Tecuya Canyon 05/10/13

The other day I set out to go one place and ended up in another. There was a long drive at the front of the day and I'd left the house at 2AM, not anybody's finest hour. Being half asleep I pulled a rookie move, leaving my phone, gps and maps on the desk at home. Naturally, I didn't find this out until I was hours from home. I decided to give my plan a shot, foolishly trusting my memory of my intended route to get me there. In the end, while cycling through ranch land at 4AM I zigged when I should have zagged and undeservedly ended up in a remarkably beautiful canyon. Not what I'd planned for the day, but a sweet day none the less.

My total riding mileage for the day came to 20 miles, most of it in a beautiful and broad valley. The valley floor hosted what I think has to be the most beautiful forest of California live oak the I've ever laid eyes on. I pedaled through miles of this gorgeous scenery, crossing Tecuya creek numerous times during the gentle climb up the valley. Eventually the road took an insanely steep turn out of the valley and climbed to a powerline road atop a tall ridge. From this vantage I had views down into Lebec and Hungry Valley. Descending that crazy steep track back into the Tecuya required some clever brake work.

This is obviously an older track but it's reasonable to think this was the same bear I met. These tracks were located very close to my bear encounter.  I have a size 11 foot. That print measured 7" across. Big bear.

The highlight of the day occurred fairly early in the morning. I had my head down, was cranking up a steep switchback in granny gear when I rounded the turn straight into the biggest black bear I've ever met. And we were close! Like 20 feet close. This was one of those "It all happened so fast!" moments. Both of us were uncomfortably surprised. We stared at each other across this narrow distance and I could swear his brain was processing all the same split-second options that mine was. This mutual connection lasted for a three second eternity before the bear blinked, turned, and bolted off the road. I dropped my bike while listening to the bear crashing through the creek a bit below. A second later the bear was literally jogging up a 60 degree slope across the creek, maybe 75 feet away. He disappeared into a one of two small caves on an eye level cliff face. After the bear had vanished I walked a couple shaky circles around my bike. A bit later I located my heart and put it back in my chest. That was a really big bear.

The bear retreated to the hole on the right.

Catalina Mariposa Lily, calochortus catalinae

California Thistle, cirsium occidentale var. californicum

So I guess the lesson for the day is that sometimes even a blind (no maps) idiot (forgot maps) can find a place to explore. My thighs hate me, and I have a new understanding of how pathetically unconditioned I am for mountain biking, but I'm working on that. Between Kings Canyon and the SLP I've seen enough bears in the last 9 months to last me a while. My truest treat for the day was riding through miles of gorgeous oak forest. Viva Tecuya.

The Lady from Thorn Point

Almost two months ago I received an email from a stranger entitled "Thorn Point L.O.". Believe me when I say that I was not expecting this. The letter was from a lovely lady named Lorinda who had at one time been the USFS lookout person on Thorn Point. I was immediately fascinated by her story and of course I figured that some of you folks might like to hear some living history. Lorinda ("Rinnie") has been a treat to correspond with and I hope to stay in touch. And perhaps one day I might be lucky enough to meet her.

The older photos in this post come straight from Rinnie's collection.  Three of the photos seen below are my pictures of the filigreed cabinets in the lookout, carven with animal images. These carvings are Rinnie's. Pretty cool ain't it? So take a minute to hear how it was not all that long ago, and I'm sure you'll appreciate her story.

My heart broke and my eyes filled with tears when I found your blog and saw your pictures of Thorn Point. Wonderful pictures, but to see how time and abandonment has taken away the dignity once there. 

I grew up on the Stanislaus National Forest, which boarders Yosemite National Park. My father was employed with the USFS. I grew up in a place and time that generations of now can only read about and with disbelief that such times ever existed.

There wasn't a town. Scattered in the trees and meadow was a one room schoolhouse, community hall, chapel and small grocery store, that had the necessities to carry one through if your supplies ran out between the monthly or bi-monthly trips to the nearest town which was a two hour drive away. To obtain any of the luxuries of the day or to see how the rest of the world was living meant a two hour drive on narrow winding roads, the same roads we traveled every day if we wanted to continue our education with high school. 

Ranchers, a few County employees for road maintenance and USFS were the means of support, with a few gold miners trying to eke out a living, my grandfather being one.   I had the best childhood that anyone could have had, with fantastic parents.

Thorn Point And Our Connection- 

Before moving to the Stanislaus Forest, my grandparents worked the "Good Luck" mine in the Lockwood Valley area. I'm sure that you know of the place as much as you have combed the trails on the Los Padres. My father was just a teenager of about 17 at that time. In those years my father was much like you, always out exploring. He was not employed with the Forest Service at that time, but back in those days manpower of any age was appreciated and liability was never thought of. When Thorn Point was being put in, his back and hands were welcomed to help. Dad recalled how there was a crew up at the top of the point and then a crew down at the bottom. I assumed the crew at the bottom was there at the Guard Station where the trail takes off. They had a string of mules that the crew at the bottom would load with needed supplies and send them off on their own. Reaching the top, the crew stationed there would unload and send the string back down the mountain. I can see where that could be true by my own experience. 

In 1970 I had left home on the Stanislaus and went down to Southern Cal. When my money ran out and no place to lay my head I remembered good friends living in New Cuyama. Hurston Buck and his family used to be on the Stanislaus but had transferred down to the Los Padres, Cuyama Dist. Hurston and his family were good friends with us. He was, as then called, the FCO (Fire Control Officer) on the Stanislaus and same when transferred to the Los Padres. After being at their home for a few days, Hurston came home from work and asked if I would take a L.O. for him. For some reason the other party was leaving and the tower needed to be manned. With my growing up around the business and my grandparents manning both Jones Point and Woodsridge L.O.'s in the 40's and early 50's on the Stanislaus, Hurston just brushed me up on my "10 Code" and the next day I was up on Cuyama Peak to finish out the season. Cuyama Peak was MY first lookout. Over that winter I had made Southern California my home and was in Taft, Bakersfield and then Lebec. Being on that side of the forest I introduced myself to the Mt. Pinos District and found that they needed a lookout for Thorn Point. Before going up on Thorn, I covered a short period on Slide Mountain until the full time empoyee arrived....then off to Thorn Point. 

Yes, that's a CA Condor gnawing on the tower's support cable.

The facilities of Thorn Point were more to my liking...more like my bringing up. Wood stove, gas lights, hauling water, etc....and knowing that my father helped build it made a special spot in my heart. Too many years have gone by and I can't remember many of those at the District Office, but two employees were responsible for packing in my water, food, and propane if needed. One of the employees names was Eddie Padilla. I remember his name as he married a girl that had also had grown up on the Stanislaus, Peggy Webb and was there on the Mt. Pinos Dist. Times really hadn't advanced much from the 30's, other than I had a SMALL gas refrig and I did have the gas cooking stove along with the wood, but means of getting things up and down the mountain was still horseback with a string of mules. I had my own horse and I had a pack pony for a short while. One of the Forest Service mules name was Red. He was a short, shout mule...sweet and gentle as can be...but.... About half way up the mountain where the rock out-cropping is, there is a tight switchback with a little bit of a landing spot where we could stop and let the animals have a breather. We always had a hard time getting Red to start going again when the break was over...not mean, just a little stubborn. One time we used our handheld radio to call about something ????and when we started out....Red was ready to go! We found out later that the Forest Service had purchased him from another government agency and he had been used in the Korean War with the radio platoon (or whatever you call them). He was used to hearing the radios when he was stopped, and when they were done with their contacts, then he knew it was time to go. From that point on we always keyed the radio after our break. Old Red would hear the squelch and then he was good to go! What a dear old mule!!!!

 Most all of the mines that my grandfather mined have either been the victim of fires or vandalism.  In the 70's USFS tore down many of the cabins and stamp mills to keep the "Hippies" from moving in.  I guess I have to realize MY age and know that things don't last forever.  I miss being able to do what you are enjoying though...still going to those spots and knowing what was once there. I truly feel that people would have more respect for the planet we share and persons around them if we all knew a little of the generations that came before. 

 I haven't wanted Thorn to be taken by fire.....but honestly, the more I see what has happened to the other tower, I almost wish that a fire would take her.  I think it would preserve her dignity instead of ending up like Cuyama Peak.

-Lorinda Poole

All the large type above comes from emails that I've shared with Lorinda and are reprinted here with her permission. To leave a message for Rinnie, email me at 

david.stillman72@gmail.com

Secret Gem of the Southern Los Padres, 05/03/13

9" Golden Trout: Southern Los Padres. Or so I thought. Jack Elliott has given me enough reasons to say that this fish is simply a juvenile rainbow that I have to go ahead admit that that's a distinct possibility.

About ten years ago I was offered an opportunity to drop into a very remote and secluded slice of the Los Padres. At that time my friend Ted Tuschka MD/Phd had solemnly sworn me to secrecy about this place and I'm going to honor that commitment, but this is just too good to keep entirely to myself. Some of you will undoubtedly be aware of this place (VC SAR and Los Santadores to name a few). This is an old camp and isn't on maps, just another of those secret gems that this forest of ours surprises us with on occasion.



It had been since last June since I'd been out on the dirt with Davi Rivas and for some reason our schedules worked out. I offered him a couple choices for the weekend and I was happy that he settled for this one. He and I started downhill at four in the afternoon. The "route" we took to get in there was brush choked and rough. Staying on route required nearly constant vigilance. There are a couple alternatives for arriving here and we opted to use a different way to get back out on Sunday, one that was unholy steep but much more direct. After a long and bruising descent we identified the right place to access the drainage which we were to spend the weekend.



After several hours of persistent brush and difficult route finding challenges we managed to drop right into the place, arriving as the last light of evening faded to dark. We dropped pack and I immediately got a fire going before setting up for our stay. A short time later we listened to our tri-tip sizzling on the grill while sipping coffee and enjoying a very pleasant evening. We stayed up late, burning a gratuitous amount of firewood before turning in. I lay awake for a time watching the stars flicker in and out of view through the canopy above.



With nowhere to be and not far to go it was a perfect morning for sleeping in. We were pretty lazy on this morning which was a refreshing change of pace for me. Usually it's go go go, but not today. In the late morning I explored the upstream sector of this little paradise finding only twisty box canyon leading down to a sluiced slab of polished sandstone. A bit later Davi and I headed downstream a ways, through more twisty box canyon and alder and oak forest. We passed numerous small pools and mini-waterfalls and eventually we encountered a couple larger waterfalls before turning back the way we came.

I'll be the first to say that I'm a lousy fisherman. Fishing isn't my thing and though I know how to do it I'm one of those guys who isn't having fun unless the fish are hungry. So I was pleasantly surprised to get a couple hits on the way back toward our camp. I was using a length of hand-line and some Powerbait when I pulled in a 7" rainbow. I hit another one on the next cast. Further upstream I found a shallow pool with some fish in it. I blocked the up and downstream exits from the pool and started harassing the fish, driving them this way and that around the pool until they were exhausted. I caught my third rainbow by hand. He was worn out and hiding under a rock when I grabbed him. Later in the afternoon I returned to the same pool and ran the fish around again for a bit. I used the same hand fishing technique that I'd employed earlier, letting the tired fish hide under a rock. I struck like lightning and when I came out of the water I was holding proof for the world to see that there is still at least one Golden Trout (possibly, maybe, I wish) in the Los Padres! How they got here I do not know.



What do you do after a morning like that? Golden Trout (speculative stretch) in the Los Padres! You lay around in the sun like a fat and happy seal, that's what. There are plenty of sunny, flat slabs next to water, plenty of bath tubs and cozy holes to dunk in. Water levels are low and it's only these deep holes that offer the fish a reservoir in which to survive the summer. Getting back to the Golden (???), I know another guy who got one at the same place about 12 years ago.





We had a really nice and relaxing afternoon followed by an equally good dinner and another long and bright evening fire. I listened to the nearby creek and watched the firelight flicker in the trees above. The evening got cool and overnight a cloud system moved in bringing even cooler temperatures and the smell of rain. We woke early and got ourselves put together for the steep climb out. Our route of egress was rough and steep but better than the way we'd taken in. I do imagine I'll be back to this sweet hideaway.

Little Kern Golden Trout

Indian Creek Narrows, 04/20/13

Back in the drink with Jack Elliott. Once more we found ourselves waist deep in some backwater drainage (this seems to be a recurring theme). Our target this time was the upper reaches of Indian Creek. We were on the scout for waterfalls, a remote stretch of creek called Indian Narrows, and a long decommissioned campsite far up the canyon. This little foray turned into a really rough and rewarding overnight, the type of trip that I wished had lasted a couple days longer.

The Meadow, a junction of trails.

My only experience with Indian Creek had ended one frozen, sleeting and sick-buddy December weekend. Ended precisely at Indian Creek Camp, and not one step further did we take. That was eight or nine years ago and I've always wanted to return, lured by the promise of waterfalls on a wild and remote drainage. Jack had been up IC that far and a bit further, but hadn't gotten as far as the fabled "Perfect Ten Falls" (per Conant's map). Clearly we needed to go see what that falls and an area called "The Narrows" was all about. And maybe we'd go see if we could find an old campsite that used to lie at the upper end of the IC Narrows.

Jack in Indian Canyon.

Our weekend started with a strange animal sighting on the road down to Los Prietos. The headlights caught a glimpse of a fleeing canine, but this one seemed to big to be a fox and didn't look right to be a coyote. In the end Jack decided it must have been a large fox. I still insist that it was a rare North American Spiny Eared Chupacabra. Keep an eye out. Those chupacabrae are coming back in a big way.

 

We started from the Mono trailhead, wandering up the lower part of Indian Creek. The route took us through a mixture of brushy drainage and grassy hill country. Eventually we encountered a large meadow which is the junction for a couple trails. Continuing north we followed trail through oak forests and rocky creek bed until reaching a pretty camp sitting on a bench above the west side of the creek. There are a couple nice sites here under tall old oaks. One of the sites has a picnic bench and a few camp tools. This is Indian Creek Camp.

After a brief break at IC Camp Jack and I got going again, headed upstream into new territory for both of us. Within minutes of leaving IC Camp our use trail petered into the creek and it became obvious that it was time to get wet. Giving up on staying dry in such circumstances often makes the going so much easier. Even so, this is a rugged and overgrown drainage. Nothing about ascending this creek is particularly easy, though Jack and I have experienced worse.

After a couple hours of creek slogging and rock hopping we found ourselves approaching a distinctly narrow creek passage (below). Wading through a long and deep pool put us under a thirty foot cascade pouring from a beautiful pool and waterfall. After a short scramble up this falls put us at the deep upper pool, across from which streamed a very nice little waterfall. I initially called this Perfect 10 Falls but have since learned that this two-tiered falls is called the Maiden Pools (thanks for the correction, Brian). 

Jack, approaching Maiden Pools.

Upper Maiden Pools.

We continued upstream from those falls, pushing ahead through pool after pool, scrambling over numerous creek obstacles. We found that poison oak and stinging nettles are prevalent in this drainage. Sadly, we weren't seeing much in the way of wildlife in this otherwise pristine aquatic wilderness. We saw a couple ducks, lizards, and a couple water snakes and turtles, but no big fish and no tracks of any larger mammals. I've been told that this pretty creek used to host some large and crafty land-locked native steelhead, and that those fish didn't fare too well in the aftermath of the 2007 Zaca Fire. Some good news I can report is that all the fire silt which was filling up the deep holes seems to have been flushed out.

Our upstream odyssey continued through the increasingly narrow and difficult drainage. This upper creek was challenging, a lot like work. We kept at it, wading, jumping, sloshing and climbing. The higher we ascended the prettier this drainage got, though "pretty" didn't make the journey any easier. We eventually approached a distinct narrowing in the canyon that correlated with what the maps call Indian Creek Narrows, or at least the lower gate of said narrows. From this gate on we'd be in a tight little canyon. A short time later we encountered what I thought was the best waterfall/swimming pool on the creek (below).

The lowest gate of Indian Creek Narrows.

This was my favorite falls on IC. I erroneously named it Cobblestone Falls due to the band of cobbled rock crowning the falls but in fact, this is Perfect 10 Falls. I feel a bit relieved and vindicated in thinking that this gorgeous falls was the only water feature on the creek that really deserved the name Perfect 10.

Leaving that pretty waterfall behind Jack and I continued our upstream progression. We eventually arrived at the confluence of a small branch canyon down which a poor stream emptied into Indian Creek. This then must be the long decommissioned Indian Narrows Camp. We climbed out of the creek to a small bench forested with oaks and scattered with the iron remains of this very old site. After a bit of R&R I tore down the remains of the fire ring, cleared out about four inches of oak leaves and set to work rebuilding the camp while Jack did a bit of looking around. By the time he returned the campsite sort of looked like it would work.

Indian Narrows Camp at our time of arrival.

Firewood was abundant and as we set up shop for the evening we got some flames going to dry out our shoes. This was essentially a pointless exercise as we'd be getting back in the water immediately upon leaving in the morning, but it made me feel better to put on dry shoes for the evening. As the sun set and the light fell we were subjected to an enormous uproar of frogs, owls, and evening birds. We listened to the crescendo of frog calls while grilling filet mignon over the oak fire. The side dishes were sourdough with butter and baked beans with coffee. Not a bad menu after the day we'd slogged through.

We stayed up til around ten, feeding the fire and chatting about the day between lulls into silence. The evening was absolutely perfect and clear, warmish. I retired to my nest of leaves and stared up at the stars, tracked a couple satellites across the eastern sky. We both crashed out hard for the night, a night so dreamlessly perfect that I only used my bivy sack as a pillow. This was the type of outdoor night we always wish for but seldom get.

I rose shortly after sunlight and got the coffee going. We got ourselves put together in an unhurried fashion while enjoying the brew with a little breakfast. We rolled out at 8am and got back in the water right off the bat. We resumed our endless, sloshing, hopping river dance. The rest of it goes just that way. We did encounter a few people in the lower canyon, other waterfall hunters.

Like I said earlier, this was one of those little trips that I wish had lasted a bit longer, however the company was good, the route challenging and fun, and Indian Creek was a place I look forward to returning to.