Mill Creek

Orange flagging fluttered upstream, tacked to the tops of survey stakes set at intervals in the brush. We were well beyond the end of any recognizable trail but the seductive hanging ribbons lured me on. Dexter barked encouragement when I stopped to catch my breath. Easy for him to say, he had four legs.
We had parked eighty miles north of San Luis Obispo on Nacimiento Ferguson Road, a half mile east of State Highway 1, south of Lucia, at a sign marking the Mill Creek trailhead.
Unfairly to legs that had not yet warmed up, the first few feet of the well-worn trail were steep and rocky. Mill Creek rippled below with the soothing white noise of running water.
The trail leveled off and turned sharply through a grove of California bay laurel, then wound up and down along the canyon wall through riparian creekside growth. Lichen-mottled gray granite rocks lay in thickets of sword and bracken fern.
Within a half mile, the trail intersected the creek and continued upstream in the shade of great redwoods, bigleaf maples and sycamore trees.
A rusted iron water valve, about a foot in diameter, lay beside the trail in a location that might have once been a mining site.
We followed the creek through thick, clover-leafed ground cover, sidestepping fallen trees and scattered branches. Dexter, with his short dog legs, scooted underneath a buckeye tree that lay across the trail. Its root ball was still covered with earth and the branches along the trunk grew vertically, reaching for the sun.
The trail became more difficult a mile from the road, following a dry, rocky streambed before turning and twice crossing the creek. The canyon was narrower here, with shorter walls that provided a more open view of the sky.
We crossed a boulder field and I clung to tree branches as the trail hugged the edge of the bank overhanging the stream. The trail turned left away from the water and entered a redwood grove where a fire ring and benches made a picturesque camping spot. On the other side of the narrow canyon, flat ground dotted with great stumps marked the place that was once a staging area for logging and milling (hence the name "Mill Creek"). A close search turned up a few redwood shingles.
Beyond this point, the trail was less distinct and required some tenacity to follow. After crossing the creek several times and scrambling over a large rockfall that was overgrown with foot-entangling vines, I was ready to give up. Then I saw a forest of orange flagging and painted stakes and a sign that said "National Forest Land Behind This Sign." Nearby was a survey benchmark beside the creek. While I sat to copy its inscription, Dexter dug a nest in the soft soil behind me, kicking pawfuls of dirt onto my pack and the back of my shirt.
More orange flagging fluttered from tree branches upstream so we pushed on. Dexter proceeded with the confident stride of a dog who knows his way and, sure enough, traces of the trail appeared from time to time. When we got to a point where we were leaping from boulder to boulder in the middle of the stream, however, I began to lose faith in my pathfinder. We crawled underneath logs and over rocks, hanging onto trees and bushes to keep from falling into the water. The orange flagging marched onward.
We climbed through a jumble of fallen trees past a small waterfall. Beyond that, the creek grew steeper as did the banks on both sides. I could no longer pretend that we were having fun or that the route was safe, and there were finally no more orange flags in sight. We turned back to the camp in the redwoods and shared a sandwich before returning to the car.
INFORMATION BOX
The redwood camp is an hour’s hike from the trailhead, about two miles. Terrain is fairly level to that point and the trail is easy to follow. There is a small parking area at the trailhead and a larger one just past it around a bend in the road. Poison oak is scarce and easily avoided. Only experienced hikers looking for a hard time should continue past this point.

Cerro Alto

I turned the binoculars slowly to capture the entire panorama. From the top of Cerro Alto Peak, I could see most of San Luis Obispo County, from the white sands of Oceano to fog-shrouded Piedras Blancas lighthouse. We were 2600 feet above the blue water of Estero Bay. A friend told me that, on crisp winter days, he can see snow-covered peaks of the Sierra Nevada mountains from here.
Dexter and I had started our hike two hours earlier from Cerro Alto Campground. As we walked across the parking lot to the trailhead, someone’s cat slunk across our path. Dexter pulled at the leash. He likes cats.
A wide, well-packed trail wound up the canyon parallel to the creek below us. Dusty oaks hung overhead and provided shade. Ferns and fallen trees covered the streambed.
We crossed the creek a mile from the campground and started up the west wall of the canyon. We flickered in and out of shadow as the sun played peek-a-boo on our left. Wispy tendrils of fog blew overhead from Atascadero.
We climbed 300 feet in the next half mile. Pint-sized madro a trees and burnt-over oaks jutted from the brushy hillside. The canyon suddenly unfolded and revealed the television towers on Tassajara Peak.
A sign at a trail junction pointed to the summit. An overgrown fire road dropped left into the canyon. We turned right to climb some more.
The trail leveled and turned left around the end of the ridge. Directly ahead was the fog-covered Salinas Valley. Blue Pacific waters rounded Estero Point on our left. Cerro Alto Campground lay directly below.
We intersected another trail, one that goes directly from the camp to the summit. A sign said it was 1.2 miles to the top.
We climbed 400 feet in the next half mile. As we rounded a curve, Morro Bay appeared below. The sand spit rolled from Los Osos to the Rock. Tidal canals divided the estuary into abstract shapes. I stopped for a bit to take in the details of this grand sight.
We hiked a little farther to a trail fork. Here we faced a dilemma. Was the summit straight ahead, or should we switchback to the left? It was mankind’s oldest philosophical question–"Which way is up?"
The straight-ahead trail led to a CCCMB work bench and a scenic overlook. Central Coast Concerned Mountain Bikers (non-motorized) sponsor trail maintenance work days at Cerro Alto and at other local mountain biking areas. They have constructed new multi-use trails at Monta a de Oro and at Santa Margarita Lake in partnership with the Sierra Club, equestrian groups and bicyclists. With funding from the San Luis Obispo Bicycle Club, CCCMB places work benches and tools alongside the trails. A shovel, rake and a Macleod are provided for volunteer trail maintenance.
We returned to the trail fork and continued our climb to the summit. Twenty minutes later we were atop Cerro Alto Peak. I swept the horizon with binoculars. All of the Seven Sisters lay below, from Islay Hill to Morro Rock.
Beyond the Irish Hills, the Guadalupe sand dunes shined through fog that enveloped Pismo Beach. Cambria Air Force Station sat on a ridge south of Cambria. The white rocks of Piedras Blancas framed the lighthouse. Junipero Serra Peak, highest point in Monterey County, stood above its neighbors. Salinas Valley vineyards cascaded over foothills of the Santa Lucia Range. The Cholame Hills hid Parkfield but parts of Atascadero and Santa Margarita were visible below.
Our descent seemed steeper than the climb. Small rocks rolled like marbles beneath my boots and made the footing precarious. We took the direct route back to the campground and arrived in less than an hour. The cat was nowhere in sight. Dexter took several long looks just to make sure.
Cerro Alto Campground is located midway between Morro Bay and Atascadero on Highway 41. The trailhead is a mile off the highway at the end of the paved road. A direct route to the summit of Cerro Alto Peak begins between camping spaces 15 and 16. A longer loop trail starts opposite camping space 19. The fee for day-use parking is $5.00. Dogs must be on leash.