AFTERMATH: AMERICAN RIVER WILD FIRE

A mid-September inch-and-a-half of rain to the high country was considered early this year, but not early enough.  Back in mid-July a wild land fire roared up from the depths of the Middle Fork of the American River.  For a time, the community of Foresthill was threatened.  But as the winds shifted, most of the fire’s activity worked its way east.

Earlier this month, before that storm, I decided to ride up Foresthill Divide and check out the changes in the environment up there.  At a junction in a still-green section of cedar and fir, a Forest Service Security Officer – all the way from Minnesota – stopped me.  “Fire’s still active.”  (It had been at least six weeks.) “They’re still doing water drops on hot spots with helicopters.” 

I’d seen a distant plume from a clearing back down the road and was a bit surprised by its robust nature this late in the game.  “Did it get as far as Robinson Flat?” I asked.  “Is the old guard station okay?”

“You know, I don’t know.  Ever’body who comes up this way seems to want to know about Robinson’s Flat.  I’ve never been there.  This is as far as I’m supposed to go.”

I counseled him to get up that way if he got the chance.

“Not the first time I’ve heard that,” he said with a casual grin.

Curiosity and time arc on separate trajectories.  Yesterday, mine crossed.  I straddled the Breva and headed up the Divide to tour the aftermath.

That first good soaking quelled the fire.  The security stop was gone but the area immediately around it was still a verdant green.  A map of road closures was posted there.  It indicated that Foresthill Road was open all the way to Robinson Flat and beyond, but every offshoot from Foresthill Road was closed.

A half-mile up the road, the fire’s effects were fully realized.

Blackened trees, devoid of leaves or needles stood naked against an innocent, blue sky. 

Manzanita ground cover was stripped of leaves in some areas; reduced to ash in others.

The pavement of Foresthill Road provided enough fuellessness to break the torrent from crossing and descending into the North Fork drainage.

Huge sugar pines had been expertly felled by the side of the road in an effort to push fuel back into the fire’s path.  I could imagine the heroic efforts of the firefighters wielding chainsaws in choking, hot conditions.

Foresthill Road, six weeks hence, was open, clear and free of debris, although the air was tinted with a stale ashtray aroma emanating from the moist and musty remnants of charred duff.

Three or four miles in, I came to a sign recounting the story of the last major fire in the area, one from 2008.  Conflagrations are not unknown in these parts.  Not even rare.

The drama of the American Fire was eclipsed by an explosion called “the Rim Fire” down on the Stanislaus, about 80 miles south.  In that episode, tens of thousands of acres were scorched and thousands of folks battled to save forested lands and properties.  Beyond the monetary costs and human-view losses, an unfortunate aftermath of both of these fires has been finger pointing and blamesmanship.

Some say if we’d allowed timber harvest to continue as it had in the 60s, there would not have been the fuels available for such a broad swath.  Others suggest that the government mishandled clearing of the understory.  Still others say the urban-forest interface locates people in places where protection of private property is too expensive and is accomplished at the expense of the rest of the forest.  Many, in each of these camps, are absolute in their assurance that it is the other guy’s fault, whether the other guy is the environmentalist, the government or the developer.

Some things seem fairly simple, however. 

The devastation of a forestland fire is awful to look at, but simply part of a regenerative process.  Prior to our meddling in the natural situation, fire rolled through forests cleaning underbrush, reducing fuels and enriching soils for seeds to sprout and the cycle to continue.  Then we came along with plans to improve on the circumstance.

We are all responsible for maintaining healthy forests.  We can do this through moderation in our efforts to harvest, develop and groom our wild lands.  Too much of any one puts things out of balance.  And we see the results.

Individual visitors to the forest must be careful with fire.  It has always been the case that our southwestern forests live in an arid climate.  Folks leaving campfires unattended, carelessly discarding smoking refuse, using fireworks, or especially deliberately setting fires deserve jail time salted with some time on a crew cutting line.

And this I learned from a whiskered Forest Service fire boss while hauling groceries to the huge Skinner’s Mill fire camp on the Mendocino outside of Corning, CA back in the 70s:  "We don’t put wild fires out," he said.  "They go out."

With that inch-and-a-half of rain recently, that’s what happened on the Foresthill Divide.

© 2013

Church of the Open Road Press

“TODAY’S PERFECT...”

Robinson Flat Road – Placer County, CA

...Or so said the man piloting a county dump truck laden with gravel up the hill.  Just above Robinson Flat, I’d pulled over to the side of the road giving him ample berth to pass. 

“You okay?” he’d asked.

“How could anyone not be okay up here?” I responded.  Then I added, “Unless you gotta work.”

“Yeah,” he said looking down from the cab of his International 2½ ton, checking out my abnormally clean GSA, “but I getta work up here.”

“Today is perfect,” I said as he waved and shoved the rig into gear.

Robinson Flat is a favored destination.  About 70 minutes from home we frequently find ourselves with a better bottle of Tokay, a couple of chicken sandwiches, folding chairs and a free, languid afternoon. Whatever book has been resting unfinished on the bedside table will be finished while the dogs freely gambol in the meadow.

Today’s mission was simple reconnaissance: take the bike up there to assess the condition of the road and the meadow and parse out how soon one of those lazy afternoons might safely be added to the summer schedule. 

Although a storm had blown through on Saturday prompting the local TV station to be agog about snowfall in the mountains, the intervening 80+ degree-days wiped out any accumulation.  The 29 miles of paved route from Foresthill were clear and dry, and the tiny bit of gravel I traveled was being filled and graded by a county crew that included the young man. 

The guardhouse near the meadow looked as if it has struggled through a winter that was not yet fully finished.  Refurbished about three years back, its brown painted sides looked in need of another coat and the green painted shingles on the roof made it appear that painting roof shingles green was not such a practical plan.  A mitten of snowfield wrapped about half the base of the cabin.

Likewise, the meadow had yet to see spring.  Water stood atop the saturated glade with no place to run off and nowhere to sink.  I was reminded that this spot, long before man, was a tiny subalpine lake – probably home to the ancestors of today’s black bear and whitetail deer.  Whatever wildflowers I might expect to see in a month or so were probably still encased waiting for a longer spell of warm weather to break out of their shells and splash their color on the landscape.

Hiking around the grounds, the litter of the prior season had been either picked up or scrubbed away by an icy, departing winter.  I did find a derelict poster warning of bear encounters tattered and tossed on the moist duff.  I wondered whether the vandals responsible for the defacement of this government notice were named Bubba and Jim-Bob or Yogi and Boo-Boo.  I hoped it was the latter.

Opting not to traipse through the county’s construction zone this day, I retraced my steps back toward Foresthill.  While riding on gravel and dirt is pleasurable on the big GSA, having time to simply ride and enjoy the nectar of the first breaths of spring is as well.  I could take the long way home next time.  I figured I’d be back up this way in about three weeks with a good book.

Today’s Route:  I-80 west to Auburn; exit Foresthill Road.  East on Foresthill Road 17 miles to the community; continue 29 miles further to Robinson Flat.  Alternate return:  South, over the ridge on graded gravel Robinson Flat Road, passing the road/trail to Duncan Peak LO (Hike this!); right on Mosquito Ridge Road (paved) back to Foresthill.

Related Posts:  Having been to Robinson Flat numerous times, here find a couple of Church of the Open Road posts about rides and hikes hubbed from that point.

http://thechurchoftheopenroad.blogspot.com/2011/09/another-nice-ride-n-hike-combination.html

http://thechurchoftheopenroad.blogspot.com/2010/10/where-pavement-ends-foresthill-road.html

Also, click on the “Foresthill Road” label and see if something else shows up.

© 2012

Church of the Open Road Press

THE AMERICAN RIVER INN: HOSTELRY TO THE GOLD COUNTRY AND GRANITE BASIN

The American River Inn

Living in the Sacramento area, one is spoiled by the year-round nature of and the sheer number of miles of excellent roadways to explore.  We get up in the morning, down a cup or two of coffee, then saddle up for a four to six to eight hour mini-vacation.  The Pacific Coast is two hours away; Tahoe, two hours; the Gold Country, walking distance.  Alas, not every rider is so fortunate.  For those from further afield, the American River Inn offers the perfect home base for exploration.

The American River Inn is an historic hotel located in old Growlersberg – now known as Georgetown – California.  Proprietress Betty greeted me warmly, as if I were some wayward relative away too long.  She introduced me to Dolly, an ample but spunky black Cocker and only then asked if she might be able to help me with something.  “Folks are coming from throughout the west coast for a little celebration,” I explained, “and we need a place to house up.” 

The American River Inn

“Look around,” she suggested with a confidant smile, encouraging me to trundle up the stairs.  The innkeepers have carefully transformed this fourteen-room hostelry with period antique furnishings and fixtures.  The American River offers suites, as well as rooms with private and shared bath accommodations.  A pull-chain John Douglass invited my scrutiny.

American River Inn

A full, hearty and delectable breakfast – apple pancakes one day, ham and delightful egg puffs the next – is served in a quaint parlor. 

Wine is sipped on the veranda evenings around 5:30.  And a late evening nightcap including a bring-your-own cigar is not discouraged.

Georgetown, CA

Just out the front door, the main street boasts two or three watering holes, a very nice cooperative art gallery, a couple of antique outlets and a friendly and comprehensive general store.  The family owned Mexican Restaurant down the street and around the corner is nicely down home.  Clampers have placed plaques in front of each historic building to remind us of their heritage.

Walking distance from the hostelry is a cooperatively maintained nature preserve, well positioned for a morning stroll before saddling up for motorized adventure.

Coloma

Georgetown is situated on the divide between the north and south forks of the American.  About eight miles down the hill, James Marshall changed the course of history.  Thirty miles east puts one in the Granite Basin Recreation Area home to dozens of lakes and miles of nicely maintained Forest Service Routes. 

Entering Granite Basin

Sixteen miles south to Placerville and US 50, Echo Summit and the Tahoe Basin is only 90 minutes off.   Nineteen miles north, Auburn straddles I-80.  In between, the area is webbed with paved and graveled roads leading from the depths of the American to the crest of the Sierra.

Stumpy Meadows

Wentworth Springs Road heads east from Georgetown past Stumpy Meadows Reservoir, a nice fishing lake with accessible picnic spots…

… skirting Uncle Tom’s Cabin, a place I’ve yet to experience, lacking a big V-Twin Cruiser…

… and up to Ice House Road.

Loon Lake

Left on Ice House takes us to Loon Lake where the construction superintendent’s cabin is available for rent…

Wentworth Springs

… or through a cluster of privately held historic cabins (no trespassing please) at Wentworth Springs…

Rubicon Trail

… and up to the Rubicon Jeep Trail which crosses just above the Desolation Wilderness area before descending into the Tahoe Basin.

There is plenty of still and cascading water, glaciated high mountains, fragrant pine forest, exquisite pavement and peaceful footpaths.

American River Inn

Easily, one could off-load the panniers and spend several days enjoying glorious loops exploring some of the California’s most historic sites and some of its grandest scenery.  If so doing, the American River Inn is an ideal home base.

Routes not to miss in this area:

State Route 49 from Auburn to Placerville though Coloma, the site of Marshall’s gold discovery.

Greenwood

State Route 193 from Cool to Georgetown to Placerville – check out the historic schoolhouse and cemetery at Greenwood.

Marshall Road from Lotus to Georgetown through Garden Valley – a ride with nice elevation gain, that tunnels through woodlands and breaks into panoramic views.

Wentworth Springs

Wentworth Springs Road sweeping upward to the Granite Basin Recreation Area – use caution – three times – three times! – in our two-night stay emergency personnel were dispatched to scrape up some poor hot-rodder who thought he could outsmart a decreasing radius turn.  Medi-vac isn’t cheap.

Loon Lake

Ice House Road – pack a picnic and stop at all the reservoirs: Loon Lake, Union Valley, Ice House; then enjoy the descent into the South Fork and Highway 50.  Better yet, start at highway 50 and ascend into the Granite Basin.

o0o

Resources:

The Historic American River Inn: www.americanriverinn.com

DeLorme’s California Atlas and Gazetteer (2008 or newer) pages 58, 59, 60, 65 and 66.  Comprehensive collection of topo maps for the entire state.  I carry a copy on board anywhere I go.

Gudde’s California Place Names – always a good place to find out why something might be named what it is.  Additionally, this book can help you appear to be smarter than your fourth grader.

© 2012

Church of the Open Road Press