Windy Point Trail
Dave and I have cruised Iowa Hill Road time after time, and never paid attention to the line of boulders by the road above the river indicating the trailhead of Windy Point. One day as we were cruising up into the hills, we noticed several trucks and tour vans parked here, and it finally clicked.....there's a trail there. So this past Sunday, we parked at the boulders and embarked on a new trail.
The beginning of the trail is a nice grassy stroll under some pines. Nothing too ominous. But as soon as you step out from the trees and the sun hits your face, the trail drops steeply, and continues to drop for nearly the entire extent of this trail. I knew this was going to be murder trying to hike back out, but I try not to let fear stop me from doing worthwhile things, so on we went.
The scenery here is different from other trails we have hiked. Instead of dense trees, much of this trail is grassy hillside. Might sound like a good view, but as spring has long since passed here in California, the grass everywhere is dry and brown.
The downhill slant of this trail had my poor feet squished into the end of my new athletic shoes, and every step became more and more painful as blisters formed on my pinky toes. But as Hot Rod says, "Life is pain. You've got to scrape the joy out of it every chance you get". So on and on we went, and at last......a fork in the trail. The fork to the right would clearly lead us straight down to the river. The fork to the left was marked "Indian Creek 4 miles". 4 miles?? When I researched this trail online, it said Windy Point Trail was only 3 miles total, and only 2.5 miles to Indian Creek. In any case, I had, for some retarded reason, failed to pack any water along with my trail mix. Besides, I wasn't sure my feet could handle such a long hike in my new blister-forming shoes. So I took the easy way out and decided we should cut our hike short and visit the river below. Boy, am I glad we did.
The stretch of the river we came to was beautiful, and unlike so many other river spots we have visited, there wasn't another soul around for miles. Dave goldpanned for a bit while I sat in the sun watching the dragonflies. Eventually we decided to hike downstream and see what was around the bend. The spot we found was the most beautiful river spot we have seen so far. The river bottom dropped around a huge boulder in the middle of the stream. The water here was clearly over our heads, but the current was gentle, and we wanted to swim. So we stripped off our outer layer of clothing, and submerged ourselves in the cold. As I'm accustomed to the warm waters of Florida, every dip in the American River is, at first, torture for me. But eventually I was up to my neck and dog paddling around the boulder.
Running diagonally up one side of the boulder was a deep crack. Looking up at it, I could see several large shed snake skins lining the crevice. As I studied it further, I also noticed a dark tail hanging from the crack, and above it, a dark coil of snake. I quickly swam back to shore for my camera, and then back to the boulder. I wondered if all these skins belonged to this one snake, or if there were more snakes tucked away in the crack where I couldn't see. But the crevice was too far above the water for me to be able to look in.
Soon, the sun began to drop in the sky, so we swam back to shore and dried on a warm rock before dressing. Reluctantly, I pulled my shoes back on, and we began the hike out. Although the sun had began its descent, it was still pulling every available molecule of moisture from my body. Every patch of shade we ran into along the trail was a resting point for me. My legs were burning. My face was burning. My feet were burning. During every pause in my trek, I could feel my heart pounding out of my chest. I started flashing back to a hike out of Reddington Canyon in Tucson, middle of the day, no water, circa 2001. I almost didn't make it out that day, and I began to wonder if I was going to make it out this day. But you know what they say.....slow and steady wins the race. So I kept on truckin, and at last made it back to the shady stand of pines, and could see the bright orange paint of my Honda shimmering through the trees like a mirage.
Windy Point may have almost beat me, but I'm not done with her yet. Indian Creek is still calling to me. Next time though, I'll be packing a gallon of water, and wearing top of the line hiking shoes. :)
The beginning of the trail is a nice grassy stroll under some pines. Nothing too ominous. But as soon as you step out from the trees and the sun hits your face, the trail drops steeply, and continues to drop for nearly the entire extent of this trail. I knew this was going to be murder trying to hike back out, but I try not to let fear stop me from doing worthwhile things, so on we went.
The scenery here is different from other trails we have hiked. Instead of dense trees, much of this trail is grassy hillside. Might sound like a good view, but as spring has long since passed here in California, the grass everywhere is dry and brown.
The downhill slant of this trail had my poor feet squished into the end of my new athletic shoes, and every step became more and more painful as blisters formed on my pinky toes. But as Hot Rod says, "Life is pain. You've got to scrape the joy out of it every chance you get". So on and on we went, and at last......a fork in the trail. The fork to the right would clearly lead us straight down to the river. The fork to the left was marked "Indian Creek 4 miles". 4 miles?? When I researched this trail online, it said Windy Point Trail was only 3 miles total, and only 2.5 miles to Indian Creek. In any case, I had, for some retarded reason, failed to pack any water along with my trail mix. Besides, I wasn't sure my feet could handle such a long hike in my new blister-forming shoes. So I took the easy way out and decided we should cut our hike short and visit the river below. Boy, am I glad we did.
The stretch of the river we came to was beautiful, and unlike so many other river spots we have visited, there wasn't another soul around for miles. Dave goldpanned for a bit while I sat in the sun watching the dragonflies. Eventually we decided to hike downstream and see what was around the bend. The spot we found was the most beautiful river spot we have seen so far. The river bottom dropped around a huge boulder in the middle of the stream. The water here was clearly over our heads, but the current was gentle, and we wanted to swim. So we stripped off our outer layer of clothing, and submerged ourselves in the cold. As I'm accustomed to the warm waters of Florida, every dip in the American River is, at first, torture for me. But eventually I was up to my neck and dog paddling around the boulder.
Running diagonally up one side of the boulder was a deep crack. Looking up at it, I could see several large shed snake skins lining the crevice. As I studied it further, I also noticed a dark tail hanging from the crack, and above it, a dark coil of snake. I quickly swam back to shore for my camera, and then back to the boulder. I wondered if all these skins belonged to this one snake, or if there were more snakes tucked away in the crack where I couldn't see. But the crevice was too far above the water for me to be able to look in.
Soon, the sun began to drop in the sky, so we swam back to shore and dried on a warm rock before dressing. Reluctantly, I pulled my shoes back on, and we began the hike out. Although the sun had began its descent, it was still pulling every available molecule of moisture from my body. Every patch of shade we ran into along the trail was a resting point for me. My legs were burning. My face was burning. My feet were burning. During every pause in my trek, I could feel my heart pounding out of my chest. I started flashing back to a hike out of Reddington Canyon in Tucson, middle of the day, no water, circa 2001. I almost didn't make it out that day, and I began to wonder if I was going to make it out this day. But you know what they say.....slow and steady wins the race. So I kept on truckin, and at last made it back to the shady stand of pines, and could see the bright orange paint of my Honda shimmering through the trees like a mirage.Windy Point may have almost beat me, but I'm not done with her yet. Indian Creek is still calling to me. Next time though, I'll be packing a gallon of water, and wearing top of the line hiking shoes. :)
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