Seneca Ghost Town

On a family fishing and camping trip, we gathered a group of friends and made plans for a picnic on the Feather River, below Lake Almanor. An old mining town called Seneca had been in the canyon, an important center for those mining in the area. A lot of placer gold had been taken from the Feather in this area, according to friends who lived there, so we decided we would look it over and find some gold. This was our first outing to a gold-bearing river in the gold country, and we were woefully ignorant.

For all of you who hesitate to ask me questions, this story will encourage you! You will see that we all have a beginning, and when we learn we are happy to share with those who have not yet learned.

The road down into the canyon was pretty bad... steep and narrow and full of switchback turns, but once we arrived at the bottom we found a perfectly beautiful summer day. This area is very beautiful, but the forest did not shade most areas along the river below the lake. Flowers were blooming, blackberries were just about ripe, and the clear, cool water beckoned. We had to cross the river to get to the area where Seneca was located, and the one remaining photo I have of that trip is of friends Linda and Jimmy Elliott crossing the feather. You will note that Jimmy is bent over, seemingly examining the river bottom. Well, he was. We were all so ignorant that he was looking for gold nuggets as he crossed!

Once on the other side we had our picnic and then set out to find the town of Seneca. Once we climbed the bank the remains of the town were evident, as a group of log cabins, in various stages of disintegration, stood within the lodgepole pine forest. On the edge I was drawn to one cabin in a bit better condition than the others, that still had iris blooming near the door in a random patch of sunlight. It is strange how iris manage to survive alone after the inhabitants leave, for many, many years. A very tough, hardy plant.

After checking out the cabins I began looking behind the ones nearest the creek, searching for the area they used to dump their trash. I located it on the edge of the ravine, and it did not appear to have been touched. I did not go through it but looked at the pretty designs on broken pottery and china, old pots, etc., and wondered at the stories they could tell. The only item I picked up was the white porcelain face of a child’s doll... unpainted, but beautiful. I still carry it around with me today, and smile when I come across it, remembering that day in the warm sun on the banks of the Feather River.

After investigating I went back to the banks where the men were hard at work! We did not have even a gold pan at the time, but they had found a screen somewhere, in a wood frame (about half-inch mesh ), which they were using to sift material they scooped from the river. They‘d retrieved some old pots from the dump to use for ‘shoveling’ and were having fun. I should not have to tell you that they found no gold that day. They barely scratched the surface of the material at the bottom of the river, working only that on top (it was much easier to scoop, of course!).

Two other women and I walked down the river a ways to check out some berries on a sandbar in the river. We thought we could come back when they were fully ripe, as berries with their heads in the sun and feet in the water do very well... large and sweet!

As we tried a few berries, a man walked out of the willows at the water’s edge, holding a large rifle. He had a very grim look on his face. He did not yell really loud, but was dead serious when he told us to leave in no uncertain terms. This was more than likely not a miner, but someone growing illegal marijuana, so we asked no questions, but retraced our steps. It is not healthy to ask questions under those circumstances. And, without even discussing it, none of us mentioned the incident to our husbands. It was time to pack things up and head for camp, and the incident was soon forgotten.

We have all laughed about that trip over the years, and each time I look at the photo I laugh, for we were true neophytes that day...

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Copyright  Marcie 1998-2006. All rights reserved.