And what are we up to today?
12 Hikes in 12 Weeks: Fairy Falls3/16/2015 A word to the wise: This book? USE WITH CAUTION. We had a bit of an adventure finding the place. This is not the first time this particular guide book has led us majorly astray. There was this one “moderate” trail it suggested that ended up being endless switchbacks down into a river valley at a steeeeeeeeep grade. We spent an hour going down with absolutely no river in sight before we knew we had to turn around if we wanted to reach the car again before too late, and began a very difficult three hour trudge uphill. Not moderate by ANY means. Considering that Fairy Falls is also labeled “moderate,” there was some consternation on my end. This time, the book completely missed a road we were supposed to turn on, instead leading us onto an army base, which got us the Eye and a wary greeting from the soldier at the gate. Turn around we did, and on we went, this time under the guidance of my trusty GPS, until we finally found the trailhead and proceeded into the most beautiful cow country I have ever seen. At one point, it passed a lone cattle-guard whose road had long since been devoured, leaving it to sit in brilliant rust-orange in the middle of nowhere. The cows themselves wandered freely through the trees and along the trail, mostly black, several of them notably young. We had our choice of paths to the end point; Dad and I took the less trodden one on the way in and the more established horse-riding trail on the way out. The falls were well worth it. It was lush, it was green, and it was hauntingly foggy, which brought out the colors with a vengeance. The trail itself went up and down at gradual slopes through groves and groves of gnarled oaks (my favorite kind of tree). At one point, it passed a lone cattle-guard whose road had long since been devoured, leaving it to sit in brilliant rust-orange in the middle of nowhere. The cows themselves wandered freely through the trees and along the trail, mostly black, several of them notably young. We had our choice of paths to the end point; Dad and I took the less trodden one on the way in and the more established horse-riding trail on the way out. The falls were well worth it. Ask you can see, quite stunning, and a perfect place to stop for lunch. We were joined during our trek to and from the falls by horseback riders and hikers alike, though there were not very many of either. All in all, very peaceful. One of the most gorgeous places.
We spent the ride home counting mileage and making the appropriate alterations to our guidebook by writing notes in the margins, just as more fog was creeping in over the hills. I would go back to this trail in a second.
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12 Hikes in 12 Weeks: Assassin's Trail2/22/2015 Yes. Yes, you read that right. Remember how I said I like trails with interesting names? Hiking on this trail actually felt a little... How shall I put this... Inappropriate? Because the name is not just being clever. The Assassin's Trail is named so because it is the site of two separate murders, one in 1973 and one in 2003. The more recent one has been solved, but the other is a cold case. The trail is located near Colfax, California, and I shall leave the detail discovery to those who are interested in their own research. Describing the deaths here feels wrong, like I imagine visiting Dorothea Puente's house as a tourist hotspot would feel, and that, like these deaths, didn't happen very long ago. My point is, people affected by these events are still living. I am little bit disgusted with myself for hiking a trail specifically because of the grotesque nature of what happened there. Then again, I did do the Jack the Ripper tour of Whitechapel multiple times. I'm not entirely sure I have a leg to stand on. As a writer, I absolutely understand the thrill of dramatizing the demise of fictional people. As a history buff, I have a profound interest in the events of our past and the ways they led to or sprang from each other. I had a distinctly morbid fascination with the Black Death for years; ask me about it, I can still go on for some time with a manic glint in my eye about what happened in the 1340s and 50s. Ten years ago, I would have been pretty comfortable with my interest in this trail, and not concerned with the justification of traveling it. But people get older. They gain life experience. Viewpoints shift. In my case, the shift was a little shocking to me: I have developed a problem with the aggrandizement of actual traumatic events for the purpose of entertainment. This isn't to say I have no more fascination. I'm human; of course the terrifying fascinates and repulses me. But using it as entertainment also makes me distinctly uncomfortable in a way it never used to. I'll admit it: this trail felt ominous. If I didn't know the history, I probably would not have thought so. Shows how much colors our interpretations. The trail-head is unmarked, one of five in a field that has seen a good deal of firebreaking and lumber work, and the least maintained of the group. We used a compass to verify our path, and were helped along by the sudden arrival of a doe. She trotted right up out of the mouth of the Assassin's Trail and veered off before I could get a picture, vanishing up the hill. Other than that, the trail was deserted. We didn't see anyone until we were on our way back, on a path that was, frankly, not fitting the written description we were working with as well as we liked. We passed a gate onto private property with several No Trespassing signs attached (and unattached, lying on the ground). I enjoy horror writing and reading, and I'm pretty sure it was because of the backstory, but the trail had a Mood. Tons of trees allowing for only one really good view of the valley below, a river valley that was the site of my New Year's Day hike. Apparently, this trail will take you down to Codfish Falls should you follow it long enough. We didn't. It was a long way down. 12 Hikes in 12 Weeks: Buttermilk Bend1/15/2015 I thought I'd start out with a photo because, hot damn, this trail has some of the most beautiful vistas I've ever seen. The trail we chose on Sunday was Buttermilk Bend, along the Yuba River. I'm thinking I haven't been on the Yuba River until now, because I would have remembered this place. Yowsa. We managed to beat the crowds and had the trail pretty much to ourselves. It was as though the river were waiting for us, saving each new moment for the next bend. I must have stopped in my tracks twenty times; Dad nearly ran into me more than once. After a while, he just got used to it. Plenty of swimming holes (you can bet I'll be coming back to this one during the summer), and once you pass the second wooden bridge, the trail becomes slender and curvy, bumping up and down until the very abrupt end, marked quite obviously by a sign. "TRAIL ENDS." Yeah, no kidding. On the way back, Dad regaled me with the story of his most recent project, setting up a skyline to transport wood downhill fast. He works regularly out in the field, and on this last venture, the State Parks employed an inmate team from one of the women's prisons to assist. To get the line taut enough to slide the hunks of wood down it, two or three people had to hang on the end, full body weight. A lot of fun to be had, apparently. I wish I had gone along. The last time I went with my father out into the field, it was to watch a controlled burn up by Burney Falls. I will never forget the drip torches, the hefty yellow safety suits we all wore, and the incredible HEAT when the Manzanita all caught fire. My father does controlled burns to help keep the forests from clogging to the brim with highly flammable ground cover. The living trees themselves are much too wet inside to burn in a small natural forest fire, but should it get hot enough, nothing is spared. Ergo, burn off the extra accumulation regularly, and you get a much healthier cycle of fires that do not devastate miles and miles of forest. And of course, I must leave you with this fabulous bridge. ^_^
Call this one Hike 1.5; it's more of a pleasantly brisk walk than a hike, but it's 3.5 miles, and as it turns out, a godsend. I started the day off rather nicely: came down the stairs from my apartment, hit a turn-step-weight adjustment wrong at the bottom, and ended up flat on my back with an ankle that had bent quite a bit more outward than it should have. Luckily, because I'm anal retentive, I had my hiking boots fully laced up and thus probably saved myself from the worst case scenario. However, no visible bruising and just a little throbbing right up front, my Achilles tendon present and accounted for. Off we went. Did I learn this for the first time at the arboretum? No. But I thank the arboretum walk for passing this tidbit of Very Important Info along. Icing and heating the ankle alternately now while I binge on Star Trek: The Next Generation and Gotham, in hopes that I will be able to embark upon the much longer hike I've chosen for this coming Sunday. 12 Hikes in 12 Weeks: Codfish Falls1/3/2015 2015, I start you off with a hike. They say that who you are with at the change of the year is who you will be with for the rest of that year. I’d like to ascribe that to what you are doing, too. My goal this year is to realize a dream I’ve had for some time now: to walk the length of Hadrian’s Wall in Northern England. To that end, I have begun what I am calling “12 Hikes in 12 Weeks.” On the first of January, I went with my father to Codfish Falls in the Auburn area of California. I picked it for several reasons. One, the name is just fun. Caught my eye. Two, it’s short and flat-ish. My sister’s contribution this holiday season was a respiratory flu of some sort (to quote her shout over dinner on Christmas Eve, “YOU’RE WELCOME!!!!”) and our lungs are all still shot. Three, I’d never heard of Codfish Falls before. Yay, discovery! It's a lovely hike. To get down to the river (American, North Fork), I bumped and wrangled the car down a horribly rutted dirt road, over run-off runnels, collapsed culverts, and a hoard of rocks jutting up through some very red clay. My dad, who has worked for the State Parks for over 20 years, offered, “Welcome to my world.” It was good experience, driving in less than pristine conditions. The weather was crisp and cool, the sun bright, and the air hazy with ice crystals. The bridge has reinforced parallel tracks made of wooden boards. Car wheels go there only; to bump off onto the main planking between on either side may very well be to punch a hole right through. I don’t know, I didn’t try it. We ate lunch overlooking the river and then walked at a brisk pace along a narrow dirt trail. On one side, a steep decline; on the other, a steep incline. Moderately dense wooded areas provide shade. At one point, the water coming out of the earth onto the trail itself was still ice. We went slightly up, slightly down, and in the end, we came to this: I realize I’ve forgotten how much I love to hike. Towards October, bad news seemed to be coming in from every corner of my circle, starting with the death of my cat. Being a clinical depression survivor, there are things I do regularly to ward off the fell beast, but this autumn, it overtook me and stomped around for a while; it’s been another trudge upward since then, and it can be slow going. Being raised by a father who works/plays in the great outdoors means it’s in my blood. I’m not saying I’d do spectacularly if I had to suddenly survive off the land, but sometimes there really is no better balm than going back outside, getting away from the city and reminding myself of all the hidden landscapes there are when we have the chance to step outside our everyday stressors. Thus ends the first venture. Tomorrow, the next!
AuthorHello! My name is Grete and welcome to my writing blog! I am a writer or romance, horror, and general observation Archives
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