HENRY COE STATE PARK: Takin' it to the Edge of the Orestimba Wilderness

I'm eager as hell to ride out the rollicking Kaiser-Aetna Road, starting from the bottommost and least visited entrance to Henry Coe State Park.

Ever since the Spring of 1996 (already!), when Gambolin' Gal and I had an opportunity to drive (yes, drive) to the Orestimba Corral, through this great green expanse of rugged hills, I've had a hankering to return.

That year, we were taking part in the park's annual "Backcountry Weekend" – a ludicrous affair of three hundred lottery-chosen vehicles sweepin' up a ton of dust on the graded road thirteen miles in.

Imagine over five hundred people as eager as ourselves to get a chance to visit the remote wilderness area, all trying to disperse over 20,000 acres in a couple of days; but it was a regular ol' back country jamboree, as most people opted to set up tents and camp in the corral or right in the camper shells of their big vanity trucks.

Not exactly to our liking, so we were content to idyll away the day along the creek and in gullies, but now I regret not having had mountain bikes! It's the only real way to escape the crowds and explore remote places it would otherwise take you days to get to and back.

We hiked far and long enough to get a taste of the Orestimba – one of a handful of California State Park wilderness designations. It's a pretty special place and I knew I'd get back there someday.

This little-used access point, known as Bell Station, (once a restaurant and hotel) is an undeveloped area off Highway 152, now "on the table" as a possible site for a huge hydro-construction project – a reservoir to "improve water quality" for Santa Clara and Silicon Valley.

Should the plan go forward, it would flood hundreds of acres of pristine wilderness habitat (as well as a pristine refuge for city-weary humans); if allowed to proceed, this special area would be rendered inaccessible.

Even barring this catastrophic development, State Park officials have Coe/Bell Station slated for future development to increase usage of this unknown, under-appreciated "staging area." So, enjoy it while it lasts! 

You have to recognize the massive volcanic plug to the south, upthrust millions of years ago from the seabed, called Lover's Leap, in order to know just when to cut left into the parking lot.

The sucker's an easy-to-miss and dangerous pullout with a very tough left-turn across vicious traffic screaming down from the Pacheco Pass into Hollister and Gilroy.

Luckily, it's 7 a.m. and Super Bowl Sunday, so I have the entire place to myself, all day long. Not a soul (except many animal souls whose paths cross with mine!).

Yet someone else is out here, evidenced by a parked vehicle, no doubt a biker with probably twenty or thirty minutes on me tops. I never do catch up. Doesn't matter. I didn't want to catch up.

Today's going to be a rare day of soul-searching solitude, serene contemplation of the miraculous commonplace all around me of which I am an intimate part. Alone and away from the madding crowd where I can observe the wonders as they occur around me.

Had I gotten to Bell Station at the same time, or met on the trail a farther along, heaven forbid, we might have ended up having to ride together, and that, unthinkably, might have led to some new friendship or jubilant temporary camaraderie.

But no, the most I see of the phantom biker are fresh tracks, one set only, then mine. I keep thinking I'm going to catch his ass, but I never do. I do, however, frequently hallucinate voices the entire time!

I even see a shadowy sylvan sprite or two out of the corner of a numb THC-drooping eye (it's cold!). And I am deep in, twenty miles in – what if my chain breaks or it's my ankle?

But, whoa, let's not get ahead of ourselves here, besides none of that happened.

(But the thought nags you, haunts you, especially when you're alone, twenty miles in, and no help in sight for possibly days.)

The fog-shrouded morning is cold, nearly dripping with mist; a mile in my feet are already wet. At the entrance, I suit up, run in place for a few seconds, blow on my hands.

God! I love this stuff!

I jog over to read the signs about the geology, history and ecology of the area, then set my cyclo-computer and hoist my bike over the barricade/fence and set off to knock out the first six miles or so.

The back country road takes me by surprise so early in the morning – a torturous elevation gain in the first two miles of nine hundred friggin' feet, I'm guessing, the road winds through private ranch lands – an agreement with the park and the owner to allow respectful passage through to the park proper.

Finally, at Dowdy Ranch, around mile 7.3, no doubty about it, I'm on the veritable fringes of the fabled Orestimba Wilderness. Who gets excited about the Orestimba Wilderness, now? 

Me, that's who!

Who do you even know who's been to the Orestimba Wilderness, or even knows of it?

The ranch is nothing but a couple of ramshackle structures overlooking a long, blue view of valleys, ridges and forest expanding 180 degrees before me in undulating magnificence. Construction seems to be going on – so it's for real, they are developing south Coe Park entrance for the multitudes.

Well, I just want to cruise on past Burra Burra and Walsh Peaks, Tie-Down and Rooster Comb, mythic sort of name places to me for some reason, probably for all the eye-squinting lucubration poring over the new Coe map recently.

Get this: Rooster Comb Loop is the longest through hike in the Bay Area at over seventy contiguous hard-ass miles!

I've yet to do it! 

There is so, so much at Coe, it's mind-boggling. The whole route is ultra-scenic with wondrously painted, whimsical, down-to-earth, beautiful geological formations! So unheralded, this landscape! – which is totally fine by me!

Such are the best places!

Off I go screaming down a deadly two-mile, twenty-percent grade to Pacheco Creek crossing, at mile 9.1 – a perfect place to drop the bike, throw off helmet and gloves, take a break, find a perch near burbling water, eat a sandwich, sit in meditative reverie and marvel at this pretty little stretch of crick that'd do Thoreau proud.

There, I bend over to pet the greenest Moss you ever did see.

There, I hold in my hand delicate tangerine-colored Bay leaves and let them flutter to a gently swirling pool.

There, I hear sweet melodies of a serenading Birds coaxing out of my very being the best feelings of joy, peace, contentment that lie within.

There, I marvel at Sycamore roots twisted and gnarled into Cyclopean benches.

There, green, mirthful hillsides infuse me with a sense of infinite possibility and truth – don't ask me why!

There, I wonder about a densely forested hill with dimensions of a steep-angled pyramid two hundred feet high!

There, in the company of Oak / Bay / Madrone – and yes pretty Poison Oak – I hug and kiss and speak to my tree friends.

There, in little old Pacheco Creek, I deeply appreciate a miraculous flow of water coursing merrily over blue-green andesite rocks (so typical of Ohlone Country).

There, I wave at the Deer that just leapt gracefully up the slope.

There, I wish Mr. Newt a safe journey inching his way with intent across a mudbank on the way to somewhere – important!

There, a chorus of funky Frogs evokes sad childhood memories of shooting little dime-sized suckers into the sand by the dozens with my BB gun.

There, my rhythmic breathing becomes attuned to the organic pulsing of energy – life! – all around me! And knowing I'm alone, a vulnerable part of the animistic flow, makes the experience primal, archetypal, regressive to a life/reality we have lost, no longer know, no longer get to experience.

The Orestimba Corral is still about four miles down – make that up! – the road. I don't want to leave the creek and I'm not ready for the tough four miles it turned out to be! It's like ascending to another realm, climbing out of the creek valley to the Orestimba.

You really have to work and really have to wanna experience the Orestimba, to subject yourself to these rigors. 

The miles at Henry Coe do not come easy.

At the crest, it's a blast zooming down past wildflower-strewn crags (never too early for blossoms at Henry Coe) and then stopping for a full fifteen minutes in lush expansive forests to listen to a symphony of birdsong, then climbing up and up, another 1,000 feet of elevation gain, to ascend to the higher plateau comprising the Orestimba Wilderness proper.

That would be, oh, about 20,000 acres worth of truly resplendent, untrammeled lands, draining the vast watershed of Robinson Peak. a part of Coe I have not been and don't anticipate exploring until / unless I hook up the panniers and ride out with camping gear for four days; even then, you have to ditch the bike and set off on foot.

So, you see, you really gotta wanna make this happen to get out to where I was, 13.1 miles from the car, with wet feet from a dozen stream crossings.

The miles do not come easy at Henry Coe.

But they're the prettiest around!

"Hills of Deception" and "Devil's Hills" are nicknames for this place! Let me repeat it one more time: the miles at Henry Coe do not come easy (but they sure are pretty!).

Finally, I've arrived at the Corral. Not much has changed, except this time I'm alone, with eerie with gray skies slung low and muted colors of a dull wintry day to drag my mood down.

I need something fun and cheery to do, so I ride the singletrack Orestimba Creek Trail for two miles up and over the hill and back down to the winding creek. It's a rollicking good time, over too soon, so I then decide to continue on to Paradise Flat and Paradise Lake, only another five miles away, previously just spots on a map I yearned to explore.

Turns out the first half is a tough challenging technical course as the trail became one with the creek bed. Chunky, clunky and bumpy, you gotta bear down and stay your course. Many "flat earthers" would have hated it.

But I tore that shit up.

HOLD ON! It tore ME up!

Oh, on that beautiful stretch of the northeasterly (!) flowing Orestimba, stopping every so often to simply gaze in the gentle Zen pools formed in its sinuous course through this vast, beautiful, green wilderness before eventually flowing out onto the flatlands near I-5 below Modesto, where, sadly, it becomes a heavily contaminated trickle.

Even though the day is still gloomy, and I am brrrrr-brrrrr cold, wet and getting lonely (not really!), I'm really enjoying the adventures and challenges of the day. Soon, hard trail picks up and before long the land has leveled out in all directions. I have made it to:

Paradise Flat!

The lake is off a spur trail, steeply downward, so I ditch my bike and walk there for a picnic. It's flat-out gorgeous. Another world unto its own. No, it ain't North Fork country, or the Siskiyous, nor is it the John Muir, but it is central California Diablo Range, stretching as far northward as Lake County, perhaps, and prominent in the greater Bay Area.

Mount Diablo is its crowning gem, and farther down into the Ohlone-Sunol Regional Wilderness, Joseph D. Grant County Park, Henry Coe in south Santa Clara County; hell, probably Pinnacles National Park and portions of inner Los Padres National Forest are extensions of the Diablo Range.

In short, it's a wonderful, unpeopled place! And this time of year, when the water's flowing and the hillsides are green and wildflower-strewn, there's no place prettier in the entire world!

The Orestimba epitomizes this rugged, recondite world, where in the autumn of 1869, a hunter watched Bigfoot swinging lighted sticks from his fire, and a year later, in September 1870, Orias Timbers reports two hunters saw "gorillas."

(Orias Timbers: An ingenious and somewhat purposeful obfuscating anagram of Orestimba.)

The sense of utter remoteness from all things urban and civilized still exists today. Ol' Sasq' is no doubt stompin' around out there somewhere this very second.

(Wait! What was that? Could it be? Probably just a Mountain Lion.)

Back to Paradise Lake, though; the place blos my mind – a supremely isolated body of placid, darkened water backed on all sides by gigantic green mounds of earth. If only old Sol were shining down to reveal this magical place in its full sun-soaked glory! And warm my bones up a bit too!

At one point, as the clouds brighten perceptibly for a few minutes, I yelled out: let there be light! But it never breaks through. By now I'm pretty cold and can't afford to sit around lounging and enjoying it all in my usual stupefied state of laid-back unhurried awe.

I quickly eat a sandwich and Cliff Bar, then walk around and explore for a while before deciding it's high time to start heading back. It's getting later in the day and, more to the point, I still have twenty tough miles to traverse to return to the warmth and safety of the car.

Suddenly, it seems like a big deal. Leaving the vast flatlands of Paradise, surrounded on all sides by the gentler of Coe hills I know, hills rolling and covered with a green and healthy forest cover, was tough. Tough to tear myself away.

I stand and gaze, yearning to remain, yearning for a sunny day so I could rip off my clothes, frolic about, submerge in a pool, never leave this beautiful place. I turn to ride off and then stop after another minute and remain for ten more, just staring into the green, fog-shrouded void. Eventually, tired and shivering, and gratefully relieved, I make it to the car. 

April 10, 2005, fifteen months later I return, banging out a solo mountain bike expedition deep into the Orestimba Wilderness – 20,000 acres of pristine habitat contained within the 90,000-acre Henry Coe State Park system, and rarely visited by humans despite its proximity to Silicon Valley!

Why? Too dang rugged and remote for most to pack in one day!

I enter at Bell Station again off Highway 152, ride up the seven grueling fire road miles to Dowdy Ranch, where they're still developing facilities (uh-oh!), then down two very wicked miles of twenty percent grade on a gravelly gnarly road to the charming Pacheco Creek canyon.

And finally, to proceed another three miles of hard uphill pulling to the Orestimba Corral. At this point, I'm eleven miles in – eleven-point-two to be exact. But it feels like I'm the only person on Earth.

(Plenty of other kinds of fleshy and planty life though!)

Life is good.

I'm full of energy, pumped with adrenaline, can't even stop but to take a few pictures. I can always eat later.

My Gary Fisher is a faithful steed. So why the heck not, head up the singletrack Orestimba Creek Trail, which is so little used that most of its three-point-two miles up and over a huge hump to get back down to the creek is through barely tramped-down tall grass, opening up to earth only for a moment or two.

Once I'm back down, the South Fork of Orestimba Creek begins to pick up through rolling Oak-studded grasslands carpeted with a profusion of wildflowers in what is probably the best wildflower season in decades. It becomes an absolutely charming and very remote feeling place. I wonder: what is there to get excited about over this ditch?

Some ditch.

The creek expands, winds, collects in crystal aqua blue pools at the base of Lichen-crusted rocks, then shoots through a channel in sing-song motion. Birds are serenading at every turn. Some even chaperone.

The sun is pounding, but it’s such a perfect temperature, I don’t even realize how debilitating it is and will be in a few hours when I've got to haul my sorry, tired, sun-stroked ass back the twenty miles I rode my steed in on so gleefully.

Such a different experience from last time!

But for now, I'm just soaking, naked as the Jaybird screeching in the tree above, in one of those exotic pools, the day is pure green and blue, Dragonflies are buzzing, glittering like small airborne gemstones, a Turtle plops into the creek, a Hawk swoops down, and no day could be prettier or more tranquil, no place more beautiful.

And I am the only person on Earth. Beyond the lovely creek bed, at mile eighteen I come to a juncture heading to Paradise Flat – a humongous meadow stretching out infinitely in all directions. Just a stunning sight, with big ridges dominating all views.

Then it's on to Paradise Lake, where I feel farther and more remote than I would in the John Muir. Seriously. It's almost scary, a bit unnerving, because at this point, I've worked my ass off, I've covered eight tough, tough miles from the Orestimba Corral, in my Tevas, no less, and fording the creek a dozen times.

Sometimes even storming across on the bike but mostly getting off and carrying it across deeper pools.

The trail is the creek bed.

The creek bed is the trail. 

I look down and see a long trail of Deer prints, alternating with Mountain Lion prints.

I'm starting to get a bit spooked by now.

I keep going.

At this point, I'm plum-worn out. I haven’t eaten all that much, and, of course, I'm underhydrated. What an idiot I must be. I’ve forgotten sunblock, didn’t bring a water filter, have no first aid kit, and not an extra stitch to keep me warm.

Good God! I'm not twenty-seven anymore; not even thirty-nine – I'm four months shy of the big FIVE-O!

Anything could happen.

But today I'm lucky.

Nothing really happens except paranoia in my mind, a minor panic attack, nothing that an icy dip in the lake won't cure. So, I sigh deeply, check out the position of the sun, guess it's about 3:30, and I'm thoroughly amazed that I've spent so much time in the back country already, and how quickly it passes, so suck it up, bud, and climb back in the saddle for the twenty-mile haul back.

I can do it! And I did!