Chapman Creek Campgrounds and Trail

Yet another adventure off Highway 49, this time near the middle of October. We went passed Bassett's this time, continuing along the river for another twenty minutes or so till we reached Chapman Creek Campground. A clean, sheltered campsite that probably sees a lot more visitors during the warmer summer months. We arrived around ten AM and found the place empty, parking in a vacant site near the trailhead, which is located near the back of the grounds.

Much of the trail is similar in appearance to the above, winding one and a half miles up into the mountains beyond the campsite till it connects with a service road. It was already much colder there then we expected, and gloves would have been appreciated. The trial climbed off and on, a bit more grueling then other's ratings of "easy" had lead us to believe, I'd say it's moderately challenging, at least on the way in, while the way out is mostly downhill and much easier.

The High Sierra's had seen a bit more precipitation then we had in the valley, so mushrooms and fungus were beginning to appear here and there, especially around where the trail crossed the creek bed, which happened several times.

The creek itself was mostly overgrown, the trail moving above and alongside it, occasionally dipping down to cross over stones or small bridges

Continuing along the path we found two instances of Snow Flowers or Sarcodes, deciding to pop up in Autumn instead of Spring like we're used to. These wonderful members of the heath family attach mycelium to tree roots, gaining nutrients from the tree and in turn protecting the plant from pathogens will supplying minerals and water.

Further up the trail we went, feeling as though we had already gone three miles, the last stretch was the hardest, dipping down a short distance before climbing up and around the side of a hill till we reached the top. But it was worth it, as we found ourselves in a small, grassy clearing, Chapman Creek running cold and clear through it's center. Tired, we settled on a fallen log to watch the creek and it's baby rainbow trout. It was rather magical, settling into this place that few people probably visit. As we watched, several birds settled into the small trees around us, picking at the last seed pods and leaves.

We were tired, but curious how much further we had left, so after a short break we trekked on, finding ourselves only moments away from the end of the trail, where it empties out into a well used looking service road.

Back to the car we went, finding the trip out much easier and faster. No one had appeared in the campsite while we were away, so we used it's facilities and headed back down forty-nine.

Inclement weather has actually happened now, and with more snow in the forecast (Hooray) our trips up north may be limited, but Autumn is in full swing in the lower elevations and with a few more days of rain ahead of us, we'll hopefully be heading out for mushroom trips soon. We gave it a shot yesterday, but found almost nothing for our efforts. 

We're also planning a couple trips to the coast soon, a day trip later this month and another couple days in December/January. We'll be visiting our favorite place, Fort Bragg, California, and let me tell you, I am ready. 

To Downieville and Back Again

Thursday, October First, a beautiful and misty day that begged to be hiked in- it also happened to be the day I finally scheduled the removal of our long hated, second hand futon. So we got up early and went up highway forty-nine yet again, hoping to chase the weather into the mountains and be back in time for the movers to arrive. We were spoiled for views from North San Juan onward, unable to chose where the most beautiful display was. 

We had to be back home by early afternoon, and lacked the time to devote to a trail, so we stopped often on the side of the road, especially at any campsites we found that bordered the river. Everything was beautiful and saturated, the mist rising from the canyon and hills which were alive with a display of fall color, while the river banks were still green and blooming.

A multitude of bold amphibians, I believe they were Sierran or Northern Pacific Tree Frogs, sat on the banks, plopping noisily into the water as we approached to sit huddled among the moss and sand.

We made our destination Downieville, but were in no great hurry to get there, pulling over at whatever turn-off or shoulder looked inviting.

The waters of the Yuba were cold and spectacularly clear, running deep and green to disappear into the mist shrouded hills.

Blackberries this time of year are spectacular, showing off a rich display of scarlet, gold and brightest green. In the lower foothills you can still find fruit on them, though much of it dries early due to the drought, but up in the mountains the berries are picked clean by bears. Speaking of which...

We were several miles outside Downieville when The Man saw a little brown something or other to the right of the road. We are always on the lookout for animals, and were already going relatively slow, simply to take in the views. He came to an easy stop, no one on the road around us, and a juvenile brown bear (I think, young black bears can also be brown), ran out into the road before us. It took me half a second to realize what had even happened, then I excitedly started taking pictures, managing to grab a few quick shots. It came to a stop on the ridge to the left of the road so I quickly changed lenses while The Man urgently told me to role my window up, reminding me that an over protective mom would have no problem charging our car.

But no mama bear appeared, although I don't doubt it was somewhere nearby, and I used my longer range lens to try and capture the bear in the dark woods at the top of ridge. I brightened it up as best I was able, and am generally exalted that we saw a bear at all. This is the second time I've seen one, and count myself very lucky for it, and for the peacefulness of each encounter.

Jubilant, we continued onward, emergency flashers on to warn oncoming traffic of possible wildlife in the road. Downieville was busy, full of motorcyclists and delivery trucks, we stopped and used the facilities before heading down Durgan Flat Way to what I believe is the end of the North Yuba River Trail, a famous track for mountain bikers that switchbacks it's way from the river up the mountain side and into the wilderness. We've hiked up a few miles before, but did not have time for that now, instead entertaining ourselves by the river for an hour or so before returning home to say goodbye to our futon.

We've had a couple good rains already and if work would stop running me into the ground I'd have the energy to mushroom hunt. This Thursday we are headed up Forty Nine yet again, being far from seeing all it has to offer. We will be trekking the Chapman Creek Trail, and possibly going to Empire Mine soon. Hope your Autumn is treating you well, see you next time.

Old Mining Trails

We have been on a few walks these last couple of weeks, nothing too amazing to report, other then a couple praying mantis and some nice Autumn colors. The first two pictures below were taken at Empire Mine's Penn Gate Trail, while the lower was on Independence Trail off Highway Forty-Nine. 

We went to Penn Gate on the first day it rained, although it barely counted as that. I had to struggle with the low light to get a successful shot, but the silhouette one, I think, came out particularly monstrous. 

Independence is in a sad state right now, I don't believe we usually take late summer walks there, so maybe this happens regularly, but the last time we were there the waterfall was completely dry, only a few pools of stagnant water scattered down the hillside. It was depressing and disheartening, but at least I spotted a praying mantis with some of the best colors I've ever seen.

The Gold Hill Trail is on the other side of the Empire Mine property and affords some interesting views as most of the trails take you uphill through oak and pine. The path on the far left often gives us some excellent mushroom and fungus, even when it's mostly dry. This time was no exception, but the light was too low for anything to come out in focus.

We've  returned to the Penn Gate Trail a couple times since the rain, first to explore the dried creek bed and then to explore the tailings and old pond. I got the chance to see a squirrel skydive from the middle of the very tall pine, falling spread eagle through the air to land with a bounce atop the mountain misery (Chamaebatia foliolosa). We clambered around the tailings for a time and found some really interesting rocks, then wandered passed the old chimney towards the dry pond.

We found a few interesting things down the creek bed, although I'm sure we weren't the first to go exploring with treasures in mind. There was a half buried brick in the middle of the stream near some ivy and other plants that suggested the remnants of an old garden. And I have found old clusters of strange vegetation in areas not too far from where we were. I know there used to be houses for the workers in this area, hence the remnants of the old chimney earlier on the trail. There was also the usual twisted sheets of rusted metal, there from some old piece of machinery or siding. In this county you're almost guaranteed to see some form of rusted metal or piping while out on a hike, especially since most of our parks and trails are established around old mining operations.

We were able to forge down stream for about forty minutes before it began to delve through and under blackberry brambles, forcing us to stop.

While last nights walk was not spectacular by any means; we were too tired for exploration and there too late for good lighting. I did get some nice shots of the shift plants are making towards fall.

The days feel too short now, golden hour slipping passed while I'm still thinking it's midday. The air is warm, but there's a promise in the evening sky. People are saying the rains are coming, I hope they're right. We had a lightening storm here last Friday that took a long time to bring the rain, and when it did it lasted for less then an hour. October hasn't been cold or wet since I was a child, when the onset of night was met with anticipation, not dread to be that much closer to the next day. Here's to summer, and to rain and snow.

For our next post we will be going up into the mountains yet again, for a misty hike that afforded us a chance to see a very rare member of the California community.

The Last Swim of Summer

I adore summer, but for many years it was not my favorite season, possibly even my least favorite. Now that I'm free of the looming threat of school and physically in better condition the I have been since sixth grade, summer is a too-short extravaganza of late evening walks, farmers markets, and river visits.

So when September gave us a few days of over one hundred degree weather, I jumped at the opportunity to visit Bridgeport for a final swim. The day was surprisingly calm, the air hanging heavy in the canyon as we curved our way down towards the Yuba. Air conditioner off, windows down, letting the heat prepare us for the water.

The cicadas were out in full force, their buzzing a constant background as we parked and walked down through the shady woods and out to the river.

We'd gotten here a little later in the day then usual, and found our favorite spot was taken by seemingly the only other people there, so we moved to a small strip of sand down stream and settled in. Swimming up and down the river, exploring alcoves and inlets and startling a roosting mallard. 

Frogs were everywhere, you could hear them plopping into the water whenever you approached the rivers edge, their startled cries sounding more like kittens then amphibians. But they were considerably less bold then their mountain cousins, and try as I might I was not able to catch one willing to stay still long enough for a picture.

After swimming for a couple hours we packed up and moved, finding a willow-sheltered bank to investigate and photograph. I've been experimenting with perspective shots lately, finding tiny worlds when I lower  my camera to well below eye level. I'm often surprised by what ends up in frame in those shots.

I was reluctant to leave, knowing that this would be the last day of the year I spent splashing and swimming through the Yuba. Even if we get a heat wave in October, the sun is not in the sky long enough to warm the river water. 

I stood in the sunlit waters and lowered my camera till I could feel the river graze the back of my hands. I angled it down slightly and let it find it's own focus. Then I moved further away, into one of the small, overgrown streams that feed the Yuba. The grasses and duckweed created little aquatic landscapes, an old cicada skin clung to one stem, looking like an alien carapace. 

The paths were quiet, no families or couples with the kids at school, just crickets and cicadas and dry, still heat. The air was dusty and scented with the beginning of fall. The walnuts and blackberries changing first, bright exclamations of yellow and scarlet among a deeper green.

We left the river slowly, taking Bitney Springs back home, to see the late summer vineyards and rolling hills drenched in sunlight, tired in that way you can only achieve from swimming against currents and propelling yourself under water. We'll be back again soon, I"m sure, but not like this, not till next year. 

Next post will be a summary of the last few walks we took at Independence Trail and Empire Mine. With some praying mantis guests as well. 

The Aspen Meadow

Part two of our journey finds us continuing down the Gold Lake Highway and following the rough road out towards Frazier Falls. A careful fifteen to twenty minutes or so down that rocky road and through the pine you can discern the faint hint of something paler, sunnier, then the usual forests. It is one our favorite places to visit, with a sense of stillness and wonder that I've felt rarely in our sojourns.  

The Man disappeared to explore while I moved from angle to angle among the meadow, light slanting perfectly in some places, casting beautiful contrasting shadows on the tall grasses.

I've always had a love of birch and aspen, perhaps stemming from their rarity around where I grew up. I was fascinated by their white bark and bright display during Autumn, or the way sunlight shown through their leaves in Spring. The Man says something in me is inspired by them, because I've taken some of my best work while among them (there's a Lake Tahoe post I owe this blog that has some lovely images).

We were here for quiet some time, only the extreme wind and the trees. I noticed while taking pictures on the south side of the meadow that there was the occasional sound of metal, like dog tags, coming from behind me. But the sound was inconsistent and did not move nearer or farther away, so I decided to focus on my work, putting the mystery aside till it demanded more of my attention.

The Man returned and we discussed the noise, he investigated while I continued to take pictures, hands and nose beginning to resent being in the gathering shade and heightening winds. He found that trees had been marked with metal tags with numbers on them, I must assume for SCIENCE! Which is neat. 

The white you can see between the grass here was like brittle, delicate paper,, perhaps lying here undisturbed since the spring waters had dried in early summer. There are old owl boxes that don't look fit to inhabit here, but it still seems like an excellent place to owl watch nonetheless, especially considering the gopher mounds on the western end.

At this point my fingers were having a bit of trouble with the cold, but I ignored it, wanting to use the excellent lighting opportunities as a classroom of sorts, changing the settings on the camera constantly, trying to become proficient and efficient at using it quickly. And being able to assess a lighting situation and pick the optimal settings immediately. 

I love catching sunlight through trees or grass, or broken on water, and I have filters now that can diffuse light or saturate an image, which is excellent as my lenses tended to leave my pictures less then true to reality. Leaving me with a desire to edit just so the picture looked like it did when I was there.

So, no sightings of major wildlife this time around, but some beautiful shots that I am really proud of. As we descended back down into the valley, it began to rain in earnest, although the sun never stopped shining. So through sun-showers we passed alongside the Yuba River, mist rising from the road ahead of us, light dancing of the river beside and refracting through the raindrops till everything glowed. 

But alas, I was extremely carsick, and in no condition to appreciate or record it's beauty. We go back down to Bridgeport in the next post, for a short discussion on frogs and mid September swimming.