North State Parent magazine

Spring arrived with its warm promise of new glory as the sun taunted me into remembering the lost art of wandering. Abandoning the accumulation of looming household tasks, I hatched a planned escape to Table Mountain. 

My escape would only be feasible if I took other guilty parties. Loading kids, our dog and a picnic into the car, we headed to John Muir's former wandering grounds just a short drive from our Magalia home. Cruising along the rolling hills of Highway 70, the ride offered a feast of color for our winter-weary eyes. Lupines and poppies dotted the knolls as cattle grazed and red-tailed hawks floated above the grassy landscape in search of sunning prey.

Table Mountain is a favorite spring hike for our family, discovered years ago while trekking through the hills for a family Easter egg hunt. As our car wound into the ghost towns of Cherokee and Oregon City, the erstwhile outcropping of the few remaining buildings left me feeling nostalgic.

Cherokee was named for one the Native American groups who have occupied the land. Once a gold rush boom town of thousands, it was also the scene of a short stint in diamond discovery. Now home to just a handful of residents, it houses a lone museum directly across from the remnants of the town's former bank.
Walking along the planked boards of the two original buildings, it's not difficult to understand why our nineteenth President, Rutherford Hayes, along with his wife

Lucy and dignitaries Civil War General William T. Sherman and General John Bidwell, visited Cherokee see what was then the largest and most famous hydraulic gold mine in the world. Thomas Edison owned a mine there and oversaw the electrification of the mines to ease the work.

Looking southwest across the canyon from the Cherokee's museum (once a stage stop), we still see scars from that exciting time of California history. My kids never tire of checking out the bank, their imaginations traveling back to the not-so-distant history of cowboys, gold miners and bank robberies by handkerchief-donning pilferers. Bribing my explorers with a stop-off in Oregon City was the only way to continue our journey to Table Mountain.

As our car rumbled across Oregon Gulch Creek over the covered bridge to Oregon City, the sight of one of California's oldest schoolhouses invoked visions from the show Little House on The Prairie. The one-room schoolhouse, built in 1825, is now a landmark and continues to be used as a church and gathering place for the small community. Oregon City has the distinction of having inaugurated California's first civil Governor, Peter Burnett.

Luring my kids into the car with a promise of one more pull of the working school bell, we rolled south along Cherokee road, past one of California's oldest cemeteries. Having been home to some of California's earliest settlers, Cherokee's cemetery, started in 1856, has quaint headstones in a beautiful and natural landscape.

Colorful kites swooped to tease us over the hummock of the north plateau as we finally reached our destination. Several families flew kites nearby while my kids chose a level spot under an Oak tree for our picnic.

Walking southwest from the public parking lot, we followed a creek toward one of several waterfalls. Already, buttercups and poppies sprung from the creek bed, and also delighted us with their color amongst the grassy hills. Our puddle-jumping dog frolicked in the creek as nearby children joined in to hunt for salamanders and frogs. The outcrops of former lava beds make for great climbing expeditions for my wannabe billy goats.

Across Cherokee road is another plateau and vista overlooking Oroville. Unfortunately, a few inconsiderate litterbugs have forced the landowners to limit public access. There is a small accessible area directly southeast from the north parking lot. We made our way over rocky flowered gullies to check out the fantastic view. On some days, one can observe the acrobatics of hang gliders and rock climbers.

As several red-tailed hawks and vultures dipped effortlessly in front of us above the windy bluffs of the Northeast Table Mountain, song threatened to erupt from my lungs. Instead of horrifying my children with my rendition of "The hills are alive, with the sound of music," I sat on the edge of the bluff and enjoyed the view as the words of one of the world's greatest wanderers floated in my head: "The Mountains are calling and I must go . . ." 

Anne Wycoff is a full time North State explorer (along with her two children and trusty dog Lucky). In her spare time she is a contributing freelance writer and playwright.