Smoke Gets In My Eyes

(Note: I'm uploading this from Oroville, CA, after an astounding day at Lassen Volcanic National Park and drive down the canyon of the North Fork of the Feather River. Speaking of which, there isn't s**t to do in Oroville. The hottest place in town is the Shakey's Pizza Parlor.)

8/23, 1558, Junction City, CA (along the banks of the Trinity River) – I’m going to break ranks here and post one from “the present,” even though I’m woefully behind in reporting about northern-most CA and Oregon. Things have gotten kind of “interesting” here in JC. As I post this on Thursday (8/24) morning, I’ll be departing the area. Just in time, it seems…

Several forest fires just west and northwest of here, along with a change in the prevailing winds, have sullied the air with pretty heavy amounts of smoke (the worst I’ve even encountered) and caused some alarm among those in the know here in the Trinity Alps. Here’s what I’ve noted.

First, as I arrived Monday night – already somewhat unglued from the delays I encountered trying to get from Burney Falls to Junction City – I took note of the encampment of fire jumpers just west of Weaverville. It was sizable, with lots of support systems (food, shelter, medical, etc.) to keep up with the demands of these brave souls. I’d not heard of any fires in the area (I’ve pretty much kept my attention elsewhere these days) until I was just departing Ashland, so I was somewhat surprised and more than a little concerned. There’s a local HQ here in Junction City as well. The CA highway patrol has slowed down area traffic to 35 mph to accommodate the heavy trucks and increased traffic.

But, the skies were clear, the air nice and fresh, and the temps – though pretty warm (mid-90s at times) – were more than escapable by tossing myself in the Trinity or the campground’s small (but mildly bracing) pool (yeah, Marc, I know…I’m really roughing it up here). There was also the hike I took yesterday (a ten-miler, which I’ll address more fully in a future blog) which – depending on which microclimate I was in – occasionally cooled me off (but, mostly soaked me with sweat and about sent my poor feet into rebellion). On my trip yesterday up to the trailhead, I passed the Weaverville airport, which had pretty much been taken over by the fire crews. Lots of helicopters for both shuttling crews and huge amounts of water from area lakes and the Trinity River. It looked like a military encampment.

Today (Wed), though, is different. I noticed first thing this morning that the skies were starting to get a little hazy and they gradually – and somewhat quickly – got worse throughout the morning. As I typed my blogs at a picnic table in an unused RV spot, I noticed that the once pristine view of the surrounding Trinity Alps was rapidly disappearing and the undulating layers of mountains I’d marveled at the day before were pretty much completely obscured by smoke. Things looked grim.

I drove into Weaverville to upload blogs, catch up on messaging my dear wife, subject myself to more abuse from Marc (What? A 10-mile hike isn’t good enough?), have some lunch, coffee (my first of the day!), and catch my last beer (a Sierra Nevada draft ale, for which I’m quickly developing a deep, abiding respect) at The Diggin, an ancient saloon on Weaverville’s main street. By the way, I HIGHLY recommend this fine drinking establishment if you want to A) get the lay of the land in Weaverville, B) get honest reviews of area restaurants, attractions, or hiking trails, or C) laugh your ass off at or with the “regulars,” all of whom were as friendly, opinionated (in a good way), and willing as they could be to chat with a traveling Texan. Again, more on that later.

People in Weaverville and Junction City have reason to be a little on edge. The significant fire damage on the mountains between the two towns is still very fresh in these folks’ minds. It’s from just earlier this year and devastated not only the mountains, but the economy. It’s not been a good year for this area. Between the late snow melt, brutal rains, then drought, recent heat wave, the early fires, now the late summer fires…the local economy (which is based, to a great deal, on tourism) has taken a pretty significant hit, as have the residents. One of the reasons I like to sit in local bars along my travels is you get the unvarnished truth about a region’s woes, and the folks at The Diggin were very upfront and informative about what this year, in particular, has been like. One bar patron said the only people who were doing well this year were the pot growers (this area is one corner of California’s “green triangle,” an area well-known for its high quality marijuana…Guerneville is apparently another of the triangle’s “corners”).

The campground is damn near empty. The two or three other encampments (I’m the only tent camper, which has had its advantages) are either sticking it out because of long-term commitments or cutting and running tonight. One guy is about to cancel his Trinity River fishing trip, pack up his RV after dinner, and head to clearer skies. On the way back from Weaverville a little while ago, I stopped at the National Forest office and asked about the fires. Things are not looking good. “If you have respiratory problems, I’d get out. If not, it shouldn’t be too much of a problem. The fire is not going to come roaring into Junction City, if that’s what you’re worried about.” They were expecting a late afternoon temperature inversion, which may help clear out some of the smoke, but it’s not expected to last long.

I’ve struck up a good relationship with the woman who owns the campground and presides over the camp store operations. She’s pretty battle-hardened – a veteran of many, many years as a campground host - but a real sweetheart. She told me what it was like here earlier this summer when the mountains nearby were ablaze. Even through today’s haze, I can still see the charred hillsides and barren, blackened trees. It was obviously a close call. To them, this year is one to be forgotten. When I told her I was going to hang tough tonight and ride out the smoky skies, she thanked me. At this point, I’m sure any income they have is appreciated.

Two guys at The Diggin laid it out pretty plainly. If you don’t work for the forest service, phone company, transportation department, or schools, this year has sucked and there’s no work. “Our young people graduate from high school and get the hell out of here,” one told me. “There’s nothing here for them.”

I was somewhat curious as to why the lumber industry didn’t make that list. What little traffic up and down Rt. 299 that’s not fire fighting-related is trucks full of fresh-cut lumber. But, I was more intent on getting back here to the campground (for a swim, some writing, and a shower) than pursuing that line of questioning.

Tonight will be another “slim pickings” dinner, which is OK by me. I had a wonderful meal last night at The Sawmill (which scored high reviews from those holding down barstools at The Diggin) of steak and fried prawns. Not only was it a decent meal, it came at one of the most reasonable prices I’ve encountered along my California/OR journey. A NY strip, three nice-size breaded, fried prawns, potatoes, a salad, and cole slaw (too boot) for only $18? And, despite the bar being full of local patrons, I was able to commandeer the channel selection of the large screen TV and – mercifully – change from world championship poker (a phenomenon I’ve yet to understand) – to the WNBA playoffs. I’ll probably take some abuse about this, but even poorly played basketball (this was NOT the WNBA’s finest TV moment, folks) beats watching poker on TV.

The inexplicable success of “championship” poker on TV is another of the many signs that American culture is sliding into the abyss.

So, I’ll depart tomorrow morning for what I believe will be Lassen Volcanic National Park, unless fires in that area – there are fires east of here as well - also make it undesirable. I may have to play it by ear – or by eye and lung, in this case – and see where the Malibu (which I’ve christened “The Golden Bear”) takes me. I may end up in Oroville a day early. In addition to Feather Falls, O’ville boasts a Chinese Temple, which may add to the peace and serenity I’ve been seeking.

Speaking of which, one other way God has been speaking to me is with water. The relentless pounding of the waves along the Pacific coast; the vast Pacific itself; the experience of paddling down the Rogue; seeing the canyons carved out by the Rogue; sitting, watching, and listening to the beauty and ceaseless roar of several waterfalls, and – here in the Trinity Alps – sitting beside a mountain stream along side Stuart’s Fork Trail and camping beside the nearly silent, but nonetheless strong current of the Trinity River. The constant ebb and flow, or stream. I’ve spent all too many years fighting the flow, resisting the current. I’ll never be one to just mindlessly “go with the flow,” but there’s a sweet spot somewhere between where I’ve been (all too often fighting the current and demanding the current follow me) and just giving up or total passivity. As my friend Brian suggested, “Don’t fight the river. Don’t allow it to carry you away. Become the river.”

Yet, it’s the lack of water that speaks to the people of Weaverville and Junction City, among others. Yet, in almost complete contrast to the circumstances that surround it, the Trinity River silently, obliviously, yet doggedly pursues its path to the Pacific.

The winds have picked up a little, so the expected temperature inversion must’ve kicked in. Things are still smoky and hazy, but I can see peaks now I wasn’t able to see a couple hours ago. Needless to say, there’ll be no campfire this evening. This entire vacation has been rain-free. For the first time, I feel somewhat guilty for that run of luck. Those heroes occupying the fire camps up the road, being shuttled via helicopter into and out of the areas ablaze, and risking their lives to contain the fires two or three ridges west of here need a break. So does the economy here in the Trinity Alps region.


Stick out