Trip Date: October 28, 2016
Find this SpotThis trip did sneak up on me pretty good. I hadn’t been out for what seemed to be months. We were at Sonora Pass in late July. Kristen and I went up to Point Arena for our anniversary in late August. September was busy with parties and gatherings and other good things, but left no time for trips. Kristen and I were supposed camp at Jedidiah Smith State Park and explore the North coast in mid-October, but her mom fell and broke her ankle, so we couldn’t go. We had a big party at our place On October 22, so lots of focus, attention and effort went into that, so all of a sudden, once the party was over, it was the week of this trip.
Fortunately, this was not technically a camping trip as we were staying at Keir’s cottage in Loyalton. Despite having running water, a kitchen, electricity, and all the rustic comfort of a 1905 home, I pretty much packed for a camping trip. Tent, bags, pad, tarp. Chair, grill, table, shovel, food, beverage, clothes. Even beyond camping gear, I brought the webber as I was told Kier didn’t have much of a BBQ spot in his yard.
The airwaves had been pretty quiet during the first part of the week, and I had taken ill on Wednesday to work on my shed. In my absence, the planning had begun but seemed to be a bit ramshackle. Things did not improve Thursday, despite the quantity of transmissions. I was leaning towards going up with Bill in his Tundra, but I was very much hoping to return via a dirt/rocky road that came out on the West side of the Sierra’s at Bowman Lake and carries that name from Highway 20.
In a final flurry of transmissions, it was determined that pretty much each person would drive themselves – damned environmentalists. Bill wasn’t feeling well and wanted to have the ability to leave early if need be. Steve came with me. We drove to Tom’s house in Roseville where he and Vince and Ken were waiting. Tom had to leave early Saturday AM so he drove and Vinny took Ken in his brand new Ford F-150. Kier had left earlier that morning and Kevin was going Eastward to visit his son in Reno, so he drove himself. In all, 8 people; 6 rigs.
Our stay at Toms was quite festive. Some had not seen his place so he was telling us about it. Some of us were also getting the first glimpse of Vince’s new rig. It was a beautiful white, with tan leather interior, lighted bed, electric opening tailgate, beautiful cab. It sat low and looked pretty sleek for a truck. Off we went from Tom’s onto Highway 80 and sped up and over the mountains turning North on Highway 89 at Truckee. We didn’t get too far up 89 when I stopped with Bill to look at the map and propose an alternate route into Loyalton rather than staying on 89 to 49 into town.
Road 451, Cottonwood Road leaves Highway 89 about 15 miles north of Truckee, less than one mile farther than the far more travelled Route 450, Henness Pass Road which heads along the North side of Stampede Reservoir. I had driven this route before many moons ago and recall it being a beautiful drive. Why I hadn’t taken the more significant 450, I don’t know, but we pulled off on 451 and checked our commitment to this muddy slick mess of a route. We appeared committed.
We didn’t get too far down the road when Tom’s rig appeared in the rear view mirror as well, but he must have figured Vince was not ready for this type of driving in the new rig and turned around to stay with him. As it turned out, not having 4 wheel drive would have really been a challenge for Vince, so his decision was a solid one, more solid than any of the road we would encounter in the back country.
There were several stretches where I was not steering the rig, or I was turning the steering wheel, and presumably the tires were changing direction, but it had no effect on the direction the vehicle was moving. There were other times, when I couldn’t keep the rig out of the ruts and once they got ahold of the tires, we were following that path until the rut ended. This muck continues, along with a slight drizzle, for about 4 very slow miles until we reached Bear Valley Campground in the Tahoe National Forest. There we stopped to stretch our legs and ask a couple forest service dudes who were burning piles what the road ahead was like. Reassured we were good to go, we proceeded.
Within a mile maybe, we entered Bear Valley and followed along Bear Valley Creek. Many of the Aspen up this high were already bare, but the leaves that did remain were a beautiful yellow and gold along with the grasses in the meadows, the Willows, and Alders. I started looking for stumps with a cool intact root structure for the yard, and instead I spotted a cool Mountain Juniper log – about 6 feet long and 2 feet wide, mostly rotten in the middle, but still way too heavy to get. While we were out of the trucks, we just saw one cool thing after another. A pile of ashes still smoldering, beautiful Junipers, a stone wheel, 2 feet in diameter and almost perfectly round and smooth on both sides. We spent much time configuring ways to move the wheel, but it, along with the log, would have to wait for another time. The lighting was spectacular with the storm clouds breaking up and the air was as sweet as could be. Everything was clean and fresh and it was great to be out.
A few more miles down the road and we began to drop pretty steeply alongside the creek. We stopped again to help a “Road Narrows” sign find a better home, and again took a few minutes to hear the birdies, and the creek spitter and splash in a series of falls and pools. It was a stupendous drive even though it was a very short one. The community we came out in, a sort of extension of Loyalton is a very cool collection of homes that have bigger lots, great views and open sky.
One of our former CIWMB co-workers, Jan Howard, is rumored to live there, but no one knows exactly where. Nonetheless we drove the streets a few times before moseying on out to Highway 49 and into Loyalton. When we saw the boys, there was much rejoicing.
Everyone was already there of course and celebrations had begun. We unloaded and investigated Keir’s place. It was built in 1905 and had all the charm and character of the period. It was a corner property, with a rounded front porch. It was bigger on the inside than it looked, and although 8 guys certainly filled the place up, it held up well.
We spent most of our time on the back deck and in the yard. He only has one neighbor and it is on the side with the least view potential. The views to the East and South are spectacular and completely wide open. Pastures with sheep and cows adjoin his property with just one cluster of buildings in sight some distance off. The surrounding mountains and their patchwork of evergreen and deciduous trees offer a mesmerizing vista. We got settled and fairly well set up for dinner and then headed off for a hike in the canyon to the SE, above Smithneck Road along Smithneck Creek.
We followed an old railroad grade of the Boca & Loyalton Railroad downstream from a trailhead for a mile at most. This exhausted me so I stopped on the trail to watch the single file snake its way in and out of the bends and finally out of sight. As the voices grew fainter and more sporadic, I could hear the creek and a few birdies and began to melt into the hillside. I was brought out of my daze by the laughter and the commentary arising from the snake as it approached again and soon passed me by. I took a head count and we seemed one shy. I waited a bit and then began to get a little worried so I called out. My “seed” was returned with a “seed” and within a moment Ken rounded the corner and we were whole again.
The drizzle came and went and came again, but it was a very pleasant drizzle. The air was very calm, still enough to allow the movements of creatures and birds through the leaves to be heard this way and that. The yellows of tree and shrub and riparian vegetation along the creek below the trail made for an odd division of color; yellow on one side, green on the other, both mutually exclusive and almost universal down the length of the ravine. I was exhausted by the time we reached the gate, having extended my maximum 500 yard range by quite a few furlongs. The thirst raged.
As we approached Jan’s neighborhood again, Keir mentioned he had a pretty good idea of where she lived. So we entered the neighborhood again and drove about following Keir’s directions. With very little confidence, we drove down a driveway and Steve and I approached the front door. Not a peep or a stir. We knocked on the door and again received nothing in reply. Back in the truck, we circled a few more times before finally giving up, a bit disappointed we didn’t find her.
Steve was not willing to give up the hunt just yet, so we circled a few more time and finally saw a living human being outside her house. She was up on her deck with her dog smoking so we stopped to ask the smoking dog if she knew Jan. We got to play with her yellow lab for a bit but she did not know Jan. She suggested we ask red-headed Phyllis White at White’s Gas and Tow in town.
We took a few more laps, now teetering on the verge of spending entirely too much time casing the neighborhood, driving slowly and peering into every driveway, open garage and curtain less window. But still, Jan did not run out into the road and hurl herself in front of the truck, so we decided to take the ladies advice and head down to the corner gas station and ask Phyllis what was up. At White’s, Steve hopped out and hopped in and there was Phyllis right then and there. She knew Jan and gave Steve directions to her place – can’t miss it!
By this time, I had lost my steam for tracking down Jan, so we returned to Keir’s place to begin the official cocktail hour and get dinner going. Keir had a cool fire ring so we got a warming fire going out there with some of the redwood Tom brought and Keir split. I set up the BBQ and got a fire going to heat up the pork, onion, and bell pepper brew I made. Although Steve stopped at the store for me on the way over for chips and crackers, I remembered before I left that we had about a million small tortillas left over from the party.
Tom began pouring the Manhattan’s, glasses were raised, and the consumption began. Bill had much chips, olives, and guacamole out on a table. I used the outside of the grill to warm the tortillas and the middle to heat up the cast iron brew. Soon, I was bumbling about handing people street tacos and within minutes, the brew was gone and I was hungry. Inside, in the tiny kitchen, Steve was heating up red sauce and pasta and Vinny was working on mushrooms, veges, peppers and sauce. I am sure a few sausages were prepared along with Vinny’s and Steve’s creations, and soon the consumption was in full rage.
I had made a point of wanting to get to the bar in town, which is just a couple blocks from Keir’s place. Bill and I headed over after dinner and grabbed a seat at the rail. The old/somewhat insane/drunkish guy in the seat down from me greeted me warmly and shook hands. We soon were in full debate mode about Trump and The State of Jefferson and 52 states, and his younger sisters and his older brother, and the town dog. Bill, on the other side, was making googally eyes at the 5 healthy middle-aged gals at the other end of the bar. I had far more “luck” with the local color guy and so Bill headed to the back room for some pool.
In a very long few minutes, I had the perfect excuse the excuse myself and join Bill. It appeared to me that the US Coast Guard is good for one’s pool game, as Bill was quite accomplished. He finished up his game and then routed me in short order. It took me longer to knock in the three balls I had left on the table than it took Bill to knock in his balls and the 8 to seal the victory. It was fun while it lasted as management was turning out the lights as we sat idly by the table. Apparently it was closing time at 9:00 PM in these parts.
It was a cool crisp Fall night and great walking weather. Apparently, others in our group felt the same as we first heard, and then caught a glimpse of Ken, Kevin, Keir and Steve carousing the hood. Keir had been feeling no pain for hours now and I was quite impressed he was still upright. He and Steve headed to the bar despite my attempts to let them know it may not be open by the time they traversed the 2 blocks. The newly formed unit returned to the ranch. The boys were in various states of horizontalness and I joined them shortly, astonished that being the last to secure a spot for the night, I had a bed to myself, for the most part anyway.
Sleep was erratic and the morning came quickly. Coffee was already being mass produced and consumed at an even faster rate. Keir made a huge breakfast somehow, as he looked a tad ashen. All were present and accounted for. Tom was headed down to San Luis Obispo to see his son, so he was off early. Kevin was off to see his son in Reno, so he soon followed. The rest of us lingered for quite a while, enjoying the warm sun and the birdies and the sheep (some more than others). It was great to just sit and relax and shoot the breeze on such a beautiful morning in Loyalton. But soon enough it was time to turn our attention to the rest of the day.
Because I had been making noise about taking Bowman Lakes Road back to 20 (Jackson Meadows Road from the East), Steve was teasing me about taking Uber home or riding with Bill. The joke was on him though because I knew that Bill was going to come with me to explore some new country. He was less concerned when we saw that the first half of the road to Bowman was paved, so it would only be the second half that we had not been on, as both he and I had driven to the far end of Bowman, to the campground, from the 20 (West) side. I was excited to explore.
Right away, our decision was paying massive dividends. The nicely paved Jackson Meadows Road rose above a spectacularly beautiful golden yellow meadow with the Little Truckee River meandering side to side. The grade was very slight, making for numerous oxbow lakes and horseshoe shaped sand bars and peculiar patches of vegetation resulting from past flows, course changes, channel corrections and seasonal fluctuations. It was stunningly beautiful. At some point we had to get down there to check it out, but I was worried about the threatening weather, the road conditions we would face above, and the time it might take to get across. Still, the pull to get down alongside the river was immense.
We passed a number of roads leading towards the river. The area certainly looked heavily used, but it was clean and tidy. We finally veered off on FS 0720, Henness Pass and dropped down into a meadow. We took a left turn towards the river and somehow ended up behind a fence unable to get to the water. We had a little break, but I started to fret about time and conditions and so figured we had given it a shot, but it was time to move on.
Once Bill finished his business, we headed back up to the pavement and turned left to continue up Jackson Lakes road. We motored on up the road at about 3 miles an hour waiting for Bill to appear in the rear view mirror. Finally, convinced there must be a malfunction, we turned around and headed back. As it is bound to happen, as soon as we did that, he appeared. As we passed, I told Bill to pull off ahead and we would find a spot to turn around and get back to him.
As we motored back down the road, I spied a big chunk of wood sitting alongside the road. Assuming it was a divine message, Steve and I stopped to haul in our prize. I left Steve to handle his business and drove on down to find a spot to turn around. On the way back, I picked up a very woodsy looking hitchhiker, met up with Bill and we continued on down the road.
In a few miles we were looking for the first of many lakes we either pass by within sight of the road or pass by roads leading to lakes. The first on our list was Weber Lake. We came to a huge intersection and caught a glimpse of a body of water out in a flat grassy meadow, but not seeing a sign or designated turn off, and not being impressed with what we saw, we continued on down the road. Next up Jackson Meadows Reservoir.
Jackson Meadows is a big body of water. It is in more of a typical mountainness setting with heavy forest cover. By now we were looking for a lunch break spot, but it was windy and cold and the elements produced much whining. It was difficult to relax sitting in the truck with the window down, and I was very happy to roll it up and turn the heater higher and continue rolling on down the paved road. Despite Jackson Meadows Reservoir feeding the Middle Fork of the Yuba River, today was no time to get out of the vehicle and explore its banks – true mountaineers.
There are numerous roads in here leading to many other lakes and bodies of water – much exploring to be done, but we finally got to the end of the pavement and immediately began a steep rocky ascent. Now we were having some fun. The road was 100% rock in many places, great traction to be sure, but not making for a smooth ride. We climbed and then descended into an old mining claim and in just a few miles we could see an arm of Bowman Lake. I was much relieved. The weather held, breezy and cool, but no storm; no rain. The road was not bad at all; no wash outs; no mud.
As we passed a vehicle here and there, hunters, explorers, lovebird couples, we would ask about the condition of the road and where they came from, where they had been to. All was good. Along the lake, the road typically rides about 20 or 30 feet above the shore and is sometimes a single lane wide. With traffic, this could be an annoying and possibly a hair raising stretch, but today, with so few vehicles, we had no issues. We stopped and looked about, poked around looking for a suitable picnic stop. Options were few and far between.
We were considering moving on down towards Carr and Feely and known options up that way, but I think we all wanted to stay at Bowman. We had worked to get here and this was our prize and we wanted to linger and enjoy it. But the wind was cool and the ground wet and we couldn’t find a good spot. As we pulled off the road within sight of the dam and the end of the lake, with no other clear options, we figured a beverage must be in order. As usual, they paid dividends beyond our expectations.
Down a narrow motorcycle or quad track, on the up-lake side of a ridge, the wind was almost nonexistent. We had a view, we couldn’t be seen from the road, we were close enough to the rigs to haul our crap, etc. It must be so. We got to collecting less wet pine needles and breaking off Cedar twigs. Bill rounded up some old briquettes from a nearby fire ring. We had fire in no time and plenty of dry enough material to get it going. Steve brought out sausages to cook and Bill had a smorgasbord of picnic snacks; marinated olives, chips and salsa, guacamole, lunch meat, cheese, potato salad. Goodness – it was a feast, and with our fire, it was a warm and comfy feast. There was much triumphant celebration for coming through the back door, getting to our destination, finding a great spot, weather holding, fire started, fantastic view, plenty of time. All was well.
We cooked and hung and gathered dry cedar and manzanita and enjoyed a beverage. This was a great spot and we were happy to have achieved it. We hung for quite some time and let the fire die down and the BBQ cool off. This was a great end to a great trip. Another massive experience played out over a brief one night trip.
Find this Spot
Keir’s Place in Loyalton Photo Gallery
