BANG! CRASH! A submarine shaped object rips through the floodwaters rushing through downtown Groveland. What is that thing?! Yep, it’s some poor soul’s 500 gallon propane tank. For one hour on March 22, 2018, Main Street became “Main Creek.” A storm cell dumped 12 inches of hail and rain in Tuolumne County and overwheled hundreds of bridges, creeks, and roads, including this historic downtown.
Ironically, the original miners of Groveland were bereft of water for most of the year. California’s six-month-long annual drought was the bane of the would-be-rich prosepctor. Thankfully, by 1860, the gold hungry men had a relaible source of year round water, the Golden Rock Ditch, complements of Yosemite’s snow fields.
Today I am scouting a one mile section of the Ditch that hangs precipitously 2000 feet over the Tuolumne River. On the way, I reflect on the flood of 2018. It almost certainly washed parts of it away. “How much can an 8 foot wide ditch survive after 100 years of non-maintenance?” I wonder. Well I would soon find out.
My starting point is where the old ditch intersects with the 120 just east of the Groveland Ranger Station entrance. I could park on the side of the highway to access it but I knew a more fun, albiet bumpier route. I head out driving east on Ferretti Road. I enter the forest and pass by the mountain bike trail system. In just a few moments I ascend east on Forest Route 1S21Y looking forward to my destination. I stop to “take a break” and I notice shotgun shells littering the ground. “Yep, this is a local’s favorite spot,” I think to myself.
I continue to bump along the road noticing charred Ponderosas and cedars. An opening in the canopy greets me at the end of the road. I consider the possibilities of pitching a tent here in the future. Getting out of the car I look at the hill I need to ascend. It’s completely covered in an extremely dense thorny shrub. As I begin to bushwhack I come across an opening. Cow plops litter the ground. “A trail!” I speak in ecxitement. Free range cattle have maintained openings in the chapparal for decades. The bovine is definitely a hiker’s best friend. As I climb I see a flat area about 100 yards above me. It must be the ditch.
I reach the flat area and descend into the waterway. It’s mostly filled in so a small hop is all it takes. Thankfully this part is relatively free of vegetation. The Rim Fire burned through here twelve years ago, revealing the otherwise overgrown channel. I was familiar with the ditch to the west of this point (I explain it in detail in my book link) but the eastern direction was a mystery. All I was aware of was that it hugged the 3280 foot contour line, hundreds of feet above the Tuolumne Canyon.
Heading east I began to duck, crawl and climb over newly grown brush. Unfortunately, it is buckbrush, an extremely thick, sharp, and unwieldy plant that forms impenetrable walls. Well I’ve conquered this plant many times so I push into the thicket. Although partially filled the ditch is in relatively good shape. I continue to press through until I reach the first wash out. The pathway is gone. I look down. Four foot below a ledge has formed. I climb down using a live oak branch, walk a few feet and hoist myself back up. “Would this be the only one?” I ponder. Probably not, I reckon. This section was carved out of the side of a cliff. It would be almost a mile until the ditch would contour away from the canyon.
The ditch worsened. Wash out after washout, I climbed down and back up. “Could this whole thing collapse and take me 2000 feet down into the river below?” I thought to myself. “Nope,” I reasoned, “it’s the end of Summer and everthing is dry and stable.” As I philosophize about men’s neverending calculations of risk versus reward in the wild, suddenly I see it. The ditch is gone! One more step would be death. I stop abruptly. I look up and see the Tuolumne Canyon in all its grandeur carving its way up into the Yosemite wilderness. “Well this is it,” I say to myself, “turn around time.” I only made it one third of the way along the cliffside, but that was enough for me. The thrill of discovering a long lost section of the ditch made the entire trek worth it.
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