The steep downhill trail to the early 19th century Forbush Flat campsite stretches only two miles, but you drop 1,000 feet while entranced by astonishing vistas of Blue Canyon and the Mono Trail rising on the other side.
Wild Pete and I thought to squeeze in this last dry hike before predicted fall rains — which did arrive in mid-November as an historic deluge — and thus Wednesday, Nov. 12 proved to be an auspicious time for our 4.5-mile effort.
Cartographically, we chose the continuation of the Southside Cold Spring Trail, but this path is now the Northside Cold Spring Trail.
Most hikers just call this continuation “the Forbush Trail.” The steep descent would begin a down-and-back to well-known Forbush Camp, always called Forbush Flat back in the day.
I also wanted to drive along the crest of the East Camino Cielo and relax in the long landscapes by glancing south to view a fog-covered sea and the vague silhouette of Santa Cruz Island.
I planned to park at the first concrete water tower where the well-signed southside (frontside) Cold Spring Trail tops out.
The reason the Forbush site found favor with early 19th century anglo colonists is the large and splendid meadow there where Gidney Creek bubbles up. Map-makers and hikers like these occasional level areas and generally call one a meadow, potrero, or “flat” in the vernacular — we might say open field or use the Irish English bawn. I think of the Flores Flat and Potrero John camps that I love, and most of us have read Bret Harte’s sensational western story “The Outcasts of Poker Flat” (1869).
As it happens, the two or three acres that homesteader Fred Washington Forbush claimed on the “flat” here in 1910 are not particularly level, but there is the strong creek in the middle that used to be surrounded by a hilly zone that is now covered by impassable hard chaparral. “Forbush Flat is where it’s at!”
We wondered if the creek would still be flowing and found it was dry (we carried water and would always filter here).
We roamed around, checking out the second campsite at Forbush and left our poles and daypacks on the single table at the main campsite (first photograph). Dropping down another quarter-mile on the trail running past Forbush, we sought out the Miocene marine fossils exposed in this area. We scouted about and located the small iron sign stating “Mono Camp” four miles (I believe it’s closer to five miles). We think the marine fossil shown here may be a type of ancient scallop.
Right here is also where the celebrated Blue Canyon Trail (26W12) begins, so named due to the beds of exposed blue-green serpentine rocks along the path. You can get more than a touch of blue by following the azure traces to beguiling Cottam Camp.
We set this hike up to take advantage of ideal conditions: the cool of mid-November with a bracing 55 degrees bathing us, no wind, utterly austere. At 7 a.m., we hiked resolutely down the steep path under iron-gray skies. I had my heaviest hiking boots, twin hiking poles, gloves, headgear, water, and a small fanny pack with a power bar, med kit and rolled-up rain jacket.
This sequence is against my usual choice, which is to undertake the hardest part of the hike first (usually the uphill) and then finish with an easy downhill cruise back. On this venture, we began by first dropping down swiftly toward the riparian corridor leading us to Forbush Flat. En route, we again spotted the rare and splendid madrone trees that I believe the hardier manzanita bushes are supplanting — clearly a result of global warming.
The original Forbush colonists in the early 1800s planted grape vines as well as apple, pear and olive trees, planning to irrigate them from the creek when possible. When I hiked to Forbush in 1974, there were more remnants of these non-native orchard crops, but this time wild Pete and I could only locate a single Mediterranean olive tree, clearly in its last phase.
The demise of the grape viticulture, pears and apples made me a bit blue, and wont to focus on the passing of linear time and the losses we all must face. Peter reminded me that the previous day, Nov. 11, had been Veterans Day, and I further ruminated on a recent death in the family, a man who lived through two tours of duty during the Vietnam War and paid a heavy price.
I’m a history teacher, and the short list of recent human wars includes the Vietnam War, the Russian War on Ukraine, World War II, and even back just over 100 years to World War I. WWI ended in a supposed “Armistice” in which both sides laid down their arms — this was Nov. 11, 1918. Under President Dwight Eisenhower in 1954, it became Veterans Day to honor all those who served their country, whether combat vets or not.
We spotted what appeared to be a tombstone or some kind of grave marker, dated 1918, in the earth more than 100 yards from the main Forbush Campsite. It appeared that others had swept dirt and leaves from the metal sign inscribed with the words: “In Memory of Edward Addison Bulkley 1918.”
From my time working as an archaeologist in Greece and Cyprus, I’m highly alert to graves, tombs, grave shafts, funerary memorabilia, and tombstones. The classical Greeks sometimes had very elaborate carved headstones as early as 500 BCE.
Peter and I respectfully stepped back from this spot, and spoke not a word. Silence and a reverent appreciation of the compelling beauty in the potrero all around us ensued. We left solemnly still feeling a bit blue.
The two-mile trek up from Forbush (and from the onset of Blue Canyon Trail) covers the same 1,000 feet we’d clambered down. It was much warmer in midmorning, and this stretch offers a strenuous workout to hikers. We reached the top at the water tower on East Camino Cielo filled with joy and pleasure — to be alive, to ruminate on the 1918 stone and how transitory life is, to stare at the massive islands, and to inhale the colors and clean air amid relative solitude.
As lyrics from my recent favorite song intone:
“We cannot understand, why these things vanish through our hands, [but]
Just thank the gods for each and every day.” — “Indiana Road,” Yo Pitzy
4.1.1.
Driving: From Santa Barbara, drive to Gibraltar Road near Skofield Park, then proceed slowly to the top and turn right on East Camino Cielo Road. Continue until you see the large concrete water tower. Park there. Plentiful signs indicate various trailheads.
If you want a much more grueling six-mile hike-bike shuttle through Blue Canyon and Forbush Camp, click here.
Best map is Ray Ford, “Santa Barbara Frontcountry Map.”
