Down on the Delta

Water spills from the mountains, bubbles up from ground springs, and moves day and night across California toward the Pacific. Rivers divide and split again – first a river, then a branch, then a slough, then a riverlet – before joining together again in a steady flow from the Sierra through the valleys.

West, west, west.

A warm breeze steadily pushes at me, heading East. It’s what locals call a “Delta breeze.” The water streams the ocean breezes onshore for a hundred miles or more, creating its own weather system across inland seas dotted with islands.

Covering a vast portion of northern California, the Delta is unique, unchanging, rustic and relaxing. Backroads cut past alfalfa fields, vineyards and pastureland dotted with old oaks and fattened Herefords. Levee roads take me through small towns and past numerous marinas.

I get deliciously lost traveling the backroads, taking one offshoot and then another. Sailboats, houseboats, fishing boats bob and the river widens. I cross iron bridges and draw bridges and teeter on top of levees.

My road ends suddenly head-on into the river, but a small ferry waits. I debate this option, not sure what’s on the other side. But the day is young and the ferry is free.

This is clearly the winding road less traveled. The waters branch to the murky waters of Shag Slough, Cache Slough, Lindsey Slough. My solitary drive is along the top of a levee guarding Miner Slough from dusty fallow farmlands. Canals crisscross my path, carrying water in all directions except, it seems, into the fields. There is a stark beauty to the thirsty land, checkerboarded in colors of brown, tan and gold.

Before I know it, there is the Deep Water Channel heading north and I’m no longer lost. The Delta is huge and can’t be explored in one day. This is the California far from the interstates and highways. It feels real out here.