Getting into Reno at midnight after 3 crappy flights felt like a huge sigh of relief. No more feeling nauseated, sitting next to strangers, and hearing sick people sniffle and cough constantly. My last flight had a young girl and a mom sitting behind me on the plane, and the mom was helping her daughter with math homework. She was absurdly loud, describing how Tommy had 15 cars, then lost 3, then Tommy’s mom bought him 6 more…. How many cars does Tommy have now? No one has 15 cars kid… And if he lost 3? He’s probably a drug dealer. But wait, the mom buys him 6 more?? The whole family must be in on the business. Look away and act like you never saw Tommy or his mom… After struggling with this two part problem, she loudly states that she does not like word problems. I feel ya kiddo….
Once I’m on the ground and out of the airport, I find my truck and hop in the back for a few hours of sleep. This parking lot is cheaper than any campground I’ll find in the area. It’ll be perfect as long as I don’t have to pee.
When I finally decide to move on the next morning, I realize that I have my mind set on visiting the Sierraville Hot Springs. I find a gas station in Nevada to fill up (fuck you California gas taxes), and google directions. As I’m reading the site, I find a page of rules and regulations that I did not see before. Not only would I pay to camp, I also have to pay $25 a day to use the hot springs, AND I have to buy a membership to the hot springs for a month. $65 a night to sleep in my truck and use a hot tub? Also no alcohol allowed?? I’m out. As I decide to scrap that plan, I quickly realize I have no plan B or C. I always at least have a plan B…. I sit at the gas station on my phone, trying to figure out cool things to see and do. Of course I drift over to the National Forest page, as most of their facilities are free. All of the National Forestry’s websites are shit. For being such a big operation, they honestly suck at getting resources to their visitors. Compared to the National Park Service, BLM, and USGS, they are 15 steps behind in the digital world. Wake the fuck up forestry….
As I haphazardly stumble through the Plumas National Forest shit website, I find a trail and campground that is open called Feather Falls. The pictures are shit and the written description is awful, but it’s open and free and sorta on my way. I decide to drive the 3 hours to go check it out.
The roads are narrow and wind around, but all are paved. Which, honestly, doesn’t happen a lot these days. So I’m pleasantly surprised. As I pull into the trail head, I realize this is a large facility that must get a lot of visitor use. Huh, I guess that’s a good sign? I wouldn’t have guessed that from the 3rd grader description on the website. I find a trail map and turn on my GPS. The Garmin handheld my dad got me has been awesome at having all of the random trails I’ve found pre-programmed on it, and this trail is no exception. I see that the GPS has the trail and the falls marked. Ok, so the trail is named after a waterfall. I love waterfalls. Don’t go chasing them, rule #1.
The hike to the falls reminds me of home. Not Florida home, but Appalachian Trail hiking home. The deciduous forest is thick and full and green. Streams break up the trail every mile or so with fast moving clear water. It’s gorgeous and full of the fragrance of dogwood blooms. I had no idea California could be this pretty. On this 9 mile round trip, I saw many new flower species, a rock dome formation, and HOLY SHIT THAT WATERFALL IS HUGEEEE.
Ok, why didn’t anyone tell me this trail led to a waterfall, and it is the 6th tallest in the US, 4th tallest in California before I started hiking? Wouldn’t that like, draw people in? Jesus this thing is huge and amazing and terrifying all in one. This observation deck is giving my heart palpitations just walking on it (see above). We all know I’m a pussy when it comes to heights. It sounds like an airliner jet is constantly flying overhead. I look up on multiple occasions to make sure it’s not. Nope, just a shit load of water falling over 400 ft.
After gazing at the unrelenting fall of water for too long, I decide to hike back. There’s no cell service here, and I’d like to get back in time to drive somewhere to at least call Cas and tell her goodnight. Upon returning and getting a phone call in, I park my truck near the campsites, which parallel a quick moving stream. As I’m opening the back and getting settled, a man walks up and asks if I’m camping. Through conversation, I learn his name is Nick, and his house was burned down during the wildfire shitshow last year. No insurance, and no money, he pretty much just hops around to random campsites with his black pitbull named Rampage. Rampage is a huge cuddle bug, and is now my best friend after a few well placed scritches.
Nick is super talkative, and tells me all about his camping setup, his VW beetle that will run forever, and how amazing Rampage is with kids and other dogs. After 20 minutes, he says “hey, come meet Dre, my next door neighbor!” We walk over to meet Dre, a 30 something Jamaican nomad who is a wanderer, just like me. Looking for cheap land, and the meaning of life, Dre has left Jamaica to eventually get a homestead going so he can bring his family to the states.
Ok I know what you’re thinking. Two random dudes start talking to me while we’re alone in the woods. I’m super uneasy at first. I’ve got bear mace in my back pocket, and a knife in the front. As we’re talking, Dre starts cooking. Not like, throw some Ramen in a pot cooking. He’s seasoning steaks and crushing pimentos and mixing sauces kind of cooking. “How do you like your steak?” Um, I don’t want to steal any food… They insist, plus they have 4 steaks. What stared as a somewhat creepy interaction turned into amazing grilled steak with the best Jamaican hot sauce I’ve ever had, mashed potatoes, beer, and a game of cards that went until 11PM. I learned 2 popular Jamaican games, three of cards and Pit a Pat. All while playing, Dre smokes more weed than I’ve ever seen anyone smoke. Seriously. It was like, one spliff after the other after the other after the other. During the course of the night, I question his home country, his Rastafarian religion, and what type of land he’s looking for. Even though all three of us come from entirely different backgrounds and religions and upbringings, it’s very evident that we’re just people. And deep down we’re all the same. Just looking for a peaceful life, family, and happiness.
It’s 10am now, and they are both still asleep. Sounds like they are just passing time, no real direction, no real schedule, nothing to make them do anything except enjoy this quiet, beautiful site.