Trip Date: March 28, 2015
Cesar Chaves Holiday weekend has typically been a weekend we have gone on trips over the years. With Mike’s retirement from CEC, the drought, climate change, and the ridiculously warm weather we have been having, the timing was ripe for a trip. We had discussed getting up into the high country to see an early spring so I hunted around on Google and thought about mountain passes and such. Some of us were good for two nights and some only for one, so it was decided that we wouldn’t go too far away to make it more practical for the one-nighters.
We soon settled on the Sunset Lakes area, off Blue lakes Road, out of Hope Valley off Highway 88 just East of Carson Pass. Sunset lakes is about 8,000’ elevation which is ridiculously high for this time of year, for June probably in a normal year, and may be too high now, but we wanted to make a go of it. Near Sunset Lakes is Indian Valley and Little Indian Valley. They are a little SouthWest of Kirkwood ski resort and a little West of Markleeville. The photos were extraordinary, and some of them were taken with snow still on the mountains and the meadows still wet, kind of how we imagined it might be now, so I was excited to try to get up that high.
I wondered out loud if Mormon Emigrant Road was open and Tom looked it up. Silly me; I was looking on the CalTrans web site for road conditions but Tom found it, rightly so, on the Forest Service website since logically it is primarily a road through the Eldorado National Forest. The road was closed about a mile East of the intersection with Silver Fork Road which connect ME to Highway 50 at Kyburz. The website had a little blurb about road travel and travel restrictions on any dirt road until April 1 because of the potential to do damage to the road – causing ruts and driving out of the roadway damaging vegetation alongside the roads. This really pissed me off.
Now, the FS is restricting travel on any and all dirt roads all winter? You can’t drive on a dirt road if it is wet? WTF! I may be getting cranky in my old age or something, but we seem to be corralled into smaller and smaller areas all the time. Roads are closed; gates are locked; wilderness areas, study areas, management areas, sensitive areas, mating areas, habitat for this and that; public access to all these areas is being limited and or prevented entirely. I have spent my entire life in natural resources and environmental protection so I understand the need to protect and preserve; that is why we have National Forests to begin with. But by golly, we should be able to use them; not abuse them or ruin them, but the public should have access to almost all areas almost all the time.
I am not one of them types to say that this group of those people or these things do more damage and so why should we be restricted. Or we shouldn’t be restricted until those things clean up their act, but, I will say, we are truly “no trace” people. We don’t kill anything; we don’t break stuff, or damage things; we don’t pollute; we almost always leave places cleaner than when we arrived. If there is a trace of our being in an area, it is tire tracks and organic material that will decompose (onion peels, orange peels, banana peels, etc.) We almost always use an existing camp spot; almost every time use an existing fire ring; never drive off road (except that one time for an instant I left the road on our way back from Death Valley into Gold Point – that was Tom’s fault anyway). Our vehicles don’t leak oil or gas (except that one time Steve’s TravelAll gas tank overflowed in Death Valley), but in the 150 or so camping trips we have taken over the last 20 years, I would grade us out at about 9.6 out of 10 on “No trace camping”.
So I can put aside the impact of logging, mining, hunting, fishing, and the noise and damage wrought by motorcycles, hard core 4-wheeling, and people who love the mud. I am not saying that since they do so much damage and we do so little, we should be able to do what we want; or at least cause more damage. I am not saying that comparatively, they do so much of the damage and cause so much of the impacts that we should be without regulation, rule, or restrictions of any kind. But I am saying that individuals should have more access to their public lands than they do now, and the trend seems to be going in the opposite direction.
This is one of the first times I have really sensed a significant reduction in access to the national forest lands. The problems with the rich people buying up massive tracts of lands and encircling large tracts of BLM land – public land, and otherwise preventing access is well documented. But, I am sensing more of a public access issue recently with forest service land as well. Yes, gates are often locked; areas are frequently off limits during mating, breeding, and birthing season. Hazardous areas, burned areas, slides, storm damage and such obviously should be off limits for public safety, but I am concerned that the scales have tipped away from public access, and cumulatively, more and more areas either cannot be accessed by vehicle at all, such as wilderness, study areas, critical species, critical habitat, etc., or are closed off seasonally. I am not willing to throw caution and protection to the wind, but I do believe the public should have more vehicle access to more of their public lands.
I have digressed, but I remember why. As I was perusing the El Dorado NF website, I noticed a road closure link. After I read the notice several times, I was left with the impression that you couldn’t drive on any dirt road until April 1. That was ridiculousness. It is bad enough the vast majority of campgrounds are only open half the year. And all the various road closures and limits on driving access have been well-worn above. Now, you can’t drive on a dirt road at all until April 1. I called to confirm and yes, that was correct, although of course, not really. I think the key phrase is “causing damage”. It shouldn’t be that way, but it is.
So, now we had to find a place within a car length or so (could it be a limo length?) of the pavement – essentially either ME or Silver Fork Road. The forest service guy steered me to the new Gray Rock campground, but I am a notch above cattle. I do not want to be herded into the pen with everyone else. I want to explore and enjoy my public land. I want access! Despite climate change, 4 or more years of severe drought, no snow or rain since December, highs in the mid-80’s and lows in the high 30’s, we were led to believe we couldn’t drive on dirt roads because they could be wet and we might cause damage. Dang.
We decided that despite the warm, dry weather, there still might not be that many people in the woods yet, so we decided to give the Silver Fork Road a shot – hopefully find a spot along the river or a creek a little higher up, since we almost never get to camp near water because most water is either really developed or draws a lot of the people. We are trying to get away from people, but not have to hike or backpack, so being near water is a rarity for us. This timing might give us a shot.
My mom’s health has been steadily declining at age 92, and recently took a turn for the worse, so I needed to see her Friday. Tom, Steve, and Mike were set to meet at my house at 8:00 on Saturday morning. Kristen and I left my mom about 8:00 Friday night so I called Mike to tell him I would leave later Saturday and just meet them guys – leave me a note in a bottle or some such indication of where they ended up, and I would find them. Tom knocked on my door at 8:00 Saturday morning, and once I figured out it wasn’t a woodpecker and I wasn’t already camping, I answered the door. I can’t imagine what ran through his mind when he saw me.
I explained to him the situation and as we talked at the table, the message Mike sent to him the night before came through to his phone. This is called foreshadowing, or at least a sign of things to come. I called Mike. Mike called Tom and off he went to connect with them. K and I had a good morning together; shopped; finished packing; watered and wandered around the garden a little, and I was off by about 3:00. I got a message from Bob up Highway 50 describing their location and felt pretty good about the time, the likelihood of finding them, my mom, and the status of all that is left behind.
I noted the location of the 2 still-closed forest service campgrounds along the way. I drove through the new “primitive” Gray Rock campground. It is a nice setting; the road through the campground lined with massive granite or blue gray rock. The boulders also outline about 20 “sites” or parking spots actually. The sites have no amenities – no tables, fire ring, water, garbage cans, outhouse. A good idea for those who don’t mind roughing it a little, but still more of a corral to round up the people in fewer and fewer areas so the likelihood of damage or destruction or trouble that needs attention is restricted to those areas. I think they are just going to have to put more trust and faith in the forest visitors; conduct more outreach and education; pursue the law/rule breakers specifically rather than punishing/limiting everyone’s forest experience, and hope for the best. I was happy we were not settling for this option.
A few miles further up Silver Fork Road, I turned right on Forest Road 9N10, a dry dirt road that dropped to the creek, crossed it, then rose again. I saw movement off in the bushes and slowed enough to see Steve coming to greet me. The sharp right turn was manageable, but it dropped away steeply so that I could not see the direction or the condition of this road at all. I stopped on the precipice, got the go-ahead from Steve and dropped over the edge. The road quickly dropped into a wide open, relatively flat spot, with plenty of room for rigs, tents, tables, etc. It was a real nice spot. I was greeted by the boys who were busy gathering wood, setting up tents, generally preparing camp. It was great to be there.
I had wanted to be near water, near the Silver Fork of the American River, or one of the creeks along that stretch of road, and this spot certainly nailed that criteria. It actually was on a pretty good bend of the creek so about half of this large flat was set aside a bank about 15 feet above the creek and you could look down a stretch of about 150 feet of creek with several pools, and tiny falls that bubbled and gurgled and babbled like any good creek should. The elevation was about 5800’ according to Google earth (I almost always bring my clinometer and almost never check it) so it was rich in tree diversity – both Ponderosa and Jeffrey Pine (as usual), Sugar Pine, Red and White Fir (as usual) and Incense Cedar. There were some big trees on either side of the creek, adding to the site quality.
I was unloaded in short order and anxious to get my tent up and be done. This was my maiden voyage with my new tent, so I was excited to see how it went up, how big it was, and how it looked. I picked a great spot down away from the center of camp along the bank, just above the creek. It was fabulous. I cleared a little flat ground and up she went. Two really long poles but manageable made the tent a rectangle, a tad bigger than the dome, but just a little. The rain fly was good size so it came within a few inches of the ground. It buckled in which was nice and had Velcro to attach to the poles. The small mesh windows in the back, on the top, and in the front door were just what I wanted. I liked the colors and the overall look. I was real happy with it.
Maybe an hour after I arrived, I was unloaded and the tent was set up and had all my clothes and tent gear inside. I mentioned to the boys that I was going to go back down the road to the Packsaddle pass sign and leave a note for Ken as had been arranged. They told me not to bother as they had left a message for him as they had for me. I am sure I should have thought about going anyway a little longer and done what we agreed to do, but, not driving back there was OK too, and, it was, in fact, cocktail hour.
Tom had, in fact, made Manhattan’s and they were poured to perfection. We toasted being together, the spot Michael had found, Michael’s retirement, and a great night. We started the fires (yes plural) and the evening began. Tom had some nice steaks; Steve had pasta and shrimp sautéed over the fire; Bob had salad; I’m sure Mike contributed as well, but I assuredly brought nothing to this table. It was marvelous. A couple Manhattan’s, a great warming fire, outstanding cooking fire (Bob again outdid himself with the fire rings). Man this was a nice spot. This was a good night.
I know better than to eat peanuts because they get their revenge for my eating them, but I couldn’t resist. Steve almost always brings a big bag of peanuts and after dinner, as if we didn’t eat enough, the bag of peanuts was passed around. The bottle of whiskey was soon following the bag of peanuts and we were all in excellent spirits. Tom busted out a cherry pie and we conjured up a way of heating it on the fire. Oh my god was that good – warm gooey cherry pie, scooped out of the tin with some sort of forceps or fork/tong to the amazement and entertainment of all. Mike got the smallest piece as it should be. There was much rejoicing.
I think Steve and I were last to bed. We walked up the road a bit to catch some more sky. We stopped beside a massive granite boulder which had darkened to a black over most of it. I couldn’t tell then in the dark, but as I drove past later in the trip, it made a perfect place to be pounced on by hostile Indians, robbers, or mountain lion. Fortunately, on this trip, none chose this as their time. The walk did me much good – forcing oxygen into my lungs, slowing my alcohol intake, stretching my legs, and putting a fine finishing finale on a fantastic day.
I did not sleep well. Part of it was probably the toxic air pouring out of the materials in my new tent. Part of it my feet were cold and it took the better part of the night to make myself get awake enough to put my wool socks on and get out the spare sleeping bag to put over my feet. In no way was intoxication involved. In fact, I mixed in so much water I had to get up to pee twice in the night, so my best sleep was at the very end, a rather brief stretch in the early morning.
I awoke to chopping wood and found the boys gathered around the fire and coffee. The morning was cold, but not uncomfortable, maybe even crisp. It was definitely not below freezing. The fire and coffee helped loosen the stiffness and the stoolage, and soon it was time to consider the day’s activities. Steve wanted to get some wood for the in-ground; I was interested in finding the bottom of the old Iron Mountain ski runs. I mentioned that I told Ken that I would leave a sign of some kind hinting to our whereabouts, but the boys had left the same message for Ken as they did with me, so they should be able to follow those directions into camp.
With that settled we decided to head up Silver Fork Road towards Mormon Emigrant Road and take one of the forest service roads that led out towards the ski runs. We explored a little crossing over small creeks and splashing through small puddles on the road. We turned around and finally headed up on a road that felt like it was heading in the right direction. We came to a locked gate and a bunch of private property signs. We grabbed some water bottles and beers and headed on up the road. Another locked gate led out to a fantastic meadow, very wet and green. Lots of stumps and signs of mans alteration of the environment, but it was still a beautiful open meadow, along the lines of what I have been envisioning lately.
Since I had to buy a new tent, I had done some significant shopping, both in stores and on-line. I came across a Canadian company that seemed to specialize in big, canvas, deep winter survival tents. Some had wooden floors and most could accommodate a wood stove. They looked awesome. I sent the link to Steve one weekend morning and we fantasized about spending a winter, or at least late Fall on the edge of a meadow, comfortable in the knowledge that we had good shelter and plenty of food and wood, water and whiskey to get us through, and of course our rigs were parked just out of the picture. I have been fantasizing about having a cool camp spot on the edge of a meadow ever since. This spot came pretty close, and had a great view of Pyramid Peak at the Southern tip of the Crystal Range.
We followed this road a bit more until it began to drop. Not wanting to climb back up, we stopped to look for evidence of ski runs, lift towers, or out buildings. We were pretty sure we were pretty close, but couldn’t come up with any evidence. We knew we were just below the spot where Ken, Stevie G, Albert, and Bob camped right under the ski lift towers to the South, and only a few miles from the spot Ken, Bill and I had camped at Packsaddle – always connecting the dots.
Wandering back down the road, I found an intact choker cable with the ball and the buckle or bell I think they call that in good shape. The cable diameter was thick, but it was short so it had a small circumference, but that made it perfect. I can remember getting wood with Mike and using the cable winch on his Land Cruiser to haul in logs. I can remember getting a massive load of pure oak up in Humboldt with my cousin Gil and using the log truck load cable that I still have to pull logs up onto the road. It will be fun to use this one to haul up some nice Cedar and oak logs in the future, and hopefully I will remember the walk with these guys when I do.
Back at the truck, we lounged in the shade and enjoyed a beverage and some intelligent conversation. I think the squirrels won the debate, but I don’t want to keep score. Steve was scouting wood and saw some newly cut logs alongside the road. We went down to explore and found that it was a massive blow down. One ginormous Sugar Pine fell away from the road and took another 6 or 8 trees with it; snapped off another 6 or 8 all in the direction of the fall. The one Steve saw across the road fell the opposite way, but out of the same root ball. Mike and I clambered over the massive exposed roots, around the 10 foot hole in the ground, and along 100 feet or so of the tree. It was perhaps 60” in diameter and at the top or end as it were in this state, it was a mass of green; numerous species, sizes, and parts of trees all mashed together by the enormous power and crushing weight of this fallen giant.
A bit further down the road, we raided an old camp spot of some 8×10 oak blocks. They were super impressive; not sure what they used them for – could have been anything being that substantial and oak no less. Could have held up a bridge, house, mine shaft, or just about anything. Bob also found a very cool 2 foot length of white fir bark, peeled from the tree with nice yellow-green chunks of lichen on it. It was really cool, and even better that he thought it might look cool in my landscape at home. With our treasures loaded in the truck, we headed back to camp.
I had lost track of time, just absolutely immersed in enjoying this time. We drove very slow looking for good Cedar or Oak for the fires for the in-ground. I did not want any Fir, so it was fun for the boys to be spotting stuff and me trying to identify it. I had my chain saw with me as instructed, but I did forget to fill it up with gas. I knew I had some left in the tank after using it at Dan and Christi’s (aka the Benicia House; aka Wyn’s house) last weekend. Tom spotted the find of the morning; a 5 foot Cedar log up off the ground; good and dry. He and Bob rolled it down the bank and we got a few good cuts before the gas was gone. We loaded it up along with a few more 5” x 5’ lengths of Pine.
We had calculated we should start the fire for the in-ground by 1:00 to put it in by 3:00 to eat by 6:00. Well it was 1:30 by the time we got back to camp and Ken, Kevin, and Stevie G weren’t there yet. We unloaded, and Bob and Tom went to hunt for the boys. Mike, Steve and I got busy cutting an enormous quantity of Turnips, Parsnips, Rutabagas, Carrots, Beets, and Potatoes. Steve cut up some chicken, steak, and Game Hen or Squab (Pigeon). We had beverages (for cooking) and some good tunes from my truck, and then the Ranger came down into camp…
He was real cool. We weren’t supposed to be parked down here – too far off a real road and too close to the creek. He just asked us to move the rigs and split. I don’t even know if he stayed close enough to make sure we moved, but we did right away. I am sure between our age and the fact that we all had vegetables in our hands when we were talking, calmed his itchy trigger finger and allowed the interaction to precede blood free. We did have 3 fires going and it was obviously a large group (and soon to grow), but he left unconcerned, even though Bob’s rig sat where it was; having to wait for his return.
The Galloping Gourmets feverishly cut veges and added spices and beers. We filled a 14 quart and a 12 quart cast iron Dutch oven to the brim with a few veges left over. Our fires took some effort to get going and the coals were a long way off. The 3:00 start time came and went, and our fires were still pretty weak and paltry. Fortunately, about this time the boys returned, successful in their search for the wandering Ken and his followers. Apparently Ken did not get the voicemail Bob and Tom left for him, so he had no idea where we were. There was very little chance he could have found us without knowing to come up 9N10 off Silver Fork, although he did say that they did pass 9N10 and considered it in their search for us. We had talked about the sign post at Packsaddle Road as a place to leave a message; at one point considered the camp spot at the top of Packsaddle as a possible destination, and Ken liked that spot, so it was logical to look for him there. And fortunately for the boys, found him and brought him back to the group. There was much rejoicing.
It was good Ken was retrieved because he was getting a reputation for improbably not being able to find the group and having to spend nights in ones or twos. On our infamous trip to Grouse Ridge, he somehow couldn’t find the end of the road to meet up with us and had to drive off into the woods with Mr. Graham alone. Now he had led two boys astray and had to be rescued again. Maybe it is just the Italian inner compass, but it was fantastic to be united. It momentarily took our gaze off the fires and the ovens waiting to be lowered into the pit and cooked.
At 4:00, it was decided to just go for it. The coals were black, not glowing red, but it was almost all oak, and it was late. We wouldn’t eat until 7:00 at the earliest, so we needed to leap and hope for the best. Steve had dug a great hole; maybe 2 feet deep and 18 inches wide in good red clay soil. We dropped a nice bed of our best coals in the bottom and dropped the 14 quart oven on them, then we stacked the 12 quart on top of it, and poured the rest of the coals in. We needed to place a few blackened logs on top of the hole, not only to fill it up so the dirt wasn’t all around the lid (I also forgot the lid puller off tool gizmo), but also to cram all the heat we could into that hole. For no practical reason, Bob put some Fir branches on top of the hole and we covered it with dirt. The confidence level was not high, but it was going to do what it was going to do. The boys were together at a fantastic spot along the creek, and it was all good.
It was going to be a long wait for the in-ground, both because we got it in late and because we were worried about the coals not being hot enough, so Steve and I were hovering around the pit quite a bit staring at the ground – hoping for the best. The rest of the boys were unfazed by our concern. It was a big group and there was much talk and laughter and nonsense.
Around cocktail hour, I poured myself a stiff one, to celebrate the gathering, to cheer on our concoction, and to officially proclaim the evening upon us. The boys had found tent sites and erected their evening dwellings. The gear was unloaded and added to our camp. Wood, ice chests, food of one variety or another appeared on tables and plates. It was a grand gathering.
There was much talk of the creek and how cold it would be. This was, after all, still March. And even though we had 5% of our snow fall and that which did come down was very dry as compared to the water content of “normal” years, we were still at 5800’ and this water was still largely coming from snow melt. I believe Tom was the first in. Mike dipped a toe and ran off screaming into the woods. Ken, known for dunking no matter the conditions, took a quick sit and was out. Bob got in a little deeper, Mike reappeared far more determined. Ken re-entered.
I splashed about and used a T-shirt to wipe down and flossed the narrows. It felt great to rinse off, above the others of course, the waters running a tad more turbid than before. We noticed a group of Neanderthals on the bank staring down at us with crazy eyes and impure thoughts. That tribe was known to be of a confused nature, never quite right in the head, so we in the creek, exposed and vulnerable to attack, were none too concerned as otherwise we might be.
Fortunately, the bank squatters had liquor and plied us with many drinks upon our return to the encampment. Obviously, the bankers were used to getting the upper hand by offering copious amounts of beverage, root, and weed to reduce wits and lower defenses. The creek bathers were wise to this notion as being more advanced and evolved, could easily consume these gifts in mass quantities while preventing the mingling of our people, thus preventing the abnormalities so common among the others.
With drink flowing, food was now on our minds. Kevin and others brought out meat and bread and much consuming was done while we waited for the 7:00 hour to arrive. When we pulled out the Fir branches and shoveled off the top layer of soil, we knew immediately we hadn’t had enough heat. The chunks of wood we had placed on top had not burned down at all and the coals were black and barely warm. The top oven was not done, but the larger oven on the bottom was – bareley but it was all cooked. For those that preferred crunchy veges. It was perfect. The meat was tender and the chicken came off the bone nicely. The boys dug in and we had plenty to eat. We added coals to the smaller cooking fire, set the smaller oven in the ring, covered it with briquettes and then the grill lid and let it cook another hour or so.
We didn’t need this food at all and it would have been far better to have had a pie or some brownies in there for desert – that would have been awesome. But the dinner grub was really good and the boys were most appreciative. The big fire ring was soon ablaze as we had much wood to burn and a chill in the air to eradicate. I believe the energy we used in laughter and frivolity would have kept us plenty warm that night, but the big fire was a welcome companion.
Fires this size used to be common in the old days. We used to have several months in Spring and Fall when the camping was still good and fire restrictions were nonexistent. These days, with the dry drought conditions and the hyper-vigilant fire agencies, it is rare to be able to freely and comfortably have a big camp fire and enjoy it. It is one of the reasons we wanted to push up into the higher elevations for this trip. The rarity, the big group, the early season, the rinse in the creek, the full bellies all contributed to making the night especially rewarding and enjoyable.
I am sure, one by one, we all wobbled off to bed and behaved ourselves. At least there were no signs of significant abnormalities the next morning. All were accounted for, and none seemed too worse for the wear. Fire, coffee, some sort of breakfast food – life was very, very good. Attention eventually turned to packing up. With the ranger having us remove our vehicles from down below, the boys were hauling their goods out to the vehicles parked along the road. For those parked down the road, this was not a bad option as it was basically side slope – a little farther perhaps, but no climbing up the road.
Before long, half of the gear and half of the people were gone, then two-thirds, and Bob, and Tom and I were all that were left. It was a gorgeous morning, so we sat atop the bank where the Neanderthals had been the previous afternoon, had a beverage, reminisced, and enjoyed the view of the babbling brook below. This was nice. It was hard to leave, but it had become time. I pulled my rig down into camp and loaded all that was left. I dropped some off with Bob and he pulled on down the road and out of sight. I pulled on down to Tom’s rig to divide up the last of the detritus.
It was decided we would take the road we were on to loop back to Silver Fork Road above us, where we had been the day before. Tom would follow and then we would go our separate ways. The drive up was fantabulous. Haley had added a bunch of great music onto my IPod and I had since added to it as well. The music was outstanding, the weather great, no one else was around; driving slow and checking out the woods and the variety of creeks and streams was great fun. Around a bend, a 24” diameter Fir had fallen across the road. This was exactly why I brought my saw, but without gas, we were out of luck. We stopped and had a beverage. I picked up some massive Sugar Pine cones and we turned around, this way, Tom in the lead.
When we got back to pavement, Tom turned right, headed back towards Highway 50. I was headed the other way, to go out Mormon Emigrant, but I followed Tom a bit and he pulled off at a turnout at the bridge over the Silver Fork. On our way up, we noticed a cool tent pitched on a granite ledge above the river – a very cool spot just above the gorge that the river descends into. No one was there now, so we wandered about a bit to see what there was to see. I was antsy by this time as the time to get going had come.
We said our goodbyes and Tom headed North back to Highway 50 – for about 200 feet. Before I could get out of the parking spot, Tom was back, having decided to explore the gorge more and take a dip. I thought this was a fantastic decision, but headed South, up the hill to ME nonetheless. I was happy to see a few patches of snow up top near Mormon Emigrant Road, very little, but a few patches nonetheless – loving that word lately. I stopped for a stretch and to get a little more of that fresh, early spring mountain air in my lungs, open my last beverage, and begin the descent into the valley. Home by 3:00, it had been a great trip and I was happy to be home with my wife.
Find this SpotSilver Fork of the American River Photo Gallery
