Do You Know How To Fly?

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Our tent shrinking from the wind that is pushing it about inside the Nest at Treebones Resort in Big Sur, California

Where to begin? Last night, we arrived at the nest with wind gusts of thirty to forty miles per hour. Caroline burrito’d herself deep into her sleeping bag while I stood an unwanted vigil to the flap flap flap of our tent fly. Whenever I thought it was getting worse and the mad flapping accelerated, a brief respite would momentarily offer an absolute calm. In a quick second, where I had just enough time to tell myself that the worst was over, the freight train would plow right back into my ears. Flap flap flap would drum at five six seven beats a second. All I needed was a thirty-second pause in the vitriol of the wind’s lament so I might taste sleep. But as soon as the quiet returned, up in the trees, a whooshing sound arose to announce the re-approaching roar and another round of flap flap flap. The nest sits about six feet from the edge of a steep cliffside next to two large trees. The rain fly is tied down and secure; it is stretched taught, and still, the onslaught from the southeast tearing over the ocean three hundred feet below and racing up the cliffs pounds our temporary cocoon. The flapping becomes a staccato of nylon tent slaps. After a half-hour of this, I rest an arm on Caroline and speak her name over the growing noise; during a lull I hear the familiar sound of her sleeping breaths. I let her sleep, and I rolled over.

There’s a remote likelihood I fell asleep, but it was for moments that collectively could not amount to more than ten to fifteen minutes per hour. Around 11:00 p.m., the pauses in the wind became less frequent; when there was a short break, I recognized how accustomed I was becoming to the constant vibrations affecting the nest. I asked Caroline if she was having trouble sleeping, but my words fell on deaf ears, buffeted by the roar, whoosh, flapping, and howl of a storm that was becoming a gale. With each successive wave of hostility blowing down on us I entertained thoughts of what would the repercussions of the nest falling over be. What if the direction of the wind suddenly changed and was blowing us toward the ocean? Could one of these trees topple, and its root system dislodge the foundation of this hopefully firmly cemented nest? Sadly, an engineering study of this structure’s stability wasn’t attached to the frame for quick middle-of-the-night reference. Maybe the nest’s entire superstructure will act as a parasail, taking us aloft for a ride from six feet above the cliff side’s crest to sea level for some midnight surfing on the angry ocean. My mind reels through endless scenarios that the wind is none too shy to help facilitate.

Caroline Wise outside the Nest on a rainy windy day at Treebones Resort in Big Sur, California

I grab my headlamp and start inspecting tie-downs to ensure they are still holding fast. Then, a thorough look once or twice over the fly, looking for signs of ripping. This opens the question of what would be the likely situation if the fly were to rip to shreds exposing the flimsy tent to the full force of the storm. The tent is holding up perfectly so far. Then the rain starts in earnest at 1:30. It stops after a brief twenty or thirty minutes, but as it does, the wind takes on a new ferocity. My feet at the south end of the tent are being lifted and slightly bounced around, not enough to startle me, but this is curious. The sound is deafening; how does Caroline sleep? The tent that should be a foot from my face starts to make contact, slapping me as it is pushed in repeatedly by the wind. I roll over. Great, now the bladder joins the chorus of things keeping me from sleep. The wind bears down with renewed threat; the nest is vibrating like a tuning fork. The woven branches click and make increasingly worrisome noises that play to the imagination that the worst could happen. Once again, I inspect the tent and fly for damage, certain we are near the shredding point.

Looking south from the Nest at Treebones Resort in Big Sur, California

ROAR screams the blast of rushing air; we are in a gale. At 2:30, I reach out in earnest and stir Caroline from the depths of her sleeping bag to let her know I have to pee and that I’m having difficulties falling asleep. We agree we can’t open the tent and climb down the ladder into this maelstrom and dig in to try to sleep through this barrage – what else can we do? But now Caroline’s slumbering ignorance of the situation has been destroyed. After another half hour, Caroline reaches over, and with a near panic sound of urgency in her voice, she says, “We need to get out of here now,” and something about the Three Little Piggies and a Wolf at the fly. As quickly as she voiced her concern, a large gust pushed down so hard that our tent momentarily collapsed upon our faces, and for a second, I’m not sure if this was wind or the nest starting to break apart, the tent bounced back up as the wind-down throttles. I turned on our little hanging LED lantern, agreeing with emphasis that we needed to leave now. To be sure, there would be no doubt in our resolve; the wind pounded down a second time, wrapping us with a skin-tight layer of tent canvas and testing our fear of entanglement with a nylon straight jacket.

View from inside the Birds Nest at Treebones Resort in Big Sur, California

We put on what clothes we could and piled up everything else in the center of the tent, hoping to leave enough weight that we might still find the tent here in the light of day. Just this side of panic, we open the tent and brace ourselves as I start to open the rain fly. Ten wet steps down the ladder with only a headlamp lighting the blackness, thoughts that my rain gear will act as a kite are quickly put to rest as I reach terra firma. I need to focus my light on Caroline, who will climb down next; she attempts to zip up the tent, getting to the point of agitation as the wind whips the flapping materials, making finding the zippers difficult. She gets everything closed up and steps over the threshold and down a few steps before zipping shut the fly. We move as quickly as we can away from our cliffside adventure, feeling slightly defeated.

Ah, the discomfort of a cramped, cold car, yet we bask in the luxury of it. Even here, the wind continues to rattle us, but who cares? The heater is on, and I’m about to get some sleep.

Our guest book entry at Treebones Resort in Big Sur, California

Four hours later, we crawl out of the car and head for the lobby where we stop at the guest book and leave them an impression of our visit.

Dining room at Treebones Resort in Big Sur, California

Next up, breakfast and then our departure for the long drive back to Phoenix, Arizona. This will quite possibly stand out as one of the greatest New Year’s adventures of our lives, offering us great views, unique lodging, thrills a minute, all the beautiful landscapes one might dream of, and non-stop fun. Thanks, Treebones, for a great ride into 2011.

Morro Rock on the California coast

With nearly 11 hours of driving required today, do we really have time for a walk on the beach in Morro Bay? Of course, we do. We’re John and Caroline Wise, and our middle names are Ocean-Junkies.

Hello 2011

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Looking south down the California coast near Gorda

The tempest rolled in, dragging with it the bluster and fury needed to dispose of one year and usher in the next. Inside our oversized bird’s nest, we were cozy and protected from the elements, the expectation for some rain wasn’t going to deter us from our night outdoors. We were like two snuggling birds side by side, bringing in the new year. What we hadn’t anticipated was the wind, which came on well past the time we had crawled up the ladder to take shelter. Somewhere in the middle of the night and day, it started to howl, forcing us to tie down the rain fly in an attempt to stop it from flapping against the tent. While the wind would wake us with an occasional gust, it never rose to the point of dislodging us.

It would take the light of day to rattle us out of our cage and push us from our nest to perform ablutions. Finished with that, we fluttered over to the feeding grounds to hunt and peck out a morning meal. There were no worms offered to us highly evolved birds, although I will admit to a bit of a fetish for the seeds and nuts that were readily available in this spread laid out before us. Human beaks being what they are, we resorted to eating Treebone’s locally-made peanut granola with instruments and bowls. Grazing ain’t nothing if not taken seriously, so once done with the first course, it was on to the make-’em-yer-self-waffles. Throw on some banana and syrup, and we were in forager heaven. We lingered for a while near the fire with a cup of coffee and enjoyed watching the day come alive, with the rest of the flock joining us here on the hill over the ocean in this forest of Treebones.

Caroline Wise and John Wise on the California coast under a rainbow

When we do finally take off, we fly into rainbows. If I were to write a blog entry about the number of rainbows Caroline and I have seen on our various travels, I am certain that hundreds of rainbow photos would accompany the narrative.

A mist and cloud enshrouded California coast on the Pacific Coast Highway

Out of the band of color, back into the gray low cloud mist, hugging the coast and shortening the more typical long-distance views that are a major attraction of visiting the wild coast. Even this light, this dark, and for some dismal weather is beautiful to Caroline and me; it adds mystery to the environment and makes having the heater on in the car feel extra cozy.

A rainbow over the Big Sur coast in California

Not satisfied with a singular rainbow, we are so lucky to enjoy rainbows! An hour and a half up the road and not very far from the first and easily assumable only rainbow we’d likely see this day, the surprise of surprise happens, and we see another rainbow. Peaks of blue sky escaped the hold of the gray shroud of weather, wishing to be bad. Onward and upward, we fly against the instinct that commands us to go south for the winter. We are determined to follow rainbows and continue on this northerly trek. With this commitment, we flew hard, covering almost 60 miles in little more than 2 hours.

Jellyfish at the Monterey Bay Aquarium

The prospect of a rainy windy day at the seaside made the warm shelter of an old favorite hangout shine sunny enthusiasm upon us for our return to the Monterey Bay Aquarium. We couldn’t swim with the fishies, but we could enjoy watching them doing their swimmy thing. For hours, we walked along and took great pauses to revisit the jellyfish, silver dollars, the octopus, the giant kelp forest, a sea cucumber that needed petting, and even the good old chiton. More fish than you can shake an eel at are here at the aquarium.

Seahorse at the Monterey Bay Aquarium

So are screaming little shits. This could have been a perfect day, but it seems that parents forgot that parenting in some small way implies a minimum of guidance, and a sense of decorum should be instilled in their charges. But these parents were having none of that, or maybe New Year’s Day is scream-your-head-off-day, and no one told us. Enough of these cackling chicks and hens; time to face facts and fly south.

A little fishy at the Monterey Bay Aquarium

Okay, but just one more fish or two, and then we’ll be ready to go.

Turtle at the Monterey Bay Aquarium

But wait, there’s more, such as this green sea turtle that came right up to the glass posing for us.

Inside the kelp forest at the Monterey Bay Aquarium

Just a final glance at the Kelp Forest, and then we’ll leave, so says Caroline the Aquarium Addict.

The Big Sur coast in California

En route south for our return to the Birds Nest, we stopped at “Our Beach,” a.k.a. Garrapata State Park, which had been skipped on the way up due to the little ground covered during the meander north. Too many of those, “OH stop, this spot is even more beautiful than the last” moments lend themselves to those two-hour travel times to go but miles taking forever to get somewhere – this is not a complaint; it is a fortunate happenstance we imbibe at all too often. If we were to stop nowhere else this afternoon, it would be here at our beach.

Crashing waves and blowing spray on a beach in Big Sur, California

A small amount of sun graced our presence with a poke through clouds here and there. It sparkled on water and waves, borrowing some of the glitter from the stars far overhead. The waves are roaring as they typically do on this beach. On previous visits, we have seen that the ocean churns so ferociously here that the sand levels rise and fall, changing the character of the beach with dramatic effect.

Late afternoon on the Big Sur coast in California

The walk from the roadside to the beach, as seen in the two photos above, is one of the more dramatic views up the coast; it never fails to impress us. Directly in front of us while on the beach, the waves tower and stack up to roll in with one after the other in rapid succession. And then to the south, as seen right here, the sun lights the beach and rocks with golden repose. We melt into this landscape every time, making us one with our beach.

A bit of sun and blue sky on an otherwise rainy day on the Big Sur coast in California

We now must race against the setting sun to return to our perch, as we don’t want to find ourselves squatting in some random nest on an unfamiliar branch. We arrive in the nick of time to the last embers of available light. The wind is howling here near Cape San Martin; a quick check of our nest and the tent inside assures us that nothing has blown away yet. Time for dinner, and a wonderful one at that. A bread basket and dipping oil were brought with glasses of water from their own well. The olive oil was infused with herbs grown right here at Treebones garden plot including lemon thyme, sweet marjoram, dill, parsley, chives, and tarragon. Next up was the homemade butternut squash soup with roasted pumpkin seeds, followed by a beet salad with orange wedges and mixed greens; both the beets and greens were grown right here in the garden. Caroline opted for the butternut squash ravioli with sage sauce and, for me, the pot roast with roasted winter veggies atop blue cheese potatoes au gratin – both meals were the perfect comfort foods for a chilly winter night.

A dip in the jacuzzi with the wind and cold rain beating at our faces was on order before returning to the fire-warmed dining room for a shared dessert of sticky date cake with caramel drizzle and a homemade hot chocolate chai. By 9:00 p.m., the wind still rips at the trees outside; we will try to fall asleep in a flapping wind tunnel and dream of the best New Year’s.

Seeya 2010

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

California coast north of Santa Barbara

A perfect last day of the year will lead us into a perfect tomorrow. A beautiful sky over a gorgeous landscape was the road we traveled on our way up the central California coast. Stops took us to beaches, cliffside overhangs offering panoramas of the Pacific, and tide pools where plenty of rocks and marine life are found. Should you find yourself meandering along at fifteen miles per hour where the posted speed is thirty-five, forty-five, and sometimes fifty-five, but you are occupied to near distraction craning your neck and pulling over every five hundred feet for a closer look, well then you must be in one of a few places; Hawaii, Yellowstone, or the Pacific Coast Highway. For Caroline and me this New Year’s weekend, it was the latter, although we have plenty of rubbernecking experience in the other locations, too. Treebones Resort is the destination we are aiming to take up our perch for welcoming in 2011 later today.

On the beach near San Simeon, California

From Santa Barbara, we got underway on Highway 101 north towards San Luis Obispo and then Morro Bay, where we would hug the coast for the rest of our long weekend. The next sixty miles will take something close to forever to traverse; how is anyone supposed to drive this road and not want to stop everywhere to look at everything?

Flock of seagulls in California

We’ve seen this section of the coast countless times by now. Still, it holds endless fascination. We pass through the beautiful little village of Cambria, where we’ll live in some future reincarnated life, but keep driving to make our check-in with Treebones before 4:00 pm. We spot great-view number who-knows-which and decide this must be our next stop as memory can’t be sure if we have actually been to this particular 1000-foot stretch of coast before. Seems familiar but I don’t recognize any of these birds.

Piedras Blancas lighthouse in California

Just the other side of San Simeon, we miss taking the tour of Hearst Castle yet again, but that’s fine with us because we spot some Elephant Seals on a beach where we hadn’t seen them before, anyway; we can guess with this being a holiday weekend there will be hundreds of people crowding the boardwalk at the designated observation point. From this beach, we have a fantastic view of the Piedras Blancas lighthouse and know we are nearing the now-closed old blue-and-white motel we spent New Year’s Eve at back in 2002 – fond memories indeed.

Elephant Seal near Piedras Blancas, California

At the mothballed, crumbling motel, we walk over the property remembering the first time we stopped here with Caroline’s mother during Jutta’s first visit to America back in 1997. In the gift shop, someone asked if we had stopped at the beach about a mile or two behind us and checked out the Elephant Seals; we had not. Back then, there was no boardwalk and fenced area, which in turn let us approach probably too close for what was safe but we still tried to be calm and unobtrusive. Today, we have the opportunity to be respectful, quiet, and alone with a large male who is napping on the beach we are visiting.

California coast north of Piedras Blancas

The further north we travel, the more the weather tells us to be prepared. We knew when leaving Arizona that we were facing a good chance of having it rain on us, but we weren’t going to stay home and lose the money we paid in advance for our “room.”

The Nest at Treebones Resort in Big Sur, California

A giant bird’s nest with a commanding view of the ocean would be how a real estate listing might start for where we are staying. But it’s not for sale, although it is available to rent for a night or two. The folks at Treebones in the far south of Big Sur have elevated the idea of roughing it into a luxury yurt resort. Well, yurts are mighty fine. We have stayed in more than one on many an occasion in Oregon’s state parks, but we have never, and I doubt you have either, climbed a ladder, passing through a circular entrance to enter a human nest. If birds stood six feet tall and had sixteen-foot wingspans, maybe this would be the kind of place they would weave and call home, minus the futon.

Inside The Nest at Treebones Resort in Big Sur, California

A night in Kokopelli’s Cave, another in a Hogan at Monument Valley, the house Herman Melville stayed at in New Bedford, camping next to the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon, and now a bird nest built for people next to the Pacific, this surely fits in as one of the more unique lodgings we have found ourselves in. Hey, Cedar Creek Treehouse near Mt. Rainier, we have you in our focus.

Caroline Wise and John Wise in front of The Nest at Treebones Resort in Big Sur, California

Yes, we tweeted and chirped upon our arrival at the nest; no, we didn’t soil it. I failed to convince my ladybird to try the morsel I wanted to regurgitate for her. After getting comfy up here, we found it difficult to leave the nest, pathetic for two people in their forties, although not totally out of the ordinary during these difficult economic times.

The view from inside The Nest at Treebones Resort in Big Sur, California

This was our view from the portal of the nest to the bigger world outside. I would guess that some of you might understand why Treebones Resort will now be on our permanent list of places we must return to frequently. I’m thinking April would be nice, or after the summer fog in the early fall.

Sea urchin shell found on the beach in Big Sur, California

After setting up our tent inside the nest, as the forecast called for a ten percent chance of rain, we went up the road to Willow Creek to scour some tide pools and examine rocks and waves. We crawled over boulders to the water’s edge and took a good long time to linger, searching for whatever might catch our eye. Small crabs crawled about, anemones withered where the water level had exposed them, and not a single starfish was to be seen, although Caroline scored a sea urchin shell.

Surfer riding a wave in Big Sur, California

Two guys also determined to spend the last day of the year doing something rather than sitting at home were sealed up tight in their wetsuits before paddling out for some surfing. The waves seemed a bit small to us for good surfing, but luck was with these intrepid dudes who, once in a while, had a good swell pop-up for both of them to get a few good rides in.

Creek running into the Pacific ocean near Big Sur, California

Leaving this first signed vista point north of Gorda, the way back to the car took us past a small creek flowing into the ocean. With the storms of late, we would notice that all the creeks and waterfalls along the coast were running with a goodly amount of runoff. While the weather wasn’t cooperating with snapping off any magnificent dramatically lit landscapes, it was possible to grab a few intimate shots that didn’t rely on direct sunlight or sweeping skies.

Rock side in Pacific Valley near Big Sur, California

Then, it was time to fly up the coast for an overlook of Pacific Valley. Over the fence, we ventured down a trail through a thicket to a cliffside to enjoy the late-day views. This was one of those rare spots we had never stopped at before. With little roadside parking, it would be an easy location to drive right by. Lucky for us, we opted to make this pullout or final roadside stop for the day.

Rocks and ocean in Pacific Valley near Big Sur, California

The sky was dull, cold, and gray but with a character and charm that kept us happy to have given our time to explore this outcropping. As beautiful as it is here, I may never understand why we aren’t sharing this trail with thousands of others, but for whatever reason it is, I suppose we can thank our lucky stars that the majority of humanity is watching the New Year happen on television. This fine rock and ocean view is all the TV I need.

Sea birds sitting cliffside in Pacific Valley near Big Sur, California

Below us, with their backs to the wind on a giant sheltering rock, a couple of dozen birds have taken up a roost on some near-vertical rock ledges, defying our idea of just how they may be glued to such a precarious perch. We scan the horizon as we have all day for those migrating whales of winter but spot not a one, and try as we might this weekend, not a sign of them will be found.

Looking south in Pacific Valley near Big Sur, California

Like many birds, we weren’t about to be caught flying about after dark and pointed our beaks in the direction of our nest. Jacuzzi, pool, jacuzzi, pool, jacuzzi, pool, and then a final warming dip in the jacuzzi before heading back to our perch high above the ocean for some stargazing. Dinner came late, this being New Year’s Eve, no need to rush things when trying to stay up late after a long day of fun. Treebones Resort was having a small party for us guests and anyone else who wanted to join the festivities in their restaurant at the center of the yurt village. On the buffet menu, we were offered all-you-can-eat sushi, frog legs, filet mignon sliders, cheese plate, bruschetta, tapenade, blackberries, raspberries, dried apricots, and a dessert of either apple or pecan pie. We spent the hours before the old year turned over to the new one near the fireplace, listening to Darren Delmore sing, play guitar, and his harmonica.

Not this nor any other of these travels, hobbies, concerts, festivals, good meals, or the many opportunities we enjoy are taken for granted. We pinch ourselves at the good fortune of it all and are grateful that we have the wherewithal to follow through and do what we have planned to do. There is no sense of entitlement, and so often, we feel a tad out of place, standing in awe that we have ended up where we are. But that’s ok, we’d rather be excited, thrilled, and tickled that each new adventure and journey is like the first of everything all wrapped up in one. As midnight approached, a Happy New Year and Welcome to 2011 cheer went up with a toast of champagne and a kiss shared between Caroline and me.

Pillow Talking The Devil

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Artist Dion Terry holding his most recent work, Pillow Talking The Devil - photo taken in San Diego, California on October 1, 2010

Sitting in San Diego, California, with his newest work, “Pillow Talking The Devil,” is Navajo artist Dion Terry. His newest piece is also my newest acquisition, as when I saw the snapshot of the completed canvas on Facebook, I gave him a call, telling him it was sold to me. I got in the car to drive five and a half hours from Phoenix to San Diego for the express purpose of collecting this extraordinary painting. I arrived early enough for Dion, Tassia, and me to share lunch at the beach and visit a hidden garden before exchanging cash for art.

My interpretation of Dion’s “Pillow Talking The Devil” is that he has painted a self-portrait of sorts, a powerful and inspiring image that, in the years to come, will prove to be one of his greatest works. The fierce raven is only a part of Dion, with his worn body marked with moments from his past, graffitied and tattooed. Over his head is a halo of innocence, which I regard as his questioning of nature and trying to deal with the subject at hand: honesty. In hand is the snake, also known as the devil. In the Navajo belief system, the snake is inherently evil; it is the devil. The snake is not only in hand confronting Dion it is also a yoke around his neck. So maybe it’s his beliefs that are a burden that he’s trying to confront. This introspection is made all the more vulnerable in that his chest is wide-open and his heart exposed as if to imply that, “I challenge you to prove you are more than a chimera. I think it might be that you simply enslave me with fear, and if I am to truly know myself and my heart, I must ascend and throw off this yoke of mythological superstition while I attend to exploring the heavens through my art – but first, I must pillow talk this devil before me, I must overcome.”

Regardless of what its true meaning may ultimately be, if there even is one, I feel that Dion is on a path of creativity that is uniquely his and is on the cusp of breaking through the art world’s exclusive fortress.

Kings Canyon – Day 4

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Hume Lake at sunrise in Kings Canyon National Park, California

The original plan was for us to drive out of the national park late in the day yesterday. Instead, we opted to grab a night at Kings Canyon Lodge, which had a free room – on a holiday weekend! We’ll have a few more hours in the midst of all this spectacular beauty, although we’ll get home later. We arrived at Hume Lake just at sunrise when a breeze blew through and disturbed the water’s glassy surface. Ducks were beginning to stir, and a light fog was lifting off the lake– a perfect sunrise moment. But we had little time to linger.

General Sherman in Sequoia National Park, California

The General Sherman tree!

Small waterfall on the Congress Trail in Sequoia National Park, California

We do decide to take time to enjoy the sights at the General Sherman trail after all. Eight years ago was our last visit to this corner of Sequoia National Park, and being right here in the middle of the park, it would have been a shame to skip a return walk through the woods on our way south. Everything is different. Well, the trees are all the same, but the parking lot has moved, and the trail is altogether new. The next thing that strikes us is the evidence that yesterday was a major holiday that brought out the worst in people. Trash is everywhere. Paper, wrappers, bottle caps, pieces of plastic, and toilet paper. That’s right, TP. Who is it that thinks about bringing toilet paper out on the trail, squats next to a giant sequoia to take a pee, and then leaves her wad of paper right there at the foot of the tree? Good thing there is all this beauty around us competing for our attention.

Caroline Wise standing in the trunk of a giant Sequoia tree in Sequoia National Park, California

Something these photos have trouble conveying is the size of the trees. With Caroline standing in the trunk, it’s easier to get the idea of the enormous footprint these giants have imprinted on the hillside. Besides the General Sherman tree at the beginning of the trail, nothing looks familiar. Had there been a billion fewer mosquitos, maybe we could have walked slower, allowing us to remember a few familiar locations; instead, we hoofed it. The Congress and the House parts of the grove were the only other trees that stoked our memories.

The Senate in Sequoia National Park, California

The Senate stands tall over the rest of the grove, likely doing a much better job than the old wooden characters back in Washington, D.C.

On the loop trail near the General Sherman tree in Sequoia National Park, California

As we are leaving the trail, everyone else is joining it. Less than two hours to cover the two-and-a-half miles, a land speed record for the snail hikers. The truth of it was the motivation brought on by the angry hordes of mosquitos. Before leaving the park through the south exit, we have to endure a partial road closure that is regulated by a light, a long, painful red light that takes forever to turn green. Eventually, though we are quickly descending the mountain to rejoin urban America. Oh, the misery of forcing ourselves back into reality.

A motel sign for a motel that is long gone in Yucca, Arizona

Most of the drive home is through the desert. From out in the Mojave east to that infamous hotspot Needles, California, we cruise along at ten miles per hour over the posted speed limit. Here comes Ludlow and Dairy Queen, yummers; a chocolate malt sounds good right about now. Off the freeway, and OMG, there are ninety-five cars and three hundred other ice cream-hungry travelers here. We don’t even get below fifteen miles per hour as we turn around and are right back on the I-40. At the last possible second, I pull off in Yucca, Arizona, to photograph a town that has all but disappeared. A defunct neon sign is all that remains of the motel that is no longer to be found.

Kings Canyon – Day 3

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Caroline Wise receiving her Junior Range pledge from Ranger Frank Helling at Kings Canyon National Park in California

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.

Trail side in Redwood Canyon at Kings Canyon National Park in California

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.

Standing in the burned-out center of a very live Sequoia tree in Kings Canyon National Park, California

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.

On the Sugarbowl trail in Redwood Canyon - part of Kings Canyon National Park in California

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.

Fresh green growth of a tree in Kings Canyon National Park in California

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.

Base of a Sequoia tree in the Sugarbowl grove in Kings Canyon National Park, California

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.

Caroline Wise on the Sugarbowl loop trail in Kings Canyon National Park, California

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.

A butterfly sucking up nectar in a flower at Kings Canyon National Park, California

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.

In the forest of Redwood Canyon at Kings Canyon National Park, California

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.

A stream flowing under a fallen tree in Kings Canyon National Park, California

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.

Lush green foliage and purple flowers at the foot of giant Sequoia trees in Kings Canyon National Park, California

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.

A bear crawling up a giant Sequoia tree looking for food in Kings Canyon National Park, California

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.