The first time I heard about Warner Valley, I was sitting with Sharon Roberts at St. Bernard Lodge.
It was 2017 or 2018, during one of my early trips covering Lassen Volcanic National Park. Sharon had invited me to stay at the lodge and snowshoe in the park. Somewhere in our conversations, she began laying out the places I needed to discover beyond the familiar stops. Warner Valley was one of them.
Her recommendation stayed with me. Later, I found a video of Boiling Springs Lake filmed on a foggy day. The water bubbled beneath the mist, and the footage was clear enough to make me feel like I was standing near the shore. I wanted to see that place for myself.
Then years went by. Other trips took priority. The Dixie Fire swept through the region, and closures put Warner Valley and other places I wanted to explore out of reach for a while.
By the time my friend Tom and I finally drove into the valley in September 2026, I had been thinking about it for eight or nine years.
The Road into Warner Valley
We came from the Lake Almanor and Chester area, leaving behind the broader roads for the drive toward Drakesbad Guest Ranch.
The burn scar was part of the journey. There were stretches where the fire’s impact was impossible to miss, followed by stands of surviving trees that made me think about the effort it must have taken to protect this place. A deer crossed the road ahead of us. Houses appeared along the way, reminders that this was also a remote little community.
The dirt road was well maintained during our visit. Eventually, tall grasses and meadow began to appear, and the valley I had pictured for so long started taking shape.
These were rounded, forested slopes rather than Yosemite’s sharp granite walls. My attention kept returning to the valley floor—the grasses, the trees, the wildlife, and the sense of water supporting everything around us.
We passed the Warner Valley trailhead, where visitors can begin the walk toward Boiling Springs Lake and other destinations. Our plans took us farther down the road.
Then the buildings at Drakesbad began to show through.
Lunch, Trail Stories, and a Change of Plans
Drakesbad had the kind of atmosphere that made me want to slow down immediately. Rustic wooden buildings, a lodge and dining room, cabins, and the meadow beyond gave the place an old ranch feel.
We had arranged to have lunch there, and the meal became one of my favorite parts of the day.
The kitchen put out the day’s food buffet-style, and we helped ourselves. Overnight guests were there, including a gentleman sharing photographs he had taken of the stars. A couple of Pacific Crest Trail hikers came in looking ready for a substantial meal and some time off their feet.
People had arrived with different plans, but for a little while, lunch brought us together.
Our original plan included horseback riding. Weather had canceled the ride, so Tom and I were working out what to do instead. We spent some time talking with the PCT hikers and passed along leftover backpacking food from our Yosemite trip. It was a small chance to play trail angel before heading out ourselves.
Devils Kitchen would be our first stop.
Across the Meadow to Devils Kitchen
From the ranch, our route to Devils Kitchen was roughly two miles each way.
The beginning was beautiful. A wooden boardwalk carried us across the meadow, followed by a trail through tall grasses. Chipmunks moved around us, and we saw deer along the way. At the junction pointing toward Drake Lake, we took the route toward Devils Kitchen, crossing more meadow before beginning the gradual climb.
The trail followed a narrowing valley, rising steadily without ever feeling particularly difficult to me.
Here, too, the fire had left its mark. We moved between surviving trees and more open stretches of burned forest. Blackened trunks stood above green grass and new growth. There was a lot to take in: damage that still felt recent alongside plants already filling the spaces around it.
One small detail stopped me. Along the trail, exposed wood had worn down into a smooth, patterned surface. It looked marbled, almost polished. I wondered how much of that texture came from years of horse traffic passing over it.
I had never seen anything quite like it.
Eventually, we crested a rise and began to see steam coming up from Devils Kitchen.
The Strange Beauty of Steaming Rock
Volcanic landscapes ask you to appreciate a different kind of beauty.
At Devils Kitchen, I found myself studying odd colors in the rocks, textures in the ground, and steam escaping from places that otherwise looked solid. There was sulfur in the air. The activity was right there in front of us, making itself known through smell, heat, and movement.
A wooden bridge crossed the creek, with an older log crossing still visible nearby. September water levels were low, and the bubbling pools I had imagined were less prominent than the steaming rocks and vents.
We followed the walking loop, stopping to look at the different features. My favorite area was the upper shelf, where steam rose from the rocks close to the established trail.
I stood there for a while thinking about what was beneath my feet.
How thick was the ground between us and that heat? How much was happening below the surface that we could never see?
It is one thing to know Lassen is an active volcanic landscape. Standing beside those vents made that knowledge feel much more immediate.
We spent about half an hour exploring and watching. I was glad we had walked up, even without the amount of bubbling mud I had pictured. It also made me curious about returning earlier in the season, when different water conditions might give the place another character.
Then we headed back toward the meadow and the ranch.
Finally Seeing Boiling Springs Lake
We checked again on horseback riding when we returned. There had been some discussion of rides resuming that afternoon, but we weren’t able to join one.
Boiling Springs Lake was still waiting.
From the ranch, it was roughly another mile each way in the opposite direction. The walk climbed out of the valley, and I found it straightforward and manageable. The PCT hikers were getting ready to move on after enjoying their food and rest. We said goodbye before continuing toward the lake.
After all those years, I was finally going to see the place from the video.
And, honestly, I was a little disappointed.
The lake sat back from the viewing trail during our visit. The water was murky brown, with little movement that I could make out. The foggy, visibly bubbling scene I remembered from the video was a very different experience from what stood before me that September afternoon.
At one point, I followed what looked like a route toward a closer view, then realized the trail was no longer clear. I became uncertain about where I was standing and returned to the established trail. Around thermal features, that uncertainty was enough reason to turn around.
We found places to take photographs and spent some time looking across the water.
Even with my expectations unmet, the setting gave me something to think about. Heat beneath the ground was shaping this lake and the land around it. The same volcanic activity that had drawn me here years earlier was still present, whether it put on the show I had imagined or not.
I was glad I had finally seen it. Devils Kitchen had simply become the more memorable stop for me.
A Valley I Want to See Again
Walking through the burned landscape, I kept wondering what Warner Valley would look like in another ten or fifteen years.
There were places where I wished I could have seen the forest before the fire. But I was also glad to see it now, with grasses and shrubs returning, deer moving through, and the landscape beginning another long stage of growth.
A future visitor will see something different. I hope I get to be one of them.
There were more trails to consider, too: Drake Lake, Little Willow Lake, Terminal Geyser, and routes along the Pacific Crest Trail. We had spent a full day exploring and still left with places we hadn’t reached.
Drakesbad added another reason to return. After lunch with hikers and guests, I could picture spending a few nights there—walking during the day, coming back for dinner, and stepping outside after dark to see the sky that had inspired our lunch companion’s photographs.
Warner Valley Campground offers another way to stay close to the trails. Both options would give me something our day trip lacked: time to remain in the valley after the day’s exploring was done.
Sharon had put Warner Valley on my map nearly a decade earlier. I finally made it there with a particular lake in mind, only to find that my favorite memories were spread across the day: a meal, a meadow, a worn piece of wood, and steam rising from the rocks at Devils Kitchen.
Next time, I’d like to stay the night.
