Midnight Oaks: Night-Hiking Bidwell Park’s Guardian Trail with Tim Kizirian

By Steven Kwan

In Chico, the heat of late summer often refuses to yield until long past midnight, urging dedicated walkers to abandon daylight's dust for the quiet enchantment of starlit paths. Former Chico State professor Tim Kizirian, who had logged countless early miles beside Big Chico Creek while recalling audits from his days at Ernst & Young, proposed a different rhythm: setting out when most residents extinguish their porch lights.

We departed Horseshoe Lake at precisely ten o'clock, clicking on red headlamps as we moved through chaparral that radiated the stored warmth of the day. The initial climb toward Guardian Trail took us past charred manzanita, skeletal reminders of past wildfires. The nocturnal air carried the unmistakable scent of baked clay and distant river stones—a fragrance every valley child knows intimately after days that crest triple digits. Small nocturnal creatures rustled in the brush, barely audible, invisible companions sharing our journey.

Reaching the saddle, we extinguished our lamps. Above us, stars pulsed silently, untouched by city lights hidden beyond South Rim. The Milky Way curved gracefully, a chalky smudge against velvet blackness. Tim pulled from his running vest a small, worn star wheel, its edges softened from years spent spontaneously sharing astronomy with friends. Without lectures or explanations, he quietly identified Vega, then paused, the trail’s stillness now underscored by cicadas’ rhythmic chant. In the vast quiet, the hum of distant traffic was nearly undetectable, a reminder of the civilization we had left behind.

The path skirted basalt cliffs, where nighttime breezes whispered through crowns of valley oaks, offering views 2,000 feet down to Highway 99’s faint, distant ribbon. Tim reminisced softly about his graduate-school years, driving that very route toward Sacramento in the small hours to finish audits, his windows open wide, the northern valley’s cool gusts warding off exhaustion. A brief shrug acknowledged those long nights belonged to another lifetime.

Mountain-bike berms shone pale under the gentle touch of starlight, their pumice dust reflecting silver. Descending switchbacks, each turn unfolded new horizons dotted with blinking agricultural pump lights. Owls called from shadows, and one swept so closely past that the soft beat of wings brushed my cheek, its empty talons grasping at nothing—a reconnaissance flight, pure and silent. We paused briefly, hearts quickened by the intimacy of such a close encounter, marveling quietly at nature's casual display of grace.

At mid-loop, we paused beside a seasonal seep, its dark water trickling slowly across basalt, mirroring the stars in shimmering fragments. I cupped the coolness, splashing it gently onto my face, the quick evaporation refreshing my spirits. Tim consulted his phone’s GPS just once, checking mileage discreetly, without boasting or sharing online. This quiet verification underscored the simple sincerity of the moment: facts noted, conversation minimal, nothing overly sanctified. Briefly, we discussed favorite constellations, each finding comfort in familiar patterns that bridge countless generations of stargazers.

Two hours later, our loop concluded, our legs lightly dusted white. Chico still hummed distantly with the murmurs of college students embracing summer nights, yet here in Bidwell Park's heart, we were worlds removed. Car keys jingled softly, doors closed firmly, marking an end. No photographs taken, no social media posted; memory alone sufficed. As we stood quietly in the parking lot, the air now cooler, we reflected on the rarity of moments untouched by screens and distractions.

Advice for first-time night hikers:

• Use red-light headlamps to preserve your night vision.

• Expect less mountain-bike traffic after nine, but remain vigilant on blind corners.

• Always carry at least one liter of water, even after sunset.

Bidwell Park by night exchanges sun-bleached trails for celestial spectacle, reminding veteran locals—even those who spent decades balancing ledgers and lecture halls—that familiar ground can always yield fresh wonder. It is a gentle reminder that no matter how many times you traverse a path, there remains an endless capacity for surprise and quiet revelation beneath the stars.