About Site

With the pandemic initially forcing the shutdown of the bathhouse and the subsequent management decision (likely made before ever beginning their new 'absentee stewardship') to KEEP it shut and cease massage service -- and now, with the spa-indifferent, total re-purposing detour of the bathhouse building after tearing out the tubs -- the place has entered truly tragic, uber-weird territory...a place which waters the famed water-properties analyst Dr. Emoto proclaimed possibly the purest healing waters on the planet.

see article on Dr. Emoto's team visit

2025: Stepping back

For better or worse, I'd been something of a Lone Ranger for the place since the late 1990s. I couldn't understand why no more Stewart Springs fans got excited over the prospect of resurrecting Henry Stewart's altruistic dream of serving the well-being of greater humanity through making widely available and affordable the place's healing water and energies.

After 13 years and thousands of hours spent writing and transcribing as Springs analyst, compiler, and Springs watchdog on this site, I'm burned out (if still not unduly discouraged). I'd recently looked into launching a 501(c)(3) nonprofit, but my financial situation and lack of connections made the prospect unrealistic.

While I'll probably still continue tinkering with the site now and then, I no longer feel the urge to keep updating it -- and won't again, short of a show of new commitment by others to the cause.

It's time for Stewart Springs fans to come forward. Those who treasure the place and possess the knowledge, skills and, most importantly, the wherewithal to up a rescue effort, who might further the cause by doing things like:

(1) Starting a Facebook page and/or one on other media sites with a call to action and build an active platform for connecting die-hard fans and trading brainstorms.

(2) Launching a formal 501(c)(3) nonprofit Save Stewart Springs group and organizing the place's aficionados and (in time) becoming eligible to receive donations and grants, maybe even a serious grant that -- dare one imagine -- would enable buying and running the place ourselves.

(3) Diplomatically-inclined interfacing with Pneuma higher-ups to work towards a mutually feel-good resolution to resolve the current seemingly untenable situation, working together to find a new ownership group dedicated to restoring the Springs for the public good.

Whatever one feels pulled to do. If enough fans of Stewart Springs come together, marshaling forces and working in tandem with whatever talents one felt pulled to share, in time the rescue of the beloved realm could become a done deal. (Maybe it will happen anyhow, but it's hard holding your breath for ten years, waiting for a miracle.)

People might wonder how many Springs fans are actually out there. If interest in this site is any indicator... it's averaged some ten viewers a day over the last 13 years. Some only stayed seconds (maybe just looking for open hours), others stayed for over half an hour. That's some three thousand visitors a year. Times 13 years the site's been up, that's over 47,000 people who have shown some degree of interest in the place (including about 7% outside the U.S.).

If only one in ten are longtime fans and believers in the value of resurrecting the place's extraordinary lost dream, that's still over 4,700 Stewart Springs fans.

By stepping back I'm hoping someone or someones among this remarkable number will feel moved to come forward and carry on -- on a new, more effective level, building on the foundation created here (its writings and images made fully available) through new media, seeking to connect with potential appropriate buyer(s), and, again, possibly in time organizing a legal nonprofit dedicated to liberating and resurrecting the Springs.

The fact that the owners at present currently appear to have zero interest in selling the place they snagged away from the global community needn't prove unduly discouraging.

Some 5,000 people working in tandem, each contributing whatever one's felt pulled to share (especially networking skills and experience in building effective, airtight nonprofits) -- people who have treasured the mystical realm and would love to see it resurrected -- could work a miracle.

Ghost dancing? Dreaming the impossible dream? Chasing rainbows? Magical thinking?

Maybe. Maybe not. It's whatever enough fans insist on; nothing more, nothing less.

The ball's now in your court.

Blessed be

Scroll way down to "Mystical Realm" header for further ponderings on the rare nature of the place that has inspired such widespread and deep devotion over time

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Note: the rest of this incredibly long page is a veritable potpourri, covering many subjects, built up over time. Some was written during the place's more tranquil and quasi alternative-culture-friendly early 2010s and is obviously dated. The first writing (updated) was made at the website's 2011 launch.

Other writings include an overview of the website, its history and varied content; a personal history of my own involvement with the Springs; a take on employee burnout; a call for new stewardship; and how the place has often attracted volunteers and dedicated workers despite starvation wages to hold the energy and work towards resurrecting the realm's lost dream.

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What has made this rustic retreat tucked away in the wilds near Weed, California, revered by so many for so long?

Its mineral water? Its age-old Native American reverence as sacred healing grounds? The sound of rushing creek amid evergreen canyon just minutes off interstate highway?

Maybe its believed energy vortex, amplifying vibrations any present might call forth? Or the dollop of body freedom -- offered for 16 years -- to more fully embrace nature, experience physical liberation and enhance the spa's healing process?

Or its employees, who, when not scrambling or caught up in tedium, often felt transported to summer camp and whose enthusiasm rubbed off on visitors and vice versa?

Surprising then that no book has ever been written about it. The feeling by this longtime fan was that the place deserved something more...more than the usual official in-house info and sizzle and ephemeral online reviews and thumbnail write-ups in springs guidebooks, the place's policies sometimes changed before the book was even off the press.

And so this site was launched in 2011 in hopes of remedying a lamentable situation. The original intent was to offer viewers a more nuanced appreciation, history, and critical analysis of the tarnished but rare jewel that is Stewart Springs.

It invited others to share their own thoughts and experiences regarding the realm. The latter didn't pan out, producing only three write-ups, and so over time the site become more blogcentric, beyond the re-posted online articles and travel reviews, transcribed feature newspaper articles and book excerpts mentioning the place.

Maybe the legends? How the patina of the historic establishment and legend of pioneer Henry Stewart, found in dire straits by natives and brought to the Springs and restored to life through mineral water soaking, making him a true believer in its curative powers, decades later launching a dedicated mission to 'buy' the place and share it with the world for the next 33 years of his life

Of course, that indefinable attraction to Stewart Springs over time has been for all the above -- and more.

The newest goal, of course, has been to alert the public -- and mineral-spring spa aficionados in particular -- how the new absentee stewards (a choice oxymoron) legally seized the place in 2016. How they effectively stole it from the public, taking it worlds further away from the founder's original nonprofit-in-spirit, love-of-service operation, one which every mindful nature-loving first-time visitor senses and resonated with...

...how it heedlessly erased the old-timey, down-home cultural climate just to try remaking place to suit their own conservative mindset and serve as Pneuma Institute's world headquarters and related retreat center...one maybe subsidized by the public on some level (lately only group-event bookings sans spa amenities), maybe not. And possibly, if giving credence to the worst fears of some, privatizing the place outright, slamming front gates to the entire general public after 145 years of mostly offering selfless healing service and an unassuming hospitality. (see new intro to Rants and Raves)

...also, crucially, to convince the mostly international 'owners' that they'd be happier -- and restore a good measure of now-tattered integrity -- by moving their Pneuma scene to a more suitable location, once taking the time to find new appropriate steward(s)...ones who'd be tickled to resurrect the operation and land back to its original DNA roots: a down-home, nonprofit (then in spirit, now in legal fact as well) refuge and public trust dedicated to natural purification, healing and rejuvenation, focused on serving the greater good of an ailing nature-hungry humanity.

Hope has been that the massive de facto boycott and social media alerts -- perhaps eventually also a lack of support from even the outfit's own cadres once learning of the extreme bad karma its heads have created, and (dare one hope) the 'owners' read the writing on the wall -- will put to a merciful end the current misguidedly dreary plans for the place, whatever they they might be exactly...

..that, barring their hearts melting and radically changing tune, they'll throw in the towel, being conscious enough to realize that though they created a lamentable situation and instantly painted themselves as villains in the eyes of countless Springs fans around the world, they can yet redeem their now-mortgaged decency by 'selling' the special healing land to new, appropriate stewards...

...one(s) who naturally see the wisdom in bringing back the modest, service-loving spirit of the essentially nonprofit operation's first 78 years by the Stewart family and a few legal stewards and/or managements since...ones who would happily rescue the realm, make it a legally dedicated nonprofit institution to benefit humanity, and work towards service operation reflecting the place's original spirit...updated with the present day's rapidly increasing holistic awareness, mindfulness, and racial/sexual/cultural diversity, all reflecting the emerging enlightened and more natural lifestyles of a fast growing segment of the public mainstream...

...thereby enabling people around the world trekking up the hill to once again enjoy the bohemian retreat as the lighthearted, service-based healing and cultural center it has so long been...the place at long last being freed of off-putting money-hungry vibes and/or inappropriate repurposing schemes, both with their sundry spirit-crushing service disconnects and short-circuits of the land's enormous potential to heal greater humanity.

If enough fans visualize and pray for this -- present 'owners' recognizing the folly of their ways and the need to let go of a place they'd (possibly only unwittingly) misappropriated, unmindful of its sterling -- if much tarnished -- legacy and the massive, planet-wide public sentiment as a treasured healing and rejuvenatory realm...then, with the crucial help of the right angel 'investors' and volunteer local and regional aficionados -- plus re-energized visitor support by a growth-minded, nature-loving public -- the place can once again serve to heal and uplift.

Especially with the radically shifting societal dynamics precipitated by the recent pandemic: a wracked economy and historic racial-injustice time of reckoning, together having created a triple whammy meltdown, all but obliterating the former lah-de-dah business model that often viewed visitors as 'consumer units' to seduce and manipulate, and prodding awake former asleep-at-the-wheel mindsets...all giving way to people learning to share this strange yet wondrous planet we find ourselves sojourning on.

While the last 'owner' held the place's innate free spirit captive on certain levels for 34 years by a limiting profit focus, putting the damper on any more enlightened, service-dedicated scene, two of the six post-Stewart-family legal stewardships lasted only a very short while. (see History)

(Last 'owner' John Foggy's great redeeming quality was letting the long-time-local managing family run things according to their lights -- reflecting community lifestyle values that, serendipidously, more or less coincided with the venerable healing and rejuvenation tradition of the place -- just so long as the money kept rolling in.)

May the present occupation become a third short-term stewardship, clearing the way for the magic SEVENTH one.

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Pages within form a varied, ever-evolving zine collection and blog -- history, re-posted articles, personal experiences and reflections, embarrassment of online travel review excerpts...informed and semi-informed analysis and opinion, wild speculation...plus occasional news, photos, quotes and anecdotes on anything Stewart Springs related deemed worthy of notice.

By offering diverse takes on the extraordinary place -- albeit one with a pronounced checkered history of light and dark energies since the advent of so-called civilization with all its glaring perfidies -- the hope is to foster a deeper knowing for the place's aficionados and perhaps provide a introduction to those who have never even heard of the place til now; to help it realize its greater potential as the extraordinary healing realm it is once a loving universe manifests the perfect legal keeper and hands-on operation to at last resurrect the spot to serve the public again.

Site launcher, again, is moi, Stu Ward, former steward of Stewart's (yes, synchronicity gone wild). Though naturally resonating with the name, I suspect I would have loved the place -- as it was and as it's meant to be -- nearly as much had it instead only been called Henry's Mud Flats.

Like countless others, the Springs enriched my life immeasurably -- so much so, I wanted to give back. Let others, through my insider knowledge of the place plus a penchant for creative writing and sometimes out-of-the-box thinking, grok the realm on new levels...gleam the bigger story, one long shrouded in the mystery of vortex energies that reflected and amplified the imprints of myriad visitors over time...from sleepwalkers to awakened, nature destroyers and culture killers to Gaia venerators and peace-loving idealists.

Since launching, the site's received over 100,000 visits around the world, maybe 75,000 or so from actual humans, vs. crawling search engines. Some left fast, no doubt looking only for an in-house info that would offer a sizzling song and dance, trying to woo one's business, and concluded "Well, this site's useless; obviously some lunatic fringe". (Trivia aside: that term was coined by U.S. President Teddy Roosevelt.) The site by 2025 averaged about ten visitors a day, most from the west coast, but also a fair amount from throughout the nation and overseas.

Others might assume the writer is just going down memory lane (certainly true in part); or is only a disgruntled ex-employee with an ax to grind; or one building a vanity site to bolster a fragile ego and brag how he once covered himself in glory in a bygone era; or some whack-a-doodle nudaholic trying to push the river on radical body freedom...more than, beyond any and all such human foibles and former obsessive-cause interests, simply one of the countless devoted Springs fans who, appreciating how on the Spirit plane the past-present-future are all one, hopes to catalyze positive change for the realm...so that people might once again enjoy its many blessings.

Others linger on the site, soaking in Stewart Springs tales and re-posted comments of hundreds of visitors and maybe sample this writer's endless ramblings -- some well-informed, some speculative, others intuitive, using a cracked but maybe still functional crystal ball.

Though formerly trying to keep the tone tenuously positive and upbeat -- the place having taken numerous slams over the years, some fully justified -- the site was NEVER a whitewash, never some dubious shill effort designed to drum up more revenue for the 'owner'.

With the place having a life of its own, this site's perspective has always tried to be one transcending any given stewardship -- especially those seen by dyed-in-the-wool spa purists as inappropriate.

Here I'll add in full disclosure that before the 'owner' change and de facto boycott, writer got unlimited free saunas and a few free baths a year in exchange for volunteer cold plunge management and doing things like shoveling snow off the sundeck, bringing back the grounds' overgrown paths, building tent platforms, picking up litter, etc... I naturally felt a judicious need to pull my punches, left trying to tell it like it was between the lines lest the powers that be got ticked off and clipped my wings and made me pay like everyone else, or worse, banished me from the realm in retribution for the bad press.

After having with grave reluctance 86ed myself from the place, once becoming radicalized over the devastating changes, there was one positive result: I was at last free to fully speak my mind. I could finally "talk out of school" that I self-expelled from, revealing operational secrets that discretion (and self-survival) once forbade my even think of sharing with the public.

Though the writings might sometimes seem to have a know-it-all attitude, that was never my intent. Truly grokking the place involves a shared group understanding and pool of knowledge of what has made the place great and, or better or worse, I was privy to what-all went down and where the bodies were buried for having worked and hung out there so long. Being able to at last share it here is a grand unburdening.

The place is a dream realm in some ways, defying rational explanations, rife with vague legends and -- most peculiarly -- gathering false rumors like lint. While efforts here to get any kind of factual handle on it can often seem an exercise in futility, it's fun trying.

Focus has always been on critical analysis, including ideas how to further fine-tune the place and manifest new 'owner' change (see New Day Dawning), and, like anything or anyone that one cherishes, try to remember to see it as always perfect within its imperfection.

Admittedly, that's one rough row to hoe now with present interests pulling the place further away from original healing spirit of founder's family than ever, willfully ignoring its 145 year-old DNA... a public-minded DNA that always awaits reactivation.

Stray thought: ever tease apart the word 'realty'? It's 'reality', blinded and depersonalized without the seeing 'i'. In such property transfers, it's the land that's sold, not the business operation itself or any possible well-established ways and customs, even if steeped in the place for generations. In extreme cases like this, it can amount to what one might call nothing less than a depressing form of legal thievery. (Native Americans are old hands at appreciating that one.)

Meditating on the Springs through time as a balanced whole might enable a fuller understanding of the place's lingering gnarly karma and non-progressive energy patterns with which it's so long been plagued...patterns to be recognized, brought about, dealt with and banished, in order to let the realm's healing properties flow freely again, awakening the place to benefit any and all who find themselves trekking up the hill again in the (hopefully) not-too-distant future.

Goals: manifest new,

nonprofit stewardship; resurrect bathhouse;

ban the nudity ban;

return the sacred sweatlodge

First fans suffered clothing-optional ban, then kicking out of the sweatlodge. Both tested the forbearance of legion of free-spirited fans' love of place to the breaking point and de facto boycotting it. Dismantling the bathhouse only confirmed the dire situation, in giant day-glow lettering, for any slow to grasp the writing on the wall.

Countless -- including the writer -- years ago vowed never to set foot on property again until either 'owners'' hearts melt and they ask forgiveness of the legion of devastated former supporters after returning clothing-optional spa service and inviting sweat lodge back...or, worlds more likely -- they finally see beyond an obtuse disregard for the spiritual realities and altruistic heritage of the place and muster the grace to feel chagrined, give up their dubious, diversionary pursuits, divest, and finally redeem selves by finding and selling to new, public-minded steward(s).

Ones who, with support of both longtime and new fans near and far, restore its soul to serve again as an affordable, free-spirited, NONPROFIT, culturally-diverse healing and rejuvenation refuge...

...one of, by, and for the people.

Three Strikes...

The first strike came in late 2016 with banning clothing-optional at the bathhouse compound, suddenly forbidding the time-honored tradition of merging with elements in the creek and sauna and on the sundeck, huddled masses happily shedding unneeded covers, stimulating the exhilarating release of feel-good endorphins (and thereby enabling more effective purification and healing).

Such personal and social freedom and enhanced healing potential had made the place an incredibly popular destination for over a generation. Take that away and, in many people's minds (check visitor feedback to the late 2016 clothing-optional ban - scroll halfway down), the place essentially once again became hostage to a convention-locked, body-alienated mindset.

It quashed any more profound enjoyment of the place for countless free-spirited and bohemian-friendly people around the world.

In times when any rural mineral springs operation in the northwest U.S. worth its salt allowed some measure of mindful body freedom in course of spa (beyond any private tub/shower), Stewart's became just another watered-down, conventionalized, clothes-minded rural springs tourist trap...out of resonance with its natural setting, healing waters and the place's original dedicated focus on purifying, healing, and rejuvenating.

Second strike came in December 2017 with emptying the creekside spring gazebo's altar of years' worth of heartfelt prayer and love offerings, replaced initially with a cheery sign barking, 'No Trespassing - Violators Prosecuted'...a peoples' shrine destroyed.

Third strike: also in December 2017: scrapping the 45-year-old Native American weekly sacred sweat lodge ceremony...frosting on the cake in new 'owners'' seeming aspirations to either mostly or entirely shut out public entirely to better pursue their own private shtick...or some unwieldy variation thereof which they might've been playing by ear and mostly by remote from thousands of miles away as given feedback by on-grounds management...until pandemic came along and threw a giant curve ball into the mix and they used it as an excuse to scrap spa service entirely and re-purpose the bathhouse to something more dear to their hearts: more workshop, classroom and private event space.

Regardless of actual intent, it was three strikes and you're out -- LONG before scrapping the bathhouse. Out of favor with thousands of former fans who spread word to tens of thousands more, generating so much ill will and bad press that any plans to selfishly use the once incredibly popular (albeit often woefully mismanaged) healing retreat just to support their own gig would fail abysmally over time -- even if closely-guarded intent actually included trying to shut the gates to general public and privatize the former quasi-progressive-minded paradise in order to serve exclusively as some international Pneuma headquarters and retreat.

In the last scenario, it's impossible imagining them ever enjoying one shred of peace of mind or any open-flowing heartsongs for knowing that by shutting gates of the beloved institution they will have broken the hearts of untold thousands around the world.

Unwitting appeaser

As mentioned elsewhere, the hope of the then in-denial writer had been that a new, more fine-tuned c/o policy would SURELY emerge once the new stewards came to appreciate how mindful clothing-optional policy was an essential offering. One appreciated by an overwhelming majority of the visitor base.

A perfect fit for any genuine rural mineral springs retreat.

Especially being in progressive-minded, nature-loving rural northern California...and, most especially, one near the world-popular, quasi-bohemian haven of the City of Mount Shasta and that upper-chakra tickling, big rock candy mountain of Mount Shasta.

Writer's now long-abandoned hope was based on four things: (1) hearing from outgoing manager that they basically liked the place just the way it was; (2) that they'd promised to pour every cent of net profits back into improvements during the first two years; (3) that they'd raise the rates of workers to a more livable wage; and (4) crucially, reading on the website that one of affiliated outfit Incarre's stated spiritual aims was dedication to helping people realize "profound re-integration of body-mind-spirit on higher levels."

Of course, towards such a supposed goal no other aid can likely be anywhere NEAR as powerful, effective or as easily implemented as giving Springs visitors the option to enjoy simple mindful nudity during their spa regimen, thereby enhancing the healing process on all levels -- body, mind and spirit -- by becoming magically one with nature's elements.

Writer believed the future of Springs as a true healing place hinged on the legal stewardship realizing this obvious fact and promptly re-instating clothing-optional on a newly-focused, mindful level. They'd acknowledge simple nudity's profound reintegrative powers. And be open-minded enough to embrace the place's long tradition of cultural diversity and universal spiritual seeking to find a solution to the fire/liability insurance issue of the sacred sweatlodge that ostensibly caused the group to have to leave in the first place, unable to afford the reported Hobsen's choice of covering the $2,000/month fire/insurance rider clause

So much for wistful hopes. Obviously, soon all bets were off. By remaining adamant on the nudity ban, taking down the gazebo altar, and kicking out the sweatlodge -- and reportedly STILL only paying minimum wage for non-management gigs -- again, they proved themselves villains in the eyes of Springs fans everywhere.

And of course it only got worse. Grounds masseuses took a pay cut, gift shop consignees had a bigger slice taken from sales, and employees no longer received a monthly free bath -- not even a discount. And, tragically, dozens of mature pine and cedars -- some no doubt growing contentedly while founder Henry was caring for the place before World War I -- were mindlessly cut down to make way for a new bathhouse greywater septic system, the need of which surely could've been met in a far less disruptive, more creative and ecological way rather than blindly caving to outmoded, environmentally hostile, conventional means. (Maybe it was in part a dramatic move to show, in no uncertain terms, that there was a new sheriff in town.)

No doubt, before the pandemic many people visiting for the first time -- never having experienced the earlier days, which, in rarest moments, could approach a blissful, heaven-on-earth communion with nature -- might've still enjoyed themselves, having nothing to compare the then-current social climate and policies to.

For the place indeed had charm to spare.

quote if wanting to stay. (Such exorbitant amount was no doubt sparked by participant deaths in pseudo sacred sweatlodge near Sedona, Arizona several years earlier by some White new-agey entrepreneur.) Writer's later understanding was that since the new 'stewards' had their own shamans, they no longer wanted or needed the local medicine wheel turning there, totally ignoring its revered place in the history of the region and continued value in healing the land's lingering psychic scars.

This, while still taking dollars of a lingering, non-discerning public, unwittingly funding the rank diversion -- along with the support of remaining masseuses and employees who remained dependent on place for making the rent or mortgage, no matter how much it galled the spirit or crimped one's heartsong...

...and longtime annual, ostensibly spiritually-focused event organizers, who appeared loathe to change locale despite being all too aware (or in abject denial) that all

hell had broken loose, on both the subtle and the not so subtle planes...until one day they either got priced out, got hooked on the Kool Aid, or themselves become disheartened and repulsed by the scene...

...or the imposing front gates slammed shut outright. Then any clueless would-be soakers and overnighters merrily zipping up hill would be greeted with growling signs: Private Property, Go Away - Violators Prosecuted - No Peak Experiences for YOU - Transcend Yur Sorry Little Selves Elsewhere

For what it's worth, the following is a brief history of my own involvement with the Springs over the decades for any curious about my bona fides, background, and/or the site's evolution.

Rambling includes a sidebar on employee burnout and a random sprinkling of Springs history. (Some written long before the current crisis, so parts have a more leisurely, all's-well-relatively-speaking tone.)

A bit of my own story

& the site's evolution

Stuart discovers Stewart's

Native San Franciscan, I first stumbled onto Stewart Springs in late 1983 five years after having moved to the region following seven years of dharma-bumming around the West.

It was for a full moon evening sweat with Karuk medicine man Charlie Thom. (Flew away October 8, 2013.) One of about twelve in a modest sweat lodge. I'm a Springs dinosaur to most, a relative newcomer to others, whose brains I sometimes picked for

old stories and missing puzzle pieces...like the late springs aficionado Jonathan Wolfe, who shared a fond memory of 1970's co-owner Carole Goodpasture greeting him at the far end of the walking bridge with a cup of mineral water to drink and so begin his spa treatment.

With Charlie lovingly sharing his timeless wisdom and deep roots in the land with our small group, I was instantly smitten by the powerful magic of the place... And saddened when, soon after, the absentee 'owner' closed the gates to the general public for several years over want of finding responsible management willing to work cheap to drum up the slack visitor volume and so no longer have to worry about the property being vandalized and robbed and squatted on. (The extended family of Suzy, Mary, Pat, Cece, aunt Mary, and in-law Linda would come along in the late '80s to rescue the place. See their story, which includes writer eventually coming aboard and working to reinforcing their dedicated efforts.

But any the least bit sensitive and intuitive among even uninformed newbies might've sensed murky, disruptive energetic undercurrents afoot, ones mindlessly bent on erasing place's former vibrant bohemian culture and replacing it with a restrictive, bland, "more refined" culture.

The same-elevation, off-grid patch of juniper-and-sagebrush high desert across Shasta Valley from Springs (in the very rural Mt. Shasta Vista Subdivision) has been home most of my adult life. I built an off-grid cabin over a leisurely three-and-a-half-year period starting in 1979.

I went from growing up in the most densely populated spot in California to one of the sparsest (that is, until the 2015 discovery by outlaw pot growers). Burned out on city living and always a nature boy at heart and, as it turned out, recluse minded, I embraced living in the middle of nowhere; I hoped a circle of kindred spirits to share the realm with would manifest over time.

A sporadic duty freak, I felt blessed to become the Spring's resident volunteer groundskeeper and man Friday to the ambitious late general manager, Mary Hildebrand, during a historic turning point in the place's evolution at the turn of the millennium, living on the grounds from late 1999 through early 2002. The place was going year-round, soon to become clothing-optional, the restaurant reopening, bathhouse hours increasing, a majorly upgraded hot-water system installed, the place booking a flurry of new workshops, concerts, seminars and group retreats... It began to feel more down-home and happening renaissance times (if still lame around the edges for the absentee steward demanding management forever focusing on maxing profit) than anytime since the momentous Goodpasture stewardship of the 1970s. see History

Blessed because there'd always been an amazing spiritual force afoot there. One that could super-ground and envelop any receptive, dedicated worker. That is, barring any gnarly internal politics, questionable 'owner' directives or seriously misplaced workers or visitors that might damper one's resolve.

It let one's spirit at once ground solid and soar like an eagle in the joy of service while communing with nature. Some believe the Springs has had its own angel watching over place. (If true, we perhaps need only be patient, as it's now teaching us never to take the place for granted again.)

Also, I did two runs as paid bathhouse attendant in 2002 and 2005. Joy of service buoyed efforts there as well, unalloyed by any gnawing financial needs for having a small inheritance, a growing small home-biz and living simply on my land, no always-looming rent or mortgage or utility bills to sweat (just the county's annual property tax bite).

Not that I didn't cause management headaches; of course I did. Over time, I got fired not once but twice. Long stories, but essentially for high -- okay, borderline quixotic -- service standards, inextricably tangled up with with romantic fantasies and delusions over various co-workers, both interfering with running business as usual to try meeting Foggy's profit demands.

By 2015 I hadn't earned a cent as staff in over a decade (though I sold pumice and obsidian stones by consignment in the gift shop). Until late 2017 I still kept an oar in the waters through work-trade, helping Mario maintain the cold plunge, my former wheelhouse, having created and maintained the plunge 14 years until a hernia from over-ambitious boulder moving (going undiagnosed for six years of mysterious pains) finally forced stepping aside.

In light of the triple whammy inflicted on genuine spring lovers by the current, woefully misguided absentee stewards -- apparently tone deaf or happily indifferent to the extraordinary public-minded healing tradition of the realm now in their care, wrongheadedly unwilling to continue supporting the resort's unassuming public-benefit heritage -- writer, like countless other one-time Springs workers, could no longer aid and abet such a heartbreaking scene.

Suddenly not being able to skinnydip in the very plunge I'd built and often worked on in the buff, sometimes along with nude others in the annual volunteer work parties, was galling beyond measure; it took irony to a whole new level. I actually got busted for skinnydipping all of five seconds on New Year's Day, 2017, in the low-key manner that had long been allowed by the last steward even before his liberalizing to a clothing-optional policy in 2000. No one was around to possibly take offense...except a new, dutiful underling who of course happened to come down at that very moment to re-fill a foot-dip basin in the creek. He promptly reported me and I was called into inner office for a surreally silly yet still deeply disturbing reprimand.

THEN junking the sweatlodge ceremony -- so crucial in helping erase the place's severe karmic blot of the slaughter of indigenous peoples in 1870s who had long revered the land as sacred (see History) on and around very lands -- plus tearing down the prayer and love altar in the spring gazebo. It finally made unplugging from the place a no-brainer -- years before bathhouse operation was ever abandoned.

While still dedicated to posting relevant review excerpts (seemingly scarce to nonexistent now, and no wonder), gleaning first-hand reports, and spouting my own evolving reflections and understandings of the place.

The de facto boycott by myself and others was a spontaneous gut reaction to an intolerable development.

Suddenly, countless c/o fans found themselves up a tree as far as partaking in their long-accustomed freebody-friendly spa visits.

Every aficionado of course has had their own relationship with the place over time. The unorganized de facto boycott had no leader...least of all some doofus like me. Watchwords of the Nobel laureate of literature: "Don't follow leaders / watch the parking meters."

Trivia: Did you know Park Creek's coldplunge temperature varies widely over the year...from too-chilly-for-words 30 degrees F. during major winter cold snaps (flowing water freezes at lower temp.) to a thoroughly pleasant, linger-able 70 degrees F. during summertime's 100 degree F. heat waves.

An acquaintance once called me, not unkindly, "the Ghost of Stewart Springs." Whatever influence I once wielded is of course nonexistent now...beyond serving as historian, catalyst, chronicler and creative analyst...and perhaps playing Jimminy Cricket, haunting 'ownership's' ostensible conscience for having so indifferently turned their backs on the revered, public-friendly healing realm's time-honored ways --BOO!!! And, like so many true-blue fans of the place have done for so long, continue to help hold its energy.

Long released from day to day operational cares, the writer supplies a perspective integrating 16 years of volunteering, 30 months of that living on the grounds as custodian and groundskeeper, plus weekly or better use of spa for over a quarter century...along with diligent researching of the place's buried past, a sketchy acquaintance with the present, and elusive psychic glimpses of a possible, yet unborn future.

Never being dependent on the place for income always kept my perspective clear, free of

any monetary interest.

(Main story thread continues after another long rambling sidebar)

Take this job...

On employee burnout

Sadly, no more than few of the place's countless former employees -- it seems everyone and their uncle has worked at Stewart Springs sometime or another -- still visited before the momentous December 2017 sea change. More than once in a blue moon, anyhow.

Some got so involved hustling for the paltry paycheck that they either forgot to enjoy the amenities or never bothered to learn how and thus refresh their spirit, the place becoming just another time-punching gig until something better came along...or work pressures got so gnarly they ran away screaming.

In happy contrast, during Goodpasture stewards' more leisurely reign in the 1970s -- simpler times and more modest visitor flow, for sure -- everyone, resident legal stewards and commuting employees alike, did a daily bath and sweat, thus keeping in resonance with the spirit of the place and reason for being.

Work burnout could easily take its toll, in time creating a pronounced disenchantment with the operation. Especially if strapped for cash and feeling disheartened busting a gut at twenty-five cents over minimum wage and an undersized staff.

Wages were reportedly raised first thing by the new, 2016 owners, the given reason for prices going up, supposedly to cover more decent worker pay, but apparently only for upper-level positions...serving perhaps as incentive to follow strict orders, no matter how outrageous...work becoming almost purely for pay than out of any abiding affection for the place or desire to turn others on to it.

That said, the former two-bits-over-minimum-wage reality often made it all but impossible for those hoping to cover rent or mortgage to experience anything remotely approaching the ennobling feeling of toiling in the vineyards in service of their fellow man.

It was incredibly disheartening seeing dedicated workers giving their all -- the place inspiring more mindful workers to do their best -- only later to quit in disgust or be fired over petty internal politics. Conflicts created by the former, sometimes trey contentious work climate, which was, in turn, the product of aforesaid over-focus on profits by the last absentee 'owner', on-site salaried managers scrambling to do his bidding. The resulting often-graceless exploitation of overworked and underpaid workers could quash any effort to offer any heart-centered, relaxed healing service as so behooved such a de facto public benefit enterprise.

Examples: one office worker got fired for being too friendly and personable with visitors at the front desk, perhaps making others, especially managers, look too unfriendly in comparison. And a conscientious housekeeper wanting to deep-clean a cabin in desperate need of it fell behind in the mad-scramble work pace that disallowed any such laudable efforts to make visitors' stays more pleasant, and so was instantly sacked.

Tawdry but True Dept:

My own second firing

While sauna-ing one night in 2005, hoping to unwind off-duty, writer spotted a roving young sexual predator who'd years earlier been banned for life. He'd just begun molesting a fellow off-duty female employee alone in the sauna at night when someone came in and he aborted efforts. He'd nearly been arrested. Ages had passed since the incident. With all-new workers and managers, no one recognized him -- except me, Springs dinosaur. I shifted gears in a heartbeat. The managers were by then gone, so the only recourse was to alert the office.

Alas, at the moment it was run by a man with a long history of sticky-finger proclivities, soon to be caught and imprisoned for plying his shadowy trade at Stewart's. Earlier I'd cautioned co-manager Astra from keeping him the second I learned he'd just been hired, knowing his history, but to no avail. As scrambling newbie managers, they were hard-pressed for help -- any help -- at the start of a super-busy peak season that could often totally overwhelm them.

Indifferent to what might prove a notorious incident giving the Springs a black eye, he acted as if there was no problem at all, saying dismissively, "Hey, he paid his admission." But then he hatched a diabolically clever revenge plan on me, as earlier he'd found out how I'd blown the whistle on him when the manager confronted him with his sticky-fingers past (they didn't see fit to protect my anonymity). He acted all chagrined, humbly professing to have mended his ways and become a better person for it.

Thus totally ignoring the red alert of a banned sexual predator on the loose around vulnerable nude patrons trying to relax, he instead fabricated his OWN red alert, delivered to the manager later that night, after I'd gone, of receiving a heated desk complaint of ME egregiously misbehaving in the sauna. (Confession's Good for the Soul Dept: admittedly I was at times something of an uncool ogler, but never anything more.)

Disillusionment and outrage over the former, sometimes astonishingly gnarly energies had tarnished memories of many, as it easily might've done me had I been dependent on the job for filling my belly. It could ruin one's ability to ever enjoy place again, short of letting go, forgiving, and pushing a grand re-set button.

time capsule project

Sporadic writing freak, I'd long felt pulled to cobble together a book on the place. The idea first took hold in 2000 at the start of my two-year groundskeeper stay in the little abode above the Cottage.

It was then called the shed; it later became called Henry's -- for good reason.

As some know, the modest structure, closest to the creek of any, is believed to have become the very first one on the grounds. Its earliest form was built by none other than the founder himself, Henry Stewart (1827-1914), along with friends, soon after the start of the last century. Hard to believe now, but it actually served as the first-generation bathhouse.

It had long been relegated to musty storage and a semi-feral cat hangout by the time I set up makeshift lodgings in it. Having electricity but no plumbing or kitchen, it nonetheless held a rare treasure -- the best river song in the whole place, bar none. You swung open the big window in springtime and sweet thundering creek music flooded the room, charging the air with negative ions and white-noise supreme. Such a historic and meditation-inducing atmosphere, immersed in so long, soon sparked in me a profound interest in the place and a keen desire to learn where it was really coming from.

I'd become the first of many resident workers staying there over the years. (Now plumbed and enlarged, it served as extra office many years; then a combination office/staff residence, like next-door Cottage. Now, no idea.)

The wood floor planks beneath multiple layers of curling linoleum were old. An official, yellowed county health department notice tacked on the wall was dated 1934; it warned of the unlawfulness of more than 34 people cramming into the tiny structure.

Being super-impressionable and, like TV Frasier's Daphne Moon, fancying myself a bit psychic, I felt I tuned into Henry on some level. I sensed he'd like his story told...especially in light of the fact the place still bears his name (if now only in the past tense, as in 'formerly Stewart Springs'). Like many, I wondered what his story actually was beyond the sketchy legend of being rescued by natives in the 1850s, his life in peril, and brought to the waters to be healed, and decades later buying the property to dedicate the rest of his life turning others on to it. see History

Who needs a

book anyhow?

Initial book enthusiasm evaporated after exhaustive research revealed that little written history seemed to exist. Daunted, I abandoned the project and soon went on to craft and self-publish two factional novels on body freedom and cruelty-free diet, thus otherwise sating my writing lust a while.

I'd concluded that maybe the place didn't need a book. After all, it seemed everyone was hunky dory without one or it would've already been written. Anyhow, history accounts can be so dry, so not here-and-now.

themselves...or others' disinclination to write, seeing little value in such a pursuit in our seemingly post-literary world (especially if not getting paid for the effort, only the cheap thrill seeing one's byline atop their efforts). It was frustrating. Many had been made to feel they couldn't write, some probably due to a long-ago English teacher convincing them of as much. But it's said oftentimes the best writing is simply writing the same as one speaks, so one could say that anyone who can talk can write, not needing to also seek creative fulfillment, unlike some scribblers who shall remain nameless.

Default of de writer

Over time the site has, by default of de writer, become blogcentric. It wasn't capable (or its creator desirous) of enabling instant posting ala Facebook, in order to attract others to contribute their takes on the place and maybe share noteworthy experiences. Besides not liking the appearance of the nuts-and-bolts platform structure required to allow such a feature, I didn't want to get into the all too common devolution to snarky, uninformed comments that can soon plague such interactive sites.

That said, the original site vision was of the place's fans contributing their own perspective and unique stories; I'd supplied my own just to get the ball rolling as much as anything.

There are no doubt hundreds of fascinating, untold stories out there. An offbeat one I heard in January 2020 from a woman who'd visited her first (and only) time around 2012: Apparently a gay men's group had swooped in for a retreat, bacchanal, or some such, and had essentially taken over the bathhouse, wildly chasing each other about in naked glee. She'd left assuming the place was always that way, a dedicated gay scene.

mystical realm

The Springs seems to be a natural mystical realm that every aware person adopts as a special medicine grounds. At its best, deeply personal, inward -- sometimes even celestial -- experiences were had there, ones which eluded ever being verbalized, let alone being put into print to be read by unknown others.

It's the kind of place that, neglected and/or abused for so long, people built protective feelings about...a mystical place in which everyone effectively directed, scripted and starred in their own private, super-natural movie, sometimes slipping out of rational temporal mind into timeless realms, the grounds serving as rarefied portal. "All right, that's a wrap on eternal soul memory #7,472."

Stewart Mineral Springs is steeped inside a vanished past, a convoluted mystery of man's light and dark impulses wrapped inside nature's dreamlike forces.

Words could fail to do justice in explaining the staggering life-changing episodes some experienced there over the ages.

It's the kind of place that could spark an awakening from slumber, sometimes getting a painful reality check. Like thinking one's all right, but then suddenly gazing into the eyes of Love and nameless fears of yet-to-be processed shadow self flooding in, causing paralysis and being cast into outer darkness...

Trivia: Restaurant building in Mt. Shasta now known as Lalo's was built in the 1970s by then Springs owners Carole and Winston Goodpasture and family. It briefly served as a town compliment to the thriving natural food restaurant on the grounds, which they also built. The latter was at times deemed by many to be the best restaurant in the entire county.

After dedicated resistance to pursuing any online creation -- being a die-hard book lover and preferring the physicality of inked words immortalized on dead trees -- I was finally won over. (Losing a small fortune in the self-publishing ventures helped.)

Electronic compilations like this are worlds easier to create, vastly cheaper, and allow instant free global access. Plus, one can change, re-arrange, add or delete text and pix anytime. How spiffy is that?

Not least of all, they can be super green: having lived off-grid since 1978, 98% of time without generator -- sunshine or bust -- all site work here is powered by bottled sun rays via a modest photovoltaic array and battery system. (Such a setup teaches energy conservation and efficiency fast).

First imprint on the land stays forever

To metaphysical thinking, the earliest human imprints on a given land stay forever embedded in it. For sure, the Springs still resonates with the Stewart family's nearly 80 years of dedicated service from 1875 to 1953.

The Springs is like a giant onion, continually inviting one to peel away layer after layer, revealing ever deeper understandings -- of the place, life, and one's higher self. The more one groks the profound essence of place, the more it becomes a no-brainer to want to revive it.

site credits

While most Stewart Springs snapshots are mine, a few are re-posted from the Internet by photographers unknown. (Credit here to Minna C. of L.A. for nice close-up of now-gone gazebo altar.)

All, mostly vintage, nudist pictures are from the site nudistfun.com. (caution: it's a non-secure site and now, sadly, apparently has been taken over by video marketeers intent on catering to pedophiles; access to its one-time exhaustive simple freebody picture files seems to have stopped.)

Thanks to all who have contributed or given permission to re-post/reprint writings; they really anchor the site. Springs aficionados appreciate hearing diverse takes on place. The more unique takes are shared, the better the chance of building the critical mass needed to manifest a grand turnaround for the publicly treasured realm.

Though no formal network exists, together devotees constitute a protective loose-knit mystical lodge, a de facto Friends of Stewart Springs, as it were...better yet, an informal Liberate Stewart Springs collective, growing and fine-tuning over time.

For it's a stone fact: even if one last visited 20 or 30 years ago, vivid, life-changing, memories of the place stay indelibly locked in one's gourd. Timeless land does that to a visitor open to its super-natural properties.

As the writer keeps hammering and yammering, it's CRUCIAL since the draconian changes that true-blue fans keep holding the energy and visualize the place gaining new stewardship and re-harmonized energies.

Now more than ever, with global energies and consciousness shifting so radically. May the current 'owners' realize they'd be happier doing their thing elsewhere, seeing the light and redeeming themselves by seeking out appropriate stewards to take over. Or, if not, circumstances otherwise lead them to want to move and thus possibly manifest new appropriate stewards despite themselves. Ones who'd be stoked to meet the creative challenge of resurrecting the place as a nonprofit healing spa and cultural center, once again dedicated to serving the wider public...better than ever.

Think mini-Breitenbush, Harbin, Jackson Wellsprings...

Demand a miracle. A loving universe will respond if hearing a big enough chorus of heartsongs from all those who have cherished the realm and keep holding its higher energies while visualizing a triumphant resurrection.

Blessed be

In the wake of the calamitous changes the new 'ownership wrought once showing their true colors, the writer became one uber-"disgruntled ex-employee" indeed. With heavy heart, I suspended 18 years of psyched involvement (10% paid, 90% informal work-trade) to join the growing de facto boycott of the cherished, now beleaguered realm.

The devastating December 2017 sweatlodge removal and taking out of the spring source gazebo's love-offering prayer altar -- on top of the year-earlier clothing-optional ban -- was the last straw for me and countless others.

Notice: I'm stepping back from site -- scroll to below the following brief introduction

This site was launched in 2011 independently of SMS management by moi, Stuart Ward, longtime local Springs aficionado and volunteer. It's AI-free.

Until late 2017, I was only a mildly disgruntled work-trade helper, relatively speaking, over the dismal changes made soon after the first 'ownership' change in generations went down. In denial, I nurtured Pollyanna hopes the place would turn around eventually with the new, at first seemingly promising (if also absentee), stewardship.

Towards that end, I continued dedicated efforts maintaining the bathhouse's creek cold plunge...but with sinking spirits once the popular clothing-optional policy of 17 years was abruptly scrapped with zero outreach to the realm's longtime supporting visitor base.

Sidebar

ESPECIALLY if being forced to work off the clock and not always getting state-mandated work breaks.

About 2005, the writer was invited to join a group of livid ex-employees who were filing grievance claims with the State labor board over the former shady practices.

I opted not to, even though claimants were eventually well compensated in owner fines (one for $5,000). Reason: others, spitting-nails mad, had burned their bridges with the place in total disgust -- hadn't seen one there in a decade -- whereas writer, again, never dependent on the place for income, had the time

of my life playing working class hero. I wanted to stay welcome, not become persona non grata by joining the whistle-blowers over the then-managers' owner-father's dubious labor practices. Not so much noble, perhaps, as practical.

The place could be one super-demanding juggernaut of operation, regardless of pay -- especially during former peak seasons and any holiday weekend. Every employee who was on the ball and hoped to last soon learned how to work double-time when need be, sometimes even triple-time -- hopefully while keeping a positive attitude, locked in service mode. The only alternative was being left wanting the number of the truck.

Writer was spared such burnout or getting thrown under the bus only for being a volunteer work-trader first and foremost. And having the ability to mobilize energies when needed. It was the only way I could keep my enjoyment and veneration of place intact. One big exception, mentioned elsewhere: Things got so gnarly at the front desk in summer 2015 with an over-her-head, control-freak of an employee that I completely detached from the place. I took this then mostly tribute-focused site offline for a full year, feeling ZERO tribute was then merited, and stayed away for four months until hearing the person was gone. Turns out it was during the stressful period of property-transfer negotiations wrapping up PLUS co-manager Ted in the final throes of terminal illness, dying two months later. (see Management in More Rants & Raves)

Already out of management's good graces, having almost been fired once for an unrelated reason, it seemed they were looking for ANY excuse to get rid of me in their willy-nilly revolving door of staff...which fact he knew and fully exploited.

I was summarily fired the next day on coming to work, psyched for another service stint. I was also banned from the grounds for six months. And would never get an apology, not even after the shameless

fabricator was soon thereafter caught pocketing restaurant receipts and sentenced to three years in state prison, having proven himself a liar as well as a thief. That's how crazy and dispirited things could get.

I received a miserable bit of consolation later when in town he gleefully bragged to a casual girlfriend of mine -- whom he also knew and who'd in fact been the one alerting me of his past job thievery history. "I just got Stuart fired!" he crowed, beside himself at the boldness of his dastardly deed.. He'd clearly underestimated her regard for me and no doubt forgotten about her part-Cherokee, hair-trigger temper: She up and punched him in the mouth.

____________________

Aside

People had fun raking

the place over the coals

It seems some actually preferred staying mad at the place, almost enjoying the piss-and-vinegar rush of righteous indignation they got raking the place over the coals. Before the pandemic, when the new 'owners' upped the ante to insufferable levels for many, one could either give up on the place in sad resignation; suffer the sorry changes and go into denial while still trying to cop another long-accustomed soak and sauna; or shun place altogether and spread the word on the tragic developments while envisioning a more positive future for the treasured realm.

Then the plague hit, bathhouse operation closed down by state mandate, and within months the 'owners' announced their breathtaking decision to scrap spa service altogether. Now one who refused to give up on the place could either visualize the (unlikely) miracle of current 'owners'' hearts melting...OR the manifestation of new, appropriate stewardship in time resurrecting the scene. One resourceful and visionary enough to, perhaps, even build a new, thoughtfully laid-out bathhouse -- and separate office...especially since the current 'owners' had already gutted the tubs to repurpose the building.

Place has a life of its own

Anyone the least bit aware soon learned to appreciate how the Springs, rare earth phenomenon that it is, is worlds more than any 'owner', manager, staff member, person, or operation overlay.

It has a life of its own. One saddened by those who don't recognize or appreciate its extraordinary healing properties and gladdened by those who do...enough to want to work in harmony with its gifts to freely share it with as many others as possible in lighthearted service.

Given a future enlightened stewardship, everyone setting foot on the land with mindfulness would serve as a handmaiden helping redeem place from over-worldly focus and diversionary use, aiding and abetting the rebirthing of the sacred healing and rejuvenation grounds for a greater humanity.

Last flash before abandoning the project entirely was to cobble together a book of various Spring fans' written experiences with the place, ala Studs Terkel's shared-bio collection approach on a given experienced subject. It also went nowhere. Perhaps it was my then at times off-putting manic enthusiasm which could leave others precious little room to ever get excited

...until finally pushing the re-set button, banishing demons and moving on to experience new reintegration of being.

Some were no doubt naturally disinclined to share their more out-there tales for fear of sounding too woo-woo-ka-choo. Long-ago veteran office manager Cece, for instance, was one day convinced a flying saucer landed on the grounds. (Who knows? Maybe one really did, though there's little enough landing room; maybe at the favorite wedding-site clearing, above Conference Hall and A-Frame?)

see History...also, alas, with the earlier tragic Native American massacre taking place about grounds before family purchase -- but, saving grace, before that with the earliest, peaceful, harmonizing energies of indigenous peoples revering land as sacred healing ground for time untold. That being the earliest imprint keeps it the dominant one, no matter what subsequent overlays might obscure it.

THAT'S a deeper understanding of the place, lending hope that it can indeed be restored in the future by a nonprofit, public-minded, community-active stewardship...resurrecting it as much as modern times allow -- with a current, growing, state-of-consciousness twist and teeming lifestyle diversity -- to its peaceful, prehistoric healing sanctuary land vibration.