Stretched out in a warm sleeping bag, on the far-reaching, pebbled shores of the Folsom Lake, which both boppin' rivers and swaying highways meander on over to, one can't help but whistle Otis Redding's 1967 hit “(Sittin' on) The Dock of the Bay” as the crisp morning sun peaks out from behind the area's rolling hills, rugged canyons, upland plateaus, bluffs and broad river plains, until finally warming tents hunkered over by winter's morning dew.
