Trip Date: March 17, 2017
Find this SpotThis was going to be different from the get go. We had just lost our friend Bob from cancer on Monday, and as it turned out we had this trip planned, which lined up to be a great memorial for him and for us. The timing was perfect and the trip attracted quite a crew. I picked Steve up and met Tom at Bill’s house in Woodland. Ken went up with Vinny and Reinhard followed in Bob D’s brand new Tacoma. We had much work to do.
As usual, finding a low elevation winter camping spot was quite a quest. Beyond Camp Far West and Lake Amador, we always seem to be scratching and clawing for additional options. We thought we had some real additions to the list this time, but as usual, they faded into the morass of government bureaucracy and laziness. We intended to explore 3 reservoirs all lined up in a row, West of Interstate 5, but West of the coast range. It is a little known area with few reasons to know it, other than accessing the Mendocino National Forest, or like me, having worked there.
The southernmost reservoir is East Park (1910), East of Maxwell and near the site of the proposed new reservoir at Sites. East Park is owned by the Bureau of Reclamation but is managed by Colusa County, and as far as we could tell from the website, it was open year round and had campgrounds and undesignated camping areas, which were of interest to me. As is often the case, the web site was not current or accurate, but fortunately Vinny had finally tracked down a human being who told him no camping was allowed until April 1. Strike one.
The next thought was to head to the next reservoir, Stony Gorge (1928), a little farther North up County Road 306 East of Willows and is owned by the Bureau of Reclamation. Stony Gorge reservoir had a much larger open area for undesignated camping and seemed to be the best choice for our needs, so it was not too disappointing that East Park would not work out. However, Vince literally heard back from one of his phone calls as we were driving up there. We were at Bill’s house when he had to let us know that this too was closed until April, but received confirmation that our last choice, Black Butte reservoir was open for business. And thus, our decision was made.
Black Butte reservoir (1963) is owned by the Army Corps of Engineering facility strangely enough. It is the northernmost reservoir of the three and is West of Orland. It also dams up Stony Creek as the other 2 do and is the most recent of the three dams. A few of us had been to Black Butte in the past so we had some idea of what we were getting into. It would be much like the CFW and Amador campgrounds, but at this point, we could not be picky. We left Bill’s place with a known destination, decent weather, and a raging thirst.
I still wanted to explore the other 2 reservoirs on the way up to see what we could see, and Bill was following me, so we blazed up I-5 and turned West on Highway 20. Before long we were stopped in a line of cars waiting for the green light from the construction crew. It was not a short wait, but Steve and I entertained ourselves with much amusement. We were very grateful to get moving and I was very grateful to get up to speed, when out of the corner of my eye, I thought I noticed the road we were looking for. I thought for a split second of whipping around, as no other traffic was coming from the other direction, but I also knew the construction boys wouldn’t be happy if all of a sudden there was 2-way traffic in the middle of their project. I also wasn’t sure if Billy would be able to mirror the maneuver and all of us live to tell the tale. So off into the West we went.
And went and went and went. I was getting more pissed off by the mile until I finally blew my top once we saw the ginormous line of cars waiting to come back East. This was ridiculous. We had only gone a few miles from Woodland and were in quite a jam. It would take way too much time to get back in line and wait for the return trip. Our only option to get to where we wanted to go was to turn up Bear Valley Road and follow the dirt road for a while until we rejoined the pavement some miles ahead. While it was beautiful country, I was really worried about catching up with Vince and Ken who were going up I-5. At this rate on this route, we would be hours behind. I felt bad, but we didn’t have any viable options at this point.
We pulled over at the head of a rise and enjoyed the wonderful view out over the valley and the few wildflowers that had already broken ground. This is a known wildflower viewing area that typically puts on a great show every Spring. We were a little early but the fresh greens were pretty enough and the new color was an added benefit. Bill and Tom caught up to us and we calmed and figured we were doing the best we could and Ken and Vince would occupy themselves somehow. We picked up the pavement outside of Ladoga and felt better about being able to pick up the pace a bit. I had given up exploring the lower reservoirs and so didn’t pay any attention to the map or the fact that we were passing the access roads that we would have taken had time permitted.
By the time we got into Stonyford, I was buried with memories of working with Gabe and Marty and the local personalities, Jim from Willows, Kevin Whitlock from Auburn, Bob Haverly from Chico, Big Jim was the Silviculturist for the Stonyford Ranger District, I recalled the face but not the name of the guy from Corning. The guys from Covelo – the nitpicker Mormon guy, Gaylen Azbil, from the Reservation, the trail volunteers, Vaughn and Maryanne, the crew boss from Fort Bragg, the young Mormon couple who always said “quit pickin your nits”. So many people and so many great times – up in the Yolla Bolly, the Army dudes coming in for maneuvers, the fires, the fire crew at Eel River Station, the mushrooms, the weed, rolling the truck, playing cards, cooking in the barracks, the CAMP (Campaign Against Marijuana Planting) busts, growing up in the time and the place. I needed a beverage and some tunes.
Despite numerous stops, Steve and I made it to Newville at the intersection of Newville Road, so we pulled over for what we thought would be the last time before meeting up with Bill and Tom and driving the few miles to Black Butte Dam. Phone reception along Road 306 was bad at best, but we did receive enough of a message from Vince to know they were waiting for us at the dam overlook and they had communicated with Bob and Reinhard so we should all know where we all should be. However, despite the numerous pit stops along the way, Bill and Tom did not appear. We decided to head back, but after reaching Chrome, we realized the odds were they turned onto 162 to head out 162 into Willows and then head up I-5. We couldn’t figure out why they would do this, but short of some calamity, this was the logical explanation of the failure to appear.
We re-turned around and headed back to Newville, proceeded to turn right and head to the dam. Still not looking much at the map, we passed the turnoff and got into a zone with full cell coverage and the messages poured in. This gave us a moment to consult the map and realize we again had to turn around to head to the overlook. As we crested the climb, we were treated to the site of Vince and Bill’s rigs. We knew Bob and Reino were a bit behind, so we simply had to decide if we were going to head out into the woods to try to find a spot Tom had bunked down with a buddy for their special time, or if we would just bite the bullet and settle for the campground. It took several beverages to reach consensus, but it was decided to cruise the campground and then decide.
The campground was fairly beastly and the thought of staying there on Bob’s memorial trip was very disappointing. The 3 rigs were driving here and there, checking this loop and that, turning around and crossing yellow lines and trying to loosen gates in a somewhat frenetic search for suitable accommodations. We had just reunited and decided to basically head for the hills, when a fateful right turn on our way out yielded results. On yet another campground loop road that appeared empty, 6 or so unoccupied sites, had a nice view, was quite isolated from other campers, was plenty far from the road, and had its own shitter. This seemed like a possibility. Suddenly the notion of driving more and into unknown country to look for a spot in an unknown location didn’t seem so grand. We sort of melted into this loop and couldn’t find the energy to resume the hunt. Besides, it was late afternoon, and with Bob and Reinhart still on the way, there was the issue of eventually meeting up with them and we have had troubles with Reino in the past, so it was resolved, therefore to be known, from this point forward as the final location of the camping trip.
It felt like a good decision once made. Numerous beverages were involved with spacing the vehicles just so and choosing tent locations, and selecting the site for the community kitchen and fire. It seemed to take an immense amount of brain power, but finally we were settled. I had a nice flat spot, although it was later pointed out that the vegetation was probably cleared via a healthy dose of Roundup, but no place is perfect. Mostly set up and unloaded, Bob and Reino appeared cruising down the road in Bob’s brand new tan Tacoma. This was the maiden voyage for the truck which was very exciting as we have gone through quite a few rigs over the years. It was great to add such a beautiful capable rig to the fleet – and another Toyota I might add.
With the group being whole, it was time to get serious. A fire started, Tommy got our the Manhattan’s, Steve and Vinny started cooking, and tunes were a playin. The night was strong. It had been a warm day and I was a bit sticky after all the exertion of setting up. A few of the boys were sitting down by the water so I joined them. Up close, the water was far less appealing, being a murky brownish gray color and very stagnant. Nonetheless, I walked in, just to rinse off and cool down. I never put my head under water when I swim or in hot springs and such, but I did walk around for a bit, until I felt I had enough. I did feel better, but not by much. It was the kind of water that felt like it coated you with a film – it wasn’t clean by any stretch, but I didn’t think I’d feel like I came out with so much sticking to me. I was glad I went in, but I am sure out in the main body of the reservoir would have been hugely better.
Another round of Manhattan’s, a few more Bob toasts, and dinner was served. This being St. Patrick’s Day and all, Vinny had made a massive feast of corned beef, cabbage, carrots, and such. A massive plate was placed in my hand heaped with an outstanding Irish festive brew. It was outstanding, but not nearly enough to stay the massive heat-on that was developing. I recall standing with my back to the fire with my shorts around my ankles for quite a stint, and then I remember climbing awkwardly into my tent. I slept soundly and without incident.
I was quite hung in the morning, but not terrible. Much coffee and water and a massive stoolish helped clear the senses. I sat idly and vacantly as the outward bound boys started to pack up as Vince, Ken, Bob D, and Reinhard were headed home after just one night. It was a fine night – a fine testimony to Bob H, and a great gathering of the fools. After the rigs had shoved off, I wandered up the road and then up another to a group camp that was behind a locked gate. It was a great setting up atop a ridge with a distant lake view, beautiful rolling hills scattered with oaks. There was a huge parking area, flat grassy field, kids playground, massive fire pit and BBQ area.
It was set off quite a ways from the rest of the campground, allowing for the noise of the group to have some space. I am not sure if it could be reserved at this time or if it was unavailable as it was still not prime season, but a group camp like this could be a good option for the boys. As much as I hate the thought of camping in campgrounds in the winter/early Spring, if we are going to have to sometimes, a group camp may be a good choice – almost always set apart, often better location, set up for a group, and usually not much more expensive than paying for multiple sites.
Returning from my hike of almost one-half mile, uphill each way, all I could do was melt into my camp chair, drink water, and nibble at lunch-like substances. There was some debate about moving vehicles, reducing or increasing our footprint in the loop, now that we only had 2 rigs in the eight site loop, although I believe we had tents set up in to sites and the kitchen/fire set-up was in another site we didn’t have a vehicle in, nor paying for.
The rangerette did come through yesterday afternoon amidst the chaos to try to match vehicles, sites, tents, payment, etc. She was super nice and spent quite a bit of time talking to us about the reservoir, management, her pursuit of a Master’s Degree, etc. I think she lost track of some of the parts, but left satisfied having Reinhard move his tent into a site with a vehicle. I think at that time we still had 3 sites we had our stuff in that we were not paying for, but being semi-educated harmless types, I think she didn’t feel the need to wrangle all the parts into their proper spaces. She did mention that she had just opened the gate to this loop, which explains how we came upon it unoccupied, which was a complete stroke of luck for us.
We decided we would take our chances with the rangerette and not move vehicles tents, or other camping accoutrements, but we did walk out to the toll booth to pay for 2 of the 4 sites we were occupying. We wobbled up the hill by the toll booth to take in the vista and feed the ticks. It was great just lying on the grass in the sun. I could have easily fallen asleep but for the tantalizing conversation. We took the long way home and picked up a nice game trail for about 100 feet until we were back on pavement. It was quite an excursion – definitely all I was up for, despite feeling quite a bit better. Close enough to myself to feel like a hearty cocktail back at camp. We slung the round speaker Jordan gave to me in a tree for tunage and Steve got to cookin. Bill brought out an array of cheeses and appetizers and the evening was on. We had an absurd amount of red meat on the grill and the pasta Steve was cooking. We didn’t finish all the meat but we made a fine dent in it. There were chocolate mints for dessert.
I was early to bed and again slept very well. Come morn, Tom and I hiked the hill to visit the less used latrine up in the group camp. Not only was it a stimulating walk, but it was not full of water which splashes upon one’s self as ones business breaks the surface. I have never had an outhouse full of water before – doesn’t it just leak out to replenish the water table? Anyway, we were about to head back when Commander Bill appeared, so we decided to take another walk around the Group Camp loop. Families, dog walkers, strollers, children passed on their way up, probably to use the non-splash outhouse, but also probably to play at the playground. Once back in our camp, the ugly specter of cleaning up and packing met us face to face.
It wasn’t horrible. Everyone does their part, but it is always somewhat meloncholious having another trip come to an end, and this one having paid tribute to a fallen friend. We kept the fire going for as long as we could. The rangerette stopped by to chat and try to figure out how many sites were occupied and how many had been paid for, but Tom talked her into complete confusion and she left, satisfied that we were harmless and happy to have talked to some decent folks rather than the typical riff-raff clientele. Tom and Bill wanted to see the road that they didn’t see having turned off at 162 on the way up, and I wanted to stay off I-5, so we headed out the campground, turned left on Newville Road and headed into Neville.
Straight ahead lay the foothills of the Mendocino NF and the spot Tom had camped with his buddy that was, at one time, early on, an option for this trip. It was very tempting to take some time and head out there and let Tom try to retrace his steps, but, as is often the case on these trips, come leavin day, thoughts turn to home and all that awaits, and it seems like just delaying or running away from the inevitable to try to explore or do another side trip on the day we are headed home. We slowly crawled through the intersection with our left directional indicators flashing, turning the wheel so the tires would follow back onto Road 306 heading south. We traversed Burrows Gap and saw Chrome for the 4th time, past Grindstone Indian Rancheria, onto Highway 162, past all those streaming memories, and then at the bridge, on the outskirts of Elk Creek, we pulled over to check out the Osprey nests.
These nests have been here since I worked in the Mendocino in the early 80’s, so are at least 40 years old – probably way older than that. It is cool to appreciate the fact that they have been living at this spot all that time. Steve and I noticed another half dozen nests up and down the road from here, so the population seems to be doing well. Are they all related; much like the human neighbors, the gene pool may be fairly shallow. OK for birds perhaps, less Ok for humans. We walked across the old Stony Creek Bridge built in 1919. I don’t think I ever drove across the old bridge, so it must have been decommissioned prior to 1980.
That was a great stop and a break and stretch of the legs before we hopped back into the rigs and headed out 160 into Willows to hop on I-5 and blast home. As usual, it seemed like we were gone twice as long as we were. I was grateful for the second night to be sure, but disappointed we didn’t get to camp at or even check out the other 2 reservoirs or Tom’s place. Not a wasted trip at all, especially with Bob’s memory to be celebrated, but we didn’t cover much of what I hoped to see at all. Oh well, just have to go again.
Find this SpotBlack Butte Reservoir Photo Gallery
