Grizzly Falls, Trinity Alps, California.

One team’s journey to the edge and back on a hot summer’s weekend.

Hunger. Humility. Humboldt County Growers…… Hilarity.

A True NorCal Classic.

It was a hot, California July weekend, 2021. After a year and a half of living in the twilight zone caused by Covid-19, my buddy and I couldn’t have been more excited for our weekend trip backpacking the beautiful Trinity Alps.

My buddy is a gear-head, a financial consequence of which often means tight adventure schedules to accommodate tight work schedules. This weekend we would be traveling a bit further than usual, a seven hour journey to Northern California.

We get a late start thanks to the fury of the In-and-Out Burger line in Placerville. The summer days are long, but I can’t see well driving at night and usually can’t stay awake either, so inevitable challenges already await.

We passed the dive bar in Willits around midnight. Couldn’t help but wonder what was lurking inside. We got some gas and continued our journey into the wilderness.

It wasn’t until I began to feel myself drifting away. My buddy, wide-awake from the three fountain sodas they had, took over at the wheel. We were well in those NorCal woods by this time, somewhere near Trinity Lake. I suggested we pull over to sleep so we could get a well-rested, early start. My buddy couldn’t bear this thought. They thought the trail head would as busy as Cabo at Spring Break, and that every hiker within a 400-mile radius would be there.

We Persisted.

We continued deeper and deeper into Bigfoot Country, on a dirt road now with the potholes growing ever-larger. I was so sleepy I didn’t care about much at this point. I had crawled into the back, pretending to be resting as I lay sprawled atop all of our rigid gear.

We arrived at the trailhead after 2:30 am. Of course there was not another car in sight. Although a bit disgruntled, I am grateful to be there. We were too tired to set up a proper camp, so we jam ourselves into the back of a Honda CRV with our three dogs. We forgot to crack the windows.

Morning came too early with feelings of unventilated suffocation and exhaustion. But then took over the thrill of adventure….

We were at the Trail Head.

Hopes were high, and we took our pre-hike photos with no idea what lie ahead.

The first leg of the journey was uphill and hot, but quick. We got about 5 miles in, one mile from camp before we realized our dooming mistakes…….

My buddy had forgotten their food, and I had forgotten my most beloved and necessary backpacking possession aside from water itself, my weed.

A moment of panic set. Being buddies since college we knew what this meant for one another. My situation being the most eminent and dire, with an adult tantrum surely right around the corner.

Say what you will; those tasty California trichomes give backpacking food an illusion of taste and also really help take the edge of having to deal with one’s own feces with jurassic sized insects in your face.

I scrounged through my pack several times, but there was not one flake of bud. We had one backpacking meal, a stale bagel, a few nips of whiskey, and some chocolate to share between the two of us for the two-night trip.

I wondered, would we be able to make it?

I debated turning around there, for a ‘quick’ trip back to resupply. But I knew that would mean arriving late, so I decided to go forth the next couple miles to set up at Low Gap Campsite and reassess.

Arriving at camp spirits were low. What fun could we possibly have amidst these trials? How could we have been so careless and done this to ourselves?

I lie in my hammock pondering what to do. Going back to the car for supplies would mean camping alone in the car, albeit stoned and happy. I would also likely miss the day hike to Grizzly Falls, the entire purpose of our journey. I was at a turning point.

Just then, I perked up like a bloodhound hot on the trail.

The sweet smell of cannabis was wafting through the breeze amidst NorCal’s giant trees. My buddy and I glanced at one another, for no, I had not found my stash.

I followed the scent and spotted a group of hopeful saviors down below by the river. I had to ask for their help, but how to do so without being a creeper?

I had read somewhere before that you should always carry a bit of cash with you when hiking, because you never know when it could come in handy. I have always abided by this tactic even though I thought it was a bit mute, but I was hoping it was the cash’s time to shine.

I approached the group. Inevitably I’m sure I seemed extra creepy. Sweat-laden and riddled with desperation. I explained to them that I was a normal person, and left my stash back at the car and that either my buddy or I would not survive the weekend without it. I gave them a generous amount for their trip-saving treat and couldn’t be more grateful to this day. They exclaimed to me how they “grew it themselves”, even though I had already concluded such.

That stale bagel in my pack was looking ever so tasty now.

My buddy and I skated by on that bagel and some chocolate that night, and agreed to save our backpacking meal to split on the day hike to Grizzly Falls the next day. Hope was restored.

The next morning was gorgeous. Birds were singing and we were able to scrounge together a couple of earl grey tea packets which we enjoyed with some whiskey, of course. We filled our water, packed up for our day hike, and hit the trail to see Grizzly Falls.

It was another 9 miles to the falls from camp. A feat which seemed much easier when only reading about it. Maybe it was the summer heat, the scarce food, or the steep incline, but this hike was tough and I was embarrassed to admit it.

We stopped to rest and have lunch just before the trail opened to the valley. Or would we have lunch? Amazingly, I somehow forgot our one backpacking meal, our beloved lunch, back at the campsite.

I looked at my buddy. Was this the moment they would snap? Was I about to be bludgeoned with a hiking pole?

No. It was far worse. A few moments passed in silence. I went and sat by the mosquito-laden creek to take in the views and thats when I heard it. A sound so familiar and distinct it could be only be one thing. I was sure of it.

I walked back up the bluff to my buddy and sure enough, there it was. My buddy sat there staring at me blankly in the eyes, and we both knew not much could be said at that moment. My buddy was at peace, chewing a chocolate-chunk granola bar.

At first I was upset. Where did this granola bar come from? Why was it hidden from me? Why were they not offering to share? Would I even get a bite?

No.

I had to let the moment pass in silence. They needed that granola bar, and even though so did I, I believed the wrath of my buddy’s hanger and annoyance would be greater than an afternoon of starvation.

In my pack I had about a sip-and-a-half of leftover whiskey. Knowing it was unwise, it became my lunch. I remembered reading this of two women who became stranded on a cliff-face on Christmas, and drank their bottle of wine with bickering ensuing.

When the trail opened to the valley it was magnificent. All of the trials were worth it. They always are. A sick, yet wonderful part of being a backpacker.

We were happy. The hunger vanished. The colors and scenery that surrounded us were so bright and magnificent. It was a paradise. We took some photos and hiked forth towards the waterfall we finally saw in the distance.

Grizzly Falls dives over a cliff-face of 100 ft. (30 m.). Whether the waterfall is a trickle or a surge depends on California’s ever-fickle rainfall and snow-pack seasons. The terrain beneath the falls is a beautiful field of granitic scree, with giant boulders becoming ever-smaller until they morph into the lush valley below.

I always like to remember to take a moment to glance back on ascending hikes. It allows a different perspective, while affirming a sense of accomplishment.

Finally, the fun part! We were engulfed in beauty. Everything that surrounded us was magnificent and awe-inspiring. We had lost whatever trail there was some time ago, due to the fact that everything was scree and we followed what turned out to be the wrong rock cairns.

Please do not build random rock cairns. For so many reasons.

We climbed higher and further, with the mesmerizing Grizzly Falls in the distance driving our pursuit.

Until we didn’t. I’m sure there was an easier way to reach Grizzly Lake, but we weren’t going that way. We now faced the giant, 100 ft. cliff-face beneath the falls with an extremely precarious scramble as our route.

I chickened-out, tired-out, whatever you want to call it. It was later in the afternoon and the sun would be descending beneath the peaks surrounding the valley soon. I knew we had only a couple hours left anyway. Using starvation and by buddy’s 15-year old dog as an excuse, I decided to call it quits and sit and enjoy the view.

My buddy, determined to get the glory shot on their new fancy camera, chose to try to go forth a bit. I reminded them, comically and seriously, to be careful because if anything happened I would be the one rescuing them…..

We laughed while acknowledging the serious matters at stake and the opportunity to finally share some freeze-dried dumplings back at camp. Something to strive for.

Staring into the distance was wonderful. One of my favorite things to do. It was about an hour before my buddy returned to our common tree and we began the hike back to camp which we always tend to underestimate.

Dinner beneath Northern California’s towering trees is hard to beat, no matter what you happen to be eating. We were so hungry our backpacking meal tasted as if were made by Julia Childs herself. Tomorrow we would journey back to the car early, and closer towards a hot, yummy meal.

Morning arrived beautifully. Birds sang and Grizzly Creek roared in the distance. I always want to just live in the woods, even though the tame side of my life is just that. Backpacking is different.

I hurriedly packed up camp so I could sit and enjoy my surroundings for as long as possible. As the day began to warm up, the Jurassic-sized insects began buzzing. I don’t recall seeing insects bigger than those I saw on this hike. Bees and mosquitoes that were the size of golf balls.

The weather was predicted to be 98 degrees, and it was sweltering. The final few miles of the hike do not offer any opportunities at refilling water. We didn’t have any food left, so we drank up and headed out into the heat.

My buddy got stung by a bee. It seemed inevitable as they were everywhere, attracted by our sweat. My friend somehow did not know whether or not they were allergic to bees, and I knew we had no first aid to accommodate. We were a few miles away from the car at this point, so I suggested we pick up the pace.

I kept a close eye on my buddy as we descended towards the trail head. There were no signs of an allergic reaction, but erring caution is always wise. We were traveling at painfully different speeds. I was driven by the comforts of food, water, and air conditioning whereas my buddy seemed to have somehow added 50 lbs. (23 kg.) to their already grossly overweight pack.

Rounding every corner I was sure we were reaching the end, with the beloved AC and snacks awaiting. It took forever. Were we on a through-hike? Would we ever make it?

Amidst my desperation, I got a bit ahead of my friend, though most always had an eye on them and remained within ear shot in case of our cautionary whistle.

After a few miles which may as well have been ten, I saw the trailhead and the car in the distance. I was still a bit ahead of my buddy and seized this opportunity because what I was about to do was a bit embarrassing.

It was so, so hot. My pants were suffocating. I couldn’t take it. No one seemed to be around or parked nearby, so I stripped bare-naked in those NorCal woods, rinsed myself off with some water, and changed into light, comfy summer shorts.

My buddy still had not arrived and I had not yet committed my most embarrassing act. I retrieved the bear bin stashed nearby, opened it, and took a big bite of the days old leftover In-and-Out Burger. Yum. Wish I could say I didn’t take a second bite.

My buddy emerged from the forest as exhausted as I was. Was this hike supposed to be that hard? Were we wimps now? Were we ever now wimps?

They comforted and settled themselves as we drank water and shared a beer before packing up and emerging from The Trinity Alps Wilderness looking and feeling like the legendary Bigfoot said to roam those hills.

We had made it, and we (I) complained, but, like every backpacking adventure, it was one of the greatest times of my life.

Those nights spent in the woods and the journeys it takes to see those magnificent sights; they are among life’s greatest gifts, bestowed only upon those who take the trouble to get there.