Fourth of July is America’s Independence Day, and Caroline finds one more reason to celebrate. Ranger Helling placed his ranger hat on Caroline’s head and swore her in as a Junior Ranger with a pledge to protect Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks. He also showed us details on the ranger uniform we hadn’t paid attention to before. The National Park Ranger patch on the left shoulder is in the shape of an arrowhead; it features a bison, which represents wildlife but is also indicative of the first National Park, Yellowstone. The bison stands in front of a mountain which is Mount Rainier, and next to a tree, which is a giant Sequoia. On the Ranger’s hat is a black leather band with two metallic ornaments in the shape of green seed cones of the Sequoia, and even the Ranger’s belt is embossed with a Sequoia cone pattern. Caroline is now a Junior Ranger at Yellowstone, Arches, Canyonlands, Petrified Forest, Natural Bridges, Grand Canyon, and Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks! Only 51 National Parks left, and who knows how many national monuments, seashores, battlefields, historic parks, and cultural sites.

With the formalities out of the way, it was time for recreation. Not far from the Grant Grove ranger station is the narrow dirt road into Redwood Canyon. We are taking the Sugarbowl trail. Early in Arizona’s summer, around mid-March leading into April, we will typically have already been experiencing days that are approaching the upper 80s. During these weeks, we might venture north to enjoy a great spring day in the mountains only to be reminded that it is still winter in other places. Here in Kings Canyon, we are reminded that while it is summer almost everywhere else, it is still springtime up here. Wildflowers are in abundance; we feel lucky to be witnessing this spectacular bloom and are all but certain that in two weeks, summer will have arrived, and the wildflowers will be but a distant memory until next year.

We are in the Sugarbowl grove. This is another one of those moments where it would be easy to show you the obvious, that being the giant trees that were all around us, but you should see that with your own eyes. What I am offering is a much rarer sight. Just off the trail at the bottom of a tree is a hole, a hole singed by fire and not too small that it would keep big guys like myself from crawling through. To our amazement, we could both enter the tree. Once inside, there was ample room for both of us to stand up – at the same time. The center of the tree was burned out, but the hundreds of feet and tens of thousands of pounds of the tree above us are very much alive and well. How far up the black scar ascended was impossible to see.

The trail continues. On occasion, a hiker or two passes us, but it is quiet and peaceful out here. I hope the photo conveys to you just how perfect a day we were having. And while I will soon sound like a broken record, suppose I’m dating myself with that reference; we are moving as slowly as humanly possible so that we might not miss even one detail. Sure, we know we’re missing a million little things and probably more than a few big things, but augmented reality with geospatial overlays offering detailed information regarding geology, flora, and fauna, are not yet available for hikers in the backcountry, or maybe anywhere else either.

The narrow ringing of fluorescent green at the ends of the older and darker green growth was an impressive showing of how far this tree was extending itself into the world. This was also our first occasion to see something like this, which makes one wonder if our powers of observation are normally asleep. Are these phenomena always around us demonstrating the magic of nature that we are simply not truly aware of? It leaves me pondering why as a mass of humanity, we concern ourselves with the machinations of talking heads, relegating the grand stuff to the eggheads.

Halfway. No photo will ever convey the feeling to be had being here. You may perceive the colors and shading, and you may glean size and random details, but these are all poor perceptions of a design by nature that only one’s own eyes, nose, and other senses can at once be intrigued with and baffled by. The immensity of this perfection is often lost in the cynicism of those who prefer the artificial. Had other men had their way, all of these trees would have been converted into fences distancing us from our neighbors and ourselves. When you look into the beauty of nature, you should be so lucky to witness your own complexity and great fortune at being counted amongst the teaming life, sharing a moment of mutual respect. Sadly, our reality is more akin to the idea that tree huggers are a weak shadow of humanity who would steal the bread from the hungry mouth of a child. Our balance tilts to the stupid; the nature of man has the roots of the ugliest weed.

I cannot break out of the idea that in the second half of the loop, we are returning to an endpoint. What conditioning brought this poor thought to my mind? If only I could not see the end of the trail and this hike until the moments just before seeing the parking area. I feel part of the magic is stolen from me as I walk along in recognition that this is the last half. It is pessimism; my glass is now half empty. Is this an affliction of modernity or of aging where time has become our master? Lucky children never see their own end of innocence as time has not yet become their guide; they still see all of the opportunities ahead of them; time is boundless and full of promise. Alas, getting old rears its head, letting you know that an end is near, and these trail moments, happy moments, and pleasant moments that come to a close are little reminders that our own existence is limited. Maybe I should spend more time hiking into life than returning on its trail.

For a moment, I envy the butterfly. From flower to flower a neverending feast of nectar. But it too will see the end of the trail; in so many days or weeks, the flowers will shrivel and fall away. With nowhere left to nourish itself, it will then lay eggs to start the next cycle of life, and its wings will cease to flutter. Is self-awareness all that it is made out to be? To live instinctually served our ancestors, but a milestone in the development of our mind and the advancement of language gave our species the curse of recognizing our own frailties, shortcomings, fears and understanding that death is on the horizon. Maybe it is our ultimate fatalism that has us running amok on earth, trying to lay our next seed before all of the flowers are dead and gone.

Deep in the forest, with trees towering into the heavens and plants surrounding me, I feel the ancient wisdom of the man or creature who might have looked around and knew their place. They were themselves but a tree, a leaf, a branch, the butterfly, one with and of the natural world, not its master. While standing here in awe, there is also the overwhelming sense of tragedy that these small corners of what remains of nature are forever being diminished and lost due to our need to control all facets of our existence. A real Independence Day would be for these trees, these ferns, and salamanders to be able to live without the ax, the bulldozer, and the smog threatening their environment.

Meanwhile, Caroline was off exploring a creek, cutting her own path through the thicket. I hollered out but heard no response; my first thought was that nature in the form of a bear had struck; no, she would have screamed. On second thought, she fell into a hole. The third was that incredibly dumb TV-induced idea that someone jumped out of the bushes and attacked her. Now, on my way to panic, I holler out again, still no answer. Cursing won’t help me now. Once more, I holler, or maybe it was a scream, and not eighty feet away, I hear her asking me what I want. Just making sure that Mike Meyers hadn’t dragged you into the bowels of the earth to chop off your limbs before selling you into an international prostitution ring. Fears allayed, I followed my wife with both arms and legs still intact over to the stream for this beautiful view and some hugging, knowing she wasn’t bear food either.

Now, I know we are slow, purposefully lingering at a crawl, but can we really be this slow? At other times, slow was typified by our mile-per-hour pace. Well, if this trail is six and a half miles and we have been out here nearly eight hours, we must surely have lost the trail back to the parking lot. Caroline is assuring me that I can stay calm, that we are right where we should be, and we are not far from the finish line. Earlier, we passed a family that was heading up the trail to the Sugarbowl grove from where we had come, and they insisted they were on their way back to the parking lot and that there wasn’t a fork leading to the parking lot in the direction we were hiking. We did go through an especially thick, overgrown part of the trail; maybe we missed the turnoff? I must be getting forest fever as now I start wishing I’d brought more food, water, and a flashlight for our night in the forest.

What’s that? Did you hear that? Yes, I heard it too. There it is again; what does it mean? IT MEANS BEAR!!!!! No, this wasn’t a forest fever-induced hallucination; it was a real bear. And the sound? It was clawing into trees looking for food, maybe grubs, maybe bees, but hopefully not looking for fat guys about to make pee-pee-filled hiking boot appetizers. Where the hell did my wife get this sudden burst of calm? I’m ready to run if I could breathe, and she’s like, shhh, let’s just stand here and watch it. Are you serious? Maybe its mother is on the other side of the trail and is getting ready to gouge some eyeballs out of my puny, not-bear-proof head. She tries to reassure me that it’s obviously not interested in us and that everything’s cool. The only reason it’s not interested yet is it hasn’t picked up on the scent of fear I’m exuding. Slowly, my lungs refill with oxygen, and I step back to Ms. Braveheart and snap a few photos before I slither away with both eyes over my shoulder making sure we’re not being hunted. After an hour of being tracked by this monster bear, we safely returned to our car, but I’m sure life was in the balance more than Caroline would ever admit.