Trip Date: November 1, 2018
Find this SpotMy brother Mike and I have been dreaming of buying property (and a boat for that matter) for decades now. We came close to buying a very nice small, but modern, cabin outside Taylorsville off North Arm Road. It was a lot of money in about 2006 when we sat in the hot tub in our Rancho Cordova backyard, papers in hand, debating the final debate on whether to sign and buy or not. It would have been an awesome place, but it would have been a huge mistake as the real estate/financial/lending crash was just about to come down.
We were actually able to make that work in our favor as the prices had crashed but the banks were still lending phenomenal amounts of money. We later would buy a more expensive place across the river in Carmichael, and walk from the house that was under water in Rancho. If we had bought the cabin in Taylorsville we would have lost it too, so it was a good decision we didn’t make.
We never stopped looking though, especially after the crash. Prices were so low, but our nerves were a bit shaken, and with the amount of work the Carmichael house needed, there was no way I was able to spend money on anything other than getting this place right. We would always pick up the real estate listings wherever we went and dream about a place, somewhere, someday. When the search seemed to get a little more serious, I would drive up to areas I was interested in, sometimes meet with an agent, and sometimes drag Kristen with me.
I fell in love with the Montague area East of Weed up Highway 97. The land was very cheap back in the day with 2 plus acre lots going for $5,000 or less. I met with a few agents and got real serious about a place my brother referred to as the Manson Mansion. It was a 2 story cabin, completely gutted, but it had a solid foundation, frame, water, and electricity and the spectacular view of Mt. Shasta that drew me up there. I think they wanted $60,000 for it.
Neither my brother or sister, nor Kristen for that matter, were the least bit interested, not able to see my vision. Also, when my agent turned me over to another agent, it got real weird and she started playing games and changing stories. Again, fortunately, it all fell apart, but I never forgot that area. It was the right distance, a great place, a great area, the magical Mt. Shasta as the focal point, lots of volcanic rock and water. I was totally sold on the area.
More years went by. My sister died, and then my mom. She took great care of us our entire lives and even after her death, leaving each of us a fair amount of money. This was it. I was going to do something with this money, other than paying off credit cards and other existing debt. My hunt began again. On the internet looking in every direction within 5 hours of home, shaky cabins, bare land, and cooperatives; whatever I thought could get me a place where I could escape people, congestion, and the poisonous air we breathe in the summer.
On a trip back from the Oregon Coast, Kristen and I tried to meet with a real estate agent, but had several listings we gathered while staying at our AirBNB in Grants Pass. Armed with enough maps and listings to give us an idea of what the area was like, we headed in. Well, being armed with guns rather than paperwork would have been better preparation. The entire area had become a pot grower’s paradise. There were miles of shitty fencing wrapped in shittier plastic to hide the crops. Abandoned vehicles, plastic pipe, buckets, and bags of fertilizer were strewn everywhere.
Needless to say, it was a real bad vibe, but I was determined to see if we could find a place on the edge that had a view of Shasta without being wrecked by plantations. It just wasn’t possible. Even out of the real growing region, away from the pot farms, the vibe was still pretty bad. It wasn’t just the pot farms, but the people and the traffic and the workers; and this wasn’t even the growing or the harvest season. I finally convinced myself the elevation was too low and wouldn’t afford enough heat relief, so I had to give this area up. It was still difficult to give up on Mt. Shasta, but this area just wasn’t going to do it.
I had become enchanted with the 395 corridor above Susanville and found the prices to be reasonable. I was really trying to not spend a lot of money so I had been leaning towards bare land that we could turn into a glorified camp site. I found a dozen or so listings that were both East and West of 395 around Madeline and decided to head up there to check it out. Bob accompanied me to explore the area, but we didn’t get too far.
Most of the lots were a couple miles or more down dirt roads from pavement, which sounded fine with me. The truck could do its thing and we had a better chance for a view and solitude well off the pavement. The first property we checked out was only a mile or so down a dirt road that was so washed out, rugged, rough, and rotten, that I knew right away there was no way I was going to drive that road to get to my place, and no way Kristen would ever come back. Another 4 or so properties were farther out this road, so they were out. We were making good time at least.
We decided to head East of 395 to check out a lot that appeared to have a descent road to it, but it was up on the top of a peak. View and privacy would be good, but the road to the top, where we would want to be, was a huge concern. Well, we barely got off the pavement when the road again became an issue. As I had heard with other properties, the local ranchers were taking great liberties with gating and locking in some instances, public roads that crossed their land, even though the local Sheriff and Fire Marshall were trying to prevent it.
We tried several approaches to get to the first road that was supposed to lead us up to the peak, but each had a gate and signs about private property and access and trespassing and such. Again with the bad vibes. I didn’t want to start trouble or have to cut locks or demand access or have ugly stare downs with the necks every time I drove by. I wanted a place that felt good and was a relief and escape from the stress and anxiety and tensions of City suburban life. I just didn’t need it.
I had one more attempt in me and this was on the way, the back way albeit, to the campground at Blue Lake. On the way, we could check out a huge 40 acre lot that had a spring, but the least amount of road to it, and the furthest from a descent road. I was excited to try to piece together the extensive Googly earth studying I had done with what was actually on the ground. At about the expected spot for the first stretch of dirt road off the main dirt road, a huge bowl of rutted out mud hole charading as a road. I didn’t need to see no more. If this was supposed to be the better end of the road, this would not do either. Check off three more properties.
It was getting late in a long day, so we continued East on Clarks Valley Road past Moon Lake, which was once the site of a few properties that were on the list. Again, access was questionable, and the lake component was lakish a very small percent of the time only in the best of years. I felt like it was going to be more dry dust bed for the rest of my lifetime. Coming to the proverbial fork in the road, the clear choice was not so obvious, or perhaps the dust was in my eyes. After a brief stop and stretch, we proceeded on a more Northerly route into a completely different environment.
Most of Highway 395 in California is high desert, steady at about 5000 feet and rising at the passes. It is essentially the Western border of the Great Basin, and is dominated by sage, grasses, and forbs. In the hills, Juniper appears more numerous, eventually giving way to Pinyon Pine in the higher elevations. This is typically hot and dry territory. However, as you climb higher into the mountains the spectacular groves of Aspen take center stage, with more water feeding a lush pallet of green grasses, meadows and glades. This is the world we entered and it brought me back to my time working here for the forest service.
I worked out of Patterson Guard Station for only a month or so, but it was deeply impactful. We had so much freedom and space. The station is at 8,200’ elevation so it remains wet all summer, as short as the season is up there. The results are the most fantastic groves of Aspen, wildflowers, small creeks and streams, tons of birds and wildlife. With the short season, everything bursts out at once, does its thing with vigor and then the Fall comes quickly, so there is an intensity in the compressed months of Spring and Summer; maybe they get a month and a half each, depending on the year. I will always be able to recall those days and nights, and the couple times my parents visited me up there.
One time, I believe it was my first year there, they came to see me and we camped at Blue Lakes. I recall a photo I took of my dad with a butterfly on his head. We saw the Eagle in his nest by the campground, and had a great walk around the lake. It is the clearest memory I have of my mom heating up rocks in the fire and then wrapping them in newspaper and stuffing them in the bottom of her sleeping bag to keep her feet warm. It was a most memorable trip and I was full of memories and emotions heading back for the first time since.
With a 50% confidence level, we finally reached pavement and a sign for Blue Lake. With much relief, and just enough time, we glided the last few miles to the lake and a completely empty campground. I was grateful not to have any less choices, because even with 100% of the options available, it took us three loops and 4 test sites before we settled on our final choice. Lakeside, birdy chatter, no neighbors, fire, cocktail, and sweet onion soup Bob made (Marya made – Bob brought?). Anyway, it was freaking delicious and with our warmed dipping bread, our bellies full, a ginormous day behind us, sleep was good.
The morning was cold but calm and clear. The lake was awesome. After a leisurely stroll and killer breakfast Bob whipped up, we headed out. We passed a Forest Service rig and a gal cleaning the bathrooms, so we stopped to chat. I dropped Marty’s name and she warmed up instantly saying what a huge role model and influence he was. We had a nice talk and then headed back down to 395 at Likely, where we used to get our mail and shipments of all sorts of medicinals and party supplies. There was a sweet old red pickup for sale alongside the store with a winch and big wheels. It looked like the perfect Modoc thrasher.
Back in Lassen County, we figured we’d take a few back roads on our way home, so out of Madeline, we picked up Brockman Road and then West Side Road. Out of the corner of my eye, for just a split second, I saw a real estate sign alongside a weed overgrown gate. It took me a bit to react and back up to the sign and sure enough. We got out, got through the unlocked gate and walked up the slight rise. Up top offered quite a view South and East, it was fairly secluded by the few Junipers and the distance from the main roads. I really liked this spot. It was very aggi, the entire Madeline Plains being irrigated fields of wheat, rice, and alfalfa, but the natural hills were just to the West, there were very few homes or structures, and the views were awesome.
We hung out a bit and jotted down the contact info. on the sign, and headed on down the road. I had a few more real estate flyers of properties for sale, but they were way down the priority list. I was satisfied with what we had learned and experienced about the area. In general, it felt good, and the proximity to the Modoc was a huge plus. Total driving distance was reasonable, and there were so many ways to get here, we could change it up just for kicks, or depending on the weather or road conditions. This seemed to be good hunting grounds.
We headed across Termo-Grasshopper road, up the 139, then South along Eagle Lake, into Susanville. We hopped onto 36 West towards Lake Almanor, then took 147 South along the East shore to 89 and out to Greenville and Crescent Mills, places familiar from past property searches. At Paxton, we took 70 all the way into Oroville, and then merged onto 99 just South of East Nicolaus only a few miles from home. It’s incredible how far away you can be in such a short amount of time on roads that are coming right into your area. Sometimes I feel so connected; sometimes I don’t.
Find this SpotBlue Lake, Modoc National Forest Photo Gallery
