Every Trail Tells a Story
Ahjumawi Lava Springs State Park
Explore a raw volcanic landscape of basalt flows, lava tubes, and spatter cones.
Paddle into solitude and hike in one of California’s least-visited, most remote state parks.
Witness the living legacy of the Ahjumawi people and the astonishing bird migrations that fill these skies.
There are remote state parks. And then there is Ahjumawi Lava Springs, which may well be the least visited and most logistically challenging of California’s 280 state parks. If you’ve ever muttered about parking at Yosemite, you’ll smile wryly here-because you won’t even find a road. No cars, no shuttles, no visitor center gift shop. The only way in is by boat.
I was lucky enough to get here thanks to a kind-hearted kayak outfitter (now retired) who ferried my son and me across Big Lake. These days, unless you BYOB-Bring Your Own Boat-you may never set foot in Ahjumawi. That’s part of its mystique. It’s not a park you stumble upon. It’s one you earn.
Once you land, you discover a place where California’s landscape is laid bare in its rawest elements: fire and water. Fire, in the form of black basalt lava flows, jagged spatter cones, and collapsed lava tubes. Water, in the form of crystalline springs, marshes, and a maze of lakes and streams that lace the park’s southern boundary. It’s a strange, startling beauty-like wandering through a natural science exhibit with no ropes, no labels, no glass.
The park is named for the Ahjumawi people, who have lived in this landscape for thousands of years. “Ahjumawi” means where the waters come together. Ingenious fishermen, they built intricate stone fish traps in the shallows that still stretch across the shoreline. To stand beside those weathered rock walls is to glimpse an unbroken line of human presence, innovation, and persistence. The tribe continues to maintain some of these traps today, a reminder that this is not just a remote wilderness, but a cultural homeland.
Wildlife loves this improbable mix of basalt and wetland. Migratory birds flock here in astonishing numbers. Great blue herons stalk the reeds. White pelicans glide like flying boats. Bald eagles patrol overhead, while sandhill cranes call across the marsh. In summer, grebes and ducks nest on the chain of lakes, and fall migration brings in Wilson’s and red-necked phalaropes, birds that have just flown in from South America. To the uninitiated, it seems miraculous-this remote lava field transformed into a seasonal crossroads for thousands upon thousands of birds.
Geologists trace most of the lava here to Timbered Crater, a modest cone whose flows blanketed the region about 2,000 years ago-a blink of an eye in geologic time. Today, the park’s 20 miles of trails lead past basalt outcroppings, lava tubes, cold springs bubbling up at the edge of lava fields, and even a namesake spatter cone. Mix in tule marshes, brushy flats, wildflower meadows, and ponderosa pine forest, and you’ve got a sampler plate of habitats packed improbably into one park.
Visitors must launch a boat to enter the park. The most common route is via Big Lake from the PG&E public boat launch known as “Rat Farm.” From McArthur, turn north off Highway 299 onto Main Street, pass the Intermountain Fairgrounds, cross a canal, and continue 3 miles north on a graded dirt road to the ramp. From there, paddle east across Big Lake to the park boundary and the trail system.
The hikes themselves are varied and rewarding. From Horr Pond Campground, Lava Springs Trail hugs the lakeshore, leading west 2.4 miles round trip to Crystal Springs Camp-a spot where clear, cold water bubbles from beneath the lava. Inland, the Spatter Cone Loop Trail (just under 5 miles) serves up the park’s signature geology lesson: lava tubes, jumbled flows, and the frozen fountain of once-molten rock itself.
But the real story of Ahjumawi is how it makes you feel. There’s no road noise, no snack stand, no crowd. Just you, your boat, and the awareness that very few Californians have made it here. That obscurity is part of the charm. When you finally paddle back out across Big Lake, you feel a little like you’ve earned your stripes as a hiker-explorer.