Whiling Away at Lake Cuyamaca

Continued from
A Grand Olde Tyme in Julian

Last weekend, it was our intention to tear up some San Diego County orchard rows and get our apple pickin’ on…but between too few apples and too many people, we ended up seeking escape, instead.  We found it amongst waving golden grasses, beside the sparkling blue waters of Lake Cuyamaca.

Lake Cuya-whatta, you might ask?  Don’t feel bad — we’d never heard of it either, and we’ve lived in Southern California for over 16 years.

Approximately 50 miles east of San Diego on Highway 79, and 15 miles south of Julian (our first destination), Lake Cuyamaca is 110 acres of pristine, protected water settled gracefully within the 26,000 acre Cuyamaca Rancho State Park.  You got your basic oaky woodlands, your fair-sized mountain peaks, your people trails, your horse trails, your trout fishing, your campsites, and from Memorial Day to November 1st, canoe and kayak rentals.

But truly, we just came for a nap.

Everyone driving a car here has to stop into the Tackle Shop near the West Finger Jetty to purchase a $6 non-fishing permit; it’s an additional $6 to fish.  Display your ticket on your dash and you can park in any lot around the lake.  We chose to park beside the Orville Cumming Picnic Area and tumble out onto the hiking paths, bound for little more than a shady spot.

Dogs are allowed amongst the burnt-gold, knee-high grass trails, but it’s vital that they be kept out of the water.  Cuyamaca prides itself on the collective purity/aliveness of its protected fish stocks and waterfowl.

We — with our well-behaved pooch, Toby — bundled up a blanket, some pillows and our books-of-the-moment, and headed 15 minutes across a sunny field that probably looked just the same in the Gold Rush era…when the area’s Stonewall Mine was busy producing $2 million worth of gold.

Finding the perfect shady spot under a big ol’ pine tree, we phlumpfed down (it’s a word if I say it is) and shed all thoughts of crowds and phones and work days.  Dozing in and out, we heard the clop-clop of horses’ hooves on the equestrian trails nearby, a rustling of breeze through the reeds, and a strange crackling sound, more like gold nuggets rattling in a pan than flocks of hell-bent little ducks bursting skyward from the shore.

We stayed at Lake Cuyamaca less than two hours, but the peace here erased whole weeks of stress…I only wish it was close enough for us to visit once a day.

Continued in
Desert California: From Anza-Borrego to the Salton Sea

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