Traditionally, (there's that word again), Sunday was a day of parting ways. Some folk chose to hit the highway and make for home, the next show, or wherever. Generally a small contingent continued the adventure, travelled into the mountains to the east, and then together as far south as feasible before exchanging farewells and beginning the long wait for next year's Trip. This year was a bit different, as many had made plans to get as much Trip in before splitting up and heading for home.
I didn't get an accurate count, but it must have been like twelve or thirteen buses hitting the road together, and we made for the legendary Scarface Road via Old Stage and Old Highway 99, leaving Shasta around 10:30. On Old Stage Road there exists a certain corner that "could" look very cool with a line of buses rounding the bend, Mt. Shasta looming in the background. It's a matter of getting the right light conditions for video, having enough time to frame the shot, and getting everyone to drive in tight formation. This year's drive-by was the best, but I only got a few buses driving together at one time. It still looked pretty nice, and I've got some useable material. There was an impromptu bus gathering at the end of Old Stage Road - I guess people thought I was meaning that spot, and a double delay occured, which apparently made some people have (in their own words), a hemorrhoid. Relatively speaking, I guess I'm not as uptight as some think! Yeesh.
Scarface Rd. winds up from just north of Gazelle, and crawls over the spine of the Siskiyous, and is one link between Shasta Valley and Scott Valley/Ft. Jones area. This is a great road for the Shasta Trip, as it climbs significantly, has many sharp twist and turns, epic vistas, gnarly dropoffs, and great vantage points for bus action photography. Unless you happen to be stuck behind the slowest bus in the group, that is! I really had no problem being in the rear guard, except that I was denied the possibility of getting some drive-by shots, but the real issue was that it is really asking for trouble if the slowest bus is left behind to fend for themselves. Were something to come up, like a blown motor, or unplanned descent off a cliff edge, there would be no-one to help out and in that hill country, no chance of CB communications. The concept that everyone drives ahead and then waits at some unknown spot ahead for the slower buses (more especially if it is just one bus) just doesn't work for me. But there we were, Team 40-horse, Team Backroadbus, and later, Team Pirate Bus.
Our path took us up through sloshy, muddy corners, twisting about in the leafless scrub oaks, and then into the conifer forests where icy snow patches existed yet. As we climbed, the mud got slimier, but on the upper curves that got sunlight, there were stretches of dry road, along with incredible views of Mt. Shasta and Shasta Valley as well as awesome road overlooks, where I plan to be next year, with my cameras on tripods, lying in wait for the line of buses that is sure to come. We met up with the rest of the herd at Scarface Summit, then started the descent into Scott Valley.
Once down into the flats, the speed increased, as did the dust. Somehow we ended up on Hwy. 3, north of Ft. Jones. This is good, because that's where we wanted to be. I think we also intended to take East Moffett Creek Rd., and that makes sense, looking back, and looking at the map, but I'm not sure how we got there. Whatever. It was at this juncture (12:00-ish)that Teams Oregon and Idaho took their leave, starting their treks home, and the rest of us went to Ft. Jones. Most made it through unscathed, but a CHP lady tried to get Richard. Thought he made his license plate out of beer cans and smeared it with mud to avert recognition. Of all the people to get pulled over ...
We didn't stop in Etna to visit the brewery there; it's probably not the best thing to do when lots of driving has yet to be done and cliffs are involved. I'm not sure what the pass is called, but it starts pretty much before the road gets out of Etna and climbs unrelentingly up to the summit, which is called Windy Gap (one of three "Windy Gaps" on the SST). There was some ice here and there, but nothing major, and we all made it to the top without issue for a lookaround and walkabout. This spot hosts one of the most epic pair of views (one south, one north) of any on the SST, regardless of weather conditions.
After we left Windy Gap (about 1:18), we left the open sunny road and descended into some sharp shady corners - with ice. A warning crackled over the CB from up front and everyone dropped to caution speed, except for Aaron and Emily, who were th elast in line. Aaron missed his shift and hit the ice a bit harder, causing the bus to go into a spin, and slide backwards into the snowy mountainside. Both of them were sure that this was the end, as the other option was to go over the cliff and down a loooong ways, but they lucked out, and despite the rubber-knee effect, they were OK. I saw the event as it unfolded, but the rear camera didn't spool up until the very end of their bit of craziness. It wasn't their favorite experience, I can tell you that!
The rest of the trip down the mountain was taken fairly slowly, as the ice persisted and the cliffs threatened quick disappearance of any who let their attention stray. Eventually the roadway became drier, and the speed picked up considerably. In the rolling Salmon River canyon, through forest and alongside cliffs, we raced, tires frequently edging the precipice, and everyone having a great time of it. The river (when I had time to glance at it) was beautiful, and the mountainous terrain offered plenty in the way of entertainment as it rushed past our windscreens. We all stopped for a short re-gathering east of Sawyers Bar, and then pressed on. The few inhabitants of Sawyers Bar did not seem too unhappy to see us, and the buses looked cool as they wound through the town with its old-tyme miner's cabins and storefronts.
A ways beyond Sawyers Bar, the Cliffs of Insanity lay in wait. This is where the road perches on the north face of the cliff high above the river, and in many spots, the white line denoting where the road is had been consumed by erosion and gravity: One tire beyond that line, and a long tumbling fall that culminates in a sudden stop would be the next event, and it would not be a peaceful way to check out! There was a scary moment for me when Richard and Rex were behind me on those cliffs, and when I looked into the rear camera to get a shot of the Rustybus after yet another corner, they failed to reappear. Numerous calls on the CB followed, and when we heard nothing for the longest time, I started back, my heart in my throat. The Rustybus showed up moments later, and it was only that Richard had stopped to take a picture of Teams 40-horse, Pirate Bus and Backroadbus as we went over a bridge that we had no intention of crossing ... but he was ready though!
The others were so far ahead by now that we very infrequently got any sign via CB that they were still in the area, and we barely got close enough to raise Damon before they got too far away once we reached Highway 96. Richard's copilot Rex had to be transferred to a bus going elsewhere, and this was accomplished handily, and our farewells exchanged. Damon and Rosie then headed south to rejoin the others, then Aaron and Emily in the Pirate Bus, Richard in the Rustybus, and Logan and myself in Bartholomew started north on Highway 96 towards Happy Camp and my home. It was around 3:20, and we hoped to find a suitable spot for Logan to catch us a steelhead for dinner.
We stopped at a river access spot called Coon Creek, where we lurked, wandered, shot photos, fished, saw an ouzel, and relaxed. No fish were caught, so after a bit we clambered back into our buses and continued on. As we got close to Happy Camp, I managed to contact Michele on the phone to let her know I was coming home early, and with company. I made the fateful decision to stop at the fuel cardlock before going to the store, and upon leaving managed to severely scrape the passenger rocker of Bart on a concrete bollard (a new word for me) as I swung a bit too wide to get around another car. Bart wasn't (isn't) too happy about this, nor am I. Nine years of Shasta tripping, countless miles of gnarly roads, and I bash Bart at a steenkin' gas station.
A brief stop at the giant metal Sasquatch statue, some food shopping, and shortly, just as it was getting fully dark, we found ourselves at the foot of my access road, deciding whether to chain up or not. I took a foray into the meadow to check the conditions, and figured it would be better to put the chains on before getting stuck in the mud and snow in the dark, and about ten or so minutes later we were up at our yurt, disembarking and greeting Michele and the cats.
This would end the report, but for the trip down the hill the following morning, and the uneventful journey into Eureka/Arcata, where Aaron and Emily said their goodbyes and headed south on 101, and then with Logan and his friend, Richard and Michele helped us work up an appetite for what was to become a great sushi lunch. Afterwards, Logan took off with his friend, and Richard accompanied us to Eureka for shopping, and we parted ways, thus officially ending the Shasta Trip for us, as by that time, Michele and I were just going home from shopping, and without comrades in buses, the Shasta Trip is not.
And so ends this year's report.
Gene Cornelius
mizamook at gmail.com
(As of 17-Mar-09, there is an intended video to accompany this page - this could be done soon, or maybe later ... check back here or the Video Index periodically!)
