Trinity Alps Wilderness, Weaverville, California
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West-northwest of Redding, California. That's where you'll find it.
One thing that is apparent through my travels over the years is that there are always an abundant number of people who will not hesitate to help you out with directions, advice, and everything in-between. The owner of Hermits Hut, an outdoor store in south Redding, was no exception. He cordially pulled out his map and pointed out to us some prime locations for a quick introduction to our intended destination, the picturesque Trinity Alps Wilderness. With my brain still hungry for a bit of topographical data, we purchased our location map, tossed it in my backpack, and were on our way. Little did we know that with our quick purchase, we would ultimately unleash a 'Pandora's Box'-like effect on the rest of our trip, and indeed one that still haunts me to this day.
The car ride between Redding and Weaverville, the cute, quaint little mountain town nestled in the foothills of the southern 'Alps', brought us past lakes, through a steep mountain pass, and finally to the Red Hill Motel. We unloaded our car into a homey, evergreen surrounded, (red) cabin with our minds on a night-before pig-out prep for a pulse-pounding, calorie burning 3 days and two nights. Unfortunately, also on our minds, we were just feeling grateful to be home free for the night, as our more-often-than-not trusty steed composed of plastic and steel '95 Saturn had expressed some tempestuous sentiments on the way up the mountain pass. Every few moments, Melody and I had been exposed to some unexplainable, violent shaking from what we had supposed was the engine.The tremors had been so intense that I remarked, backpack in hand, on my way up the cabin step, "I can almost still feel the shaking from the engine."
"Sweetheart, I'm a little worried about taking the car to the trailhead."
"Me too. I'll take a look at it and then maybe there's a place in town to take it to. Man, I can still feel that shaking!"
We threw our gear on the floor and I started to unpack some toiletries. That's when it happened. There was such a loud explosion that my mind first went to the car, and then just as quickly back to myself and my girlfriend in our room as I was knocked against the bed and Melody forcefully against the wall. Clothes were strewn about the room, hanging off the light fixtures and shower door, scattered across the floor and furniture, and dangling precariously into the sink and over the toilet bowl, as if REI itself had hailed us with a confetti storm of apparel. Melody and I checked on each other; no apparent injuries but we were both in shock and had had the wind knocked out of us. What in the hell was that?
We looked outside at the car. No signs of unrest. We examined the mess. Melody was the first to notice that the clothes were all entirely mine and that her own backpack remained packed and intact. Confused as we were, the answer to our ponderings was right in front of us.
The full-color, plastic-coated, folded paper map was no longer folded but lying open on the hotel bed. At first glance, the map appeared ordinary: topographical lines, water sources, peaks with their elevations labeled, trailheads, etc. Upon further examination, however, one thing became more apparent. The sheer concentration of lakes, peaks, canyons, valleys, and wilderness was more abundant than any one I had encountered yet.
"Sweetheart, I think we might have bitten off more than we can chew here," I hypothesized. "This wilderness area seems to contain too much for this one map to handle." The sheer amount of potential beauty contained in the data the map possessed was far more than its pages could handle, especially folded. How could we only plan for 3 days in this 500,000 acres of wilderness when it would surely take a lifetime just to scratch its surface? We would have to come back.
-Grasshopper
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