A Road Trip Up Highway 4 To Ebbets Pass National Scenic Byway - Part Two: The Single Lane Highway At An Elevation Of 8000 FT.
Moving past Calaveras Big Trees State Park and further up Highway 4, I wasn’t really sure what to expect. I knew that the road would eventually become Ebbetts Pass National Scenic Byway, and that we were in for some decent views. I had managed to gleam this much information off the glowing review that my older brother, who is an avid camper, hiker, and all around back-road traveler, had sent to me over text. He had gone through the area several years earlier, and swore up and down it was absolutely gorgeous. And when we finally reached the first vista point, I became completely convinced that he was right.
My brother does have a decent eye for beautiful scenery, I’ll give him that.
After taking multiple pictures (very few of them good), I discovered that I still had cell reception. Always one to be an annoying little brother (I’m over twenty years younger than him), I took a quick iPhone panoramic shot and sent it to him. He quickly replied to tell me how cool it was, and how much he enjoyed his trip there. But then he dropped a bomb I wasn’t expecting: “Really Wild,” he wrote. “A one lane highway.”
Say what?
Mind you, the road at the first vista point was still very much a wide, two lane paradise. It was well paved and maintained, with ample space between the drivers going to, and the drivers coming from. It was a shiny example of a well-kept transportation system.
That must be nonsense, I thought to myself. There is no way this road whittles down to a single lane. My brother passed through the area a while ago. Maybe it was one lane back then?
We got back into the car and continued driving. I remained skeptical as I pushed my foot onto the accelerator.
More glorious two -lane highway passed underneath us. We pressed on as I tried to ignore my brother’s text and focus on the journey ahead.
And then it happened…
The wonderfully spacious road that we had known ever since we connected with it at Angel’s Camp suddenly disappeared as it morphed into a single lane, backwoods monstrosity…
Okay, maybe that last sentence is a bit strong. To be more diplomatic, and more factually correct, it just became a smaller, thinner road. A one-lane road, if you will. With this new reality came the tight wrapping of my fingers around the steering wheel, followed by the familiar rush of driving anxiety.
Oh crap, I thought. It’s a damn one lane highway.
As we moved forward, we passed something called Mosquito Lake. I will declare in this blog that that is the WORST named body of water in the lower 48 states (feel free to send me any other stupid lake names that you think would compete with this one). As advertised, it was a large standing lake named after the most annoying disease carrying parasitic creature on the face of the planet (outside of the blood sucking politicians in Washington DC, that is). It was also very popular, with cars lining the side of the road, and campers hiking in and out of the nearby campground.
A large group of bikers (A pack? A clan? A herd? What is the proper terminology here? They wouldn’t qualify as a gang, since they all looked like middle aged bankers in cargo shorts.) were jumping onto their motorcycles as we passed by, and they trailed us out as we crawled slowly down the narrow road. Never happy with vehicles behind me while I’m driving under such conditions, I quickly found a turn out point and pulled off. Each motorcycle buzzed quickly by (It’s not a Murder of bikers is it? I think that term only applies to crows…), and as soon as they had all passed, we were back on the highway again.
So far, all was going well.
Since we were taking our time, I decided to pull off again at the next vista point. This area was a bit less “official” than the last one, as it was just a unmarked dirt parking lot with a trail leading to a rocky outcrop that overlooked the valley below. Everyone, including the dog, took the opportunity to stretch their legs here, and we all quickly scrambled over flat boulders to get to the best viewpoint. Wild flowers also dotted this area. A light breeze blew across them, giving the entire scene a sense of gentle motion.
Ebbetts Pass, living up to that National Scenic Byway thing…
Beyond the vista point, the road continued to curve downward. We drove for miles more, passing through switchback after switchback. In the back of my mind, I was looking for IT, the one thing that I had left the house that morning really hoping to see.
“Have you seen any signs for it?” I asked my wife.
She looked out the passengers window. “No not yet.”
I grunted in disapproval, and continued to drive. Maybe we had missed it. That would be okay, since I wasn’t going to spend much time there anyway. But even so, I was really hoping to see it…
Vista Point wild flower be thy name!
We drove some more. After a few minutes, my wife sat forward and pointed to a sign on the side of the road “There!” she shouted.
I slowed down long enough to read the message etched on the small roadway sign: Pacific Crest Trail.
We found it.
The trailhead was uphill via a short dirt road that was fairly well groomed. I managed not to bottom-out my Prius as I navigated forward and pulled into the parking lot.
We weren’t going to stay long, but all of us got out of the car again anyway. There was a small bathroom set off to the side of the lot. Beyond that was the trailhead, which was marked by large signs and board maps. We moved forward, passing through the entrance, and onto the path itself.
Unfortunately, we didn’t get very far. Although spring had very much come to the mountains, at the highest elevations snow still clung to life. There was a large pile of it sitting on top of the trail, with a series of dirty boot prints passing over the top of it. I climbed on and started to move ahead. The dog followed, since he never passes up the opportunity to stand on top of something filthy. But I could tell that going forward would be a bit of a dangerous ordeal, and it was already late in the day. After a brief discussion with my significant other, as well as with my wife, we all decided to return to the car and continue on our way.
I looked back as we walked away. I’ll see you soon, I thought to myself as the trail faded from sight (The adventure begins again in Oregon next week, so stay tuned.)
Burn scars like this one are not uncommon in this area.
Soon after, we found ourselves winding back to civilization, and away from the beauty of the scenic highway. On the way out of the area, we passed through several burn scars left from the Caldor Fire that had torn through the forest in 2021. Whole blocks of blackened dead trees lined the highway, mixing in with unburned patches. They gave the entire environment a sense of sadness and dread for the future. No matter how many people cling to the false belief that human-induced climate change is a hoax, it becomes harder to deny the truth when the charred, devastating proof is sitting all around you.
We soon moved from Highway 4 and connected to Highway 89 to start our trek back to the valley below. As is typical of our trips, we came away with only memories (and pictures and video), and left nothing but footprints (and whatever the dog probably hacked up along the way).
A few days after we returned home, my wife remarked that this had been one of her favorite trips. That said a lot, since we have been on over a dozen trips in the past year. But it was also testament to my brother’s praise of the area. As much as I hated to admit it, he was right.
Ebbetts pass is as beautiful as it is awe-inspiring, and it entirely lives up to its designation as a national scenic byway. It is an experience that everyone passing through the Sierra Nevada range should have at least once in their lifetime. And it is a trip I will always hold cherished memories of, even though we had to traverse a scary one lane highway and get passed by a Murder of bikers (see, that totally fits here…)
So here’s to you Ebbetts Pass. May you always stay untouched from wild fire, and may you live on for the enjoyment of many generations to come,