Yahi Trail

I stopped in Chico a few weeks ago to sneak a hike before heading out for a girls’ weekend and, with all of the trails I found while researching where to go, I decided I would have to make a second trip. So, I’m back. With a list of trails and temperatures in the 90s, there were no lazy mornings. I traded those in for early hikes, cooler temperatures on the trail, and watching the leaves of the trees glow as the rays of the sun shined through their branches. I love the changing landscape during early morning and late afternoon hikes.

Heading to Yahi Trail in what’s known as Upper Bidwell Park, I was a little surprised to see so many signs of civilization. I passed through town, headed toward a giant open field, drove through a gate that led me past a big parking lot, over a set of speed bumps and past a golf course. And then, just as I was worried that I would not get the peaceful experience I had hoped for, the landscape turned to trees and the pavement turned to gravel, the only parking available was on large turnouts on the side of the road, and I was surrounded by the sounds of birds and the rustle of bushes and not one human in sight. Well, until a dog came up behind me and sniffed me as he went to do his business in the tall grass, followed by his owner who said the dog was friendly (well, if he wasn’t I would have already been attacked by the time the owner got there). I took that as a gentle reminder to be more aware of my surroundings and went on my way.

Climbing over a small hill and into the woods, I met the trail at an opening with access to Big Chico Creek and I was in heaven. It helped that the sun was still low in the eastern sky and I was surrounded by gorgeous, mature trees that filtered the morning light through their mostly bare branches. I left the man and his fur baby to frolic in the river and followed the path upstream.

The trail was stunning and ever-changing. I walked along packed dirt, kicked up loose sand, weaved around puddles of water, tripped on rocky terrain, crossed streams while balancing on wobbly rocks, and climbed on basalt rock formations as the water cascaded between the massive boulders.

The landscape was varied as well. I marveled at giant trees that jutted into the sky, walked beneath canopies of older branches that arched over the trail, paused to admire how the forest opened to frame an open meadow, and stood in awe as a kaleidoscope of butterflies sipped nectar from dainty purple flowers dotting a grassy hill.

The path meandered along the river, giving many options to go down and touch the water. As I stood on the shore, I thought about one of my very first hikes along the edge of Lake Siskiyou and how I would not go down to the water. On this trail, I took every off-shoot that was available (except for one because it was through tall grass and…snakes) so I could see the river and hear the water rushing over rocks and watch as geese and ducks floated along with the current. It made me realize that all of the experiences I have had on my many adventures have really allowed me to grow in a way I never expected. I am less afraid. I am happy in my own company. I have explored places that, just a couple of years ago, I never would have dreamed to go. What a precious gift.

The trail turned away from the river at a few points. The first took me into a dense, shady part of the forest and what looked like a Troll bridge that had caved in on itself. The second had me crouching down to pass under a leaning tree and then balancing on wobbly rocks to cross over Alder Spring. Making a kind-of U-turn back toward the river, I came to an opening where I could hear a rush of water, and I said right out loud “I want to go there”. I had no idea where “there” was, or how I would get there, or even if it was possible. But I was going to try my best.

Continuing past a sign that read “Extreme Water Danger” (in all caps), I found where the sound was coming from. (Ok, I did pause at the sign and I contemplated turning around. But then a couple came toward me from the extreme danger, and I figured, if they survived, then it was safe proceed.) I emerged from under the shady canopy of the forest and right into the most unique landscape I have ever seen. Imagine this; a beautiful rounded hill covered in lush, deep green grasses and beautiful, old oak trees. Now, think about something below that hill pushing the earth up and creating ledges with the grass hanging over the sides. That’s what it looked like on the opposite side of the river, and the creek below rushed between giant, black basalt rock formations. The basalt looked like millions of little, sharp stones had been glued together with a smooth asphalt and dropped in massive mounds onto the river to create the waterfall. It was like I had walked right into Fraggle Rock. (Yes, aging myself…again)

I climbed around on the rocks for a while trying to get a better view of the cascading water. I have read about people falling to their death because they were not paying attention to the ground beneath them, so I was very careful with my foot placement… and then a lizard surprised me. And I thought there might be snakes that are camouflaged in the rocks, so I decided it was time to go. Retracing my steps, I followed the trail back to where I started. With the sun higher in the sky, and my view in the opposite direction, I caught a glimpse of a few things I would have missed on a loop; a giant conifer reaching up like a skyscraper, a little nook on the shore where two ducks were hiding out, and a view of the river that was so glassy it looked like the water was not moving at all. I always appreciate the change in perspective on an out and back trail. I need to remember to appreciate it just as much in life.