and Warren Lake to the left.

Heading off towards Warren Lake, it didn't take long for the trail to start climbing more steeply. It was steep enough that I was surprised. From the hike descriptions I had read, I was imagining that it was a pretty gradual 1,500-foot climb for 6 miles, then a steep and difficult drop for 1 mile. But here we were climbing rather steeply early on.

We emerged into an open area covered with mule ears and with fabulous views of the mountains to the south and of the snow sheds along the first railroad passage through the Sierra Nevada. Below the trail to the right was a muddy area where a snow melt-fed pond must have recently been, and up above to the left was a hollow in which there was some still unmelted snow.

Shortly after this is a climb to "the saddle." Erik had mentioned this point from what he had read online about the hike, and this was definitely it. (A saddle is just the low point in the dip between two peaks.) There was an unsigned junction here, with a trail climbing up to the peak. We passed it by, but apparently it leads a short ways to a lovely overlook of Frog Lake.

From here we started down, which surprised us. We were expecting to basically be climbing up until the last mile, when we would make a sharp decent. But no, that would have been far too easy. This is what makes this hike difficult--the continual alternation between steep climb and steep descent.

This descent wasn't so bad at first, and when the trail came to a turn there was a sign indicating 4 miles to Warren Lake. The marker reassured us that we had made the right choice at the unmarked junction above.

We descended on gradual slope through forest and past an open area with a large snow bank to the edge of a open valley, and then started steeply down its face.

It was tough going just to keep our footing on this steep descent, but what a view! Volcanic Basin Peak shot up in front of us to the west with a slope down into the valley to a large section of exposed granite. And there were wildflowers of all sorts on either side of us.


What a View!

Getting lower, we began crossing numerous small streams from the snow melt. Then we started another steep ascent, this time across a ridge of fine dust and rock from a lava flow, with unstable footing.

Characteristic of these ancient lava flows are mudflow blocks. They look to me like discarded chunks of concrete, and I was confused by them when I first encountered them, but the trusty Tahoe Sierra book explained them to me. They are like concrete: concrete is aggregate, like rocks, bound together with cement. Mudflow blocks are aggregate of loose rocks bound together by the mixture of superheated mud rushing ahead of the lava flow.

Once up that tough climb, we went down and up and down and up I don't know how many times. Down each time to cross the stream of run-off, then up to the next ridge. I was grumbling a lot to myself at this point about how there must be a much easier way to reach Warren Lake.

Finally we hit the easiest portion of trail since the junction with the trail to Summit Lake. It had beautiful views of a green valley far below to the east, as well as of the dramatic terrain we had just passed.

We came to a signed junction, to the left for Devil's Oven Lake, to the right for Warren Lake, with a distance of 1 1/4 miles. I was keeping track of the time, and when we would need to turn back, and it had been getting questionable. From my calculations, we still could make it to the lake and back with enough margin for error in my estimates that we would be safely back to the car before dark. But we certainly weren't going to have much time to spend at the lake.

The first portion after the junction is quite easy and level. There is a momentary drop after that, and then some easy descent. But then we hit a vicious descent. After struggling through it trying to keep my balance, I reached a flat area and thought, "Am I down to the lake already? That wasn't too hard." But that portion is maybe 1/3 of the way down.

When we began descending again at first it was a little easier, but then we hit portions that were just as difficult as before. As Erik said later, it didn't really matter if you followed the trail or not, as the trail wasn't any easier than just picking your way down the slope. The last 20 feet or so was the worst. It was as though the person who had chosen the route for the trail just gave up at that point.

There were four tents pitched at the flat area at the end of the trail by the lake, and a fire pit that was well built up. But the lake was not accessible directly ahead--too many woody shrubs, or dwarf trees. I started off to the right, where I could see an inviting peninsula, but it soon appeared there would be some difficulty scrambling to get there, and I wasn't up to it at that point. So I walked through the tents to another camping area that was unoccupied and rested for a while, waiting for Erik to catch up.

But as soon as I felt recovered enough, I couldn't resist the impulse to go exploring to the west. We weren't going to have much time before we started to head back, and I wanted to get some photos. There appeared to be some nice granite slabs to the west side of the lake, and with the light at the time, that is where I would get my best photographs.

I followed a use trail around, and indeed, the west shore of the lake is the place to be. There are nicer camp sites, there, and easy access to the water. In fact, that is where all the guys who were camping at the end of trail were hanging out at the time.


The Goal of the Hike

Not surprisingly, it took me longer to get over there and take my photos than I had anticipated. By the time I got back, I was thinking it was time to start heading up again. But I encountered an exhausted Erik who had tired himself on that scramble I had passed up to the east, thinking that is the way I would have gone.

So we hung out until he was ready to go on. I drank as much water as I comfortably could, so I wouldn't have that weight in my backpack on the way up, and tucked away my camera, thinking I wouldn't bother to get it out again.

That was a long climb. We stopped to rest many times. I congratulated Erik when we finished it, as we had finished what was technically the toughest part of the hike. But it wouldn't seem like the most difficult part to me, given how exhausted I was when I tackled the later portions.

The worst of these was the steep descent (this time) down the dusty volcanic ridge and then very long and steep climb up in front of Basin Peak. When we finally reached the end of that stretch, I went over and sat back on a snow bank to cool off. Later I dug through the top layer of snow to get to some clean snow to put into my canteen for extra water on the way back.

From there we had our last climb back to the saddle. It was pretty much all downhill from there, but our feet were sore, and my legs were aching. The beginning portion of the hike, the mostly flat area around I-80, had seemed so quick in the morning, but it really dragged on for us coming back. Erik said that he thought we were as good as at the car when we passed through the tunnel under the freeway, and was shocked to soon see a sign indicating we had 3/4 mile to go.

About 10 hours after we had left it, we made it back to the car. We made it back with plenty of time before sunset, as I had been sure we would when originally choosing to take this hike. But while I had been the one who pushed for it against Erik's resistance, it turns out I was the one who regretted it. The next day Erik reported that he was well recovered, and climbed 4 flights of stairs at the library. I would have taken the elevator, given how sore I was, and still am 2 days later.

South Yuba Trail: Purdon Crossing to Edwards Crossing

Me in Action at Edwards Crossing

With Labor Day behind us, my hiking buddy Erik felt like it was summer and was anxious to visit the High Sierra this weekend, but I vetoed that, as May 31st is still a little early. I thought the wildflower blooms ought to still be strong in the foothills, so I suggested that instead we return to the South Yuba River Recreation Area, where we had such a lovely hike last year--although I paid for that one afterwards with severe poison ivy rashes that sent me to the doctor for a prescription.

The South Yuba River Recreation Area is composed of a patchwork of Bureau of Land Management property and land that is part of South Yuba River State Park. It stretches from the historic covered bridge at Bridgeport (photo) to Tahoe National Forest, and is contiguous with Malakoff Diggins State Historic Park, presenting plenty of opportunities for hiking, camping, swimming, and gold mining. Yes, limited forms of gold mining are allowed along the stretches of river running through Bureau of Land Management property (but not in the state parks).

Our hike was along the South Yuba River National Trail from one historic bridge, Purdon Crossing, to the next one upstream, Edwards Crossing. To get to Purdon Crossing, we drove to Nevada City, then took North Bloomfield Rd. to the junction with Lake Vera-Purdon Rd., and then took that winding road past Lake Vera to Purdon Crossing. The last stretch was mostly unpaved, and heavily rutted in parts. It was slow going. It's paved road all the way to Edwards Crossing, but I chose to start at Purdon just so we would have more uphill hiking on the way out, and then could have it a little easier on the way back. But there isn't a great deal of difference in elevation between the two river crossings.


Purdon Crossing

We parked just short of Purdon Crossing and the short turnoff to the parking area for the trailhead. That wasn't intentional--I didn't realize there was a larger parking area--but it did afford us the opportunity of viewing and photographing the historic bridge.

According to this interesting website, the bridge dates from 1895 and "is the only remaining half-through metal truss system bridge west of the Rocky Mountains." The "half-through" part I believe refers to the fact that the deck of the bridge is set at the vertical midpoint of the metal truss.


Caterpillar

We hiked up the turnoff to the parking area (no facilities), which had a caterpillar crawling across that we stopped to photograph. From there we were presented with two trail choices, the signed trail to Edwards Crossing, indicating a distance of 4.5 miles, which was quite a bit longer than what I had told Erik from looking at my map, and also a much wider path--maybe an old road--that keeps low along the river. This leads to several swimming spots and a campsite.

We took the South Yuba National Trail, which climbs up the side of the canyon on a narrow path that in the early going had lots of vegetation spilling onto it. Erik loves that, as opposed to the wide open trails, but it was making me nervous after last year's miserable experience with poison oak. And as Erik pointed out, there sure were a lot of plants with leaves in groups of three.

The trail climbs quite a bit above the river, and while we could always hear the South Yuba flowing, we couldn't always see it, although we would catch glimpses now and then. The vegetation was thick, and being on the south side of the canyon, out of direct sunlight for most of the day, it was still quite damp. I'm sure this late in the season that the exposed north side of the canyon was mostly dry. It was also a warm day, with a forecast of 85 degrees for Nevada City, and the combination of warmth and moisture meant there were plenty of mosquitoes, making me doubly glad (in addition to the protection from poison oak) that I had worn pants and long-sleeves.


Erik Stalking Wildflowers

The wildflower display was pretty strong. In hikes past, I would have at least taken a quick photo of each one so that I could have tried to identify them for my hike report, but I'm getting pretty lazy about stopping to photograph wildflowers anymore. We did pause to photograph a few, though.


Indian Pink

There were some use trails down to the river at points, and some of these were quite well worn--so much that I would hesitate, wondering which was the main trail. But we just always took the upper trail until reaching the clearly signed junction with the trail coming down from Round Mountain. It didn't have mileages marked, but I would guess that the junction is 2 miles from Purdon Crossing and 2.5 miles from Edwards Crossing.


More Wildflowers

Between that junction and Edwards Crossing, we hit a rocky section that was more exposed, and consequently had better views of the river. We saw a group of 4 kayakers floating below us. At one point, the trail was eroded and we had to be careful stepping over it, as there was a steep drop off at that point.


Detail, Edwards Crossing

Eventually we could see the next bridge and the trail started heading down to it. At the trailhead there were many vehicles parked, and a pit toilet. I headed straight across the bridge and climbed down on the rocks to the river to get a picture of the bridge while the light was still coming a little bit from the side, although it was mostly from overhead at that point, and I wasn't too pleased with my shots. Erik took a photo of me in action from the deck of the bridge. According to the aforementioned website, the bridge at Edwards Crossing was built in 1904.


Sign at Edwards Crossing

After making use of the facilities, we started back. This was not anywhere near a difficult hike in comparison to many of the others we have done, but I was anxious to get back to the car, and not looking forward to the long hike. It had been over a month since my last hike, which is an unusually long stretch for me. It was a warm day and I was sweating a lot. And I hadn't told Erik (still haven't, until he reads this), but I was under the weather, and had put my cell phone by my bed the night before so I could call him first thing in the morning to cancel the hike, if need be. I was starting to think that maybe I should have.

But while I felt drained, I just kept plodding on, one step after another until we made it to the car. I didn't stop for photos on the way back, and after carrying the camera in my hand for a while, because the weight on my neck was causing discomfort, I finally tucked the camera away in my backpack. Erik got some interesting shots though, including one of two lizards giving a third lizard a hickey. Either that or they were trying to bite its head off. Peculiar.

So, a question left unanswered at the beginning--with all of that poison oak in the area, and the precautions I took against it, did I end up getting poison oak? Of course. I always get poison oak. This is just the third time this year, after six times last year, but that's mainly due to the fact that I have been hiking less. Fortunately, it appears to be confined to a small patch on my left arm near my wrist, unlike last year's South Yuba River hike, when it was all over me, and I was miserable.

But my next hike is going to be in the Sierras, where Erik wanted to go this time--there's no poison oak above 4,000 feet.

Santa Cruz Mountains: Butano State Park

The long awaited occasion of this adventure was my first backpacking trip. I bought a tent less than a year before, and started camping regularly for the first time in my life, only just car camping. I had bought a backpackers' pack a few weeks earlier, but hadn't yet put it to the test. Finally, I found a good way to ease into the backpacking experience--the hike-in environmental campgrounds at California State Parks. I didn't know they existed until I hiked past one at Van Damme State Park--they are just listed by a symbol on the park's web page, a tent with an "e" under it.

Several nuisances got to me at the drive-in campsites at state parks--people running generators, several families gathered together to party, and people driving into the campgrounds late at night. The most popular drive-in campgrounds are also usually booked solid for Saturday nights in summer, while most of the environmental campsites are first-come, first-served, and from what I have seen so far, don't fill up entirely. Finally, they're cheaper. In this case, a drive-in campsite would have cost me $25, plus to even get one I would have had to reserve in advance, paying another $7.50, while the hike-in site was only $10 for the night. But unlike camping in the wilderness, I would have access to a pit toilet stocked with toilet paper, there would be other campers around in case I had problems, and a ranger would have a record of where I was.

I had a couple of bad omens about this trip on my way to the park. I stopped downtown in Sacramento to eat breakfast at Jim Denny's, and got a parking ticket. I had purposefully taken quarters to plug the meter, but just spaced out when I went into the restaurant. I also locked my keys in my car in Pescadero. I stopped for lunch and to check my map. I put the keys on the passenger seat, found the map and studied it, opened the door, locked it, got out, and just as I closed it thought, "my keys!" So I had to call AAA, and sit there on the one street in town and watch the man come out of the repair shop, hop in his truck, drive 1/2 block to my car, and look for me. I had an instinctive superstitious reaction to wonder what was going to go terribly wrong with my hike after that kind of a start to my trip, but I quickly put that thought out of my head.

At the entrance the ranger clarified that I meant Trail Camp, which requires a 5-mile hike to get to, and not the walk-in campsites in the main campground. I did mean Trail Camp, but the funny thing is that I had been telling my friends at work that week that I would be hiking in just 2 miles. But even with a fully loaded pack on my back, I was sure 5 miles each way would be manageable.

As you drive in from the coastal grasslands outside of the park, things suddenly change, and it seems as though you've been transported to someplace far away as you quickly enter a dark redwood forest with a cool stream running alongside the road. I parked at an off-road area just near the junction of the main road and a fire road, near the trailhead for Mill Ox Trail, which is what I started out on.

This trail took me across the stream and up the canyon wall at a fairly steep ascent for a person fully loaded with backpacking gear for the first time in his life. I paced myself, and occasionally stopped to adjust my straps.

After a very short distance on Mill Ox Trail, I turned east onto Jackson Flats Trail. The parking area was just below 400 feet in elevation. The junction with Jackson Flats Trail is a little higher than 400 feet. With modest ups and downs, the trail climbs to about 800 feet at the next junction over a course of about 2 miles, maybe a little more. There weren't many redwoods along this trail, but it was a nice forest with a some wildflowers, particularly monkey flowers. I didn't take pictures of them though. I hadn't thought of it beforehand, but it's not so easy to get down on the ground and take macro shots of wildflowers and mushrooms (as I usually do on a hike) with a fully loaded pack on your back, and it's even more difficult to get up again when you do.

The junction where I left Jackson Flats Trail took me onto the appropriately named Canyon Trail, which curves around the canyon wall. Everywhere a seasonal creek has cut back into the the side of the canyon, the trail follows the contour back as well, dips down to cross the creek bed, and then rises up on the other side and moves back towards the main canyon.

Canyon Trail is quite varied for habitat. Some parts are exposed and dry, and feature chaparral--mainly manzanita and scrub oak. Other parts are shaded and damp, and lush with ferns and heavy forest. It keeps alternating.

From around 800 feet of elevation at the junction with Jackson Flats Trail, Canyon Trail climbs to around 1300 feet at the junction with Indian Trail and the .5 mile spur to Trail Camp (I'm not sure if that .5 miles is included in the total 2.75 mile length of Canyon Trail or not, but I suspect it is). But there's more climbing than just 500 feet, because of the ups and downs.

The final .5 miles climbs to just over 1400 feet and an old road, off of which are the 7 campsites for Trail Camp. The first sign I came across was for campsites 7 and 8, but it turns out there is no camp 5. I think a large tree may have fallen where it used to be.

The ranger told me that two groups had been ahead of me going to Trail Camp, but there was nobody around that I could see or hear. I hiked past the pit toilet and trash cans up to the sign for campsites 1 and 2, which was also signed for Chimney Tree Trail, a trail not marked on my map. I presume Chimney Tree is an old-growth redwood tree. I started along that trail but didn't see any campsites, and soon turned around as I was entirely exhausted, and didn't need to do any more hiking with my backpack on.

I chose campsite 3. The campsites are all nicely secluded off short spurs from the road, and include rough-hewn picnic tables and benches made form large logs, although the table had collapsed at my site. I pitched my tent, arranged everything as I wanted, rested a while, and then headed out again, this time carrying nothing but my camera.

I headed up the road to the junction with Butano Fire Road, and took a short climb westward up to over 1600 feet to Ray Linder Memorial Trail, a 1-mile loop trail through forest with redwoods and Douglas firs. I saw a couple of slugs on the trail, and tried to get some good shots, but with frustrating results because it was so dark in the shady forest. I finally broke out my Gorillapod to get longer exposures, but wasn't too successful with that approach either, as my model was ducking his head under some leaves.


Banana Slug


? on Ray Linder Trail

The trail does some climbing and dropping before returning to the fire road, just a ways down from where I had started out on it. I headed back to camp, but then decided to go out on Butano Fire Road one more time, this time to the east.

Once again I climbed to over 1600 feet, this time on a broad and smooth dirt road that was in better condition than some I've driven to trailheads on. I climbed past some graffiti, and caught glimpses of the valley below before arriving at my destination, an abandoned landing field. I was expecting it to be paved, but it wasn't. There's no information in the park brochure that would indicate why it is there, but it's clearly marked on the map. There were plenty of bicycle tracks around, as bicycles are allowed on the fire roads. You could get all the way to Trail Camp via bicycle.

Then it was back to camp again. I fell asleep pretty early, before having my usual fitful sleep while camping. As soon as it started to get light out, I stopped trying to force myself to sleep longer, and got up and got ready for my day. I was all packed up and ready to start back to my car by 6:30. Everybody else in camp was still asleep.

I went down to the last junction I had come from, and this time turned onto Indian Trail, rather than Canyon Trail, as I had come. I noticed that someone had left messages all over the post of the sign, warning of a wasps nest near a pond, and of the difficulty of one of the trails.

Just a short hike downhill from the junction I crossed a creek at a lovely spot--the canyon walls were steep enough that fallen trees came all the way down and were littered across the creek, in large piles at points. Following the usual pattern, once crossing the creek, it was uphill.


On Indian Trail

Soon the creek was far below, although not so much because the trail I was on was climbing, as that the creek was dropping. Indian Trail only runs .9 miles until it hits a fire road along a ridge, Olmo Fire Road. On this portion of the hike, I could see the valley of the park to the right (north), and the next valley south on the left, and a fire road on top of the next ridge to the south. I was finally out in sunshine, the first I had seen that morning.

When building roads for automobiles they don't worry so much about ups and downs as they do when constructing foot trails, so I soon found myself hoping to find my next junction before having to make another uphill climb. It was hidden until I came right up to it, but just at the start of a big ascent was the sign for Doe Ridge Trail.

This trail of just 1.6 miles was one of the nicest parts of my hike. It gently sloped down, making for easy hiking, and kept moving deeper into better redwood forest as I went along. It culminated in an area at the end of the descent with some fantastic old specimens and stumps just before a short rise and the junction with Goat Hill Trail.

I took Goat Hill Trail down and quickly hit the junction with the trail to the main campground. I could have turned off here and quickly been back to my car, but I wanted to go a longer route so that I could hike Little Butano Creek Trail, which looked to be the loveliest trail in the park. So I kept going south until I hit a fire road, on which I turned right (east).

Once passing some sort of utility building for the park that was humming and was accompanied by a big black tank, the fire road was as lovely as a road can be, gently sloping down and curving gracefully, while over-towered by many redwoods, and with ferns dripping down off the banks on either side. But I was quite a ways up off the canyon floor, where Little Butano Creek had to run, so I knew there would be some more elevation changes.

Soon enough the road dropped steeply--steeply enough that I slipped at one point--down to a bridge that crosses the creek. On the other side (north) was a sign for the Little Butano Creek Trail, and odd sign that resembled a simple headstone. Instead of getting to stroll along the creekside as it gently descends towards the park entrance, I immediately started up, and then back down to the creek, and then back up. There was going to be a good bit of climbing. It is gorgeous scenery though, a steep canyon covered in ferns with the creek running through the middle and the redwoods rising high above and casting everything in deep, dark coolness.

Then at one point as I rounded a curve, I felt a sting and heard a buzz--I'm not sure which was first, or if they were simultaneous. Some flying insect (I never saw it) stung me right on the jaw. There was a small, sharp pain. I was worried about swelling, as the last time I had been stung by a bee, 20 years earlier, my whole forearm had swollen up and turned red.

That would prove to be the least of my worries. I soon grew lightheaded, and my heart started to race. Then itching began far from the sting--on the tops of my feet. It was so irritating that I wanted to rip off my shoes and scratch away. Soon everywhere else started itching. My ear drums started throbbing, and they too started to itch. But what most scared me is when I started having trouble breathing. I'm used to having my heart race and to panting heavily when doing a lot of climbing on the trail, but now I was wheezing and coughing.

I went slowly and took breaks. At one point I stopped, took off my pack, and dug out my first aid guide. It described my symptoms as anaphylactic shock (I believe now it was just an anaphylactic response, shock would have been more severe, but that's what the first aid guide said it was), but had no advice on what to do, other than seek medical attention. I was only about a mile from the end of the trail and my car, but I hadn't seen or heard anyone since the campers near me quieted down near midnight the night before. I just kept on slowly. It didn't seem as though I were in any immediate danger of collapse, but I did find myself wishing that I had my ID on me, in case it were needed.

The last part of the trail was flat and easy, following the course of the stream. Also quite lovely, I'm sure, but I was too busy concentrating on my pacing and heart rate to notice. A couple came into view here, and from their appearance I guessed they hadn't wandered far from their car. Figuring I had made it back, I didn't appeal to them, but just said hello. They didn't seem to notice anything amiss about me.

At the car I dumped my pack and lied down on the backseat of my car. My breathing and heart rate calmed, and I didn't feel lightheaded. But when I heard an insect buzzing, I decided it was time to go. I wasn't yet ready for round two.

My original plan had been to check the drive-in campgrounds bathrooms for pay showers, then use my entrance fee for the park to get into the state beaches up CA 1 on my way back home. But I decided to head straight back to Sacramento possibly stopping for medical attention if needed.

Sitting in the car not exerting myself at all, I didn't have much problem with my breathing, heart rate, or lightheadedness, although initially I was itching, and scratching, all over on the way back, and I saw red welts break out all over my thighs. But things calmed down. I even stopped to take a picture of a sign, although the lightheadness I experienced standing up made me regret that.


Worth the Stop?

As I got closer to Sacramento, however, I felt better and better, and finally ended up going home, rather than to a clinic. All of the systemic reactions had subsided, but the local results of the sting were just starting to develop. My swelling occurred, not only at the point of the sting on my jaw, but on the lower part of my throat and upper part of my chest, culminating about 36 hours after the sting, and then subsiding after that (with me treating it externally with cortisone cream and internally with antihistamines). I had never heard of such a thing as anaphylaxis, but in discussing it with people at work on Monday, I found everybody else knew of it--they had either experienced it, or knew someone (or heard of someone) who had.

That was the big adventure of my first backpacking trip. The fact that things went wrong doesn't surprise me at all, but the way in which they did I couldn't have anticipated: my first parking ticket in 15 years, my first time ever locking my keys in the car, my first ever anaphylactic reaction. I was worried about running out of water, critters trying to get into my tent after my food, or back pain from carrying that fully-loaded backpack so far. I'm not a superstitious person, and I know there was no connection between my absentmindedness with the parking meter and my keys, and the terrible allergic reaction to the insect sting, but even so I was driving very cautiously on the way home, thinking that a car wreck would be just the thing to complete the weekend for me.

I'd like to see what the park brochure describes as the "park's star attraction, the purple calypso orchid," which blooms February to April. But I'm not sure I'll be back to Butano State Park. It's very nice, and I won't hold my misadventures against it, but coming from Sacramento, it's a pain to get to it through the freeway maze of the East Bay and South Bay, and there are so many other places I have yet to explore.

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.

Index: Nature

The Coast

Marin County: China Camp State Park
Marin County: Steep Ravine and Stairstep Falls
Mendocino Coast: Russian Gulch State Park
Mendocino Coast: Van Damme 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: Limantour Spit & Bucklin Trail
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: Barrett & Lawrence Lakes
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: Pyramid Peak
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 Rubicon Lake
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
Tahoe National Forest: Warren Lake Trail

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
Santa Cruz Mountains: Butano State Park
Solano County: Stebbins Cold Canyon Reserve
South Yuba Trail/Humbug Trail/Malakoff Diggins
South Yuba Trail: Purdon Crossing to Edwards Crossing
Spenceville Wildlife Area
Stanislaus National Forest: Kennedy Meadows to Kennedy Lake
Stevens Trail
Yosemite National Park: Upper Yosemite Falls Trail

Other Northern California Hiking Links

Trailspotting
waterfallswest.com
Kevin's Hiking Page

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 Erik and I both agree that it couldn't be nearly the 17 miles that we had originally planned on.