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.
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.
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