Editor’s Note: After a year's hiatus, the chronicle of Bryan Snyder's misadventures in the Western high country, "Off The Map", returns to the pages of The Evening Sun. Besides the usual tales of Rocky Mountain mischief, Bryan will report from the drought-afflicted backcountry of Southern California and the snow-capped, slumbering volcanoes of the Pacific Northwest.

Bryan Snyder

Correspondent

Before heading up the Manzana Trail, I drank enough water to give myself a mild stomachache. I was only being prudent; there was no more water in the direction I was headed, either in Manzana Creek or in the Sisquoc River. At least, that’s what I’d been told by the local rangers, and the scribbled comments in the trailhead register seemed to confirm their warnings. All I could do was guzzle down a liter of water, pack as many bottles as I possessed, and hope I wouldn’t dehydrate by the end of the day tomorrow.

Temperatures were nearing 100 degrees when I left the Jeep behind, and I had to periodically pause to wipe the sweat out of my eyes. Few people were crazy enough to enter the San Rafael Wilderness in mid-July, but I had always desired to visit the Manzana Schoolhouse, and I had just the right proportions of stubbornness and stupidity to make the trip happen. The Schoolhouse was a relic from 1894, when homesteaders had, for a time, tried their luck at ranching in the Sisquoc Valley. A drought, similar to the one Southern California was currently experiencing, had driven them away. Now the site was a destination for seekers of solitude, and a home to furred and feathered residents only. I hoped to spy a few of these creatures if the search for water had not forced them elsewhere.

Much of the poison oak along the trail had been defanged by drought; their rash-inducing leaves were now shriveled and red, and they crunched harmlessly underfoot. I still had to be wary of the stems, for they also contained urushiol oils, and I didn’t expect to have streams in which to bathe this time. Several other shrubs had lost their green pigments and had turned various shades of yellow, thanks to the hot winds that were scorching these hillsides. Below me, all that was left of Manzana Creek was a white ribbon of bleached stones and algae. And the oppressive heat of this valley was starting to cook my brain, replacing my stomachache with a bad headache.

I was significantly surprised when, contrary to forest service information, I managed to find pools of water hidden among the alders at Portrero and Coldwater Campsites. These remnants were shallow and slightly stagnant, and when I dunked my head in the water, my headache subsided for a while. Unfortunately, my hair didn’t smell particularly clean or pleasant afterwards.

Seven miles in, the trail left the wilderness area for a time, straying onto a parcel of private land. Here the creek was actually flowing, if weakly, thanks to the contributions of a nearby spring. I filled a water bottle for use in cooking, and I was able to find a pool as deep as a bathtub where I could submerge and scrub off the day’s accumulated sweat. The water was opaque, and schools of unseen minnows nibbled at my body the entire time, but I emerged refreshed and ready to tackle the last 1.5 miles to the Schoolhouse Campground.