The Stanislaus is Oasis of Calm if You Seek Solitude

By Cork Graham

California Game and Fish Magazine April 1995

Trimmed by spruce, cedar and manzanita, the Middle Fork of Stanislaus cuts a crooked line of deep green through granite. Named after an American Indian leader, called Estanislao, the river is a quiet respite from the crowds of summer.

My father, Fred Sr., introduced me to the river when I was 19, the summer of 1984 and I had just been released from 11 months’ imprisonment in Vietnam, the result of an ill-fated treasure hunt.

The fishing trip was a chance for my dad and I to finally learn a little bit about each other, before I continued on my path and left for Central America and new adventures as a photojournalist and then a combat medic.

Last Saturday, it had been ten years since I enjoyed that experience on the river. This time though, I decided to share the experience with my friend, Barbara. After a four-hour drive during a hot day, the last half hour along a bumpy, dusty road, I stopped the car and we shouldered our backpacks.

Barbara followed me as I led the way through the brush and trees down the canyon wall, a .22 pistol on my hip in case of rattlesnakes.

I already knew of the peace and solitude that awaited making the travel through the gauntlet of sharp branches a little bit easier.

Barbara, who had never had the chance to enjoy the river, impressed me by sending only a few curses my way as she abseiled the claw-like branches.

"My God, a place so beautiful!" she said after we arrived at the boulder-strewn bank of the Stanislaus, the sweep of conifers cliffs brush creating a cathedral-like aura.

When I returned from collecting the equipment we had pitched at the top of cliffs, in order to make the arduous descent easier, I saw my red-headed friend wading in a clear pool highlighted by an afternoon sun.

"You're right it is really worth the trip," she said. I joined her in the pool, until she said, "you should've seen all the fish jumping in here before I got in."

In a flash, I ran to the bank and returned fully equipped for trout.

Barbara laughed at me as I entered the water, a 9 ft., 5-weight Powell fly rod, sandals on my feet, and a net slung around my neck. I worked my way upstream toward a rising 14-inch brown trout. I quickly put on a size 12 dry fly imitation of a black ant.

Yes, even in California, the state that rumbles under the stress of population, there are still places to enjoy solitude and peace. Privacy is available anywhere along the river below for service road 5N06, between lakes Beardsley and Donnell.

The only obstacle preventing you from reaching this wide-mile-long treasure in the Stanislaus National Forest is the lack of a good map, good footing, and a pistol loaded with snake shot.

The topographical maps you can buy from a forest service station in the Stanislaus national forest, or order beforehand from the U.S. Forest Service office 705-2874 in San Francisco, or the U.S. geological survey 329-4380 in Menlo Park.

Check your weight on each step. Many times the rocks are covered with pine-needles and leaves, providing unsure footing. A rope can be handy.

Most of all, watch out for snakes that may be sunning themselves in the morning, or hiding under shade in the heat of the day. Rattlesnakes are one of the greatest camouflage artists in the world.

And when the going gets a little rough, remember, during a whole visit to the Middle Fork at the bottom of the canyon Barbara and I saw only one sign of another human—an old, roasted can in a pine-needles-covered campfire site.