Day 25: Yolla Bollys in June - the Oz of northern California

[Erin]:

We walked up the road, past ponderosa pine plantations. The trees were like corn, all the same height and without gaps between them. When we got to the Yolla Bolly entrance at West Low Gap, the sign for the wilderness on a cattle fence, the world opened up to a green wonderland dotted with burnt trees and patches of lush riparian growth. Every spring was flowing with water, and the whitethorn (Ceanothus cordulatus) bushes were covered in tiny caterpillars, building their cotton candy winter homes.

I think there's been fire in here.

Oh, it's cute!

Less cute...

(gross)

While the caterpillars frolicked and squirmed in giant hairy clusters, we hiked through this Oz of northern California. The green of the hillsides was brilliant and we gazed without disruption across drainages and hills to valleys and mountains far in the distance. The Yolla Bollys in June are truly at the height of their beauty; I cannot imagine coming back in the dry, yellow late summer, and struggling to find water holes.



I felt tingly with so much green around me. It didn't seem real.

We got to our campsite at North Yolla Bolly Springs. It was clearly set up for hunters (with two giant fire rings and a trough for horses to drink from). But it wasn't hunting season yet, and things were quiet. We headed up the hill to hike to the top of North Yolla Bolly Peaks (plural because there are two of them). We reached a meadow and I spied a glass jar. Angered, I walked toward it, cursing already about trash left behind. But when I reached it, I saw it had writing all over, and was marked as Utah's Meadow Jar. 

Emily reads about Utah Meadow.

The meadow was named for a donkey of a man named Rex, a hunter who went to the meadow every year from the 1950s until some time in the early 2000s. Utah apparently favored the meadow and had "insisted" they return every year. Though long dead, Rex continued to go into his 80s, hunting every year. He passed away in 2009, and the jar contained stories of the meadow, and people's memories of Rex, and tales of his hunting acumen. Someone maintains the small campsite and the jar, and we left our own story there. We saw one other person who was on the Big Foot Trail who had been there (several years prior), and we also saw a lot of messages about trail upkeep further along the trail, which was heartening.

Utah Meadow.

Past Utah Meadow, we reached a saddle and decided to hike up one of the peaks, past small snow patches to a glorious array of foxtail pines. We could see Mt. Shasta, Mt. Lassen, the Trinities, the coast, and the central valley. The peaks (>8000') were rounded and bald, with the foxtail pines bending dramatically on their sparse crowns.

I think this is the cover of my book...

We were giddy over the foxtail pines.

Foxtail pines, being all dramatic.



On our return we ran into two humans and chatted for a bit. One told us he is a member of the Big Foot Trail Alliance (though he hadn't done the trail yet). They hiked down a different direction, and we returned to our camp. Emily and I talked about foods we were craving - for me, it's always Thai red curry. Both of us had developed strange mayonnaise fascinations, and I imagined all the permutations of vegetable-cheese-mayonnaise sandwiches in the world. Each sounded better than the last. We threw the bear bag up in the tree, cooked another dinner, settled into our routines. And Emily pulled her toenail off, the toenail that had been hanging on (barely) for weeks. (DEAR GOD DON'T LOOK AT THE NEXT PHOTO)...

**GROSS PHOTO COMING UP - DO NOT LOOK IF YOU LIKE INTACT TOENAILS!**

I warned you. That's Emily's toenail.

Total miles: 10.5