Tricky Trails and Endless Views | Trinity Alps #4

We awoke on the shores of Tamarack Lake to a soft lapping of waves on the shore. It wouldn't be long before the sun was once again high in the sky, but for now, it was just peeking over the horizon.

With a full day ahead of us if we hoped to finish the route - which we did hope to do - we were thrilled to find the tent completely void of dew, even with our proximity to an entire body of the stuff. That meant I was able to get it folded up and stowed without having to worry that I'd need to open it up again once we got home. And then, breakfast-less, we were on our way.

As had been the case on the way in, the way out of Tamarack Lake was the most technical stretch of the route - though, it really wasn't that technical at all, save for one short segment - and I hopped out a few times to snap a photo of the Tacoma looking a little flexy here, or a little posey there.

Someone a bit more savvy may have done it for the 'gram, but I'm still squarely focused on the era of the printing press, and reading.

After a couple miles of slower going, the quality of the road picked up dramatically, and soon we were speeding along, a trail of dust billowing behind us. It was downright chilly, and for the first time this year, we turned on the heat - a strange feeling when it had previously been all about the A/C.

Half an hour after leaving camp, we'd been back on the main loop - Tamarack was a well-worth-it out-and-back - for ten minutes when we came racing around a corner to a rather unusual sight. Right in the middle of the road, a low-boy was split in two. I feeling - which I assume everyone reading this story would likely share - was that it was a sign. The Tacoma hadn't ever ridden on a low-boy before!

I could tell by the look on the face of my copilot that not everyone thinks that driving up on an empty low-boy is the best idea, but I may have still scoped out the approach while I was snapping my photo of the situation. Unfortunately, while there would have been no trouble from a capability perspective, the lip of the ramp was high enough that any attempt to reverse into position would end up with another ripped off mudflap. I could have stacked rocks, but not knowing when the driver would return, I opted to agree with my passenger and skip the photo-op.

Once again zipping along, we'd transitioned from the Trinity Divide into the Trinity Mountains when we came around another corner to a rather curious family of deer. This would likely not bode well for them in the future - it was afterall, deer hunting season - but given that I was shooting frames rather than bullets, it worked out for both sides as we stared each other down.

We continued our descent out of the mountains, once again finding ourselves along a stretch of CA-3 just after 9:00am. Turning south, we didn't have much pavement to cover before we'd be climbing again, this time to an elevation of 6,956 feet and the Bonanza King Lookout.

Long before it lent its name to a fire lookout and the nearby summit, Bonanza King was a working gold mine - and for a few years around the turn of the century, it was the biggest one in Trinity County.

The first claims here were staked in 1886, but the operation that made the name didn't get going in earnest until 1894. Eventually, 20 stamp mills echoed through the valley, an aerial tramway employed to haul crushed ore from the mill and into town, and its own on-site power plant to keep the mill running.

Still, production remained relatively low, and in December 1905, John and James Treadwell purchased the property with big plans for a new mill and with hopes of exploiting a seven-inch seam that had already yielded some $80,000 in gold, with ore running as high as $2,000 a ton in the richest four feet.

Production slowed through the 1920s and eventually stopped for good. Estimates put total lifetime output somewhere between $1 million and $1.25 million in gold.

The Diggings

We reached the lookout just before 10:00am, ready for breakfast. Opting for a spot in the shade a few hundred feet shy of the summit, we polished off the last of our cereal and the few remaining blueberries that we'd brought from home as I transferred a few gallons of fuel from the jerry cans into the tank of the Tacoma.

Just as we were wrapping up, Sam - who staffed the lookout over the summer - came trapsing down the road, wondering about all the commotion. As usual, stories - of how we'd each come to find ourselves in this particular spot on this particular day - followed greetings, and we made our way back up the hill to the most spectacular fire lookout we'd seen all trip.

Near the highest point of the mountain sits the Bonanza King Lookout, a location that has served as a critical fire detection point for over a century. The current wooden California Region 5 Plan 4AR lookout house was built on a rock foundation at nearly 7,000 feet in 1934, replacing earlier rudimentary observation posts used since at least 1920. Like the first lookout we'd visited on this trip - Blue Ridge Lookout - a cabin was added to the the Bonanza King during WWII so it would be staffed 24 hours/day as part of the Aircraft Warning Service.OTG waypointNational Historic Lookout Register

It's hard to get any fire lookout posting. Getting the one at Bonaza King must be like winning the lottery!

Despite the fantastical views, we probably only spent about 15 minutes feasting on our surroundings and talking to Sam. Unlike some of the other spotters, he seemed a bit more reserved; fitting for someone who spends the majority of their time alone. And so, leaving him with a couple of token chocolates, we headed back to the Tacoma to enjoy the views again on our way down.

The Bonanza King was a 20-mile detour, but - we both agreed, as we sped down the mountain - well worth the time and effort to experience. It was, I'd say, the standout highlight of the entire route.

Back on pavement, it was time for our final out-and-back of the trip. This time, we'd be winding our way up Coffee Creek, eventually finding ourselves at the headwaters of the South Fork of the Salmon River. Having started the route at Forks of Salmon, this would bring us nearly full-circle before we headed west toward I-5, and ultimately, home.

The River Complex fire burned through the Coffee Creek area in 2021. It started from lightning strikes on July 30, 2021 in the Trinity Alps Wilderness - originally tracked as the Haypress and Summer fires, which merged and became the bulk of the River Complex - eventually growing to 185,951 acres. By mid-September it pushed up Coffee Creek Road near Sugar Pine Creek and ran northeast, with at least six homes and nine outbuildings burned. Mandatory evacuation orders were issued for Coffee Creek, Trinity Center, and Callahan - all places we'd visited - with a shelter established in Etna.

Following the winding road along the creek, it was obvious that this corridor was once much more populated than it was today. And then, glancing to my left, I noticed a name that rang a bell: Almay Ranch.

Perhaps a decade ago, our family had gotten together at this place, its bedroom-rich lodge nestled into the woods along the creek. Soon, our little buddy was in the air; I wanted to get a closer look!

I can't say the Almay was the nicest of spots even before the fire, but after - now surrounded by bare hillsides and never-ending job of cleaning up the aftermath - it was no wonder that the owners were looking for a way out. From what I could see, it looked like no one had been there since the fire.

We continued up the valley - eventually reaching the perimeter of the fire - for many more miles. Here, as was the case elsewhere in the region, evidence of the past was all around, but nowhere was it more obvious than in the riverbeds themselves.

The gold rush along Coffee Creek began in the early 1850s when prospectors pushed southward over the rugged divides from the South Fork of the Salmon River. Navigating through the high, steep passes of the Trinity Alps, these early miners discovered rich deposits of placer gold in the gravel beds of the creek. Because the initial access routes originated from the northern diggings rather than up the main river canyon, the area was initially managed as an extension of the Salmon River mining district before being formally recognized as its own distinct gold-producing zone.

The district proved to be highly productive, yielding millions of dollars worth of gold during its peak operational years. Initial extraction relied on simple hand tools, pans, and rockers to clear out the easily accessible surface gold along the water. As these shallow deposits diminished, operations transitioned into intensive lode mining and hydraulic operations, targeting deep gold-bearing quartz veins trapped within the complex metamorphic rock formations of the surrounding mountains. The sudden wealth attracted thousands of workers, leading to the rapid growth of temporary settlements and supply stations throughout the isolated canyon.

Industrial extraction continued into the twentieth century with the introduction of massive floating bucket-line dredges near the mouth of the creek. Around 1916, companies like the Pacific Gold Dredging Company began systematically chewing through miles of river sediment, which completely altered the natural topography of the lower canyon. This era supported worker communities like Stringtown and left a permanent mark on the landscape, characterized by the extensive fields of gravel tailings and scattered iron remnants that line the banks of Coffee Creek.OTG waypoint

Eventually we outran even Coffee Creek as we crossed Packer's Gulch on our run south toward the Trinity Alps Wilderness. Here, the upper 5 miles of Coffee Creek used to drain toward the Trinity side, but during Klamath Mountains glaciation (~150,000 years ago) glacial moraines dammed the Coffee Creek valley while the South Fork Salmon River - flowing in the opposite direction - eroded headward and cut through the gap, capturing those headwaters.

From Big Flat it would be a mostly straight shot - much of it on pavement - first along the banks of Trinity Lake, then west through the Trinity Divide towards the I-5 corridor and Castle Crags. Much of this section of the route would be populated, making our search for a good spot to air up and eat a quick lunch more difficult than it should have been.

Along the way we did discover - or, given its prominent position along the road, I suppose, "see" - a cool old crane, once used for logging the woods through which we were wrapping up our adventure. Given its condition and construction, I suppose it hasn't been operational for quite some time.

And then, highway.

As we turned the Tacoma north to start the 10-hour trek home, we knew there was one more treat in store along the way. The reason we've visited this region so much in the past. As we sped north at 62mph, it was both comforting and - as always - jaw dropping. Castle Crags.

 

 

 

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