Trip Date: February 16, 2016
Find this SpotSometimes simple and easy works just fine. We wanted to get out in February and typically (whatever that is) February calls for somewhere close and low elevation. Camp Far West is an old standby winter location. The Camp Far West Dam was built in 1963 to hold back the water from the Bear River and Rock Creek. It was named for the last immigration camp on the western trail for 49ers coming into the Sacramento Valley. The reservoir water level fluctuates a great deal, but this was the fullest I had ever seen it, and it looked real good.
With the warmer temperatures the past couple years, the trees, flowers, grasses, etc. seems to be a month ahead. And so it was this February at CFW, the oaks were leafing out and the grass was thick and green – not too tall since the cows were keeping it pretty well mowed. The sky was blue, the water was a twinkling blue/green. It was great to be out.
I am way ahead of my schedule to use up my leave balances, even I was to retire this July instead of next July, and we have a few trips planned this year that I would like to be fairly lengthy, at least in our world of primarily long-weekend trips. I have been working the Fridays I am supposed to work instead of taking them off as I have done for the past years. In fact, in all my 25 years of working for the State, I have rarely worked a Friday.
So with my new need to conserve time, I have actually worked 2 Fridays in a row and this half Friday was a third. So I didn’t hit the road until almost 1:00, but being downtown, I could just shoot up I-5, merge onto Highway 99/70 and then stay on 70 almost up to the Bear River. Just short of the bridge over the Bear is Rio Oso Road which heads East towards Sheridan and Wheatland. Just West of the turn-off the Bear enter the Feather on their way South to join the mighty Sacramento – the last river before it reaches Honker Bay, Grizzly Bay, and Suisun Bay, before it flows through the Carquinez Straits, and into San Pablo Bay, San Francisco Bay, and eventually to Pacific Ocean.
I needed to shop (don’t tell Ginger Bob) so I headed towards the larger spot on the map – Wheatland. It was a beautiful drive through orchards; many getting pruned or removed or replanted as there was much activity. Finally I reached the City limits, but I could not tell where town was. I didn’t know what to expect from Wheatland, but I figured it had a downtown and decent grocery store. It took some looking and stopping to ask a guy who told me what he had to say and apparently figured I simply may not get it based on his ignoring my follow-up question. If Big Al’s was the place to shop in town, Big Al’s it was. Fortunately, Big Al’s was an ICA grocery store and inside was much bigger and much nicer than its cover. I got Kessler’s on sale, a sixer of Deschutes Stout, a sixer of Boont Amber Ale, aluminum foil, 3 aluminum square pans, a gallon of water, and a fantastic ham and Swiss sandwich. It was all that I had hoped for.
I hopped back in the car and headed out in the direction I assumed I needed to go. Well, I soon realized I again was heading in the wrong direction – who knew this little town could be so confusing? On the right road, going in the right direction, I was soon out in the open country I associated with CFW and admired the many large parcels and gentleman farms – it was real pretty country. I still was somewhat unsure of where I was and where I was going until I saw the old gray metal truss bridge, a Pennsylvania Petit Truss Bridge, built in 1916 and moved to its present site in 1966 after the dam and spillway were completed.
Once at the intersection, I rolled past the gate and up to the welcome shack to pay my $25 per car entrance fee. Unlike Lake Almanor outside of Ione which is privately owned, CFW is owned by the South Sutter Water District, but it is operated like a private campground, meaning it is expensive. Certainly most of the state and national park camping fees have gone up, as have many of the Forest Service and BLM campgrounds, but the private ones are exceeding the pace of those public spots.
What is great about CFW, perhaps the saving grace, is that beyond the normal campground is an open area of rolling hills and plenty of lake shore. This is wide open to camping anywhere one wishes to set up camp, which is great for the boys and those wishing to get farther away from folks. There is running water, although you aren’t supposed to digest it, and the bathrooms are driving distance away, but so are most of your neighbors.
The downside is that when the lake is low, it is pretty unsightly, and when the water is high, there are lots of boaters and jet skiers so you get a fair amount of the noise you were trying to leave behind. Today, fortunately, on a beautiful Friday in late February, there were very few folks around as I passed through the campground and crested the hill to our usual camp spot. There was not another camper in sight and the Steve’s were wandering about looking as if they were preparing for something. After working half a day, and making my way out through Wheatland, and having to stop to shop, I was very happy to have arrived.
We greeted each other warmly and I sat with the boys for a spell, unwinding from the trip and sharing our adventures. They were very excited when I told them that Ken would be joining us after it looked and sounded as if he would have to miss the trip. A last second conversation with the wife was met favorably and the boy was given the green light. When they shoved off for their bike ride, I had another beverage and wandered about myself, stretching my legs and letting the first hours of the day fall away.
I am not sure how or why I thought the site I picked for my tent was anywhere near level, but I really didn’t realize how not level it was until the morning. I unpacked the truck, kitchen stuff in the kitchen area, wood, grill, shovel, and axes by the fire ring. Tent set up, pad, bags, pillow, clothes all in the tent. I was eating my sandwich and changing from my work clothes into my shorts and t-shirt. Just then, I saw Ken’s rig crest the hill so I pranced out in all my glory to greet him and let him know he was in the right spot. It was great to see him arrive so early and he was ecstatic to have gotten to go and to be out with the boys.
The Steve’s returned from their bike ride and there was much rejoicing as they greeted Ken. They decided to head to the water to take a dip and wash off the morning’s residue. As the boys were down at the water, the Tom–mobile appeared over the hill much to my surprise. Tom was expected to be a late arrival having to work all day, but he obviously came to his senses. It was great to see him arrive so early in the day. As we were unpacking his rig, the boys returned from the lake and again much rejoicing ensued. It was great to be together, and beverages flowed in celebration.
I was anxious to get the fire going and start dinner, or at least get the fire going. Cocktails were served and the boys gathered around the fire. The low angle of the sun and the long shadows it casts were mesmerizing. I was called to go on a short stroll, or walkabout, as our friends “down under” call it. Ken joined me for a beverage for a couple of fools on the hill. When we got back to the fire, we put the kettle on the boil and wouldn’t be called away again.
Ken had some excellent soup Misty made and we each had a little bowl to kick things off. I used the foil pans and a spot of beer to reheat some pork tenderloins and taters I had BBQ’d earlier in the week. I poured some sautéed onion and green beans on top, and we each had a little morsel of that. The Steve’s baked some massive yams and put a few sausages on the grill. I recall having some sausage and some really good bread slightly grilled; I don’t recall the yams coming in to play until the wee morning.
We had a great little fire, mostly of the Pecan tree that came down in Bob’s neighbor’s yard that he, Steve, and I cut up. I brought some of the larger, gnarlier pieces that sort of needed to be smashed apart, because there was a fork, or many knots, or some other reason to not have any straight grain. It burned well, and was aided by the last of my stupid pallet pieces that I ruined my newly sharpened chain saw on. Thankfully, that is the last of those.
The evening was warm. We had the slightest mist for a few minutes; not enough to dampen anything or even make the warm earth smell. And that was that for the chance of precipitation. The stars were decent for being just outside Lincoln, the probably source for the blaze of light on the SouthWest horizon. Steve and I were the last to bed, and then there was just Steve, standing by the fire, his tall thin frame silhouetted by the glowing embers.
It was so freakin warm that night, no zippers were in action, only unaction. I slept poorly because I was so hot, and because my tent was erected on a ridiculous slope, I kept sliding into the NorthEast corner. And, Note To Management, the dam geese need to go. There are so many and they are so loud all night long, your high rolling, big paying guests can’t sleep with all the commotion. Needless to say it was a rough night, and even though I only had to get up on my knees once, sleep was very scarce.
I came to the sudden and obvious conclusion that I had set my tent up way too close to camp, as the early risers began to gather at the fire, chop wood, and commence with the morning kibitz. I was not hung, but I did feel the effects of not sleeping much. I wasn’t feeling coffee, which was weird, but I did have a cocktail from the previous night still in my cup holder of the built-in tray attached to my chair. I was taught not to waste when I was raised, so I felt obligated not to waste this fine cocktail. It cleared the air on this fine early Saturday morning.
And it was early. By the time someone asked, it was still only 7:30. The fire was great, the morning sky was pretty spectacular, the dam geese were still loud as hell, and a few bass boats were out, jetting back and forth from side to side, but all things considered, they weren’t that annoying. Steve started making runs over hill and dale bringing back loads of oak branches. They allowed us to keep a fine morning fire going while we began to pick, and clean, and organize here and there. Ken had to blow, so he was packed up and the first making dust down the trail. Packing up is always exhausting, but sometimes more than others. This was a rough one.
With all this open ground, I had to hike about 400 yards with shovel and papers to find a suitable location for my morning constitutional, and even then it was behind a stack of steel garbage cans rather than the usual trees, bushes, and shrubbery. I was out of breath and had to sit for a spell when I returned. I had to subdue a second urge because I didn’t want to make another trek to the outback.
I had just about everything loaded in the truck when I had to sit and have a beer. Tom joined me almost immediately, as though we were thinking the same thoughts. This was a nice respite; sitting under the tree, relaxing, with beverage, and enjoying the last of another great trip. The Steve’s were jettisoning off on another bike ride so I bade farewell to them and then to Tom and headed out on my trusty steed.
I made myself stop, and actually had to back up quite a way, to get out and read a historical marker about a hotel that was the central meeting location for the burgeoning region in the late 1800’s. As most things from back in the day, it rose, was very popular and vanished in a short period of time, about 25 years for this place. It also mentioned the way the lake got its name from being the site of the last camp, or rest stop along the trail into the valley.
I’m not sure how I got back to Sheridan; this turn and that turn and this road and that – fortunately they all lead to Sheridan or Wheatland so you can’t get too lost. But I tried. I confidently turned left in town and headed East on Highway 193 towards Newcastle, which was great except that I wanted to head South on Highway 65 into Roseville, I mean, I didn’t want to but kinda had to to get home. Thank god I had a map and pulled over to look at it.
65 is disgusting pretty much all the time and this was no exception. Traffic, crazy lane merges, frantic shoppers, old people, young punks, the works. The only saving grace is it was mid-day Saturday, so it was moving along OK. Onto 80, onto Auburn; onto Winding; onto Garfield; onto Engle; onto Fair Oaks; onto Grant; onto Brookside. Hour and a half probably – two hours at most.
I had planned on trimming Vaughn and Laverne’s fruit trees on our side of the creek, but the couch monster got me and made me watch movies. Then the Warrior’s played and won their second consecutive game in OT against the ATL. And the kitties were on my lap and couldn’t be disturbed. I think I took a shower, but I was in bed before K got home. It was another fine trip.
Find this SpotCamp Far West Reservoir Photo Gallery
