Mother Road

It’s hard for me to stay home during a long holiday weekend. Although Mammoth and Bishop offer a lot of activities over Labor Day (heck, there was an American Idol runner-up performing at the Tri-County Fair!), the influx of city folk jangles my nerves. I hadn’t made it over a Sierra pass once during the summer (except for the quick drive over Monitor to Clearlake) and with fall fast approaching there weren’t that many pleasant weather weekends left. Factor in that I’d only had my tent out 3 times this year and it seemed a natural to embark on a Sonora Pass adventure.

What made this trip different was my decision to totally “wing it.” I truly adore micro-managing my vacations. It’s such fun to pore the internet, maps, guidebooks and local papers (online) in order to construct the perfect holiday. Let’s set aside false modesty (as though I had any) and admit that I can put together a mean trip.

However, I’ve nurtured a fantasy for several years now – where I get in the car with no set agenda and just see where Mother Road takes me. It seemed like this forest getaway was the perfect opportunity to put the plan into action. I had a general idea of my direction, but could change it on a whim. My car would be fully stocked with gear and food, so I could go virtually anywhere. Things would probably be a little busy, since it was the last three day weekend of the summer, but the pass has ample campgrounds, and worst case scenario: I could drive home.

On Saturday morning, Virginella and I headed north up Highway 395. Of course, we were behind schedule – but that was okay, because it let me slide in to The Barn in Bridgeport for a fish taco at noon. Darn, those things are good. Just about the tastiest $3.50 you can spend. It was a warm, still day and I decided to stroll Main Street, which in ten years of living an hour away, I’ve never done. I checked out the menu at The Cain House (now I really want to go there), perused Bridgeport souvenirs (mostly emblazoned with rainbow trout) and stopped in the Indian Crafts store. Bonus: It was Founder’s Weekend and there was a small fair set up in front of the 1880’s courthouse with a bluegrass band playing. Oh yeah, oh yeah.

After a nice beginning, I pointed the Outlander west, trying to find my favorite radio station: “The X” (out of Reno). Since I couldn’t locate it, I popped in my Blind Boys of Alabama bluegrass CD. Best to keep the flow. The steep winding curves took me higher into the heart of the Sierra and the drive up the East Slope was just as breathtaking as I remembered.

I decided I would probably do better looking for campgrounds just over the divide. The logic being that the Central Valley tourists would probably only venture up as far as necessary. Also, the Strawberry Music Festival was on that weekend and since there was no hope of purchasing a ticket (sold out) it might be smart to stay as far away from that as possible.

So I optimistically pulled into the first campground I came across at about 3:00 p.m. Here, miles from nowhere, there was not a space to be had. No worries, I had a whole mountain range in front of me. Campground two: jam packed except for one spot near the pit toilet. Every turnout along the way had folks set up in open camps. Every dirt road had a trailer tucked under the trees. Man, I’ve never seen so many people in Sonora Pass!

Campground three and four: not an empty space and each spot was completely filled with trailer, RV’s , tents, bikes, laundry, shade shelters – it looked like there were about 10 people per site and kids everywhere. What was I thinking?

Campground five and six:”campground full” signs posted at the entrance.

Whose idea was this? I was afraid to stop and take in a short hike and couldn’t even enjoy the spectacular drive because my mind was racing ahead to “What do I do if there’s really no place to stay? Sleep in Virginella? Drive to Modesto and find a Motel 6? Go back to Mammoth to hear Poco and Little Feat?” The latter seemed the most appealing option. At that moment, I realized that I‘m not the best spontaneous traveler. What I wouldn’t have given for a little computer printout in my glove box with a campground confirmation under the ReserveAmerica header.

Soldiering on, I came to the Clark Fork turnoff. There was no sign indicating that there
were any campgrounds here, but I figured that I was doomed unless I got off the main highway. I blindly followed this bumpy asphalt road for about 6 miles when I spotted a marked picnic ground. Good sign – where there are picnic tables, a campground cannot be far off. After another mile I came to Clark Fork campground. It looked promising with 3 loops and 100 campsites. I trawled slowly through the pines. Nada, zilch, zippo.

Okay, I’ve come this far down the road, I might as well see where it ends. Two miles further, I hit a campground named “Sand Flat” It looked as though there may be some available sites. Sure enough there weren't, but the two are sandwiched between giant RV’s with generators and surrounded by folks who look like they’ve lived there for a month. Near the exit, I spot about 10 sites that are empty. As the name implies, they’re sandy and flat but at this point I’m cranky and at least there are no screaming kids nearby.

I pulled into one to make sure there’s an appropriate spot for my tent, when I spied three adjacent spaces with fire rings and tables. They’re just a wee bit off the roadway but right next to the Stanislaus River. Is this possible? What are they doing empty? I ran over to the Campground Host who fortunately was at his “workstation.” “Are those walk-in tent sites and are they really available?” The answer to both questions was “yes” and I nearly whooped with glee.

I paid my campground fee (only ten bucks a night) and immediately claimed my hard won territory. It was absolutely idyllic and I never would have found this place if I had not put my trust in Mother Road. I quickly unloaded my car I began to set up camp as Mr. Host and friend visited my site and proceeded to rake it for me and empty my fire ring. Talk about rolling out the welcome mat!

I canned my idea of exploring a hiking trail that afternoon and instead lounged in the hammock, sipped a Miller High Life and enjoyed the angled sunlight dancing on the flowing waters of the Stanislaus. My only care in the world was what to make for dinner. A few other campers filled the empty spots around me, but they were courteous and generator-free and I felt pretty lucky to have found such a sweet spot.

I strolled up the road a bit further to collect some kindling and found a hidden group of walk- in sites even more secluded and closer to the river. Only one of them was occupied. Perhaps next year? I came back to camp and had a luscious Italian inspired dinner of sautéed Chicken breast atop a fresh spinach salad. It was a fairly warm evening at 5500’ elevation, but I relocated next to my blazing campfire to roast marshmallows and listen to Ray Bradbury short stories on “Books on Tape.” The nearly full moon rose over the adjacent ridge and I was so glad I hadn’t turned around and headed home during the height of my frustration.

Sunday morning was sweet and lazy as I made coffee and scrambled eggs with bacon and cheese. Quite the upgrade from my typical yogurt and trail mix camp breakfast. I sat by the river and read for a while and then cleaned my dusty self as best I could. I packed up the ice chest and hit the road for a day of exploring with the idea of finding a nice swimming lake, since it was turning hot.

I stopped for a while at the waterfall just before the intersection of the Sonora Pass road and was struck by what a pretty spot it was. I was tempted to pull out my chair and hang there for a while, but I was burning daylight, so hopped back in the car, planning to stop at Pinecrest Lake.

Silly girl. There were only about 2000 people there and not a parking space to be had. It was worse than Zuma Beach on a summer Sunday. It occurred to me that all the Flatlanders had hightailed it into the Sierra since it was so hot everywhere else. So onward I went, only to find that every lake I came near was a reservoir which did not allow swimming.

Time to revise the strategy. I decided to visit some Gold Rush towns, then cruise along Highway 49 to New Melones Reservoir. It’s huge, so I reasoned there must be a place to take a dunk.

I veered off on a side road to Twain Harte. It was just a dinky little hamlet and didn’t seem to have a whole lot to offer. But I parked and strolled and had a banana and yogurt in the compact town park. It was a pretty place with a few restaurants that looked nice, big trees and a refreshing rural atmosphere. I decided to follow an unmarked back road and twisted through the gold country and spotted many new homes tucked into the hills.

Somehow I ended up in Sonora, and stopped for ice and gas and for a walk up and down the main street – which I have done many times. I ducked into a rock shop and snagged a beautiful piece of Sodalite for 50 cents (I tend to go overboard while shopping!). I grabbed a local paper and discovered there was really nothing going on that night, which was surprising, since it was holiday weekend. I thought of heading to Columbia, but I have been there several times already so instead decided to hit the reservoir, about 10 miles away.

Guess what? Cars everywhere – no place to park and no promising beaches. The lake was quite high and where the lake hit the hillsides, the water was muddy and brown. Not what I had in mind. Since it was getting late, I opted to shine the swimming idea (boo-hoo) and visit Mark Twain’s cabin instead.

There’s a narrow snaking road to the top of Jack Ass Hill, just off Highway 49. If you blink, you’ll miss the historic marker, but fortunately I didn’t and made it up to Twain’s tiny reconstructed cabin. It wasn’t much in the way of a tourist attraction, but it had a beautiful view and an interesting vibe.

At this point, hunger was setting in so I thought I’d try to find a picnic spot somewhere. I wandered aimlessly among more Gold Country back roads. I began to appreciate the efficiency of a pre-planned itinerary. I decided to stop in Jamestown, where I considered settling into the small central park for my snack, but it was filled with kids skateboarding off the picnic tables and a few homeless guys in the gazebo. Instead, I did the obligatory stroll up and down Main Street and then headed back to Sonora and Taco Bell. I made a pit stop at Albertson’s to stock up on water and firewood and was assisted by a hearing-impaired checker. Communication was a little challenging, but I finally figured out she gave me the Club Card discount even though I wasn’t a member.

It was now after 6:00 p.m., so I headed my car back east up the highway. In about an hour I approached the Clark Fork turnoff and spotted a huge plume of smoke coming from the direction of Sand Flat. I expected to see a mass exodus from the Clark Fork campground, but instead campers were prepping dinner and building bonfires. As I pulled into Sand Flat, I began hearing helicopters overhead, Yikes, this thing was close!

I felt very uneasy as I returned to my little Valhalla along the river. The adjacent vacationers seemed to be enjoying a typical outing, so I tried to put my fears to rest, figuring they wouldn’t let us stay here if we were in danger. There really wasn’t any place else to go but home. I already knew that all the adjacent campgrounds were full. I made my own campfire (as if there wasn’t enough smoke around!) and watched the now orange moon rise over the ridge.

At about 9:00 p.m. some fire supervisor guy paid me a visit. He explained that the wind was calm and the temperature dropping, so they weren’t expecting to encounter any unusual conditions that evening. They planned to let the fire burn down to a nearby service road, and hold it there. We would probably have to leave around noon the next day. But just in case, I was told to put things I really liked in my car, in case a fast getaway was required. Also, a mountain lion was just spotted a half mile away, so I should expect to find animals moving through the area. Great. I felt really relaxed now, camping solo in a blind canyon 8 miles off the main highway.

I moved all my belongings except my tent and sleeping gear into Virginella and took a walk up the road to assess the situation. I could see flames engulfing trees less than a mile away. I returned to the campsite expecting a sleepless night, with the sound of chainsaws roaring in the distance.

Strangely enough, I slept rather well, although my dreams were full of smoke and cougars. I woke up the next morning to find the air thick and brown. I took a short hike up a nearby granite cliff to catch a better view of the conflagration, but everything was obscured by the haze. I made a quick breakfast of coffee and a soft boiled egg wrapped in a paper towel and eaten out of hand (warm and yummy, why hadn’t I thought if that before?). As I was putting the last of the gear into my car, I was approached by the camp host advising us that we had to evacuate as the fire crews would be setting up in Sand Flat.

As I drove out the Clark Fork road, I was astonished by the mobilization taking place. . There were trucks and busses full of firefighters, water tankers, giant trailers to be used as command posts, semis filled with God knows what. I think this heavy equipment was lined up for a mile down the road, waiting for all the campers to leave.

This must be a huge catastrophe, I thought – grateful to be escaping safely. The minute I got to the main highway, all traces of the fire disappeared – no smoke, no trucks, no nothing. I spent the rest of the afternoon meandering home. I stopped frequently along the river, pulled into a geologic site for a picnic lunch and took the side road to explore Kennedy Meadows. It was a beautiful day and I discovered many spots where I’d like to linger in the future.

As I came back to Mammoth, I assessed the value of my spontaneous travel. On the plus side, I stumbled on some new places that were really cool. The negative was that too much time was spent driving around hoping something wonderful would pop up around the bend. At the beginning, the stress level was higher than it would have been with reservations. All in all, it was a fun weekend and an exciting weekend and, best of all, a cheap weekend. I think I spent about $100.00 total. Thanks, Mother Road..

Oh, and the fire? It didn’t even make the incident report on the National Forest Service website. After a lot of googling I found some news on a local site (http://www.mymotherlode.com/News/article/kvml/1157453658) It only burned about three hundred acres and it was put out within 48 hours. I hate to think what a big one would be like.