A Sojourn Along the Sisquoc River

From the South Fork of the Sisquoc River, virtually every crossing while backpacking toward its mountainous headwaters was worth a thorough gaze. The colorful canopies of cottonwood and sycamore trees still held vibrant fall foliage hovering above tranquil and reflective pools within the Los Padres National Forest.

Still, it wasn’t just backcountry visuals within the forest that surrounded myself and fellow guides I work with at the Channel Islands National Park. The cacophony from the river’s steady flow and cascading waterfalls carried throughout the winding canyon between the chaparral-choked San Rafael and Sierra Madre Mountains. Weaving our way through stunning riparian passages, mild canyon breezes filtered through crackling oak, sycamore, and cottonwood trees. It was soothing to the senses as we gradually trekked to the upper reaches of the Sisquoc.

Wild and Scenic

It begins as a gurgling, trickle on the steep north slope of Big Pine Mountain in the Dick Smith Wilderness. At 6,803 feet, Big Pine Mountain is the highest summit in the San Rafael Mountains, Dick Smith Wilderness, and Santa Barbara County. The headwaters of the Sisquoc River rushes out of loose scree at 6,320 feet in the San Rafael Mountains. Part of the Transverse Ranges, mountains heading from east to west, the Sisquoc flows for 57 miles, eventually feeding the Cuyama River. From there, it’s 20 miles to the west before reaching the Santa Maria River, the Guadalupe Dunes, and the Pacific Ocean.

The Sisquoc is special, though. Congress deemed the Sisquoc a Wild and Scenic River in 1992. It’s one of only two rivers in Southern California that are free-flowing, the other being the bouldery Sespe River. It flows unfettered, no roads, culverts or dams impeding its natural course. More than 30 tributaries from either side of the Sierra Madre and the San Rafael Mountains naturally drain into the scenic rill from the north and south.

During the winter, the region receives occasional snowfall, and rain, anywhere from 13-to-38-inches. In October and November 2025, significant rain breathed life into the Sisquoc. Water levels were good as we backpacked, rock-hopped, and bushwacked our way to the headwaters, route finding in continuum.

Backcountry Bushwhack

Of course, reaching the headwaters of the Sisquoc was easier said than done. The winters of 2022-23 and 2023-24 brought significant storms and rainfall. Trails were overgrown with lots of downed trees. Where there was once a trail, it vanished for stretches along the Sisquoc. Some sections only allowed half a mile of movement per hour.

Bushwhacking can be tackled in several different forms depending on the terrain and vegetation, or whatever worked best. Sometimes it was as simple and straightforward as walking upright, arms extended and catching branches before they snapped back into our faces.

The more challenging backcountry flora, such as pokey white thorn, spindly raspberry bushes, and menacing wild rose, made us pull our arms tucked in tight while stepping through it as efficiently as possible. It was best to high-step through the wild rose and raspberry bushes so not to trip, but getting raked across the shins was inevitable.

At times, it was easier to spin 180 degrees and back into the dense brush to avoid throngs of branches and thorns latching onto every available strap on burly, 60-pound packs. And inevitably, sometimes we were on all fours, elbows and knees, ducking and plowing through the worst of it, a swirling haze of chaparral dust clouding any open space.

Initially, we avoided poison oak as best we could, but after our first day, I didn’t care anymore. I’m one of those lucky individuals that doesn’t get poison oak. Others tried to avoid it, but to no avail. One of the guides, Forrest, rubbed mugwort on his legs any chance he could and he still contracted it. Ticks were another matter, though. I carried 10 with me throughout the week-long trip.

The Source

Buckhorn Road, a dirt forest-service track, wraps around Big Pine Mountain. We accessed it from Lower Bear Camp. It was our last camp before reaching the headwaters of the Sisquoc. Between Lower and Upper Bear Camps were several narrow, serene waterfalls spilling off exposed rock and shrouded in fallen California bay and sycamore leaves. Despite all the downed trees, there were many new saplings of incense cedar and big cone Douglas fir.

After several longer switchbacks, we left the canyon behind and reached the road. Suddenly, significant topographical features such as Malduce Peak, the crest of the Sierra Madre Mountains, and the curvy spine of Hurricane Deck stood prominently across the forest. We were still in the shade as we circled around the north slope of Big Pine Mountain, tall canopies of big-cone Douglas fir and Jeffrey, sugar, and ponderosa pine trees towering above the headwaters.

As we walked beneath the summit of Big Pine Mountain, the headwaters were just a couple hundred feet below. A pair of red-tailed hawks were perched next to each other on an old snag just above the source. After taking off, they rode the afternoon thermal updrafts, ascending and then descending sharply, their raspy screams of kree-eee-ar, kree-eee-ar carrying over the serpentine flow of the Sisquoc River, the lifeblood of the forest.