AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

This Trail May Be Closed Forever - Rady #3
Part of the Rady Can't Wait trip.

Having thoroughly enjoyed American Creek, I found myself both excited and apprehensive about the next leg of my journey. I was excited because Rady Creek was the reason I'd headed to Canada in the first place. I was apprehensive - I suppose - because I really wanted it to live up to the image I'd formed in my mind about how great it was going to be.

Looking back now, I was obviously over thinking things.

I'd heard about Rady Creek from Mike @POSTacoMike, who'd posted a video to TacomaWorld of a trip he'd taken to this special place just a few weeks earlier. Apparently, the trail was scheduled to be deactivated (on August 1, 2021), and the deactivation would make the road completely inaccessible to vehicular travel. I don't really know the ins-and-outs of the reasons behind the deactivation, though the Ministry of Forests, Lands, and Natural Resources lists the deactivation as a safety precaution due to instability of the road. As is often the case, there were plenty of folks who oppose the change, and had even started a petition to get the deactivation overturned. That petition is here (at least as of this writing), and if you feel that the reasoning behind it is solid, I believe anyone can sign it.

At first - after seeing the video - I thought there was no chance of exploring Rady Creek for myself, as it was already the tail end of August. But then, after reading the petition, I noticed an update:

Well, that extra information was music to my ears, and less than two weeks later - just before 3:00pm - I found myself at the trailhead, excited to see a trail that might be closed forever.

Just as I started up the trail, a group of three Jeeps were coming down.​

Saying hello to the Jeepers, they let me know that we were all lucky to have met where we did - the trail becoming extremely steep just past this spot. That sounded great to me, though having run it now, I'm not really sure what they were talking about - the trail didn't seem any steeper than the others I explored in the area.

Continuing up through the trees, whisps of smoke from the N51806 fire visible across Trout Lake.​

The infamous notice.​

Switchbacks.​

And more up.​

Unlike the tracks for Lavina Lookout and American Creek, track I had for Rady split near the top, and I decided to take steeper fork up the ridge, first. Less than 500 meters later, I popped out of the trees and got my first breathtaking view of the surrounding area.

Wow. I was quite excited at this point.​

Just look at that shelf road climbing up the other side of the bowl. And the trail winding around to the next bowl over.​

Any apprehension I'd felt leading up to this first view was replaced with an urgency to explore - to see what was around the next bend, or over the next hill. I made a decision right then that slowing down was the right approach, and that the solution to any problem of rushing was just to spend the night up here.

The fork I'd chosen continued east, down off of the ridge and into a bowl. It was just the first of three bowls that I'd visit, and I eagerly headed down the winding road.

My own (for the time being, anyway) private paradise.​

Not much further, I reached the end of the road. I'm not sure if this was always the terminus, or if the road used to continue further, but today a single track is all that continues on to the adjacent ridge. Curious, I thought I spotted a tailings pile through the trees, so I set off on foot until even the singe track petered out - the supposed tailings just a relatively consistent scree field on the far side of the bowl.

I headed back to the Tacoma, and retraced my path back to the fork in the road - noting a few possible camp spots along the way.

The left fork - which headed north, rather than east - skirted around the edge of a ridge. It quickly opened up to a second - middle - bowl, this one even more dramatic than the first.

The central bowl, with the shelf road, which I could see from the ridge that separated it from the south bowl.​

Here, a maze of roads led to no fewer than 5 little lakes, each of them surely seasonal and historically the result of melting ice. There was no ice - or even snow - this year, and I found myself wondering if the days of these lakes are numbered, the earth warming them out of existence.

One of several glassy surfaces I walked the perimeter of while I was here.​

But Rady Creek didn't stop here - there was more. The road continued on to the north, up and around the far ridge of the bowl and I wasn't just going to settle down without exploring everything this place had to offer. Because, as I'd discover as I caught a glimpse down into the northernmost bowl, things just kept getting better.

A most dramatic view to the east.​

The end of the road. Once again, only a single track carried on from this point.​

Looking west - to the head of Trout Lake - from the end of the road.​

Once again retracing my path, I navigated my way back to the northern bowl, where there were once again several forks leading to various mini-bowls and camp sites. None of them were occupied, and while it would be true to say that every site had tremendous views, there was one in particular that had caught my fancy as I'd come over the ridge from the center bowl.

Not the best camp site. Crazy, right?​

This one was pretty nice with the ridgeline towering across the bowl. But there can only be one winner.​

How about a spot with a view of the lake? Striking for sure, but not my favorite.​

And so, after exploring the roads and marking various coordinates on my map - perhaps a futile exercise if the trail is actually closed as proposed - I worked my way back to the spot that I'd call home for the next 16 hours. It was only 5:00pm, but I knew this was the place I wanted to pull out my chair and call it a day.

My spot.​

Parked on the edge - my trademark.​

Endless views.​

With camp settled and still several hours of daylight left, I did a little reading, a little rocking, and a little staring off into the distance. The entire time, a squirrel of some sort - I never actually saw it - chattered and chirped from a tree behind camp. Clearly, I was blocking his million-dollar view. Eventually, the sun got lower and lower in the sky, and the light changed enough to rouse me out of my chair to grab the camera again for a few shots.

Long shadows of evening.​

​

This place reminded me of Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains. Except you can't drive into those!​

Clouds on the horizon would prevent a colorful sunset, but I didn't care. In fact, I'd climbed into the tent to make myself a little more horizontal as I read my book, and I think I likely slept through what would have been the colorful time anyway. When I awoke, it was dark out, but still early - only 8:30pm or so, and I got ready for bed and snapped one photo that I was sure would be a reject before climbing into the tent for good.

​

This came out so much better than I thought it would. I'd hoped to capture the beam affect in the smoky air, but my naked eye couldn't pick up any light on the hillside across the bowl, and I really like how the selective yellow light from the Diode Dynamics SS3 Pro fog lights (install) is easily differentiated from the much whiter light from the HID-modified Hella 700s (install).​

This was easily the best night of sleep I got all trip. In fact, I awoke only once - at 10:18pm - feeling thoroughly rested, as though I'd slept all night - only to realize that I could go back to sleep for another full night of shut eye. It was such a nice realization, it almost felt like a gift!

When morning did roll around, I was once again up before the sun, so I could enjoy its entry over the horizon. Initially, as the light got slowly brighter, I found myself wandering the same general area that I'd been taking photos through the afternoon and evening, the only difference being lighting for many of the shots.

Good morning sun, I see you coming!​

At some point though, I looked up and to my left (south) and thought, "Why haven't I climbed the ridge and looked over into the center bowl?" So I gabbed the camera and tripod and set off on the couple kilometer (mile or so) journey.

I didn't make it too far from camp before I started taking more photos.​

Being on the ridge, I had 360-degree views. Here, Trout Lake and the Selkirk Mountains to the west.​

The center bowl. You can make out another lucky camper who set up at one of the lakes.​

My bowl, the Tacoma looking smaller than ever, barely visible from here.​

I probably spent an hour on the ridge, and it might have been my favorite hour of the trip. Watching the light change in the sky and across the mountains was fabulous, and it seemed I was taking the same photos every few minutes because, "OMG, look at it now!"

The tip of my ridge.​

Sun hitting the top of the northern (my) bowl.​

Getting up early turned out to be great. It meant that I had the time to soak in the sunrise, and still have a relatively early departure for what I knew would be a reasonably long day with a lot of miles to cover. So, I headed back down to camp and ate my breakfast as the sun continued to spill further and further into the nooks and crannies of Rady Creek.

Back to camp.​

The perfect place to eat a heaping bowl of Cheerios.​

Ms. Grouse says, "Excuse me, can you spare any Cheerios?"​

Soon enough, the dishes were done and tent was stowed, and I headed back around the ridge to the center bowl.

I love switchbacks, since they usually mean steep hillsides and great views.​

No sun in the center bowl, yet.​

Before leaving for good, I still had one more road to investigate - the shelf road I'd seen the day before - and boy, it was a doozy. You see, the road wound its way up the scree field - nearly to the saddle at the top of the bowl - and then faded into oblivion. It was as though whoever had constructed the road simply stopped a hundred meters from the destination. And by stopped, I mean literally, stopped. There was no pad to turn around or mine workings to be seen. Perhaps the road was worked this far and then snow blew in, shutting the operation down - never to be started again.

Up we go.​

Width of the road wasn't an issue, at least for me.​

The view from above the shelf road. I can't argue with this having been a pretty mine site to work!​

It's spring up here. And also almost winter again.​

Of course, the lack of turnaround at the top of the road meant that the only way down was in reverse. Luckily, I was reasonable sure this was going to be the case before I even started up the road - having seen it from several angles, including from above when I'd hiked the ridge - so I made sure on the way up that I wouldn't feel like it was too narrow backing down.

I had an audience as I navigated in reverse. I'm sure they were waiting for me to dramatically roll down the hill, spilling Cheerios everywhere.​

Upon reaching the main road, it was finally time to say my goodbyes to Rady Creek. It'd lived up to my expectations and then some, and I was extremely glad to have gotten here before it is (or may be) closed. As I tracked my way down the mountainside, I paused only a few more times for final photos, my mind working through options for the remainder of the day.

Winding my way out.​

A final view as I entered the tree line.​

I popped out at Trout Lake, and BC-31, just before 9:00am. And, after a quick consultation with my nearly-useless offline GPS maps, I made a decision that would ultimately waste almost my entire day.

But that's going to have to wait for next time and the conclusion of my Canadian adventure!

 

This looks like it would make an amazing destination for an adventure next summer...

If it is still accessible.

 

I would love that. There is so much to explore up that direction, I think we could do a week or two and have months left to see. I think early summer might be nice, to avoid smoke as much as possible.

 

Hmm... Not sure on that timing. Seems like August is the time. Otherwise in those higher elevations we'll run into snow still if it's any earlier.

 

There’s enough here, even if Rady does get closed. And we need to run them. Cause if the bastards close Rady, they’ll close the rest too. These enviro groups are too well funded, and there’s govt backing in them. But there are major lawsuits happening. I pray it’s enough to get some crooked bureaucrats fired.

 

And it’s usually a late July trip. The snow hangs in until august sometimes.

 

I hope that public awareness will make the difference here. Crooked bureaucrats will shy away from the publicity. Dishonesty doesn't do well in the light of day.

 

Amen to that!

 

Did ya sign the petition? I did.

 

Lol I don't know where this is, but I'll sign a petition! Definitely want to go there!

 

Great trip report as usual Dan!

One issue I wanted you to know about, every time I clicked on a pic to full size it it would upsize no problem. On the click to reduce it, it would hang for 10-15 seconds or crash the webpage and reload. Not sure if it’s just me or something in the picture settings/size. Did it on an iPad and iPhone 12.

Can’t wait for the next chapter!

 

You mean here on TW? I have no control over whatever magic they do on the site for the photo resizing. I'd expect that it happens to you on every page on the site.

 

Yes here on TW. Hasn’t happened before on your thread, that’s why I thought it may have been an upload setting that changed. No biggie, I’ll just go to thousand website for full size goodness.

 

Poor Planning Over Pettipiece Pass - Rady #4
Part of the Rady Can't Wait trip.

Having thoroughly enjoyed my time on Rady Creek FSR, I popped out at Trout Lake, just before 9:00am. As had been the case the last couple of days, BC-31 here was smoothly graded dirt, and driving was a breeze. I really wanted to get down to the lake - a few hundred meters to my west and maybe a hundred meters down - so when I saw an offshoot, I took it.

As far as I could tell, the road I ended up on was the old highway to Galena Bay. Having fallen into disrepair since the new road - higher up the hillside - was constructed, the old ferry signs still stood along the roadside, vines slowly consuming them over time.

I never actually made it to the lake's edge, as the road continued to parallel the lake, and became impassable after about a kilometer. Still, a nice view compared to the current highway.​

Back on the main road, it wasn't long before I reached the head of the lake and the little rural community of Trout Lake City. An old silver mining town that saw its heyday at the turn of the 20th century, the dirt turned to asphalt and I decided to air up. With several hours of the hard stuff in front of me, it'd make travel a bit easier on the Tacoma and save a little gas - which is not cheap in Canada - as well!

​

While waiting for my compressor to air up the tires, I checked out some old mining relics.​

Back at full pressure, I pushed onwards, the highway curving around to the southwest and towards the Upper Arrow Lake Ferry terminal in Galena Bay. I have to say, I was just as excited to take this second inland ferry as I had been for the first, and I was once again happily surprised to find them still running on the summer schedule - meaning I only had to wait a few minutes before boarding.

Here comes the ferry.​

Final approach.​

Off we go - a 20-minute journey to Shelter Bay.​

It was after I disembarked the ferry that I had a decision to make. In planning my trip, I'd hoped that I'd be able to take BC-23 north through Revelstoke to the Mica Creek Dam, and then break off from the highway on my return route to climb up and over Pettipiece Pass - a trail that Mike @POSTacoMike had suggested - ultimately making my way towards Vancouver.

I'll be the first to admit, I'm not immune to route planning snafus.​

And so, confident in the fact that if - as I was getting up towards Mica Creek, I could take the turn to Pettipiece Pass if I was running short on time, I made a quick stop in Revelstoke, and continued on my way.

​

Several towns in Canada seem to have really photogenic entrance signs. Banff was another that I recall.​

As I pulled out of Revelstoke, I was almost immediately greeted with a flagger in the road. Blasting and slope stabilization at the Revelstoke Dam meant that the highway was only open to traffic for a few minutes every hour, on the half-hour, so I had about 15 minutes to wait before I could proceed. Luckily, there was a viewpoint of the dam nearby, so I wandered over to take a look.

The viewpoint needs a bit of pruning, only half the dam is visible these days.​

Soon enough I was back on my way - a little worried if I'd have enough time to do everything I wanted, but still enjoying the leisurely 90-100 kmh (~60mph) speed limits of the highway as it wound its way along the eastern edge of what used to be the Columbia River, and is now Lake Revelstoke.

A workhorse of the Pacific Northwest.​

No need to speed through this beautiful land.​

Lake Revelstoke poked through now and then, a deep aqua mirror over 130km long.​

It'd been 12:30pm when the highway had opened up to traffic, and so it was nearly an hour later when I found myself nearing the place where I'd planned to head west after checking out the Mica Creek Dam. The problem - obviously - was that there was an enormous lake between me and my trail, and last I checked, I wasn't driving a boat.

I started to get worried.

Initially, I figured that I was just missing something - one of the side roads must connect. After all, my map (the screenshot above), didn't show any "lake" blocking my path. Of course, on closer inspection, it doesn't show any lakes or waterways - a bit of an oversight, I'd say.

When I realized that I'd probably made a several-hour routing error, I also realized that "fixing" it was going to be time-sensitive. Because, remember, the highway was only open every hour, on the half-hour, to let traffic through. It was 1:28pm - so I'd driven almost exactly an hour - and I needed to head back now if I was going to make the 2:30pm opening.

But I wasn't quite ready to give up my search, and I continued north on BC-23 for another 5 minutes or so, checking out a final few dead ends. This only led to my time crunch on the return trip, and I soon found myself rushing back - the speed limit but a suggestion as I pushed the speedometer to the larger 90 I had on the gauge. What's the difference between kmh and mph anyway, amiright?

Luckily, I made it - just in the nick of time - and followed the flow of traffic through the work zone before continuing another 90 minutes west on the Trans-Canada Highway to the opposite end of the Pettipiece Pass trail, where I had another decision to make - to run Pettipiece Pass, or to continue west to another trail I'd planned to run - and camp on for my final night of the trip - after Pettipiece?

Given that it was now only a few minutes before 4:00pm, I realized that the only reasonable decision was to scrap my original plans and go check out Pettipiece. Doing so would allow me to drive it in the daylight (one direction), which would surely be better than driving four hours west to a trail that I'd run entirely in the dark.

After a series of bad routing decisions, I'm happy to say, this was one where I made a great call.

There's so much about this picture that screams, "Welcome to the trail!" ...or something.​

To get to Pettipiece, I first had some 60 km of nicely graded logging road to travel. Mostly through the trees, the sweeping curves and smooth surface made for a fun time, my speeds creeping up higher than they probably should have.

Now and then, an old logging platform or clearing would give me a glimpse of where I was headed.​

Orange dandelions.​

​

Some fantastic mountains rose up around me.​

Look at that raging waterfall - a couple hundred meters tall, at least!​

Eventually, I covered the kilometers necessary to get to the trail leading up to the pass, and as I turned off the main route, I figured now was as good a time as any to air down. As I was, I snapped a photo that gives me hope for Rady Creek FSR - after all, if this trail is deactivated - and yet still travelable - perhaps the same will be true for Rady in the future.

Knowing little about deactivation of Canadian trails, it must not *always* mean destruction.​

The Pettipiece Trail, it turns out, was - or is, I suppose - a power line road. Following the high-voltage lines across the pass, it must have originally been built for their installation, though being deactivated now, maintenance must be via helicopter. At any rate, I'm not generally a fan of power line roads, but this the scenery of this one was nice enough to make me thankful that it'd been built in the first place, even if the crackling of static electricity was omnipresent overhead.

A cleared corridor for monstrous lines.​

Afternoon clouds rolled in, and added some drama to the scene.​

Unlike Rady Creek FSR and American Creek Trail before it, one never really got out of the trees on this trail. Instead, the road snaked through the landscape, crossing several creeks as it slowly climbed to the pass. The clouds made for some nice lower-light situations where I could play around with exposure and get some cool ephemeral shots.

A smaller creek.​

A larger creek.​

An hour or so after turning off onto the Pettipiece Pass trail, I reached its halfway point and namesake of the route. Though still in the trees, numerous lakes dotted the landscape and views above the tree line were splendid. The colors - spring, summer, and fall all mixed together - made for dramatically saturated views in almost every direction.

Just look at those colors!​

A little further on, the road looped around a larger lake - this one, I believe sharing its name with the pass - and the calm evening made for a glassy reflection of the surrounding mountains and woods.

Nature's mirror.​

Running right alongside.​

At this point I was headed back down the other side of the pass - alpine lakes and streams making for a visually stunning drive. Any reservations I'd had earlier about running this trail - rather than continuing west - were gone, and I was thoroughly enjoying the anticipation that came with every turn in the road. It was, however, getting late and I knew that I definitely wanted to eat dinner before it got dark; I find that clean-up, especially, is easier when headlamp is not required. But I'd come all this way and wanted to reach the end of the trail - directly across Lake Revelstoke from where I'd been earlier in the day - so I pushed the skinny pedal a bit more and eventually found my destination.

A nice reward after such a crazy day.​

My get-to-the-end-of-the-trail urge satisfied, I headed back up with 15 minutes or so until the sun dipped below the horizon. I figured I had an hour of light after that for cooking and cleaning, so set my sights on the last lake I'd passed as I'd made my descent. There'd been a nice little camp site along the shore that would be the perfect spot to enjoy the last of the evening light before heading back to the highway under the cover of darkness.

As I climbed back up the west side of the pass, a bit of rain over Lake Revelstoke and some sun streaming under the clouds, made for a colorful - if small - rainbow.​

Arriving at my dinner spot, I'd hoped that I could get dinner made and then enjoy it with a sunset light show, looking out over the lake. Just in case - and so I wouldn't have to eat and take pictures at the same time - I set up the camera to snap photos every 30 seconds and settled down for a relaxing meal.

Dinner and a light show, there's not much better!​

My timing couldn't have been better. Plenty of light to cook, eat, and clean up, but by the time I reached Pettipiece Lake on my return drive, it was fully dark outside. My new Diode Dynamics SS3 fog lights did a great job of illuminating the trail in front of me, and the drive back to the highway - while slower than the drive out - was enjoyable.

The Following Morning...

By 10:00am the next day - after getting another great night of sleep at a spot I found along the way - I'd arrived in Vancouver where I'd arranged to pick up a few more Scepter Military Fuel jerry cans. These are super hard to find in the states, but much superior to any metal can, which makes me lucky to live so close to Vancouver where I can pick them up (relatively) easily.

And then, just before noon, on September 11, I crossed into the United States in Blaine. The flags flying at half mast, and the display on the port of entry stating "United We Stand," it was good to be home.

A meaningful day to head home, twenty years later.​

A warm welcome to all. Perhaps a reminder to society these days.​

In all, my trip had been everything I'd hoped for and more. The sights I'd seen along the way were stunning, and the experiences - with inland ferries, poor route planning, and fun trails - were ones I'll remember for sure. But the best part of this trip - even as I think about it now - were the interactions it allowed with our neighbors to the north. Everyone I'd met had been welcoming and warm. Happy to lend a hand in any way possible. That's what I'll treasure the longest this time - it's a mentality that I think we need more of in our world these days, and I'll be happy to contribute.

And Mike - thanks for all the help and suggestions!

 

This area reminds me of the Copper Basin above Jarbidge.

Sorta kinda, in terms of color.

 

High Hopes, Low Expectations - Aftermath #1
Part of the Aftermath (Sep 2021) trip.

Note: Several places in this story are redacted. If you recognize any of the places shown in the photos, please help to keep them special by not mentioning their names or locations.

The last couple years have been tough on the forests of California. According to data from the California Department of Forestry and Fire Protection, 2020 saw more burned acreage - 4.4 million acres - than any recorded year in history. More than 2.5 million additional acres have already burned as of September 30, 2021.

Two of these fires - the 2020 ***** Fire, and the 2021 Dixie Fire - had the largest impact on me, the ***** Fire burning through my Dad's favorite camp site, and the Dixie Fire nearly destroying the homes of two of my Uncles (and their families).

These fires are, of course, due to several compounding factors. An unprecedented lack of water has left more than 97% of the state in drought, with more than 20% of the entire western region in severe drought - significantly higher than any other time in the last 20 years.

​

Drought data for the U.S. West from 2000-2021, NDMC, NOAA.​

Additionally, forests have become increasingly dense. For years, forest management practices focused on extinguishing fires in order to protect living trees. Over that time, the encroachment of structures into the forests meant that - even as management policies adapted to acknowledge the benefit of fires to a healthy forest - we often continued to fight fires in order to save those poorly located structures.

As if an almost total lack of water wasn't enough stress on the trees, overly dense forests have meant less water for each tree, weakening them further and making them even more susceptible to beetles. Bark beetles, are native to the United States, reproducing in the inner bark of trees, spreading a fungus that eventually kills the entire tree. Massive outbreaks of beetles since the mid-2000s have resulted in the death of millions of acres of forests.

In an unburned forest, brown-needled pines are a sure sign of beetles.​

Of course, the combination of record drought, closely packed trees, and more dead wood that we've ever had in history, means that the fires that do break out are larger and more intense.

It was with a sinking feeling that my family watched the ***** Fire burn through a favorite camp site - one my dad has visited hundreds of times over the last 40+ years - as it consumed 379,895 acres between September 4 and December 24, 2020. The surrounding area has been closed ever since due to cleanup efforts and unsafe conditions.

Even after that experience, none of us expected that the 2021 would hit even closer to home. The Dixie Fire - started on July 13, now 94% contained as I write this at the end of September - began heading in the direction of family members homes. On August 21, fire encircled the property. Ultimately their residence survived - thanks to extensive preparation they'd performed over the years, the hard work of dozens of fire fighters with heavy equipment, and a lot of luck - but not before the fire burned through over 963,276 acres. Several hundred homes - and entire towns - have been lost.

And so, when my Dad and I learned that the National Forests of northern California were finally opening up on September 14, 2021, we immediately made plans to pack up our chainsaws and do our best to reach his camp site. Regardless of our success, we wanted to see the situation with our own eyes. And, at the same time, I also decided to make my way home through the heart of the forest burned by the Dixie Fire.

Day 1

I pulled out of the garage just before 10:00pm, opting to start the 19-hour drive in the dark and cover as much ground as I could through the night. Not only would this result in less traffic, but since Pops was only going to be able to camp for one night, it would allow me to arrive with enough time to hang out a little bit. Or - perhaps more likely - spend a few hours of quality labor, working with him to clear the road to camp!

It was 3:40pm when I initially headed up into the ****** National Forest along ******** Road.

Anticipation and trepidation.​

​

A few weeks earlier, the KNP Complex had started up in Sequoia National Forest, and it was quite smoky as I looked out over the valley.​

It was along ******** Road that I got my first look at the destruction. Entire hillsides that had once been covered in trees and vegetation were but blackened skeletons of their old selves. Stumps - of once-grand oaks and pines - reduced to charcoal as the fire burned through.

Not a good sign, but likely representative of what was to come.​

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Charred remains.​

As I climbed in elevation, the oak giving way to pine, my views of the valley faded and views into the mountains opened up before me. Shocking views, really - so different than they'd been the last time I'd come this way.

My view of ************ the last time I'd been through.​

My view, from the same spot, today.​

The local scenery was no less dramatic - some trees entirely devoid of needles; others clearly dead but still maintaining their previous form, for now.

Yesterday's soldiers.​

Eventually I found the turn I was looking for - now devoid of any signage - singed post bases now the only indication that something of interest may have existed this way. To my delight, however, there was no sign of Pops, and I could see his tire tracks leading down the trail.

At least he'd had a chance to clear a little bit before I'd arrived!​

Now on dirt, the view eerily similar to what I'd seen so far.​

Truck-sized trees, no match for the inferno.​

As I progressed further and further along the trail, it was clear that the good folks from the USFS (and anyone else assisting in the cleanup) had been hard at work. Trees - some with diameters of 6 feet or more had been cut and cleared off the road, and the road itself was in significantly better condition than I've seen it in the past.

And then, a quarter mile from camp, I ran across Pops, out scouting the botanical and aviary situation in this new landscape. We said quick hellos, and he headed cross-country as I traversed the last few thousand feet to camp and pulled my truck in what has become "reserved parking," whenever I am around.

Evening light on ************, rising up in the distance.​

My spot. Still breathtaking.​

By and large, the immediate area around camp had been spared the total destruction that I'd seen on the way in. The site - which is nestled into the edge of the treeline as it transitions to granite outcroppings - was in relatively great shape. The fire ring was still there, several of the trees along the treeline were only partially scorched, and nearly all of the trees that dotted the granite slopes were completely unscathed!

As I marveled at how lucky we were, Pops wandered into camp and we shared our wonder at how much better the situation was compared to what we'd pictured in our heads. The sense of relief was, I think, a huge weight off his shoulders, and something we'd been wondering about for nearly a year.

We spent the rest of the evening in our camp chairs, around the fire ring. Naturally, there was no warmth from the rocky structure - fire bans were still in full effect, and sitting in the middle of a burnt forest, having a fire just didn't seem appropriate anyway. Still, the conversation was lively as we discussed all matter of topics as the sun set and the moon began its journey across the sky.

​

I wondered if I could get a photo similar to the one I'd recently gotten on a trip to Rady .​

Having been awake for 24 hours straight, I bid Pops good night around 10:00pm and quickly fell asleep to a light breeze and the anticipation of what tomorrow would bring as we investigated the area around camp.

I pulled myself out of bed at 4:00am for a quick photo of the brightest stars, a full moon and smoky skies obscuring the rest.​

Day 2

It was 8:00am when I climbed out of bed. I was sure that Dad had been up for an hour or more - birding - and was surprised to catch him walking down the trail from his bed-down location as I was capturing the morning sun on ************. As quietly as I could, I shuffled myself behind a few trees and began stalking him - like the ninja I am not.

Looking quite smoky this morning.​

Binos come in handy not just for birding, but also to see if your kids are still in their tents!​

Having discovered the tent was empty, even Pops couldn't resist a truck shot.​

Remaining out of sight, I skirted a few larger rocks to continue my stealthy stalking. Of course, I was lucky that Dad didn't have his hearing aids in - it's nearly impossible to be quiet when walking on disintegrating granite, the crunch of even the softest footstep, enough to alert those around to my presence.

A burned mosaic on the slopes of Sleeping Bear.​

Birds on the brain.​

Still so much green right around camp!​

The smoke was a constant reminder that danger remains just a lightning strike away.​

My no-ninja skills only lasted about 10 minutes - a random glance in my direction, and I was spotted. I headed over to say good morning, and we decided that there was no better time to take a walkaround than the present. Our route would take us down to the creek - and to a swimming hole that offers a cool respite on hot, dusty, summer afternoons.

This year however, things were... a little different. First of all - and not totally uncommon for this time of year - the water level was quite low. More troubling - though I suppose not surprising as I think about it more - was the color of the water. It wasn't the clear, seemingly clean, water that we were used to - nope, it was an orange murky mess, the result of all the charred debris that'd washed down through the winter and spring.

Not much water down there.​

The swimming hole has definitely seen better days. Not too appealing this year. And shallow!​

Usually, there's very little silt, and the rocks aren't covered in orange algae.​

The culprit. All around the banks, charcoal nestled into the river rock. Washed into the creek after the fire, and carried down in the high waters of winter, it will take years for this creek to recover.​

After winding our way down and around the swimming hole, we started making our way back to camp. Eager to explore a bit more, I left Pops to his birding and I went back to grab some water, a granola bar, and a bit more camera gear for a hike to a nearby ridge.

Little did I know - because we couldn't really tell from camp - but my experience hiking up to Lost Knife Knoll was going to be an eye-opening one to say the least!

The Hike

As I set out across the ******* Bridge, things still looked relatively normal. Sure, there were some dead trees, and many of the trunks were black with soot, but in general, the granitic ground in the area around the bridge meant that many of the trees had survived. Coupled with the condition in which we found camp, I figured the rest of the hike would be similar.

******* Bridge, unscathed by the fire.​

You can see here again, how dark the bottom of the creek bed is due to all the charcoal in the water.​

When I got to the other side of the bridge, my first surprise was only a few steps away. This is a reasonably popular trail, but having been closed for nearly a year, and with the USFS attention turned to more immediate and pressing routes to get open, it was in complete disrepair. Grasses and shrubs grew up in the path, and of course downed, charred, trees were everywhere!

Usually a well-beaten path, nature has reclaimed the trail quickly.​

Soon, I was entering the *********** Wilderness.​

As I transitioned from granitic surfaces to more forested ground, so too did the experience above ground change. More and more trees - perhaps even the majority of them - were burned. Some, to a crisp. I was, quite literally, walking through a graveyard.

A once tall and majestic pine, now scarred and barren.​

As I walked through the brown, I quickly realized how lucky we really were that the camp site - and area around it - was still relatively green.​

Even in all the destruction, life was poking through - in this case, growing out of a downed tree.​

To reach Lost Knife Knoll requires a cross-country trek up a several-hundred-vertical-feet hillside after a relatively leisurely stroll along the access trail from the bridge. And, ever since the first time Dad and one of his buddies took me to this place of theirs - I've used an ancient juniper that they pointed out on the side of the trail to indicate where to veer off. In fact, it had become one of my favorite landmarks - one I always look forward to when I visit.

Dad standing at the juniper in 2018 on our Somewhere in the s trip.​

Unfortunately - though perhaps not surprisingly - the juniper waypoint is no more. Clearly caught in the heat of the fire, it burned thoroughly enough to collapse, and likely continued to burn even once it'd fallen.

A sad sight, as nature reclaims this beautiful tree.​

After a short pause, I continued up the slope. Here, the impact of the fire was significant - much more so than it'd appeared from camp. Almost all of the underbrush had been burned, and the trees were in tough shape to put it nicely.

Fire got into the canopy, but the lowest 10 feet were nearly unscathed.​

The view behind me as I climbed toward the ridge.​

A well-known rock - previously covered by manzanita but still the easiest route up - is now much easier to climb, and only one of several paths on the way to the ridge.​

Things changed again as I reached the ridge and Lost Knife Knoll. While the hillside I'd hike had been decimated by fire, the fire line seemed to peter out before making it too far down the other side and into the *********** watershed. Of course, smoke from the nearby KNP Complex was visible here too as well, but the views were generally familiar to previous years.

The ridgeline acted as a natural fire break.​

A favorite tree under which many-a-lunch has been eaten.​

It continued to get smokier throughout the day.​

Of course, I made sure that the lost knife was safe under its stone shelter.​

Besides the fantastic views, one other feature of Lost Knife Knoll is that it's high enough to provide cellular reception - something unavailable in camp. As such, I took a few minutes to check my email, text @mrs.turbodb, and firm up my plans for my return trip through some of the forest burned by the Dixie Fire. And then, it was back down the hill to camp so I could relate my findings to Pops.

My view as I started back down the hillside - a mosaic of burned trees.​

As long as I've been coming to Lost Knife Knoll, there's been a cool decaying tree trunk, its bright orange contrasting with the surrounding green.​

No longer.​

The trip back to camp was significantly quicker than the trip out, since there were many fewer photo stops along the way, and soon I was enjoying the splendid view from my reserved spot as I dropped the camera and my pack into the cab of the Tacoma. I decided that I ought to pack everything up and then head into the camp site proper where I could make lunch and lounge around a bit in the shade before Dad had to head home - at which point I planned to investigate the condition of the road to ****** Mountain.

Wows me every time.​

Two trucks in camp for lunch.​

Two bozos in camp for lunch.​

It was somewhere around 4:00pm when everything finally got packed away and we headed back up the trail. Dad was nice enough to let me lead the way, "So you can take care of any trees that fell over the road while we were here."

Heading out.​

Our final view of ************.​

We'd been in camp for only 24 hours, but I think we were both relieved and excited to know that the site will - hopefully - be both visit-able and enjoyable for years to come.

 

Enjoying the writeups as always... sad to see more photos of the ongoing destruction of our public lands in the West, but glad you managed to find such clear skies for your visit.

Anyway, having figured out (I think) where you took some cool bridge photographs in my state of residence (again, I think, and seemingly far from *******) that you posted on my thread, let me now spam yours with photos from a recent trip to your state of residence. No destruction here, but also no chance I'll write this one up, as there was no Tacoma involved, but boy do I love visiting the PNW for any reason at all, even if briefly!


Not as comfy, but a hell of a lot faster than a Tacoma...


Didn't bring the flying camera this time, but I sure regretted it! I was staying within flying distance of the the town's most distinctive attraction, and so wish I could have contributed to Seattle's rich heritage of idiots crashing their drones into the space needle!


We went to a museum.


And I finally caught the underground tour -- our guide was awesome!


Rode back to socal with a friend. I bet you've seen this view more times than I have, but it never disappoints.


As you know, I like bridges. This one isn't particularly beautiful, but it is very complicated -- so many parts!


Not only does it carry lots of cars and trucks, and lets big boats pass beneath, but there are all sorts of walkways for people, and even lights for airplanes.


They really thought of everything.

Sorry, I wanted to post some of these photos somewhere. Hopefully they are welcome here... Cheers!

 

Priceless times with dad. Great shots as always.

 

Fantastic, they are more than welcome here! Also, I'm headed back to your state of providence on Wednesday (through Sat/Sunday), I hope. To your nemesis mountain and the surrounding area along the state line there. I'm sure it'll be snowed in and not summitable, but I think much of the surrounding area will be passable, and there are some mines calling my name. Plus, I figure I can visit again next year - perhaps meeting up with a silver Tacoma for the ascent.

Thanks! Was a great time with him, and I certainly can't wait to get back!

 

We might be within radio range for a day or two then... if I manage to put this stupid truck back together, that is. So keep your ears on! (Or, whatever the CB lingo is, g̶o̶o̶d̶ ̶b̶u̶d̶d̶y̶ fellow humanoid comrade!). Breaker ten-four -- over and out.

Edited for PG compliance thanks to @CowboyTaco below. Let me proclaim my continued dismay and objection to the appropriation and adulteration of our language by Millennials and their "Urban Dictionary," while also acknowledging my own personal failure to stop using profanity, and sometimes most regrettably, using deeply engrained derogatory terms in everyday conversation. For f̶u̶c̶k̶'̶s̶ goodness sake, I'm doing the best I can.

Edit 2: Ducking dog dangit, I did it again. Sorry folks.