Summer's Storms

Well, there were several balmy days at the fair this year, but as it turned out, summer was on the near horizon and we all know what that can mean.

Far northern California is known for its series of heat waves, but you really can’t predict this area as every few years we get a twister of a weather season.

I left the fair the last day of the event about 10 p.m. to crash for the night. The house was amazingly cooler than I had expected, but once I acclimated to the indoor setting, I realized it really wasn’t that cool. So, I thought it would be a good idea to cool it down a bit more and headed to the swamp cooler. That meant turning on the water to the device so it could circulate through the pads creating that cooling effect. But once it was on for a very few minutes I felt cold. So, you know it wasn’t that warm to begin with.

It’s hard to imagine this crazy weather we’ve had. However, I have no complaints. In fact those of us who have lived here in Shasta County for a while — back to 1949 for me — know freaky weather patterns can emerge out of nowhere.

I’ve been caught in a thunderstorm and a down-pouring of hail a time or two in July and August.

While camping at Medicine Lake in July one year we woke up to a skiff of snow on the ground. We were taken totally by surprise. But, it passed and the next day it was hot enough to want a dip in the cold, mountain lake water.

Then there was the time I took my horse to the mountains with friends one other July weekend to ride the Bizz Johnson Trail at Gomez Crossing on the way to Susanville.

We arrived mid-afternoon and set up camp without a clue as to what awaited us the next day once we were in the saddle. Heading out on the trail there was a nice pleasant breeze encouraging us to continue the ride, farther and farther from our camp sites.

About an hour and a half on the trail the sky started making some strange changes as dark clouds gathered, mixing with those friendly white billowy ones.

Well, it wasn’t long before those dark clouds started shooting ice balls. The frozen spit pounded down on our horses’ backs, giving them the perfect excuse to dance about. We were prepared though and dug the rain slickers from our saddle bags and once decked in rain gear, we headed to a clump of trees to wait out the storm. Once the thunder storm subsided and a mild rain didn’t seem to want to stop, we rode back to camp, soaking wet. After changing into some dry duds, disgusted as all get out, we packed up and drove home.

It was one of those memorable trips, but to this day I still haven’t been back to Gomez Crossing to finish the ride.

For years, my family used to always spend July 4 on Shasta Lake.

My sister and her husband rented a houseboat and the whole family went one year somewhere back in the 1980s, I think. Anyway, it was a beautiful day as we pulled out of Digger Bay Marina, my boat and my brother-in-law’s tied to the back of the houseboat.

We cruised across the lake to a neat little peninsula where we have moored the boats and spent a night or two in the past.

About the time the stakes were pounded in the sandy shoreline anchoring the houseboat, the sky developed into an angry scene. The wind came up out of nowhere and then the rain began to fall. It was late evening and we had just barely arrived but realized we weren’t going to be staying as the wind blew the houseboat so hard, the stakes came out of the ground and our house motel was on its way west. It was a scramble to get aboard and try to get the motor started. No such luck.

Between the storm and a sick engine, we would have been stranded had we not had our ski boats along. With a boat secured on each side of the houseboat we weathered the white-capped lake bouncing and slamming and banging with each wave. It was later that night when we finally reached the Digger Bay harbor and the end of a perfectly planned Independence Day weekend gone amok. You just never know about June and July around this part of the country.