July 19th
I’ve been doing quite a bit of that
lately. It seems around every corner I wander, there is some jaw-dropping vista
of one type or another. I can, without reservation, say that I am now pretty
much in love with Sequoiadendron giganteum:
some of the most magnificent beings I’ve ever had the privilege to meet. I
don’t think I will ever tire of just staring up and gasping at the fact that
something could be so ancient, so giant, so beautiful. If these fluffy
adjectives I constantly use seem silly, you have clearly never been in a
Sequoia forest – go visit grandpa and then try to describe the experience in
this language of ours.
The first time I went to Redwood
Canyon I had the unfortunate “need” to sort of rush out in order to catch a
ride. Not so this time. I was on my own schedule, one that now coincides with
whatever it is that has captured my attention at the moment. The first day out
I sauntered down the flower filled canyon, admiring Leopard Lilys, Columbines,
Monkey Flowers and many more whose names I am just learning. The Leopard Lilys
particularly, are radiant when in full bloom. They grow next to streams and
just glow orange in the sunlight. Perhaps by the end of the Summer I’ll have
learned a bit more about botany. How rude it is to not know the names of these
marvelous plants!
After lunch under an enormous
Sequoia by the stream, I slowly continued down what I thought was the path
towards the end of the canyon. Instead, I suddenly found myself bushwacking
through a dense area along the quickly drying out streambed (the drought is in
full effect here too, sadly). Within a half-mile or so, the stream was gone and
I was walking through a dry bed, sometimes passing by quickly shrinking tiny
pools with a few frantic fish probably wondering if they were about to end up
as bones on the sand in a few weeks. A little un-nerving were the numerous Black
Bear paw prints I saw everywhere, plus what might have been a few Mountain Lion
tracks. I know the big cats are very rare, but they do reside on the other side
of the canyon, so it’s not unreasonable to think they may have wandered over
here looking for water or a deer or something to munch on. While I would consider
it an honor to actually see a bear, or especially the severely reclusive big
cat, I too suffer from that good ole American fear of all that is wild. So I
found myself a bit skittish for a few minutes.
But it soon passed, and I forged
ahead, allowing the common sense and knowledge that both brother bear and big
cat are far more scared of us than we of them to take hold and re-capture my
senses. And rightfully so are they scared of us – how many millions have been
slaughtered by brother human? A loud noise or small rock tossed at a bear or
big cat will send it scurrying off, 99 times out of 100, should it come to
that. Plus when you walk without fear, negativity is rarely drawn towards you.
When you walk in fear, it races towards you like a magnet. That ‘energy’ is
real, you know. This I have learned on another level after many, many trips to
so-called “dangerous places” in the so-called “Third World.” Recognizing that,
yes, crap can happen anytime anywhere to anybody, it’s still not surprising to
me that those who worry the most about the “danger” and carry themselves
exuding that fear pretty much always get mugged or something.
But something about this idea of fear and how we are
so thoroughly drenched in it living in this absurd Fox Fake News driven-nation
stayed with me over the next day or so as I meandered alone through the flower
filled stream beds and jaw dropping Sequoia groves. I couldn’t stop thinking
about why it is that we, as a nation, are so
scared of almost everything, and
generally our only response is violence or war. Different people, different
language, different economic system, different religion, different perspective…
put an –ism on it and run for your
life! Why it is that even while in one of the most peaceful and holy places on
Earth, I would be even remotely scared
of it? What is driving this fear?
That first night I camped at the end
of the canyon trail by an amazing big spring that was just gushing crystal
clear, ice cold water. Redwood Canyon Creek had also re-emerged and so the
theme for the night was the soothing sounds of running, splashing mountain
water. I was tempted to sleep on a big rock in the middle of the stream to get
the Water Ouzel effect (see Mr. Muir’s take on this amazing little Sierra bird,
also known as the American Dipper!), but the ominous grey clouds above told me
I’d better set up that tent I had lugged along. Good thing I did. The first
(and only) rain I’ve seen all Summer came that night, and I was happy to hear
it tapping harmlessly on the rain flap covering my tent at about 5am. That
night I had wanted to sleep for the first time under some Sequoias but there
were literally only uno, dos… trés
spread out there at Big Spring “grove”, so that un-forgettable experience would
have to wait for another night. I was about to find out where that was destined
to take place, however.
The next morning, after quite a
remarkable night’s sleep amidst the sounds of the flowing water, I slowly got
moving again back towards the big groves in the middle of the canyon. I was
going to hike up the high ridge to the west, towards the Sugar Bowl, the heart
of the Redwood Canyon Sequoia Grove - the same area that had been part of the
prescribed burn that had created such awe inspiring light and shadow the first
time I had strolled through Hart Meadow on the other side of the canyon. On the
way back, I discovered the trail I had missed the day before and found myself
in this grandiose clearing of hundreds of small, “young” (<100 years old?)
Sequoias, dwarfed by their thousand year old parents and grandparents next to
them. Age and youth side by side. Elders demonstrating what it is to humbly
reach for the sky - without fear - and children listening - without fear. It’s
unfortunate that we don’t have more of this in our paranoid nation.
In the middle of the canyon there
was a science crew from Humboldt State U surveying the Sequoias. A few of them
had the privilege of climbing up the trees to measure them and check out the
tiny ecosystems that exist at the tops. Very cool. I chatted them up for a bit
and learned that there are several 300’ plus Sequoiadendron giganteum
in Redwood Canyon. Some of the tallest that exist. Very cool. The prescribed
burn now pretty much out, I headed up towards the western ridge of the canyon
through some spectacular vistas. A bit of a hike, but within about an hour I
found myself rounding a corner at the top of a hill and stopping in my tracks
to, once again, pick my jaw up off the ground.
Awe. Hundreds of Sequoias filled the
ridge. One after the other creating a scene that, in all my meanderings amongst
the grandpa trees, has only been rivaled by the Giant Forest. Huge trees were
everywhere I looked, with fallen limbs, cones and needles creating a blanket
upon the ground in every direction. I had found my future camping spot, where
someday soon (and hopefully several times over the Summer) I will sleep right
in the midst of an enormous grove. Every couple of minutes I would stop and
just gasp in disbelief at how magnificent this place was. Again thanking all
the crazy “radicals” who fought like hell to prevent these trees from being
slaughtered a la Converse Basin (this is probably a miniature of what grove
looked like – a thousand years ago), and again feeling what an honor it is to
spend so much time with these sacred trees in these sacred places. For me, it
is these moments that make the so-called great religions’ attempts to construct
“houses of worship” seem weak, illusory, and even a bit arrogant because most
of those “religious” buildings were built with stolen gold and slave labor –
thousands dying in the process of their construction. Those religions destroyed
entire nations and peoples in order to build “houses of worship” to scream
about “God.” But all they had to do was go to the forest to see Him/Her/It, or
whatever you choose to call (or not to call) that Spirit that is so obviously
present if you stop to listen for two seconds when in these places. But I think
it goes back to fear. The fear of everything and everyone that is wild. The fear of the Earth and everyone still connected to the Earth.
In the end, we try to destroy that which we fear.
Maybe it is out of this fear that so
many of us have constructed almost every obstacle possible to actually having a
profound understanding of this Great Spirit. We fight wars and butcher millions
of people over “God”, but we (at least we of “Western Civilization”) have never
given thanks for the Earth. Most people literally have no physical contact with
the Earth. A tiny percent maybe camp next to their car once a year. We’re terrified
of Mother Earth. And this fear gets passed down to every level of society. I’m
beginning to understand that one of the cruelest jokes ever played on humanity
came from the words, “Go forth… and
subdue the Earth…” Sooner or later, we’ll finally understand that this is
simply not possible. Those words came from a fear of Earth; of ourselves. Look at what humanity has done to itself
in its arrogant and vain attempt to “subdue the Earth” – some estimate that
there is not one place on this good Earth where you can safely drink water from
a stream, river or lake; half the world is literally starving to death; we are
murdering innocent people to take oil!?
out of the bowels of the Earth; the weather now gives us 70 degrees in January
and hurricanes in New York City. Some spend all this time praying for “God” to
save us, while in the same breath allowing politicians and corporations to rape
and pillage God/Earth. I would dare say that they are actually trying to destroy God/Earth (that which they fear)
and pretend that they are the ones in control. But that’s just my
interpretation, I’m sure you have your own.
I spent several hours in marvelous
Redwood Canyon that day. I could go there every free hour I have the rest of
this Summer and never cease for one second to feel that I am indeed in the
Dwelling Place of a Great Spirit. I explored the trees. Soaked in their
stunning beauty. Laid on my back in the middle of them. Stared at the sky. Sat
quietly. Listened. Wandered down the canyon. Hacked through the thick manzanita
bushes to check out enormous old monarchs hidden away off the trail. I saw
nobody else there. I was all “alone” (as if only humans count as living things)
in the wilderness. A wilderness known to be full of bears and bugs. I should be
terrified, being out there so alone, completely solito… shouldn’t I?
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