Trip Date: September 12, 2014
Find this SpotDoing something different usually takes a lot more effort, but is sometimes worth it. That certainly was the case on this trip. We wanted to camp out of the boats – my canoe and Bob and Tom’s kayaks. We had initially read about a stretch of the Sacramento River between Hamilton City and Butte City in the Sacramento Bee. After much research and not many replies from numerous inquiries, we finally gave up on learning about the possibility, legality, capability, accessibility, etc. of camping overnight along that stretch of the river. Instead, we turned our attention further north near Red Bluff.
BLM manages land on both sides of the river north of Red Bluff and has a designated “undesignated” camping area along one stretch of the river. The BLM web site provided good maps of the river and some information on put-in and take-out spots. Tom also had experience on the upper portion of that stretch so it was decided that we would put in at Ball’s Ferry and take out at Lake Red Bluff Recreation Area, the site of a former lake that would be formed when the gates built over the Sacramento River would be closed. Those gates have been permanently welded open now in a massive project to help the Salmon and Steelhead runs so now it is more river-like – without the lake.
We met at my place at 8:30 as agreed upon the week before. Unfortunately, Bob had decided in his tiny head that we were meeting at 9:30 so Tom and I did all the hard work and heavy lifting well before Bob arrived. He found Tom and I on the back deck sitting around the table on a glorious morning into our second beer. When Bob arrived, we had another and it was getting easier to imagine camping in the back yard. We made quick work of loading Bob’s gear into my truck and we were soon ready to roll. It was then that genius struck.
I had poured 3 shots of Honey Jack Daniels, a gift from my daughter Haley, my traditional beverage of choice before a trip to ask the great spirits for protection. I quickly poured a fourth and hustled across the street to get my neighbor Ron to have him join us. At some point we need to combine camping trips so that he and his friend can come on one of our trips and/or we can go on one of their trips. They appear to be on the same page. In any event, I was happy to find Ron at home and willing to take a break from his tasks and join us for a breakfast beverage. Off we went.
By now it was perhaps 10:30 and already warming up. We blasted up Highway 5 and in no time seemed to be exiting on Antelope Boulevard, the in-town version of Highway 36 East. I had made a reservation for site #2 at the Lake Red Bluff campground operated by the US Forest Service, just on the outskirts of town. Two miles down Sales Road from Antelope, where you can find the usual assortment of busy freeway exit businesses such as motels, gas stations, convenience stores and fast food, is a sweet little campground set alongside the river, the decommissioned diversion dam, and the boat ramp. There is a little nature center and self-guided walk around a native garden, massive Sycamore trees and many oaks and grasses.
Site two was not to our liking but with the place nearly empty we quickly found a more suitable spot under a massive Sycamore with lots of flat grass in a corner lot. The campground host was very pleasant and gracious and we quickly settled into the business of setting up camp. It was definitely hot, even in the shade, but an occasional breeze, or at least slight movement of the air, cold beverages, and the task at hand kept it very tolerable. A great meal of a variety of snacks, and little rest, and soon our tents were up, the fire set, and happy hour begun. A few vehicles appeared and chose sites, only one in our vicinity, so while not solitude by any means, it was a very comfortable and sweet little campground.
We took a walk over to the visitor center and the native garden. We head down to the water’s edge and the old dam. Before long Tom and I were headed back to camp sans Bob. It was quite some time before he appeared striding down the center divide of the campground road, having taken a dip and floated with the current a bit. By this time, the temperature had cooled significantly, enough such that lighting the fire didn’t seem too insane. Coals were getting red, the Giants game was on the radio, and we were settling in for an excellent evening. Bob brought an excellent piece of salmon and we had some aged red wine saturated oak barrel chips soaking in a little bowl to smoke that fish.
In all too short a time, Tommie’s Manhattan’s were dry and we switched to Bourbon and cokes. The Giants beat the Dodgers 6-2, the fish was outstanding, Tom’s salad was a perfect accompaniment, a little French bread and life was very very good. The stars were quite good for being camped in the outskirts of red Bluff, and the night was fairly quiet. This was in sharp contrast to the morning.
While the sun was still not very high in the sky, we had serious helicopter traffic up and down and up and down as if simply practicing landing and take-offs. We had a significant amount of train traffic. We had plenty of vehicle traffic hauling in boats to hit the water and hopefully a couple salmon and steelhead, both of which were running. It was fairly insane for this early on a Saturday morning. I imagine Bob and Tom had been up for some time by the time I rolled out of the sack, but I had slept well and could have gone for more. Bob had coffee going and that was all I needed.
We were excited to begin the next leg, the main event of our trip, so we packed up and prepared our gear for boat camping. We received some excellent advice from the campground host and we were soon loaded into the Tundra leaving Toms’ FJ Cruiser in the designated overnight parking area, waiting for us upon our return. After just a few minutes on Interstate 5, we turned NE on Jellies Ferry Road and headed off into some spectacular upper Sacramento valley Oak-woodland habitat. In a half hour or so, we had arrived at the Ball’s ferry boat ramp, a not super special little backwater bustling with activity – mainly fishing guides and other professionals getting onto the water or already returning after the morning’s catch.
Boat ramps always seem like places of stress to me. People must perform some fairly technical maneuvers, often ones they don’t do very often, as boat ownership is typically 99% paying for storage. The turning and backing up and down and untying and keeping a hold of the boat as it floats away all has to be done in public, under the scrutinous eyes of many strangers. It seems stressful to me and we were just walking canoes and kayaks down the ramp.
Mid-prep, a classic wooden driftboat appeared high above us on the lip of the ramp. It was a beauty. The man and wife casually got out of their new truck and performed the well rehearsed duties of launching their prize boat. As he got back in the truck and began to negotiate the steep ramp, the boat ejected itself from the trailer and hurled itself down the ramp skidding along the rough concrete. Everyone was frozen in a second of shock, then we sprang into action hurling ourselves in front of the boat, ill prepared for the boat being to big, heavy and hurtling too fast to stop. But we got er done. After a moment of taking inventory and checking ourselves, we all laughed at the absurdity. The couple was extremely appreciative. Some onlookers, seemingly more experienced fisher guys, hustled down to lift the boat the rest of the way to the water, and get it settled at the dock. Mellowness was restored.
Having done our good deed, we felt good about our gear, and our boats, and our preparation. For me this lasted approximately 17 seconds, as maybe 100 yards out was a concrete wall across the entire river, maybe a foot below the surface, I assume the remnants of a removable weir or gates. This submerged obstacle caused quite a ripple at the surface and my stability would be immediately tested. Letting the gods decide my fate, I guided the boat perpendicular to the waves (right?) and paddled through with nary a hump in the ride. I was heavy and that would serve me well throughout the trip.
I was excited at the wave of confidence that filled me up and I was stoked to get it right at the beginning of the trip. All was well and we had just begun. Life on the river was easy; I was heavy and low in the water and the flow was doing much of the work. Shy of steering occasionally, and deciding if I wanted to be closer or farther from the boys, I was floating carefree down the river with them upfront and in sight. My greatest challenge was staying hydrated and I often needed to hail Tom to replenish my stores.
We floated and paddled occasionally. We pointed out birds and interesting trees, mountains, rocks along the shore. It was pretty cool to be on the water as that doesn’t happen very often and it was even cooler to basically be propelled by the water. We didn’t see many other boats, a random canoe, a small motor boat or aluminum boat with an outboard, but mostly it was very quiet, to the point that you could hear the drip of the drops from the paddle breaking the surface. It was beginning to get hot and I was beginning to think about food.
The vast majority of the shoreline was covered in thick brush and vines. There were very few places to get out; not nearly the number of sandy beaches we could choose from as I had hoped. And arriving at a good spot at the time you need one is just another game of chance. We were getting a little desperate by the time we came upon what seemed to be a road that just dumped into the river. It was good enough. We pulled the boats up and got out to stretch and look about. The best part about this spot is that it was open shoreline and quiet.
We had a great lunch and beverages and began to set our sights on the main event. Seeing so few boats on the water gave me a sense of confidence that we wouldn’t be competing with other folks, whom I figured, would be the main issue. However, as we continued to make way, we were not seeing many choices. In hindsight, probably our best option was a huge flat area covered in tall pines that folks can drive to. We really didn’t see it until we were past it and it was way too late to get over to that side.
Between spacing out and paying attention to the few small rapids we went through, and keeping the boys in sight, we were making great progress; almost too good as we wanted to stop about midway, and it seemed we had reached that point, but more importantly, it seemed it was time for cocktails. It was also tough because you had to see potential spots in time to get to that side of the river and actually onto the shore ahead of them, which made quite a few possibly potential sites not possible.
Finally, we saw an open grassy area that seemed to have a few semi-flat benches above the water. There was a very small beach along the water, and it was on our side of the water and we saw it in time, so it all added up to the spot for the night. Pulling far up on the sand bar, getting out to stretch and get our balance, not only from standing up but from being on only semi flat ground. The trail up to the largest flat spot was good and the spot big enough for a grand kitchen, right on top of the river maybe 10-15 feet above it. There were enough other semi flat spots big enough for tents so this proved to be a great spot. The bar was finally open.
It was late afternoon, but we still had plenty of daylight. After a couple cocktails, I was ready to begin hauling stuff up from the boats, setting up the tent and sleeping area, and helping with the kitchen and food prep. With Bob and Tom, you are assured a feast, and we ate extremely well. This spot, the calm evening, the quiet, the great temps; this was why we wanted to come to this area and camp on the river. It did not disappoint.
I think we all slept well, but the morning brought an entirely new and rude dimension. Maybe this was the first day of salmon season or Saturday, or maybe just a normal weekend on the river, but there were 3, 4, 5 boats revving their motors to stay in the current right out in front of us. Another one would roar by. One of the ones would power up a couple hundred yards and then float back. Then the next. Then another. And another would scream by to a spot higher on the river. It was like a busy street.
We were blown away, not only at how many there were, but how loud and how early. It just became a mess. We had our coffee and breakfast watching the show and trying not to get too worked up. Our night was awesome, and the prior day was spectacular, so if the morning wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t that big a deal. We focused on picking up and packing the boats and getting on with the day’s journey. We may have needed a medicinal beverage or two to calm our nerves, but we managed to get on the water in good shape at a very reasonable hour.
Within an hour or so, we came to the boat ramp that was responsible for so many of our new rivermates. Below the ramp, things mellowed out quite a bit; for whatever reason up stream seemed to be the place to catch the big ones – or at least try, as we did not see a single fish or bent pole the entire time. We rolled through some decent rapids, maybe one reason for heading upstream. Then we came to a massive sand flat, an area identified on the map as a former or current Boy Scout Camp. Then under the Bend Ferry Bridge and we felt the creep and crawl of civilization. The river was still really nice, and the occasional home was an interesting feature to check out. But the structures were definitely replacing the birds as interesting features.
One last real interesting stretch through the tall cliffs of Iron Canyon; spectacular rock formations, colorful walls, a series of mild rapids, and huge sweeping bends in the river. And then it all changed again. We passed a large development of beautiful new homes, then under the I-5 Bridge, then the paddling, then the funk of Red Bluff. It was time to keep the boat moving and cover the last distance to the take out. Unfortunately, this was going to take some effort. Now, in this lower, flatter portion of the river, the current was minimal, and progress was far more reliant on human power. We had done an excellent job at removing the liquid weight, and the food weight, but I was still the barge, and I was still heavy, so the faster I wanted to go was more and more up to me. I was balancing my fatigue with my desire to be at the finish line.
Sure enough, we passed under the I-5 Bridge the second time and our sandy beach below the parking lot was in sight. Being in lighter, faster kayaks, the boys had already unloaded their gear and hauled it up the hill to the car. I settled alongside a young Hispanic family playing in the water on a beautiful Saturday afternoon. It was great to watch the kids play in the water and the moms cool their legs and feet. What a great family thing to be doing.
Hauling the gear and the boat up the hill was brutal. It was hot and I was tired. Tom and I jumped in the rig while Bob stayed behind to watch the gear. The drive up to my truck seemed to take forever, but it wasn’t that far and couldn’t have taken a half hour. I followed Tom back to Sycamore grove Campground and gathered up our goods and Bob and we hopped on I-5. Bob dialed in a Giants game around Williams which entertained us the rest of the way. I loved camping out of the boat, and am happy to have explored this area, but next time I hope to have much less people and other boats – especially the motorized kind.
Find this Spot
Upper Sacramento River Float Trip Photo Gallery
