When the amazing California super bloom of wildflowers struck in late March, my second thought was how to avoid the hordes of hikers — like me — out to immerse themselves in the floral extravaganza. Like most outdoor lovers, my first idea was simply to rush outside and accept the colors into the opening soul (what Hindus call the jivatma).
Masses of poppies, white ceanothus and blue brodiae (blue dicks) line our frontcountry trails, and some Santa Barbarans head over the Chumash Highway (aka Highway 154) to see bounteous flowers displayed on Figueroa and Grass mountains.
The relative solitude when one enjoys the floral show in our nearby San Rafael Wilderness is one advantage of an easy three-day backpacking trek up or down Manzana Creek. However, pulling into the main trailhead at Nira Camp on March 24, my two friends and I saw more than 50 cars, and most of them were for backpackers since it was 6:30 a.m. and the majority of Nira’s grody campsites were unoccupied. (It was UC Santa Barbara’s vacation week.)
Age makes backpacking harder, but experience provides alternate ideas. See, I had expected this crush, and it’s great that so many Americans chose to go out hiking and camping.
My idea was to make the quick 1-mile hike to Lost Valley Camp, but then turn away from the main creek and head directly toward the eastern end of the 15-mile-long Hurricane Deck formation. For the next 4 miles, we toiled uphill, following the well-marked Lost Valley Trail to always-ignored Twin Oaks Camp (2,900 feet).
Along the gentle ascent, we found those secluded parcels studded with the brilliant wildflowers of our super bloom. There was more white ceanothus than even in our local Rattlesnake Canyon, and poppies covered hundreds of acres with their massed golden hue.
The golden poppies figure prominently in Chumash Native American religion and mythology. On the road to Similaqsa (Land of the Dead), the soul stops at a place where two ravens peck out its eyes. Nearby are fields of these glorious poppies (Eschscholzia californica), and the soul quickly plucks two petals and puts one in each socket in order to continue west to Point Conception.
In another important story, “when animals were people” (see below), Lizard describes the poppies out on the islands to Coyote: “When you see the yellow and orange, it is as if the sun itself is on the ground, so beautiful is the flower” (Blackburn, see 4-1-1.).
We also saw the earliest prickly phlox with their gleaming magenta flowers and crossed dozens of small rivulets since the major rains had barely passed. We hiked slowly, and my light, 25-pound load seemed right and fairly comfortable.
Always above and to the north loomed the sinister beauty of the wretched Hurricane Deck. Of course, it isn’t “wretched” — the pathetic fallacy — but it’s a waterless, trackless desert, and people have died up there in recent memory.
After a painless two hours enjoying the water, flowers and constant lilac fragrance from the ceanothus, we slogged into Twin Oaks Camp. There are indeed two very large oak trees above a single wooden table, a firepit and a tiny intermittent creek wriggling past the cramped potrero. It’s a small meadow with sleeping spots for about three and is hemmed in on three sides by the imposing rocks of the Deck.
I know it’s another four tough miles to really get on top of the Deck and another four farther east to beautiful White Ledge Camp. On our layover day, I dayhiked with my friends up to holy Vulture Spring — it was flowing but rather weak.
Chris and Ryan chose to go up another two punishing miles and reach the Hurricane Deck Trail (30W14) junction (Lost Valley Trail ends here) so they could say “they got to the top.” Fifteen years ago, I made this very rugged eight-mile backpacking trek to Twin Oaks — White Ledge — and I also know hikers who’ve gotten lost out there.
While we had ample water right at Twin Oaks, this is an abnormally high water year, and usually this camp is dry. No water here would mean a steep 1½ miles up to Vulture Spring, with hope that it is still running.
This explains why few backpackers come to Twin Oaks. Either you plan for a grueling, 13-mile hike to Twin Oaks to Hurricane Deck Trail junction (30W14) to White Ledge Camp, or take the easier route to the same White Ledge along the upper Manzana via Manzana Narrows. My plan was always to have two overnights at Twin Forks, then return to Nira for an easy three-day jaunt and maybe get up onto the true Deck, too.
We met one guy during our three days (I know it was very crowded over at Manzana Narrows Camp), and he was a fit young fellow walking fast sans backpack. I asked about his plan and learned he was out on a 19-mile “young male” buck endurance trek. He was outfitted well, and I asked about his water supply: “Two liters of water and two cold beers” he said with a laugh. I chuckled and told him he was “well armed” — a dig at the huge sidearm he had in a holster on his right hip (entirely unnecessary for his 19-mile hero’s journey). He would turn west at the Deck Trail junction, go several miles along the barren ridge, break down at the Potrero Canyon Trail junction and return to his car at Nira via Potero Camp.
The upper lands around Twin Oaks leading to the Hurricane Deck proper boasted glorious green grasses and imagination-defying fields of enormous boulders.
Long ago, according to some Native American animistic beliefs, the First People lived in the upper world called ‘alapay. For whatever reason, a change came and the middle world of humans appeared: hutash (or, ‘itiashup). Many remained above in ‘alapay, but the First People who stayed on in the human middle world of hutash became some of these gigantic “whale rocks,” just like these incredible giant rocks artfully strewn upon the green hillside as you see in my photograph.
One can think of Painted Rock in the Carizzo Plain, Painted Rock on Sierra Madre Ridge and Santa Barbara’s own Painted Cave to realize that some of these marvelous formations became ideal sites for shamans to conduct vital rituals and celebrations. When you go on up into the fierce Hurricane Deck from Twin Oaks Camp, you will find yourself ensorcelled and prey to strange emotions and feelings. Check your water supplies, hold onto your pistol (if you need to) and look about for the infrequent cairns.
You may look back from Vulture Spring as I did on March 25, gaze down at golden hutash and remember that Fernando Librado called our planet “the mirror of the sun.”
4-1-1
» Thomas Blackburn, December’s Child (1975), p. 100 for poppies quote.
— Dan McCaslin is the author of Stone Anchors in Antiquity and has written extensively about the local backcountry. His latest book, Eternal Backcountry Return, has been published by Sisquoc River Press and is available at Lulu.com. He serves as an archaeological site steward for the U.S. Forest Service in the Los Padres National Forest. He welcomes reader ideas for future Noozhawk columns, and can be reached at cazmania3@gmail.com. Click here to read additional columns. The opinions expressed are his own.
