Unplanned Treasures

Nearly all the best things that came to me in life have been unexpected, unplanned by me.

–Carl Sandburg

What an active day today was!   The rain passed and left behind a fantastic spring day today.   Last night the frogs enjoyed the wet environment and I fell asleep to their croaking chorus, and this morning I woke up to a brisk 40 degrees and sunshine.  I’m glad I decided to bring an extra blanket, as I didn’t even notice the temperature drop last night until I poked my head above the covers this morning. 

One thing I’ve discovered about this area is that the people are extremely friendly.  Shortly after I arrived last night, a man was walking by my campsite and came over and introduced himself.  He appeared to be in his late 40’s.  He told me that he and his wife have been living here for nearly 4 months, and that there are several other residents who live here full time on sites up the hill from where my camp is situated. Those apparently are where the best locations are, with great views into the surrounding valley.   “Come on up and take a look around!  We’re in a spot near the back circular drive.  If we’re there, stop in for a glass of wine, and if we’re not, feel free to sit down in the chairs outside our coach and enjoy the view!”  I took a brief walk up there last night before it got dark and there is indeed a pretty incredible landscape.    Dutcher Creek Village (where I’m staying), is situated on a little hill in the middle of a valley full of rolling hills.

All this green and we're in a drought?

Everything is green and vibrant, and other than a blush of tan from the distant hills, you’d never guess there is a drought in California up here.  The property is full of several oak trees that have their trunks and branches carpeted with a thick, velvety dark green moss, and wispy light green strands of Spanish moss hang from the branches like the beards of old men.  There also are several sites that did indeed look more permanent—large RV’s with stick-and-frame built porches added on as well as some small mobile homes and cottages. I met another lady taking pictures of the sunset who said she and her husband moved here because its one of the few places they can get the million dollar views for only a small monthly rent for the land.   I think the environment spawns the friendly nature of people:  the beautiful surroundings, the silence and solitude, the lack of fences and boundaries, and the near absence of stress, hustle, and bustle. 

As the morning started to warm up slightly, I found one of the most important locations around—the local Starbucks.  I’m a sucker for their rewards program and they’ve conned me into buying far too much sugar and caffeine such that now I’m a full-on junkie.  It’s two miles from where I’m camped, and that seemed a perfect distance to walk.  Drivers in about half of the cars that passed me as I walked down the road waved as they went by—again, the friendliness of the area. (I could never imagine waving and random people walking down the street in Arroyo Grande.)  Once I reached the Starbucks, I ordered my extra-whipped, cream extra-caramel, extra-shot iced Caramel Macchiato (hey, it was a free one from the rewards program) and sat down to saturate my body.  As I was sitting there enjoying my drink, I heard a voice say “Arroyo Grande—that sounds familiar.”  I looked up to

Kind of reminds me of Edna Valley at home

an elderly gentleman, maybe 70, with thick glasses and thinning hair.  He stood, grasping his cup, but the quivers in his head and hands gave away what appeared to be either a slight case of Parkinson’s or a severe case of Starbucks addiction.  He had noticed the blue and gold AG Cross Country sweatshirt I was wearing, and said he loved visiting the Central Coast area. He was a retired cross country coach, so we chatted for a bit about coaching and we both agreed that it was perhaps the most rewarding job a person could have.  After a few minutes he made his way over to a group of about 6 or 7 other old men and women who apparently used the Starbucks to quell their need for caffeine and regular social interaction.  They were gossiping and telling stories like teen-agers, and I thought how fantastic it was that sharing a simple cup of morning coffee could bring people together so effectively.  There is some social good in Starbucks after all!

After I had fully imbued and could feel my veins practically humming from the copious amounts of caffeine I had just consumed, I walked the two miles back to my van and decided to head out on my bike to explore farther reaches.  Now, to be honest, I haven’t been on an actual bicycle, other than the spin bikes at the gym, for approximately a year.  The last time I rode my bike was when I was goaded into doing the San Luis Triathlon, and other than that it has been sitting idle in the garage.  But I decided to bring it on this trip as it would give me a good way to get around and explore. 

Dry Creek Valley didn't look too dry.

I got my bike all prepped, and headed down the hill to start an adventure.  About 5 minutes out, however, I noticed that I had forgotten my water bottle.  The driveway to the RV park is quite steep, so I decided I’d just keep it to a short ride rather than go back up the hill to get my water. (This is one reason why I tend to stick to cycle classes—no matter what you forget, it’s easy enough to jump off and jump back on at any time without any extra work!) I headed down to Dutcher Creek Road, turned right and headed south through Dry Creek Valley. 

It was a fantastic windy little road with rolling hills, wineries, and lots of lush trees arching above.  As I sped down the pavement, I had the constant companionship of the chirping and clicking cicadas in real-life stereo at every angle around me.  (Ok, so that part was way better than any music in a cycle class!)  At the end of Dutcher Creek Road, a sign indicated that Lake Sonoma was off to the right, so I turned and headed to see what interesting things I might find there.

This road invites you to follow it.

Just outside of the lake area, I came across a large banner on the side of the road that exclaimed “Steelhead Run In Progress – Stop and Watch The Fun Here!” It had a large picture of a trout and a blue arrow on it. Now when you stumble across an unexpected invitation like that, there’s no way you can pass it up.  Who would want to miss out on fun with some fish?  I headed in the direction of the arrow to a little fish hatchery.  The parking lot had only one or two cars in it, and a few other people on bikes were just heading out.  I got off my bike, leaned it against the side of the building, and found a door that said “Information Center” above it and walked in.  The room was museum-like and devoid of any people except for a slightly bored woman sitting behind a desk that was papered with brochures about fish, volunteering as a park ranger, and joining the California Conservation Corps.  “Can I help you?” she asked automatically as I walked in. 

“Umm..is it free to walk around in here and check things out?” I asked, since I didn’t bring any money with me. 

“It is. Fish are in the fish ladder out back,” she motioned over her shoulder.

Now there's some fun for ya right there!

I walked through the information center, which was full of displays and exhibits about trout, salmon, the Russian River, and the local environment.  Just beyond a diorama of the local park area, I found another blue arrow that said “Fish Ladder” and pointed out a back door.  My excitement and curiosity building, I went out the door and down a short path into another small building that was labeled as the fish hatchery.  It contained more posters on the walls, all about fish, a looping video playing in front about 10 empty chairs, and a smoky glass observation wall that looked down into a dark room occupied by several tanks with water flowing between them.  I wasn’t sure if it was closed at the time, or it was just dark to give the fish some privacy while they hatched.  Through the dark glass, though, I could make out that the surface of each tank was shimmering and quivering with what I imagined to be several-thousand baby fish.  I walked around the room a bit before finding yet another blue arrow that indicated I had to go through one more door to get to the as-of-yet mysterious fish ladder.  I passed through and found myself on a small path alongside a rapidly moving stream.  The water was murky and could have been anywhere from three inches to thirty feet deep—I couldn’t really tell since the solid green water cloaked any clues about what was beneath the surface.  Again, the path was totally empty, except for a large older gentleman who was maybe twenty yards ahead of me.  He wore a jacket with a patch on the shoulder, a baseball cap with a matching patch on it as well, and tan pants that struggled to contain his waist and reach his ankles. 

The No-Fish Ladder

As I approached, he pointed down into the stream and with a thick southern accent said “ ‘Eres a bigun ‘ight dere.”  My eyes followed his finger into the water, and I saw a dark shadow, about 18” long, wavering just beneath the surface.  For several moments, I thought I might have missed what he was pointing at and was looking at just a weed in the water, but slowly the shadow moved closer to the surface and I could discern a fish-shaped fin on the back and the unique gasping monster-like mouth of a trout.  After another couple minutes of staring at the water, I saw maybe four or five more dark shadows of fish, languidly swimming in place.  The current was strong, and they were mostly gathering around the edges of the water or in deeper pools where they didn’t have to expend as much effort to prevent from losing any of their hard work of getting this far up stream.  Now, as I was closer to where the man was standing, I could see that the patches on his shirt and jacket said “Volunteer—California Conservation Corps.” I asked him if there were any fish jumping in the ladder, which was another few yards beyond us.  He indicated that there weren’t.

So much for all the fun that the sign promised! He said that he had only been volunteering here for about 4 months and this was the first time he had actually come out to see the fish ladder, so he too was disappointed at the no-fishness of it.  He told me that this was the end of their birthing season, and that they’d only be here for about another week or so, and then they wouldn’t be back until next year.

The Fish Journey

We stood, staring at the shadow-fish for a few moments, and he echoed to me most of what I had read on the signs inside. These fish are born in this hatchery and then released into the river where they make their way downstream into the ocean.  From there, they swim thousands of miles and, if they’re not eaten by something larger, they swim back to the exact same river, and climb up against the current to the spot where they were born. The females lay their eggs, the males fertilize them, and then within just a couple of days they head back out to sea to repeat the cycle again in another year.  It occurred to me that these creatures were at the end of their journey while I was just at the beginning of mine.  We were occupying the same space, but in far different points on our own adventures.  In the next few days, they were going to start a brand new journey back into the ocean, crossing thousands of miles before coming back to this spot, while I would be venturing thousands of miles as well.  Lately I’ve been anticipating the things that I’ll find on the rest of my current journey, but seeing these fish reminded me that even when this trip ends, it really just brings about the beginning of a brand new adventure. I pondered what kind of things I’d be doing next year at this time.

After the unbelievable excitement of the no-fish ladder, I headed back to my bike which was still silently waiting for me along side the building, and I hopped on and continued down the road to Lake Sonoma. 

Don't Be The First!

The final two miles of the trip were up a hill to an observation point above the lake.   I was thankful for the sugar and caffeine from Starbucks, as well as all the cycle classes I’ve been teaching lately. The combination of the two  helped my legs and energy hold out pretty well up the hill.  I kept envisioning the view, and it gave me the motivation to keep climbing up.  At one point, I noticed another cyclist several hundred yards in front of me, and that gave me the competitive drive to speed up the last bit of the way to try to catch him.  Near the top we reached a small parking lot, and I got there only a few seconds after him.  He looped around the lot a couple of times before heading back down the hill, which left me alone with just the view and a spring breeze as companions.  I spent about 10 minutes at the top absorbing the sights before heading back “home” to my van for a shower and a nap.

By the end of it, I had gone 21 unplanned miles.  I know that’s no great feat, and in the overall scheme of things it’s actually a pretty short ride.  But the memories it built were endless.  As I have told people about this trip, they have recommended some pretty amazing spots that I’ve added to my list:  Glacier National Park, Mt. Rushmore, Yellowstone, and several other must-see national monuments which I do plan to visit.  But after today, I think that the no-fish fish ladder and the quirky people I’ve run into are also the types of things I’d consider must-see.  Not necessarily these things in particular, but the common, every-day unexpected treasures that we run into without planning them.  I wonder how many of these little things I’ve missed in my own backyard over the years.

Obligatory Selfie at Top of Lake Sonoma