Showing posts with label 1990. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 1990. Show all posts

January 16 (1976, 1987, 1990, 2001, 2003)
Sun and Snow and Eagles; and the Chill Northeast Wind

1/16/76 warm and sunny: soaproot sprouting leaves”
[Russell Towle's journal]


1/16/87   Morning, just after dawn. The day sunny, clear, cool; we've had days of strong northeast winds, high pressure over Nevada sweeping these very cold and dry winds from the continental interior out over California, plunging temperatures. Yesterday, for the first time in my memory, Canyon Creek was frozen over.

Gay Wiseman asked me to write a little something about Moody Ridge history for the road association newsletter, so:
Down at the Auburn Library, one can read the old Dutch Flat Forum, a newspaper published in the late 1870's. It's on microfilm; ask for it at the reference desk. There is an abundance of mining news items, including a regular spot on Green Valley Mines. I have yet to find Moody Ridge mentioned by name, but one does encounter a Colonel Moody, operating a hotel in Gold Run, and his son, operating a gold mine in Green Valley. Presumably, Moody Ridge was named for one of these Moodys.

Before the Central Pacific Railroad was build, in the 1860's, the Green Valley Trail began in Gold Run, traversing the length of Moody Ridge before dropping into the canyon along its present route. It is rumored that a string of mules knew the trail so well, they could be turned loose in Gold Run, and be trusted to arrive, untended, in Green Valley (and vice versa); but I kind of doubt it. 

Lovers Leap is not named in the Forum, but the editor, Ben Frank, wrote a charming account of a visit there in 1876; perhaps it can be printed verbatim in another newsletter. Giant Gap appears on very old maps, and was probably named in the Gold Rush itself, when over 2,000 people lived in Green Valley. It must have reminded some of them of the Cumbarland Gap and other ‘Gaps’ back east.

The Maidu Indians and their ancestors wandered Moody Ridge for thousands of years — perhaps ten thousand — and their grinding rocks for pounding acorns, and arrowheads may be found from one end of the Ridge to the other. Slightly to the northeast of Moody Ridge at Casa Loma, is one of the larger Maidu village sites in the area; smaller ones exist at Sons of Norway and below Snot Hill.

Gold and asbestos were both mined on Moody Ridge, the former near Bogus Point, the latter, near the Green Valley Trail. Most of Moody Ridge was logged off at least once by the Towle Brothers Lumber Company (no relation to the author). One of their twelve sawmills stood near Canyon Creek on Mike Smith's place, and the pond at Jim Coleman's place had something to do with the mill, exactly what I do not know.

Most of Moody Ridge remained in the hands of the Towle Estate until the late 1970's, when real estate speculators got their felonious hands on it. Placer County joined in prosecuting these speculators, settled out of court, and received (or stands to receive) something like $160,000 into the General Fund as part of the settlement. Melody Preis and I wonder if some of this money might well be spent on Moody Ridge Road, seeing as how, if those speculators had done it all legal-like, they would have had to pave the damn road.


Bald eagle
January 16, 2003
January 16, 1990

[...] Today, it snows most wonderfully [...]

Lora came for a visit yesterday morning, and as we walked back up to the meadow, we saw a huge bald eagle circling. Yesterday was a lull between the series of storms which have pounded the Sierra in recent days, and the eagle was seen against a clear blue sky, a couple of hundred feet above us. Gem says he saw it again as he arrived home last night towards sunset. Then, this morning I walked out to the cliffs and saw a huge golden eagle roosting in the dead top of a douglas fir a few hundred feet below. We all watched it through binoculars.

Later... the storm dwindles, sun blasts in but soon to set, I cut firewood, Gay and Janet [2 months old] and I visited the cliffs, the meadow, Gem and Gus [ages 9 and 7] play with their new hand-held video games and build snow-beings and carry wood in to the new cabin. I saw extraordinary footage the other day of a golden eagle, in Europe, snatching a baby mountain goat off a ledge, and wings spread to their fullest, clutched it in its talons while making a continuous descent to its nest across the canyon; in another instance, an eagle filmed carrying a lamb in flight was unable to maintain its grip, and dropped it. It flew on, there being no possibility of raising the carcass from the canyon bottom if unable to hold it in level flight... So if one flies by with a fawn in its talons someday, I won't be too surprised.”

[Russell Towle's journal]


Date: Tue, 16 Jan 2001 09:44:37 -0800
To: North_Fork_Trails
From: Russell Towle
Subject: Canyon Creek Hike
Cc: Senator Barbara Boxer

Hi all,

I would like to see Senator Barbara Boxer sponsor a bill appropriating Land & Water Conservation Act funds for the Folsom Area BLM, so that private inholdings along the Canyon Creek Trail, in the Gold Run Diggings, and between Bogus Point and Lovers Leap (here in Placer County), can be acquired. So I will copy this message to her.

Dave Lawler, noted geologist and paleontologist, Alex Henderson, Rich LaTour and I met Monday morning and drove to the trailhead in Potato Ravine. The northeast wind was cold and biting in the shadows, but as we approached the creek the wind lessened. One of the pieces of plywood making the bridge deck is delaminating and should be replaced. Perhaps some paint would help protect the slender structure.

As we turned the corner past the cliffs standing over the weird inner gorge, the sun was blessedly warm. We visited the camping terraces made by the miners 130 years ago, when the sluice boxes in Canyon Creek needed constant maintenance and also had to be guarded. After taking the spur trail to the base of the big waterfall, we worked a little on opening another short spur trail to the creek from the terraces. Quite a number of the California Milkmaids (Dentaria californica, or Cardamine californica) are now in bloom near the terraces. These lovely terraces, with their massive dry-laid stone retaining walls, were apparently located with reference to a sweet spot in the local microclimates. It was positively warm there, and the flowers offered their own testimony. We found a piece of coal near the remains of the old wood stove. It was pleasant to imagine, perhaps, an Ah Wong or an Ah Kite frying up platters of meat and potatoes, and a large pot of coffee kept hot and full, for the rough old rednecks of days gone by.

The N. Fork American River in Green Valley,
Lovers Leap at right
. January 16, 2003
We took the lower trail from the terraces back to the main trail and continued down to the river. One of the prettier waterfalls is visible from the trail, and we opened up one of the old spur trails a little ways towards this fall. There are some very nice viewpoints here, and some curious and ancient potholes eroded into the rock high above the creek. It would be interesting to do cosmogenic dating on the rock surfaces along and near Canyon Creek and try to establish the rate of deepening of both Canyon Creek and the North Fork American at large. These little potholes may have developed within the past twenty thousand years, during a high stand of the Quaternary gravels which choked the main canyon during glacial maxima. The glaciers themselves were far upstream, at or above Humbug Creek, but they seem to have supplied a large bed load of sediments to the North Fork, exceeding its carrying capacity.

It was but another few minutes to reach the river, at a very low flow right now, but sparkling clear, with gently roaring reaches of rapids and white water. From the base of the Canyon Creek Trail one can actually see Lovers Leap, a great blade of greenstone jutting out into Giant Gap, 2500 feet above the river. After a quick lunch, we left our packs and with clippers and loppers in hand followed the up-canyon trail. This trail appears to lead directly to the first deep pool on the river upstream from Canyon Creek, but a faint spur climbs steeply away and, expecting that it led up into Giant Gap, we began attacking masses of poison oak, bay laurel, live oak, and toyon, which had blocked its course in many places. As we went we saw stumps and sawn branches from at least twenty years ago, when someone had worked on opening this same old trail.

This trail, to me, evokes the idea of the period of Chinese mining of the placer deposits along the North Fork, which was at its peak around 1860. It is possible that the North Fork was turned from its bed into flumes all through this section, so that the deep pools and indeed every part of the river's channel could be worked down to bedrock. At any rate, the trail takes some surprising twists and turns and sudden ups and downs as it negotiates a passage through the rocks and trees. In places it has more or less disappeared, but behaving more or less like bears and forging ahead along the line of least resistance we always found ourselves back on the trail again.

While the south canyon wall was in shadow, our trail, about 150 feet above the river, was in full sun. The tremendous cliffs in this lower part of Giant Gap were really awe-inspiring. Rich LaTour remarked that this wild canyon of the North Fork American is so exceptionally scenic, that he really finds it equal to any of our national parks. I agree.

Passing quite a number of great viewpoints, we continued lopping and clipping until I thought my arms would fall off. In a while we found the trail descending to the river on mossy ledges. We were just above a long deep pool. Another pool could be seen upstream, just below a bend in the canyon which blocked our view farther up the river. Between the two pools was an area of huge boulders, some of which had an interesting reddish orange tint, and may be related to similarly colored rocks we noticed high on the canyon wall, from way back at Canyon Creek. The rocks here are in the volcanic member of the Calaveras Complex, and are metamorphic rocks considered to be Late Paleozoic in age (ca. 200 million years old). Dave Lawler speculated that the pretty red rocks might be metamorphosed sand lenses entombed in the submarine lava flows and pyroclastics that make up most of the rocks nearby.

Actually we were not much more than half a mile, maybe three-quarters of a mile, up-river from Canyon Creek. The trail finally dropped down to the great boulder field, although, a faint spur trail climbed higher and continued up the canyon. I scouted this and found it significantly smaller and less well-defined than the somewhat sketchy trail we had cleared, but, nevertheless, unequivocally an old human trail. I stopped at the aforementioned bend in the canyon, made where a spur ridge drops to the river from Bogus Point on Moody Ridge.

Retracing our steps, we shouldered our packs and slowly picked our way up the rather steep trail. Everyone seemed to agree that this is a better trail than the Pickering Bar Trail, about a mile to the west. At the spot next to the first high waterfall, 1000 feet above the river, we left our packs and explored out along the old trail to the ridge dividing Canyon Creek from the main canyon. Recently I opened a path through heavy brush out to a remarkable vista point on this ridge. We sat for a while on the rocks in the full warm westering sunlight, with a completely unobstructed view down the canyon, and across to Roach Hill and Iowa Hill. This was very pleasant, but after a while it was back on the trail again, and with the sun dropping low, in shade for the rest of the way back out to Potato Ravine. The chill wind was not too bad, inasmuch as we were on the uphill grade, but I for one was glad to reach the shelter of our cars and get out of that wind.

Such was a very nice day spent in Canyon Creek and the lower reaches of Giant Gap.


Date: Thu, 16 Jan 2003 08:33:29 -0800
To: North Fork Trails
From: Russell Towle
Subject: Coincidence in Canyon Creek

Hi all,

The day being so sunny and fine, yesterday morning, on an impulse, I set my computer work aside and drove over to the Canyon Creek Trail, planning to pull the miners' ribbed pipe out of a certain pool, a ways below the Big Tunnel. As I drove in I noted that there were many fresh tire tracks on the muddy, rutted track behind Heistercamp's. I'm not sure what to make of this. It could be someone is camping on one of the many spur roads leading over to Canyon Creek from the northern reach of the Diggings.

After a mile's drive through the Diggings, I backed my truck in to the trailhead, grabbed my pack, and set off down the trail. In a few minutes I reached the wagon road, passed the tunnel, and at a favorable spot picked my way down the mossy slopes to the creek. A perfect piece of driftwood with a natural hook lay ready to hand and I fished the pipe from the pool. It was about twenty feet long. Draping it across the rocks to dry, I went downstream in search of a tire I remembered seeing, but did not find it. So I lashed the pipe to my pack and clambered back up to the trail. Leaving the pack, I walked down to the bridge, scanning the creek below for the tire, but did not see it. I did see a truck innertube. At the bridge I explored an old miners' trail which gives every indication of climbing to meet the Indiana Hill Ditch, several hundred feet above. It is drastically overgrown, with much poison oak, and every kind of tree and shrub setting its hooks into those who try to pass. I had walked/crawled this little trail before, but now carried my explorations a little higher on the ridge, and became a little more certain that it must indeed continue up to the ditch.

Retreating, I started up the main trail, pausing to pick my way down mossy cliffs giving on to a sloping ramp of polished stone, jumped the boisterous creek where a boulder split its flow, and grabbed the innertube. I had to cut it with my knife to let out a sludge of water and mud which had seeped in. I carried it out, lashed it to my pack, and strode on up the trail. Only about thirty pounds, not bad at all. I put the whole affair into the back of the truck, my dog hopped in after, I closed up the tailgate, and got in. Just as I was about to start off, I saw another truck ahead, blocking my way.

As I walked toward it, wondering how it could be that anyone would have left their truck blocking me in, I realized that it was Catherine O'Riley's rig, a husky 4WD Toyota. There was no sign of Catherine. I began hollering out hellos, without any response. Suddenly she popped into view from behind the truck, astounded to see me.

She was heading for the river, but I had to pick up my kids in a couple hours. After moving her truck to give me room to escape, we decided to explore the Indiana Hill Ditch, going north from Potato Ravine. Here the ditch is still on BLM property; in a few hundred yards or less it passes onto the 800 acres now for sale. It is very hard to follow, being overgrown with manzanita, etc. (Jim Ricker and I once crawled all the way through to Gold Run Ravine, farther to the north). As we rounded a faint ridge we could hear the creek roaring and splashing below. So we picked our way down to a very nice gorgelet with many small waterfalls, six or eight feet high, and large masses of polished rock.

This is at the northernmost end of the 72-acre Canyon Creek Placer Mine, a patented claim making part of the 800 acres, which runs south all the way to the North Fork. Several gigantic bolts were embedded in the rocks above the creek, used to anchor the large sluice boxes which once winnowed fine gold from the tailings. Thousands of cubic yards per day of tailings from the Gold Run hydraulic mines used to flow down Canyon Creek.

We followed the creek down to the Oxbow, in an intricate exercise in scrambling over rocks and following ledges around cliffs. There we parted, and I rushed up the trail to my truck, not quite sure whether I would be in time to pick up my kids; but all was well.

Cheers,

Russell Towle


The last light of day streaming through Giant Gap illuminates the forest
grove on the top of "The Pyramid" of Green Valley. January 16, 2003


April 14 (1981, 1988, 1990, 2002, 2004)
Spring in the Royal Gorge

4/14/81 a bit before dawn. The days have been long and bright, and spring is in full swing, the snow is melting rapidly.”

[Russell Towle's journal]


4/14/88 morning, canyon splashed with fog, since, miracle of miracles, it rained, after a fashion, yesterday, last night, even today. Eric Peach was up yesterday. I took him out to look at a 20-acre parcel near Gay and Gary's place, one which borders upon the BLM lands, and which hadn't been logged in the 70s, as had most of Moody Ridge, so that there is an abundance of middling large ponderosa pines, with a thick understory of Douglas fir and cedar.”

[Russell Towle's journal]


4/14/90 Evening. Time for another of my two-sporadic journal entries. Impsy [Janet, 5 months] is thriving, and continually amazing. Very pretty and she's beginning to know it. Spring has sprung, with dogwoods in bloom, the oaks leafing out, and poison oak luxuriating in the warm weather.”

[Russell Towle's journal]


4/14/02 Spring is here, the black oaks are just getting their leaves, and I am having fun with music…

Last week I made a trip into the North Fork Canyon, skiing up to the Mumford bar trail and dropping down to the river, then up the canyon to camp near big Granite Creek, then on up to New York Canyon to see the 500 foot waterfall. I found a funny pretty little Chinese bottle near my camp.”

[Russell Towle's journal]


Spring in the Royal Gorge:
Waterfalls, waterfalls, waterfalls
[North Fork Trails blogpost:
http://northforktrails.blogspot.com/2004/04/spring-in-royal-gorge.html ]
An old trail leads over the Sierra crest from Squaw Valley into the upper basin of the North Fork American, and follows the river downstream to the west. Above the Foresthill-Soda Springs road this is called the Painted Rock Trail, below, the Heath Springs Trail, which continues past the mineral springs into Palisade Creek. It is really one long trail, one historic, public trail, as suggested by its presence on official Tahoe National Forest maps, among these, maps from 1928, 1939, and 1962.

For some decades a section of this long old public trail has been posted with "No Trespassing" signs by the North Fork Association, a.k.a. The Cedars, which owns lands in the area. I hope to see this section re-opened to the public.

Last Sunday Ron Gould and I set off walking down hard-packed and frozen snow on the Foresthill-Soda Springs road at Serene Lakes, near 7000' elevation. It was just after dawn, with temperatures hovering around freezing, but bright sun promised warmth soon enough. Crunching along, in less than a mile views began to open westward: the gigantic massif of Snow Mountain; the broad axe blade of Devils Peak; the North Fork canyon itself, and points far downstream, in and west of the Royal Gorge, such as Wildcat Point and even a part of New York Canyon.

We were aiming that way, far beyond those distant cliffs, in fact, but first we had to wear off elevation, bearing roughly south towards the river, enjoying many views of the upper basin, all encircled by (north to south) Crows Nest, Mt. Disney, Mt. Lincoln, Anderson Peak, Tinkers Knob, Granite Chief, and Lyon Peak.


Ron Gould with one of the older natives
Deep snow persisted above 7000', but as we descended, it thinned to a depth of two or three feet and became patchy. At a certain point we left the road and dropped into the valley of Serena Creek, picking our way through brush and snowbanks. Almost the last of the snow was soon behind us. A large glacial outwash terrace supporting a heavy forest was traversed until we met the old trail and turned west, down the canyon.

Serena Creek
After crossing Serena Creek, boisterous and loud, but not nearly so high as I had feared—for far more of the snowpack had already been melted, by recent warm weather, than I had expected—we reached a lovely little inner gorge on the river, with some small waterfalls. The sun was bright and warm, almost hot, really, on our side of the North Fork; the other side, facing north, was still mantled with snow nearly to river level. It was growing late in the morning, and we had a fairly long hike ahead of us, to reach our first night's camp.

We enjoyed a good long break before saddling up and walking west. Occasionally, views opened to Snow Mountain, a little over 8000' in elevation, and rising all of 4000' above the Royal Gorge. The river roared along beside us, high, cold, fast, and presenting quite a barrier to travel. I would not want to ford the North Fork, these days. Something like two miles brought us to Heath Falls, a series of high waterfalls which drop into a fine chasm, all full of flourishing spray and thunder and rainbows. Another long break. Many photographs.

Heath Falls
Microclimate is everything, almost. Where we had first reached the river, at about 5300' elevation, the contrast between the sunny and shady sides of the canyon was extreme. Red Firs grew along the shady side, White Firs and Jeffrey Pine on the sunny side. Our route followed the sunny side, and remarkably soon, considering the snow-mantled slopes across the river, we began to see Canyon Live Oak and California Bay Laurel and other classic trees of lower elevations. Mixed among these were occasional Western Junipers, that rock-loving tree of higher elevations. It was fascinating to observe the fine gradations and interfingerings of tree and shrub species and commmunities as we dropped lower and lower.

Old trail-marking "i" blaze visible in the bark.
At Heath Springs—small mineral springs above the river, in a grove of Kellogg's Black Oak and Incense Cedar—the old trail climbs out of the inner canyon, avoiding a gorge area downstream, and crosses a pass into a forested flat with gigantic old Ponderosa Pines. Several of these had old trail blazes of the "small letter 'i'" type, long long since skinned over with bark.

We met the Palisade Creek Trail, hung a left, and dropped several hundred feet over a mile or so back to the North Fork. Here the trail keeps well away the creek's long succession of cascades and waterfalls; we could hear them, but not often see them. Approaching the river, large glaciated expanses of granite opened before us, and now Snow Mountain seemed rather close and terribly high, and the amazing waterfalls dropping down its east face became more visible. A snow-filled cirque high on the east face feeds those falls, some of which may exceed 200' in height.

Snow Mountain, from the east, April 14, 2004

"Cirque Creek", east side of Snow Mtn.
Let us call this creek, of so many waterfalls, Cirque Creek.

This is a most amazing and scenic part of the North Fork canyon. It is the upper end of the Royal Gorge, that part of the canyon which turns around the base of Snow Mountain's main summit. From Palisade Creek, looking west, one sees the snowy east face of the mountain, and to the south, across the river, snow streaks the canyon walls, near Latimer Point and Wabena Point (Lorenzo Latimer was a watercolorist who painted landscapes, including the Royal Gorge, around 100 years ago).

It was very gratifying to be in the canyon with so much snow remaining on the cliffs and ridges above us. Here we were, in Summer, with Canyon Live Oak and Bay Laurel and, yes, Poison Oak, and even flowers in bloom, the sun so warm and bright we sought the shade, while all around us Winter still reigned.

A bridge spans the North Fork just above its confluence with Palisade Creek. The river is confined within a narrow inner gorge, a mere slot in the granite, while Palisade spreads widely in loud cascades, so it almost seems the creek exceeds the river; but it really falls far short of that.

After lunch, we crossed the bridge and strode downstream. Immediately we approached Palisade Falls, on the main river, a sheer drop of perhaps sixty feet, and perhaps twenty feet wide, thundering loudly, billowing spray, the first of several major waterfalls in the Royal Gorge. Many people hike the seven miles down the Palisade Creek Trail, from Cascade Lakes, just to camp near Palisade Falls.

Palisade Falls, Royal Gorge, North Fork American River
Usually this trail is not open for foot travel until early June, for the snow sets in deeply and is slow to melt, near the trailhead. After another break, we continued downstream, and reached Cirque Creek and our anticipated first night's camp, at the contact zone between the metavolcanic Tuttle Lake Formation of Snow Mountain on the west, and the granite of Palisade Creek on the east.

Contact Zone Camp was a good camp, at about 4200' elevation, where, as one sees on the 7.5 minute USGS Royal Gorge quadrangle, the river makes an abrupt turn to the south. Snow Mountain too soon consumes the afternoon sun. A sandy flat near the river is joined, by a granite sidewalk, to a sheltered alcove within a grove of Canyon Live Oaks just above. We built a fire and did our cooking in the alcove, and slept on the sand. No tents, just the stars above. Our first day covered about eight miles. We were glad to stop a little early, as our second day would be more strenuous.

High clouds drifted in as the afternoon waned away. We retired to our sleeping bags fairly early and as a result I was wide awake at four in the morning. I heroically squirmed out of my bag, dressed, and made for the alcove, where in a minute a fire blazed and my first cup of coffee was quick to follow. The long rainless period had left every scrap of wood on the ground bone-dry.

After a long time the faint glow of an unseen, deeply waning moon was enhanced by the first glow of pre-dawn light. The snowy east face of Wildcat Point (that north-jutting promontory on the divide between Wabena and Wildcat canyons, standing full 3000' above the North Fork, its cliffs incised with glacial striae to the very summit) gradually took form, two miles down the canyon; we would be at least trying to hike right past it, crossing one ragingly snow-fed tributary stream after another, all the way to New York Canyon.

At dawn I wandered the cliffs beside the river and visited what I call Curtain Falls, just upstream from the confluence of Cirque Creek. Last June 18th, Ron and my son Greg and I had hiked up through the Royal Gorge from Wabena, reaching Curtain Falls. The river's flow this April was only a little greater than that of last June 18th. Perhaps 125%, or 133%. Apparently the heat waves and warm weather of March and early April had worn off so much snow that flows had already subsided to late-spring levels. I began to feel less anxious about the rough section between Wabena and Wildcat.

The Royal Gorge is famed for its wildness and waterfalls and all-around rough terrain. However, there are remnants of an old trail through the Gorge. Perhaps it should be called the "Route." In some places the Route is forced high, and is an actual built trail, and in other places, let's say, a gravel bar parallels the river, and the Route drops low, and as one picks one's way over sand and boulders and dodges alders and willows there is no sign of any built trail.

Quite notable along this high-and-low river Route are the talus slides, on Wabena Point cliffs, and then again those talus slides along Wildcat Point between Wabena and Wildcat canyons, where large boulders had been carefully arranged to bolster a real trail. Ron and I are somewhat mystified by these sections. They so strongly speak of one long continuous high trail down the canyon (the "ideal form" or alignment a constructed trail would take), and yet, so often the Route drops to river level and follows a trackless gravel bar. When we consider how much work went into the talus slide sections, we are almost forced, we desperately want, to imagine a *continuous* high trail. But so far there is no sign of this.

What there is, is a continuous *route*, which sometimes follows the river, but more often stays well above it.

The sun leaves Contact Camp early and arrives late and it was only when the sun was within a few minutes of reaching us that we finally broke free and on down the canyon. A rocky knoll is reached, thunder is heard, and then a rough patch of trail leads back down to the river, to a camping spot on a forested flat, and one can look back upstream and see massive Double Falls, or Petroglyph Falls (for the fine petrogylphs, directly above, on Wabena Point). The East Summit of Snow can be seen 3600' above to the north, a sharp pyramid flanked by lower pyramids to either side, only 3000' above the waterfalls. It is an awesome, awesome place. I must camp there someday.

Petroglyph Falls, Royal Gorge, North Fk. American River
We made good time on down to Wabena Falls, glorious in sheer power, mystical in its circled theater of cliffs, aswarm with mist and rainbows. Ron gives it all of eighty feet; I think a little less. The geologist, Bronson, described it as 100 feet, in 1893. It is a big one.

Wabena Falls, North Fork American River
Then came Wabena Creek, rather high and fast, and with no easy crossings. We scouted up and we scouted down and then, dreading an actual ford of the icy stream, I essayed to jump from wet boulder to wet boulder; then one jump-boulder moved, and I landed none too neatly in the midst of the torrent. I discovered fording wasn't so bad after all, especially, wearing shoes.

We advanced a couple hundred yards to the site of our last-June's camp, and I wrung out my socks, and changed into shorts from my soaked blue jeans. Then we were off again, eager to take on the rough section below Wabena, with its many talus slides, culminating in the Big Talus.

Talus slope
The Big Talus is a remarkable geological curiosity. It covers an area of somewhat more than a quarter-mile square, and is made of large angular boulders, dark with the lichen of ages. The slide appears to have formed in one cataclysmic event, perhaps several thousand years ago, originating on the side of Snow Mountain, and sweeping across the North Fork and up the south canyon wall, to a point about 400' above the river.

In this part of the canyon—the lower, western part of the Royal Gorge—there are even larger talus slides, draping the sides of Snow Mountain, gigantic cones a thousand feet high, all Holocene in age, that is, more recent than the last glaciation, which ended about 12,000 years ago. The talus comes right to river level, tho often screened there by a line of trees, White Alders, Bigleaf Maples, Cottonwoods, Douglas Fir, and Incense Cedar. It is a strange thing (or is it 'not-strange'?), that the entire North Fork sinks below ground over this reach of canyon, with its giant talus cones, in the summer.

The Route stays high at first, then drops to a long run at river level, before the gravel bars pinch out at a forested bluff and one climbs into the Big Talus. There are ancient cairns of rock marking a part of the Route over the Big Talus; the cairns lead one straight up the slide, and then seem to end. Last year, we had crossed this sea of talus in a long traverse; today, we "followed the cairns" as it were, and continued straight up the boulder-field, which steepens towards the top, and we bore west in a final climbing traverse and entered the mixed oak and coniferous forest on top.

There we found a well-defined trail, one we had suspected to exist since last June, and we followed its level course west to an area of broad terraces with an old cabin site, where the trail up the right bank of Wildcat Canyon creek is met. This we followed down towards the confluence with the North Fork and found, as I recall, a log to cross on.

Ron and I are tempted to formally include the trail-up-Wildcat-Canyon and the trail-across-the-top-of-the-Big-Talus and the rock-hop straight down past the cairns, in the Route.

The right bank trail reappears on the west side of Wildcat and makes easy going down to Sailor Canyon, where we crossed and continued west, aiming for New York Canyon. We were now on the North Fork American River Trail. A sign indicated Mumford Bar to be eight miles away, downstream. The sun was lowering in the west, and a mellow light struck into the deep woods, and it was a perfectly lovely time to be out on the trail, somewhat later than usual. It had been a long hard day. We crossed New York Canyon without difficulty and, about three hundred yards beyond, made camp in a small meadowy area with an old cabin site.

I managed to sleep to at least five in the morning, and built the fire and drank coffee. In a few hours we left our packs in camp, our food hung from a tree, and started up New York Canyon towards the Big Waterfall, 560 feet high, which hides there, almost unknown, and rarely seen.

At first an old trail from the mining days makes for quick progress south and up the west side of the canyon, but soon steep climbs are required, on game trails or no trails, and it is a bit of a tough scramble to make that more than one mile, and about 600 feet of elevation, needed to reach the confluence of the East and West forks of New York Canyon. There, the upper few hundred feet of the Big Waterfall were in view, somewhat disappointing, for the flow had diminished to early-summer levels. I have never seen these falls when the creek was truly big.

We crossed the West Fork, pausing to admire the lowest of its many waterfalls, a twin falls, maybe sixty feet high, and struck a game trail leading steeply up onto the dividing ridge. Chert of the Shoo Fly Complex of metasediments dominates this divide; a kind of dome of chert stood several hundred feet above us. This fine-grained quartzose rock was often used for arrowheads by the Indians of this area. There is good chert and bad chert when it comes to arrowheads, and my guess is, the New York Canyon chert is bad chert.

Our game trail led us higher and closer and closer to the Big Waterfall. The trail led onto a sloping ledge of rock with very steep ground below; and the sloping ledge was peculiarly free of moss and lichen, where the trail would cross. We crossed, turned a corner, and behold, there it was: the neatest little bear bed I have seen. This very spring the bear, a young bear, perhaps, had renovated an old bear bed by chomping off branchlets of Canyon Live Oak and carefully arranging them around the edge and floor of the bed.

Either that, or the Emperor of All Vultures, with a size befitting his rank, had nested there.

We admired the nest and then just beyond saw an even nastier ledge, sloping both away from the cliff and down, this ledge not clean and bare but strewn with dirt and small rocks, all well-scuffed by our young bear. So we ventured along, trusting to the bear as it were, and soon arrived at a most amazing viewpoint, directly at the base of the Big Waterfall, or rather, one 30-foot waterfall below the big one. The late-morning sun hung above the cliff near the waterfall, making for difficult photography. A cloud of boiling mist alternately billowed out into the sun-beamed abyss from the top of the falls, or was blown back into the East Fork gorge above the falls. Quite an amazing place. We rested and scrambled about a little and then turned down the canyon towards camp, striving to connect bits and pieces of game trails and human trails into one continuous New York Canyon Waterfalls Route.

After lunch we broke camp, climbed to the main trail, and sauntered two easy miles down to Bluff Camp. Along the way, Big Granite Creek makes raging giant cascades, across the canyon to the north, and just above its confluence with the North Fork—cascades which later in the year will subside into two distinct waterfalls. Then, a mile further, and but a little east of the side trail leading down to Bluff Camp, is the best view of a large, perhaps 200-foot waterfall across the canyon on Big Valley Creek. Big Valley Bluff soars around 3500' above the North Fork, just west of the creek.

Bluff Camp is over two hundred feet below the level of the North Fork American River Trail (which is sometimes called the American River Trail). It is a good-sized flat forested with Canyon Live Oaks, about thirty feet above river level, interesting in that it is not a glacial outwash terrace, but a bedrock terrace, called a strath terrace. There are old cabin sites here which may date to the Gold Rush, or as late as the Depression, maybe even later. The river flows through an inner gorge beside the strath terrace, and on the terrace itself there are wide areas of bare rock, with small rock ridges rounded and polished by the river as the outwash plain in this area was eroded slowly away, ten thousand years ago or so.

Between the ridges are tiny lawns and wildflower gardens and some springs. The gorge there is amazing, cut sheer-walled into the metasandstones of the Shoo Fly Complex, here and there seamed with slate or with chert, and threaded every which way by quartz veins. Big Valley Creek enters the North Fork at one sharp bend within the gorge.

It would be nice to try to ascend Big Valley canyon to the big waterfall. All of the side canyons along this part of the North Fork (Palisade, Cirque, Wabena, Wildcat, Sailor, New York, Big Granite, and Big Valley) are rich in waterfalls, some quite difficult to reach, due to the many cliffs and gorges.

The garbage noted last year at Bluff Camp remains; my noble intentions of getting some friends together and hauling it all out were never realized. A bear had strewn the shoes and sleeping bags and raft and stuff around, and so I picked it all up and piled it, again. Maybe this summer. Haul it up the Beacroft Trail. There's some more up near New York Canyon, along the main trail.

The exertions of the past two days caught up with me and nothing seemed so nice as to just lay around. An old iron bedsprings was set at the river edge of the grove, and I stretched out there on my sleeping pad and bag and dreamed good dreams.

Russell Towle, down for a nap at Bluff Camp.
Photo by Ron Gould
Another cheery campfire, more simple food, and I was ready for bed, and slept until six the next morning, rising to find a cloudy sky and fog wreathing the cliffs a few thousand feet above. Was this the Storm forecast to rain on our parade? But after a time the clouds thinned and sun began to filter into the canyon. We shouldered our packs and set off for Mumford Bar.

A mile or so brought us to Tadpole Canyon and the Beacroft Trail, where a sign proclaimed us 2 1/4 miles above Mumford, and 4 1/4 miles below Sailor. Somehow the eight miles shrank to six. We reached Mumford Bar, and its old cabin of square-hewn cedar logs, around noon, and stopped for lunch. Here a third sign puts the distance up to Sailor Canyon at seven miles.

The climb out is long and tedious but the grade is gentle and the upper parts of the trail made for pleasant walking. Pleasant, and slow. Still, we reached the top around 3:00 p.m., only the upper quarter-mile of the trail covered in snow, and found the Foresthill-Soda Springs road almost bare. Ron's truck was less than half a mile down the road, and soon we were zooming slowly back to civilization. We took the back roads through Iowa Hill to soften the impending shock of traffic and people, and were rewarded by seeing a Bald Eagle try to steal a fish from a duck, at Sugar Pine Reservoir.

Such was a great, although too short, visit to the American River Canyon.