PRITCHARD LIFE

Selecting a secluded backpacking destination for a popular 3-day weekend can be a challenge. Sometimes you discover the rare gem, and other times, you uncover why no one has ever heard of the place.

Memorial Day weekends are especially challenging for the Bay Area hiker. It’s too early for the high country and too hot for the low lands. The Redwoods are like Goldilocks’ perfect bowl of porridge: shady and cool, just right. Humboldt Redwoods State Park in particular looked to be one of our least crowded options.

The park ranger seemed confused with our intent. “Backpacking eh?” This was a car camper’s park, and it was noticeably her first time attempting the paper work for trail camp permits. When we inquired about water sources she said, “I think there’s water near Whiskey Flat…” Wait. You think there’s water or there is water? This isn’t exactly a casual piece of information for overnight travelers. We decided to take our chances, grabbed the permit, and hoisted our packs.

Our first night on the trail was spent amidst a grove of old growth redwood trees. They towered over the Whiskey Flat trail camp and filtered most of the sunlight so only a few green rays were available to life on the ground. These trees were thousands of years old and had been collecting a soft bed of debris at their trunks for, well, thousands of years. It turned out to be one of the best napping spots ever, and we enjoyed a quiet afternoon and evening together in the woods.

It’s a good thing we slept as well as we did that first night, because that was the last of the cushy trails and pleasant evenings for this trip. The next day we muscled up a poorly graded fire road over 3000ft to the top of Grasshopper Peak. We spent the afternoon exploring the fire lookout and checking out the view before setting up camp a few hundred feet downhill at the second trail camp.

The Redwoods are like Goldilocks’ perfect bowl of porridge: shady and cool, just right.

Grasshopper trail camp is on a windy ridgeline with few flat spots big enough for a tent. We discovered that our beloved Tarptent—while a joy to carry at only 2lbs.—it is not the shelter of choice on an exposed, windy ridge. Matt and I squeezed our heads together at the back of the tent to accommodate the slope of the site and our shelter’s limited aerodynamics. Dawn did not come soon enough considering our arrangement, the bitter cold, and the roar of nylon flapping in our faces.

I’d like to think it was the lack of sleep that led to the following morning’s navigation mishap. We packed up and sauntered down the trail a good mile or so before realizing we had taken the wrong trail out of camp. Luckily, we recognized the trail features didn’t match our map and did a 180 back uphill to our starting point. A further review revealed how close we’d flirted with disaster. Seven miles downhill the trail was closed. We would have had to walk back uphill for a fourteen mile day only to find ourselves at the same trophy campsite for an extra night out and a packet of ramen for dinner.

The trip back to the car was safe and uneventful. We imagined out loud where the day could have gone over pints of Racer 5 and burgers at the Bear Republic Brew Pub in Healdsburg. Although the trip probably wouldn’t make it in our Top 10, we really enjoyed Whiskey Flat and the training prepared us for trips later in the year.

This post is part of the SierraSoul Archive. The trip took place in May, 2007 (or thereabouts).

Even the famed roosters of Key West sounded hung over that Sunday morning. It had only been a few hours since the last of the Spring Breakers had passed out, and we were waiting dockside to board a catamaran by the name of “Fastcat” with our camping gear in tow. I was feeling anything but fast myself and the busted-down rooster cries were an aching reminder of the previous night’s sunset booze cruise.

Many months prior to this day, my friend Sandi invited me to be in her destination wedding. Florida is not a place many Californians travel to for the hell of it. If we want warm beaches and a tropical getaway, we book non-stop flights to Hawaii or Mexico. If we’re willing to connect four flights from two different airlines, we’re either A) going somewhere they don’t fly the American flag, or B) planning to see someone who means the world to us. Matt and I both knew this could be our first and last time in the Keys and we wanted to seize the long weekend for all it was worth. I packed a bridesmaid dress, a curling iron, and a Therm-A-Rest. In addition to attending a wedding that would have made Martha Stewart jealous, we were going to bag a night on our own “private” key in Dry Tortugas National Park.

Judging from the number of green faces bolting to the back of the boat during our two hour ride, I think it’s safe to say we were all happy to see the outline of Fort Jefferson and leave the choppy, open water behind. Garden Key is planted near the mouth of the Gulf of Mexico and once served as a strategic military post to protect the Mississippi River trade routes. Fort Jefferson is a pre-Civil War era fort; a brick monolith that comprises 80% of the island complete with a real moat. During our campers’ orientation with Susan, the Ironman trainee come park volunteer, we learned all about the island’s history, how to have a low-impact stay, and what to do if unexpected company arrived in the middle of the night…as in a boatload of Cubans.

Susan went on to explain that nearly 1000 Cuban citizens make the risky 90 mile trip across the Florida Channel to land on this particular U.S. island each year. Their small boats, called “Chugs,” are crafted in secret using found materials and use low power engines that make a “chug, chug, chug” noise – hence the name. Current US policy gives Cubans rights that other immigrants are denied. If they are intercepted in water, they are sent back like folks from other countries. But, if they make it to land, they get to stay. Matt and I wandered over later in the day to check out a row of beached Chugs left behind by recent arrivals. It was a humbling moment. Each boat represented a life changing story for a group of people willing to die for a piece of our everyday American life. We quietly admired the ingenuity employed to build them and I imagined the determination these people must have had to brave the journey. It was a startling reminder of how much I take my extra ordinary life for granted.

If we were superheroes, being prepared would be our special power and checklists would be our weapon of choice.

The day-trippers returned to their boats around 2pm, and we shared the entire island with eight or so other sunburned campers and a few park volunteers. Life felt pretty far from ordinary. White sandy beaches were ours to enjoy and Matt managed to convince me that swimming in open water was not nearly as scary as I thought it was. In fact, it was downright enjoyable. We dried off, took the twenty minute walk around the moat wall and decided to check out the fort. Along the self guided tour we noticed the strong resemblance it has to Fort Point in San Francisco, especially the arching, brick corridors. Feeding our brains was hard work and we promptly spent the rest of the day together doing absolutely nothing. When we got around to setting up camp, we learned a few important lessons.

Matt and I are known in our circle of friends and family for our superior planning skills. If we were superheroes, being prepared would be our special power and checklists would be our weapon of choice. However, I’m starting to think that overnight trips involving chartered boats are our kryptonite. The stove was left on the dock for the Channel Islands adventure and our tent pole was conveniently left in our apartment’s gear closet for this trip. After spending a few minutes pondering “What would MacGyver do?” we fashioned a few stuff sacks around the tripod and discovered a new way to put up the tent. We also discovered that shopping for food while drunk the night before is a bad idea. At least we brought enough water. Surviving on hotdogs and off-brand energy bars really wasn’t so awful. Especially since we only paid $6 for our beachside campsite with an uninterrupted view of the Gulf of Mexico.

The following morning I took a walk around the island and found a quiet beach near the chugs facing east. It was nesting season and neighboring Bush Key was filled with Sooty Terns. Their calls carried across the short channel and their numbers blotted the light with thousands of inky squiggles. I closed my eyes, but the light’s intensity was no match for my eyelids. I could still see the warm colors of the morning moving in thick swirls – like gold stirred with a spoon. I planted my feet in the sand, calmed my breath and raised my arms to salute the sun. I’ve only been practicing yoga for a few months and this was the first time I tried it outside. It turned out to be the perfect way to say hello to a beautiful morning and good-bye to this amazing area.

Connecting with a place during an overnight camping trip is a challenge weekend-warriors are constantly facing. Turns out, our little mistakes, new experiences, and quiet moments helped make our memories of the Dry Tortugas last well past the trip home.

This post is part of the SierraSoul Archive. The trip took place in March, 2007 (or thereabouts).

Most of our trip reports are written weeks, even (gulp) months after the fact. Not this one. I’m sitting in Yosemite’s Camp Curry dining room on December 29th, 2006 having just finished a medium sized Hawaiian pizza all by myself. Hush, if you slept outside in the low 20’s, attended a private yoga class, and burned straight uphill in today’s off-trail “adventure” hike, you’d want your own too.

It’s the week between Christmas and New Years and my wonderful husband is holding down the San Francisco fort without me. He had to work, I didn’t. I could have stayed home. I chose instead to contact Heather and Eliza of Wild Women Workshops and set up a custom individual retreat, complete with yoga classes, creative writing instruction, and hiking in Yosemite Valley. Honestly, this maybe the best thing I’ve ever done for myself, ever.

With 2007 less than a week away and the end of my third decade only two months out, I wanted some time to reflect and learn some new tools that would help me with my 2007 New Year’s resolutions:

• Become a calmer, more peaceful self.
• Be more present in my day to day life and relationships.
• Unleash the creative being I feel brewing within, and let ‘er rip.

I’ve camped in our trusty tent by myself for the past three nights, through a soaking storm and winter temperatures. Fortunately, I packed a ridiculous amount of toasty bedding and have gotten much better at controlling my imagination each time I hear a strange sound. Did I forget to latch the bear bin? Did I leave any food in the Subaru? Will the garlic smell on my fingers attract a furry bed buddy? Thankfully the answer has been “no” each time – hopefully tonight will be no different.

There were a few hitches. The cold rendered the butane stove worthless and the traditional camp stove is spurting white gas from two locations – not good. It might be missing an o-ring, I suspect it’s really just user error. Mental note: practice lighting the stove by myself even if Matt offers to cook. Good thing hot food and a community microwave are available just a half mile from camp. I also forgot deodorant and sunscreen. Not a biggie, I’m just a pink faced smelly stranger to most folks. My newly made friends, three year old Gio and five year old Reese, don’t seem to mind.

The mystery of Downward Dog was unveiled and I quickly realized I am not flexible – at all
Wednesday was my first yoga class, ever. At least I know how to breathe. Wait, even that was hard to follow. “How is she making that noise with her just her nostrils???” Fortunately, Heather and Eliza are exceptionally patient teachers and offered lots of smiles and encouragement over the past several days. This is definitely something I will continue when I get home. After each session I felt well cared for and connected to myself – these feelings are addicting and I can hardly wait to take advantage of the yoga classes and new mat I received for Christmas. Thanks Mary and Grant!

Heather also helped me become comfortable sharing my writing by offering a sincere and attentive ear. She provided writing “starts” we would both work on individually and then read out loud and discuss together. The imagination is a fun and thoughtful source of entertainment. Our writing settings also couldn’t have been more inspiring: fireside during a snow storm, and rocky perches above sunny Yosemite Valley. This was really good stuff.

During the “off hours” I’ve been practicing my photography. The beauty of still and frozen Yosemite has provided endless material to work with. But it hasn’t been easy. My biggest challenge in this Ansel Adam’s world has been to find ways to take the famous subject matter and make it my own: new compositions, secondary views, varying the depth of field. I think my favorites will be those made while turning my back to the crowds with their long lenses and tripods, to seek the Robert Frost “Road Less Traveled” type of photo. And this might sound crazy, but I’ve felt Ruth Bernhard’s presence with me on this trip. She passed away last week at 101, and was a legendary photographer who taught her students to really “see” nature in all of its infinite detail and wonder. I’ve thought of her when observing ice crystals on granite and melting drops of water on the pine needles. She would have enjoyed this place. Maybe she has been with me.

It’s 10pm and I’m going to be shooed out of the warmth in moments. It’s a balmy 28 degrees outside and I’m exhausted from this week’s adventures. One more night in the cold, one more day until I give my husband a giant hug and tell him how much I love him and appreciate his support of this amazing experience. Peace to all and a very Happy New Year!

This post is part of the SierraSoul Archive. The trip took place in December, 2006 (or thereabouts).

Of the thirteen holidays my office grants each year, Columbus Day is likely the most random and welcome of them all. Matt was not so fortunate. He took a precious vacation day, and we enjoyed a three day weekend during the Sierra fall color show featuring some of nature’s most colorful actors – Aspens.
We gave the backpacks a break and opted for some laid-back car camping at Kirkwood Lake, just across from our favorite winter ski destination. Since this was the last weekend the campground was open, we nearly had the place to ourselves. There were a few cars in the lot though, and a walk to the waters edge revealed secluded cabins accessible only by boat. We were green with envy. Something tells us these are not the kind of properties that show up online with the MLS! By the way, if you’re selling, we’re interested.

The Great Sierra Spirit granted us bluebird skies and crisp temperatures – perfect for photographing the aspens which coated the Carson Pass area with rich color. And it didn’t take long for us to discover that we were not alone. Hope Valley was teeming with sightseers eager to get that perfect shot. In fact, the sheer number of tourists and parallel parked vehicles along the roadside reminded us of last year’s visit to Yellowstone! The most memorable members of the crowd included a full motorcycle gang, complete with beards, braids, and bunches of black leather.

The crowds were hefty, but Sorenson’s Resort just past the junction of highways 88 and 89 resembled a shopping mall parking lot during the Holidays. The crowds flock for a reason. It seemed to be the epicenter of the fall color phenomenon. Imagining a more picturesque setting for wandering among the Technicolor trees would be difficult. The individual cabins nestle in aspen groves, complete with front porches adorned with Adirondack chairs, meandering creeks, and piles of firewood. Looking around yielded the very definition of cozy.

While appreciating the aspens was easy, we discovered photographing them was not. Books should be written on this subject. How can something so beautiful in person look so lifeless and cheesy in a photo? We tried backlighting, front lighting, wide angles, macros – you name it. While a few photos make us proud, most we’d like to disown. I wonder if our fellow tourists experienced the same issues… or, maybe we’re just aspiring perfectionists.

Regardless, walking through the flutter and whisper of changing aspen leaves far outweighs a snapshot any day. Mark your calendars for next year, and get thee to the Sierra in early October. You will not be disappointed, and you will likely be in good company.

This post is part of the SierraSoul Archive. The trip took place in October, 2006 (or thereabouts).

Standing sentinel over the Tioga Pass area, Mount Dana casts an impressive profile for all who pass through the eastern reaches of Yosemite National Park. The route to her lofty summit is a no-bullshit affair; the trail climbs well over three-thousand vertical feet in just four miles. It is a must-do for any Yosemite regular, offering unrivaled views and a good physical challenge.

We had this hike on our list for a number of years before it reached the top of the batting order in August of 2006. An early morning start from San Francisco found us blazing through the Yosemite high country in the wee hours of the morning. Apparently, we were blazing a bit too fast, as I got pulled over for going 10 MPH over the limit around Tuolumne Meadows. I’m convinced the Yosemite Bear Project sticker on our back window saved my butt, and the ranger let me go with a stern warning. We grabbed a campsite in Lee Vining Canyon and spent Saturday doing a couple of warm-up hikes. A hike to the top of Lembert Dome offered unspoiled views of Tuolumne Meadows and our goal for the following day, Mount Dana. On our way back to camp we solicited a bit of route-finding advice from a seasoned ranger at the Tioga Pass station. He pointed out a few landmarks on the upper reaches of the peak and wished us well.

We woke early on Sunday and broke camp while it was dark. The air was still bitter cold when we hit the trail. We made our way through Dana Meadow and began the long, slow climb up countless switchbacks. The hike reminded me of the slog up the lower reaches of Mount Shasta: one rocky switchback after another, terribly slow progress, and a goal that seemed no closer with every step. We took ample breaks and were amazed by at least two specimens who jogged past us en route to the summit. The last portion of the hike is a Class 2 scramble with an indiscriminate number of routes up the rocky slope. We got a bit off course and found some exciting views along the exposed northwest ridge of the mountain. We got ourselves back on course and reached the summit by mid-morning. At 13,057 feet, Mount Dana is the second tallest mountain in Yosemite National Park, but views from the summit were second to none. The entirety of the Mono Basin lay at our feet and the spiny backbone of the Yosemite High Country drifted south toward the giants of the High Sierra.

We took our time up top, signing the summit log, eating snacks and taking photos. We weren’t looking forward to the hike down, but before long we started the reverse slog back to the car. As we approached Dana Meadow, we passed a number of groups who looked ill-prepared for such a hike. One woman exclaimed, “Well, it must stop going up at some point. I really wish they put in more switchbacks.” No problem, Honey, it levels off just ahead, right around 13,000 feet. We got back to the car and knew there was only one way to finish the day. Ice cream sandwiches from the Tuolumne store brought smiles to our faces and closure to another beautiful Yosemite weekend.

This post is part of the SierraSoul Archive. The trip took place in October, 2006 (or thereabouts).

Eric is a reluctant mountaineer.

His childhood in Oregon’s Willamette Valley offered ample opportunity for time outside: picking blackberries, fishing for trout, chucking dirt clods and the like. His family took regular trips to Tokatee Lake, and Cousin Jeff was a willing partner for adventures of every kind. The latter days of his adolescence found him applying his natural gifts as an athlete—blazing nine-patterns down the gridiron and tossing up three-pointers for the South Albany Rebels. Although new priorities emerged during college (namely girls, beer and football), it was his migration south, to the paved-over landscape of San Francisco, that completed his degeneration into a bona fide city dweller. Corporate job. Convenient bus routes. Twenty-three restaurants in a two-block radius. The transformation suits him fine. His wife is very understanding. A Northwest native herself, Jen spends her Saturdays bouncing from yoga class to surf break, casually asserting herself over her urban trappings. Eric, meanwhile, is content (nay, positively delighted) to spend his day on the couch, tracking twelve different college football games on three screens.

This is why I found it so surprising that he was one of the first to sign on as I organized a group climb in the High Sierra. It helped that OSU had a bye that weekend, and I’m sure Jen offered more than a little encouragement. Mount Langley is not the most majestic summit in the Sierra. Nor is it a technically challenging climb. Sitting just four miles south of Mt. Whitney, it is usually overlooked by the casual explorer. The twenty-two mile round-trip hike to the summit requires a bit of commitment or a friend like me who is willing to gloss over the details.

Jody and I were repeat visitors to Langley, the memory of our 2004 escapade still fresh in our minds. Neither Jen nor Eric had spent any time in the High Sierra. Climbing a fourteener is certainly one way to get your feet wet. We made a three-day weekend of it. An all-night drive on Friday was quickly followed by a six-mile hike into the Cottonwood Lakes Basin. After setting up camp, most of Saturday was spent napping, eating and checking out the line over Old Army Pass. The Cottonwood Lakes Basin is a stunning slice of the Sierra Nevada. I harbored a wish that spending the weekend in such a great locale would get Eric & Jen stoked for future trips. Were it not for the slag heap that is Mount Langley, I’d have more confidence in this outcome.

We woke early on Sunday and cooked a hot breakfast before leaving camp. The most challenging part of the climb came early as we made our way up and over Old Army Pass. Once we reached the pass, our goal was more visible. We took it slow, stopping every few minutes to catch our breath and “consider the view.” Despite tired legs and heavy breathing, we kept moving, one foot in front of the other. Eric looked haggard like the rest of us, but never once complained. Steady progress made up for a bit of misdirection that found us scrambling through some Class 2 sections of rock. Past the worst of it, Eric took more interest in the route-finding and studied the map every time we stopped. Our wobbly legs pushed us to the top around noon, and we enjoyed the views from the 14,026 foot summit. I pointed out the craggy summit of Mount Whitney, just four miles to the north, hoping Eric & Jen would show some interest in another trip next year. Of course, aligning the Mount Whitney lottery system with the OSU football schedule is easier said than done.

The hike down was uneventful until Eric twisted his knee with just a half mile to go. He took a pair of trekking poles and walked gingerly back to camp. That night we celebrated our success with freeze-dried lasagna, box wine, and dark chocolate. As the sunlight faded from the summit of Mount Langley, so did the burning in our lungs and the soreness of our legs. My friend Eric was in good spirits as we toasted our success. I’m proud of him, and I hope our trip offered a taste of his past, a bit of adventure for the skinny kid from Albany.

This post is part of the SierraSoul Archive. The trip took place in October, 2006 (or thereabouts).

If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times: Jody is a damn good sport. How many wives would wake up at 5:30 AM to pose for photographs in the early-morning cold, wearing next to nothing, all while being eaten alive by a thousand hungry mosquitoes? I offer, very few. Great artists make sacrifices for their work. Lesser artists marry great models who are willing to make those sacrifices on their behalf.

Labor Day weekend of 2006 found us in familiar terrain. The long weekend almost guarantees a trip over to the Mono Basin or Yosemite High Country, and this year we were looking forward to a couple of new day hikes and ample time behind the lens. We employed our patented alpine start from San Francisco and soon found ourselves sailing down Lee Vining Canyon as the sun broke over the Great Basin. It can be hard to snag a campsite in Yosemite during a holiday weekend, but Lee Vining Canyon offers several Forest Service campsites that are filled on a first-come, first-served basis. It’s a great place to stay, with easy access to the spoils of the Mono Basin, Tioga Pass and Tuolumne Meadows. We found a good campsite and eased our way into a solid three-hour nap.

Well rested, we decided to go hunting for a ditcha very special ditch, in fact. The Clover Ditch is a long-forgotten piece of Mono Basin history, but one that has special ties to Jody’s family. The relation itself has more twists and turns that Highway 120, but J.B. Clover was family, no doubt about it. And being the visionary that he was, Mr. Clover saw a great opportunity in the Mono Basin around the turn of the century. Looking to populate the area, the federal government was parceling the land around Mono Lake for homesteaders. Unfortunately, the earth around Mono Lake is about as arable as a sandbox, better suited for sage brush than any crop.

J.B. Clover noted this problem and envisioned a great irrigation ditch that would channel the clear, fresh water of the Sierra down to the Basin and around Mono Lake. He developed a plan, solicited investors and hired a crew to begin excavation for his great ditch. The steam shovel used to dig the ditch can still be found at the Schoolhouse Museum in Lee Vining. Unfortunately, Mr. Clover had the mind of a visionary, not an engineer. His plans called for a twenty-four mile ditch. They only dug twelve, and the water only made it to mile seven.

Looking at the rocky, sandy soil around Mono Lake it’s hard to believe that someone could think it would hold water. But there is no stopping the mind of a dreamer, and Mr. Clover was clearly that. Taking direction from the docent at the Schoolhouse Museum and anecdotes from Jody’s grandfather, we are pretty confident we found portions of the Clover ditch near the Mono Craters area off Highway 120 East, just south of Mono Lake. We look forward to many more trips to this area to piece together this odd and interested bit of family and California history.

Returning to camp in the early evening, we grilled up some righteous cheeseburgers and got to bed at a reasonable hour, knowing that we had an early wake-up call for our photo shoot at the Panum Crater. The shoot itself was part of an assignment for my Photo Lighting class. The assignment was titled “Amazing Light” and Mama Nature sure did deliver that morning. We took another rest day and spent the late afternoon exploring and photographing the incredible sand tufa around the Navy Beach area of Mono Lake. The sand tufa are more striking, if more subtle, than the traditional tufa around the lake, and this is the first time we had seen them. Jody was in her element, racing around the area with camera and tripod, taking photos in the warm evening light. The Whoa Nelli Deli came through with another delicious meal, and we settled down for the night.

After two days of loafing, we decided to pony up for a hike on Monday. We had planned two hikes for the weekend: one to Parker Pass and another to the Twenty Lakes Basin. We opted for the latter and were treated to a beautiful day in the Sierra. The hike to Twenty Lakes Basin starts at Saddlebag Lake, just outside the eastern boundary of Yosemite National Park. The area is very popular with fisherman. Many hikers opt for a ferry ride across Saddlebag Lake to cut three or four miles off the round-trip mileage. We took the long route and hiked around the rocky shore of the lake. A bit of climbing puts you over Lundy Pass and into the Twenty Lakes Basin proper. The area is stunning, dotted with a number small lakes (twenty, perhaps?) and fenced-in by massive peaks. A short loop through the area offers countless views and at least one tricky snow-field crossing. We took lunch along the shore of Steelhead Lake and admired the massive profile of North Peak. The hike back was slow, but we were treated to a front-row view of Mount Dana, our conquest from the weekend before.

The familiar drive home lulled us into a sense of relaxation. From one home, we return to the other.

This post is part of the SierraSoul Archive. The trip took place in September, 2006 (or thereabouts).

Selecting a weekend backpacking destination in Northern California in mid-June is a tricky task. Elevation too high? Snow. Elevation too low? Scorching. At the beginning of the year we penciled in a “Northern Sierra” outing for this particular weekend and I wasn’t quite ready to give up on our goal despite the lingering snow at approximately 5,000 ft. After a bit of research and some phone calls we found a location that was just right: Feather Falls.

Technically, Feather Falls is not an overnight trip; Matt wasn’t even sure this was really in the Sierra (it is, barely). Ask the good folks at Plumas National Forest ranger station and they’ll tell you no backcountry camping is allowed since much of the land near the falls is privately owned. However, we did some prior web research that suggested poaching was a viable option and we decided to chance it with the knowledge we may need to turn our five mile trek in to a nine mile round tripper with oversized “day packs”.

Opting for the clockwise route, the hike in offered more visual variety than expected. On the way, we passed several large granite rocks with mortar holes used by the Maidu Indians to grind acorns, and we discovered Frey Creek is a popular spring hang-out for lady bugs in Northern California. The lower section was a bona fide rain forest, complete with rich fern ground cover and waterfalls. Higher up, the terrain became drier and more exposed; Manzanita flanked the path and watching for rattlesnakes felt necessary.

We could hear the main attraction of this trail well before we could see it. Although not well known, 640 ft. tall Feather Falls is said to be one of the tallest waterfalls in the Lower 48, although there is some controversy on this subject. (For more information on misconceptions about the largest falls in the US check out this interesting website.) The winding and sometimes hard-to-follow trail leads up then down to a viewing platform. The platform is roughly halfway up the height of the falls and provided us with front row seats to Feather River’s roaring spill.

After baking on the exposed overlook for lunch and photos, we continued uphill and followed the trail along the river’s edge. Just a short way from the falls we found a few well established campsites that were likely too snug to the water’s edge for a by-the-book backpacker, but a brief push forward yielded no other options. So, despite the signs noting Private Land, we decided to chance it and agree to make up our zero impact infraction by packing out the excessive trash deposited in the area. Our private / public land concerns were put to rest when an old timer rolled in noting that he had camped in our spot for the last 30 years. We, uh… didn’t offer to move and after having the same luck we encountered further up the trail, he returned to set up camp near the other established sites.

If you did the math earlier you probably noticed this hike wasn’t exactly an Ironman training session. Since the trip was relatively short on mileage and elevation gain, we matched our camp activity level to the same leisurely pace. Napping, reading, and hanging out together occupied our weekend and provided a peaceful escape from our frazzled weekday lives. We returned home feeling refreshed and pleasantly surprised that Feather Falls offered more than we expected.

Next time we’ll go in summer proper and aim for a higher elevation in the Bucks Lake Wilderness for a slightly more demanding weekend in the Range of Light’s northern reaches.

This post is part of the SierraSoul Archive. The trip took place in June, 2006 (or thereabouts).