Stevens Trail - The Other Side

We've hiked Stevens Trail in Colfax many times, and we'd thought we'd seen it all. Then someone said to us a couple months ago, "Have you hiked Stevens Trail from Iowa Hill?"

Iowa Hill is a small town in the Sierra foothills, at about 2800 feet in elevation, that was a big mining town back in the day. After several fires wiped out the original town, the only thing left now is the "Iowa Hill Store" and an old cemetery dating back to the 1800's. We've driven through here many times, but never noticed any trailheads. Then a few weeks ago we stopped into the old store to see what it was all about, and discovered a bar tended by an old man in overalls, who walked with a cane and wore a long gray beard. There was a pool table here, a small book shelf, and a couch with a dozing pit bull. In the back of the bar was a display cabinet containing relics of the past.....a glass telegraph insulator, some old bottles, and other miscellaneous items from a town long gone. On one of the rafters, a large rattlesnake hide hung for all to see. There were also some old maps of the town hanging on the walls.

This bar is technically a store I suppose, since there is a tiny room containing some common necessities, like bread, toilet paper, and eggs. Passing cyclists can even score a Powerade from the bar, although they may not get to choose the color. The most interesting thing to me about this place, is that there is no electricity. Everything is run off of a generator. Can you imagine living life without the daily convenience of electricity? And yes, people do LIVE here. As we sat on the front porch responding to the locals about "How do you like that Honda you're driving?", a young man with a black eye emerged from the upstairs apartment with a pit bull on a tight rope. Rough nights up here I guess.

Before we departed from the bar, the pit bull that had been sleeping inside came out and bee-lined for a fire pit on the side of the building. The fire pit was surrounded by sections of cut logs, stood up on end, apparently for seating around the fire. The dog seemed entranced by these log segments, and stood staring at a cluster of 2 or 3 logs, wagging his tail frantically. My guess was there was a lizard using the logs for shelter, but the peculiar site drew my attention to a big brown sign just beyond the fire pit that read "STEVENS TRAIL". The land behind the bar seemed no more than a steep grassy field, and certainly did not look like a trail head. In fact, my first thought was that someone had stolen the sign and put it there for decoration! But when I pointed it out to Dave, he said, "Yeah, don't you remember Bobby saying there was a trail from Iowa Hill?" Well, at this point, the conversation Dave was referring to was merely a vague recollection in my mind, but the more I thought about it, the more I did remember. And so I decided, one day soon, we would hike this trail....

Winter in the Sierra foothills is nothing short of brutal for this Florida girl. Having grown up near the coast, in the humidity and ample sunshine, I'm just not too fond of snow and hail and freezing rain. Well that is what winter is made of here in Placer County, and with winter stretching all the way into June this year, I have been chomping at the bit for some warm weather to hike in. And so at last, hiking weather is upon us! This past Saturday's forecast was for 79 and sunny - perfect for hitting the trails. So we packed up some water and trail mix, and drove the 10 miles up narrow, winding Iowa Hill Road to the mystery trail head.

We parked in the shade across from the Iowa Hill Store, and strolled over to the big brown sign at the top of the slope. Looking down, it still didn't look like a trail. Undoubtedly, no one had mowed this field so far this year. Heck, maybe it never got mowed! The grass and weeds were tall, and hung over the narrow foot path that descended to the dark forest below. We were both a little unsure about what awaited us on this trail, but ready for an adventure, we began our trek.... At the bottom of the field, we were enveloped in a pine forest, but this was short lived, and soon we found ourselves in an alien terrain. The ground was rocky orange sand that billowed up and down like swells on the ocean. Manzanitas, all roughly the same size, were the only trees here. As we delved deeper, we discovered an expanse of small boulders strewn across the land. This must have been a mining dump at one time, with all the rock removed from mines being deposited here somehow by the mine workers. Looked like a lot of work! The trail meandered through this visual wasteland before entering pine forests again. The path became shady and cool. Some of the trees here were exceptionally huge, no doubt having witnessed the early gold rush of California. Stevens Trail was originally a miners' trail, and the people who first used this path were struggling to eek out a living. We continued on, and soon came upon moss covered rocks and clear flowing water (all the water here is clear, unlike most of Florida's tannin stained rivers and lakes). The temperature around this small waterfall was noticeably cooler than the rest of the trail, and the air was moist. Just around the bend, we could hear the distant roaring of the American River below. I knew the Stevens Trail on the other side of the river like the back of my hand. But this was all new. I was wondering how long it would take us to get to the river, and what we would see along the way. Soon we found ourselves in the sunshine, and things were beginning to warm up. It was then that something beside the trail, no more than 18 inches from my feet, JUMPED, causing me to jump! Out of the corner of my eye, I knew it was a snake, and my first thought was RATTLESNAKE, just because we've seen multiple rattlesnakes on our hikes. But when I laid eyes directly upon it, I saw it was just a California kingsnake.....no cause for alarm. This was a snake I've been hoping to see the entire time we've been living in California, but it had so far eluded me. So to see one now......well, I was ecstatic! I had forgotten my own camera in the car, so I started shouting for Dave to take a picture with his camera before it got away. I was between the snake and the downward slope, which is clearly where it wanted to go. At first it hesitated, and I hoped Dave would get a pic before it made its move, so that I would not have to grab it. Not that I'm adverse to handling snakes, as anyone who knows me can testify. But I prefer not to harass wildlife, so if I can leave it be, I will. However, this snake was not getting away without a photo op, so when it tried to dive past me, I had no choice but to snatch him up by his tail. This of course led to me getting my hand drenched in foul smelling snake musk, but such is life. Once we had a few snapshots, I turned him loose, and off he went. The rest of the trek would be spent keeping my right hand away from my clothes, water bottle, and particularly, my face. The roaring of the river was getting louder, and soon we found a break in the trees that revealed the raging water below. From then on, we continued to drop in elevation, growing closer and closer to the water. Soon we could see hikers on the other side that had taken Stevens Trail from the access point in Colfax. At last, we reached the end of the trail, the spot where a bridge used to connect the 2 sides. Today there is nothing left of the bridge but some rusted metal cables. We rested here, cooled our feet, and shared some especially tasty trail mix, before embarking on the return trip. As with all the trails we hike to get to the river, the trip back out is a steep and grueling test of endurance for me. There's not a lot of elevation change in Florida, and even after a year in the Sierras, I'm still not accustomed to hill climbing. To me, flat is where it's at. But if you don't push yourself every now and then, you'll never see anything cool. So here we are. I'm creeping at a snail's pace, and Dave the Mountain Goat is patiently trudging along behind me. Fortunately, most of this trail is shady, so I'm not dying from the heat. I just feel like my legs are going to fall off. No big deal. After a couple hours, we arrive back at the the spot where we saw the kingsnake, and low and behold, here is another snake, a yellow-bellied racer. He sees us before we see him, and is off the trail in a heartbeat, leaving me with only one quick pic from a distance before he vanishes for good. Soon after, we come to the once cool waterfall, only now it's not cool. The afternoon sun has evaporated any dankness that once existed here. But the water is still cold, and I take a break to cool my feet. While gathering my composure, I notice a foothill's yellow-legged frog sitting motionless on a moss-covered rock, and take a few pics for memories. Eventually, I put my shoes and socks back on, and we finish our hike back to Iowa Hill. At the rock dump, I knew we only had a short distance left to go, but also knew that the final ascent up the grassy field would be the last nail in my coffin. This was the steepest part, and as I pressed onward, I felt the muscles in my legs beginning to tighten. Pride is a curious thing though, and knowing someone might be watching from the old store, I forced myself to continue climbing, and tried to keep the agony off my face. When at last I was seated in the car, my leg muscles were knotted balls of ouch. It will be a long time before I consider doing this hike again, but the scenery and the "lifer" kingsnake made it worth it!