Exploring Los Padres National Forest

You know what I like about camping? I like the fact that you never quite know what to expect. Two of the guys from my AF training class (Ben and Dave) and I decided to spend Saturday and Sunday camping, hiking, and (especially) fishing in the Los Padres National Forest, about an hour from Vandenberg.

It was a good plan, we bought food and rented our equipment on Friday evening and Saturday morning, rendezvoused and headed out to the park. Once we arrived, we were planning on setting up camp, then hitting some trail around for hiking and fishing combo. Well, the first campsite was full, so anxious to hit the dirt, we said forget this noise and drove to the trailhead we wanted. Well, kind of.

Due to some earlier fires, the road was closed at a certain point leading to the trailhead. No problem, we parked our cars, loaded up, made our lunches, grabbed our poles, and hit it. We hiked for about three miles along that road, which was tame - paved and all. The road wound back and forth across the Santa Ynez River, so we took our shoes off, walked across, and put them back on a few times. Eventually, we just went barefoot.

So, after three miles, we reached the trailhead. We didn't know it at the time, but there were two dirt roads leading to the Gibraltar Dam and Reservoir, where we wanted to fish. We ended up taking the high road, which wound up into the mountains for another three and a half miles, before coming down to the dam.

By this time, it was about one o'clock, so we were excited to get our lines in the water and - who knows - maybe some river trout in our packs. Unfortunately, there were signs all over the reservoir, dam, and the pools beneath the dam proclaiming the area the property of Santa Barbara, and that there was no trespassing - and no fishing. Bummer! We were sorely tempted to light the signs on fire and go for it anyway, but decided instead that being responsible citizens would have to suffice.

So, tired of staring at the big lake teeming with yummy trout that we couldn't slay, we decided to head back to the Santa Ynez to find a fishing hole. We started up the mountain - and that is when we realized that there was a lower trail/road too. So we turned around, went back down the mountain, and hit the river road. Boy, was that road fun. I went back and counted - that road crossed the river nine times! And there was no defined portage, usually, just a couple rocks, sometimes you could see the road on the other side of the river, sometimes you couldn't. Now, I'm not saying I'm all this, but I have held my own plus some on every hiking trip I've ever been on, and I was having trouble keeping my feet dry. After losing the road several times, watching Ben and Dave both get their shoes and pants all wet, and some very slow going, we stopped for lunch. Then, back to it.

Finally, despite our slow progress, we found a fishing hole that was just too good to pass up. So we didn't - we stopped and set up our rigs and got to it. We fished for almost an hour as the sun began to cast long shadows from the mountains all around, but no luck. We decided to pack it up and move out. And - in my inattention as we got ready to go - I stepped right in a puddle of water. Nice Matt. So, there went our inhibition for getting the shoes and pants wet - it was time to introduce these portages to their daddy.

We made quick work from there out - wading across the river and trying our best to hike the five or so remaining miles before the sun set and the gate to the area where our car was would be locked. No problem - we made it with a half hour or so to spare. There ended up being nine river crossings on the river road, and then an addition five on the paved road (which we hiked both ways) - so a lot of wet feet coming back to the campsite.

From there, we headed up the road to a campground, snagged one of the last ones open, and split up to make use of the few minutes of remaining daylight. Ben went to work on the dinner, Dave took the tents, and I hit up gathering wood and getting the fire started. Dinner that night was awesome - steak, sweet potatoes, corn on the cob, and beer. Nothing like a hearty dinner and beer after a hard day's hike.

We had a little adventure with the fire too. I've always heard never put rocks in the fire because they can explode - and so we obviously did as a Boy Scout on a regular basis, to try to get it to happen. Well, the fire ring we had was a foot or so deep in ash, and We didn't have anything to empty it out with. So, I picked a flat rock, grabbed my tinder and kindling, and got my little lean-to going on. Fire, viola! I got it nice and hot, and we were sitting around waiting for the sweet taters to cook, trying to dry off our shoes and socks and pants a bit. All the sudden "boom" and sparks and whole coals went flying everywhere - and we all ducked. There were coals scattered everywhere within ten feet or so of the fire ring - so we quickly stomped them out. Sure enough, the rock had cracked in half. Kind of amazed at how violent it had been, we did our best to get the rock to the opposite side of the fire ring, away from the heat. It was too hot to pick up, so we figured it'd be fine there. About ten minutes later, we were all up working on the dinner when "boom" - even louder than the last time - and coals even farther out - all over. This time, the explosion had been so big that it threw a good six-inch diameter hardwood log to the other side of the fire pit. Again, we stomped out all the coals, and moved the rocks even farther away, and scooted the fire to the opposite side of the ring. (There's only so much you can do with any stick or anything to move the rocks or the fire with - just bottles or other rocks).

Anyway, dinner was good, we all crashed around eleven.

The next morning, we woke up, lit a new fire from the last night's coals, and fired up the stove for some breakfast. Breakfast burritos, full on with eggs, peppers, sausage, cheese, and salsa. Not too shabby for out in the country, eh? Again, a great meal.

We broke camp, packed up, and headed out for some more fishing. The other guys stayed out for a few hours - and actually caught a small-ish river trout - but I packed up after only a few minutes to get to a church for Mass. I caught the 11 o'clock at the Old Mission Santa Ines Church in Solvang.

After Mass, I met up with Dave and Ben in Solvang. The town was very quaint - set up like a traditional Danish town, and it was super touristy. Pretty much any girl would have loved the place. So we walked around Solvang until we found a Belgian waffle house where we could get crepes. A tasty ending to a great day or so!