Apology to Siskiyou County: The Underrated Gem of Northern California

Dear Siskiyou County,

I owe you an apology.

I’m sorry for the times I breezed past your exit on I-5, distracted by flashy billboards for “bigger” destinations. I’m sorry I once thought your name sounded like a sneeze (”Siskiyou… bless you!”). And I’m especially sorry for not realizing sooner that you’re basically the cool, quirky cousin of California counties—the one who’d rather hike a volcano than wait in line for a selfie with a Hollywood sign. Let me make it up to you with a love letter wrapped in a mea culpa.

First off: Your scenery is chef’s kiss. You’ve got Mount Shasta, that majestic snow-capped diva, looming like a celestial ice cream cone. You’ve got the Kings Castle and Castle Crags, which sounds like a rejected Game of Thrones spinoff but is actually a hiker’s paradise. And let’s not forget the lava beds—because who doesn’t want to spelunk in a cave formed by ancient molten rage? Meanwhile, your rivers (Shasta, Klamath, Salmon) are basically liquid joy for kayakers, fishers, and anyone who enjoys yelling “WOOO!” while plunging down rapids. I’m sorry I ever doubted your outdoor résumé.

Second: You’re delightfully weird, and I’m here for it. Where else can you find a town (Dunsmuir) that brags about having the “best water on Earth,” a claim so bold it’s either genius or a dare? Or a place where the local trivia includes Bigfoot sightings and a historic feud over a goat? (Looking at you, Yreka.) You’ve got festivals celebrating everything from mushrooms to hot air ballooning, and your vibe is less “tourist trap” and more “let’s roast marshmallows and swap campfire stories.” I’m sorry I didn’t appreciate your eccentric charm sooner.

Third: You’re the antidote to overcrowded vacations. While Lake Tahoe fights over parking spots and Yosemite’s trails resemble conga lines, you’re out here offering starry skies so clear they’d make an astronomer cry. Your campgrounds don’t require a six-month advance booking, and your idea of “rush hour” is a deer crossing the road. I’m sorry I ever thought “remote” meant “boring.” Turns out, it means “blissful.”

Lastly, your people are the real treasure. From fourth-generation ranchers to artists chasing inspiration in your forests, Siskiyou folks radiate a warmth that’s part frontier spirit, part “let’s share a pie.” You’ve mastered the art of small-town hospitality without the saccharine aftertaste. Even your coffee shops feel like Cheers—where everybody knows your name, or at least your latte order.

So here’s my pledge, Siskiyou County: I’ll stop calling you “that place near Oregon.” I’ll rave about your hidden hot springs, your wildflower meadows, and your ability to make a city dweller forget what a traffic jam feels like. I’ll tell everyone you’re California’s best-kept secret (but also, please stay weird and never build a mega-resort).

In penance, I’ll buy a T-shirt from the Weed Store, hike to a waterfall without posting it on Instagram, and finally take that kayak tour on the Klamath. Maybe I’ll even look for Bigfoot—though if he’s smart, he’s already booked a cabin in your woods.

With humble pie (and a side of elderberry jam),
Your Biggest Fan (Who’s Sorry It Took So Long) Traveling Salesman

---