Raspberry Spring dribbles on despite our megadrought — this primitive U.S. Forest Service campsite behind Ojai represents a critical water source on the Cuyama (north) side of the lofty Pine Mountain. While Chorro Grande Spring forms a twin on the massif’s southern flank, it’s often compared with 6,600-foot Raspberry Spring on the north flank that faces the scorching Cuyama Valley.
At the end of August, I hiked down and confirmed that the Chorro Grande water source is completely dry — not so grande at all.
Reyes Peak’s slopes (on Pine Mountain) form extremely steep hillsides, and the path drops down drastically. Anytime I left well-marked Raspberry Spring Trail (23W02), I struggled to cover much ground even with twin hiking poles, heavy boots and great care.
The subalpine climate combines low yearly precipitation with stony soil so that the scattered stands of Jeffrey and ponderosa pine stand out as incredible survivors, capable of withstanding winter’s cold and summertime’s extraordinary heat. How they’ll fare in the warming global climate of our Anthropocene Regime remains unclear.
There are six lovely car camps at Reyes Peak Campground, and signs have been posted at both ends of the campground directing you down to a spring. The trailhead for our chosen Raspberry Spring venture is right next to site No. 1.
After casting a fond glance seaward from the tiny road at the top, we strolled down on a pine-needle laden hillside littered with dead trees and some low ground cover, but predominantly covered by fragrant conifers that towered above and created the slippery pine-needle floor.
Natural wildfires have not swept through here in a very long time, some contend as long as 700 years. I could not see any fire damage at all.
In my ramblings with school groups, for solitude, with a couple of trail pards, I’ve learned that half the allure is in the roaming, in free-will choices made in the moment.
In late September, the intense heat had waned on these higher mountainsides, and there were no signs of recent wildfires or logging, but I began sweating heavily on the return portion. (Yes, near the single road and near the official campground, some safety logging was obvious.)
Around in these areas, and you have now entered the 220,000-acre Sespe Wilderness, many outcroppings appear that catch the imagination and prod creativity. In some patches, we enjoyed the dull-red or rust color of masses of buckwheat.
The ostensible goal as we plunged down early on a Wednesday morning seemed to be Raspberry Spring in order to learn whether the water source was dry or flowing. If I were to overnight here in the near future, it’s crucial to know if water is pouring out someplace nearby. Thus, we were also interested in the useful if dilapidated overnight trail camp, also called Raspberry Spring.
We observed a sign indicating that there are active bears around, but we already knew that and had recently seen a California black bear over at 8,900-foot Cerronoroeste (Campo alto).
Topographical memory erodes quickly over the decades, and I had forgotten that the trail goes through the brittle campsite before reaching the named spring itself dripping onto the hillside.
Wielding the two sticks very cautiously, and side-stepping, knowing that portions of the last bit may cause minor falls, I was prepared and got through it by inching along very thoughtfully.
I repeat my mantra — “Yeah I’m old, but I have plenty of time” — so it’s best to crawl down even more slowly. My hiking partner is just as concerned and crab-walks without haste.
Above we see sugar pines, the most majestic of the conifers, and my favorite. Very tall, they drop the longest cones of all, and we saw several on the ground.
Dropping almost literally into the campsite, I see almost nothing except a couple of dead limbs arranged in a half-square, an iron grill and a circle of rocks meant to form a fire pit, I suppose. There’s no table or immediate water supply. Crude as it is, there appear to be just two adequate flat spots for tiny backpacking tents, but plenty of down wood.
We wandered on down to the actual site of Raspberry Spring, and imagine our delight to find it still flows, albeit at a steady if small trickle.
The water from deep within Gaia is cold and fresh, although we filtered it before quaffing.
The part of me that wants off the grid, out of civilization and to escape from “town” adores this rugged site. This is true “dirt camping,” as my old buddy Phil always said. We are in fire season, so no fires are allowed, and the fire pit showed no evidence of recent campfires.
I think hardly anyone ever comes here. Thus, if you seek remoteness yet want a free site not too far from your vehicle, try Raspberry Spring Camp — it is also a perfect example of adjacentcy.
4-1-1
» Take Highway 101 south to Ventura. Drive inland on Highway 33 past Ojai and past Rose Valley to the Pine Mountain Road turnoff, and then a final seven miles to Reyes Peak Campground (never full during the week). It’s 78 driving miles total.
» Bryan Conant’s “Matilija and Dick Smith Wilderness Map” is excellent.
» If you choose to overnight at Raspberry Spring Camp, I recommend a portable bear box, and remind campers we are in fire season so no campfires allowed.
— Dan McCaslin is the author of Stone Anchors in Antiquity and has written extensively about the local backcountry. His latest book, Autobiography in the Anthropocene, is available at Lulu.com. He serves as an archaeological site steward for the U.S. Forest Service in Los Padres National Forest. He welcomes reader ideas for future Noozhawk columns, and can be reached at cazmania3@gmail.com. Click here to read previous columns. The opinions expressed are his own.
