October 7, 2012

In Search of Ishi


September 5th
           My last week with the Big Trees was a flurry of activity – hikes, stargazing, patrols, packing and a whole bunch of those deep, nostalgic breathes as I said goodbye to the numerous marvels I had witnessed all Summer. I had heard about a particular old giant that I’d wanted to visit this season – The Ishi Tree. Named after the last truly free man to roam the now United States, the last “wild Indian” to live outside of the European invasion. As fitting a name as possible I suppose, as “Ishi” is supposedly one of the largest trees on planet Earth, and also one of the most isolated, wild, free - there are no trails or markers to draw in the tourists, and one has to wander through the woods for a few miles to find him. My kind of spot.

            Actually located within the boundary of my ranger turf, Sequoia National Forest, and not in the Park, Ishi and numerous other rarely visited groves lie near old back roads, some paved, some not, most used for logging back in the day. Parking my old Saturn ‘Sierramobile’ near an older trailhead I head off down a dirt road towards the spot that I was told should have some plastic tagging, which supposedly leads through the forest towards grandpa Ishi. About a mile down the road, I come to a little turn around and indeed see some of the orange plastic tags leading into the forest. Off I go, searching the surrounding trees for orange, pink, yellow tags to lead me on towards my final afternoon of the Summer hanging out with the grandpa trees.
            It takes a bit of concentration and tuning into the forest around you to not get lost wandering left, then right, then left again, then up, then down, then around, etc. Several times I had to stop for several minutes and search intently for signs of a path, take markers on what direction I was going, remember landmarks for my return trip. Again, my wilderness ranger training has paid great dividends. I now feel confident enough to sort of just bolt off into the forest and not worry too much about getting myself lost. Making a northeast leading loop, I continue for a mile or two and soon spot a few “small” grandpa trees telling me to keep on going, Mr. Ishi is not too much further ahead. I never cease to be amazed at how Sequoias just sort of pop up in the forest. You can be walking along for miles among firs and pines, and then bam! suddenly up rises an enormous Sequoia taking over the landscape. And then another, and another, and soon you can feel the presence of age, of time passed, of season after season of storm and sun.
            Heading into a little ravine, which during rainier seasons is probably home to a small stream, and dropping steadily lower in elevation, I soon come upon two or three old downed trees. It feels almost like a gate, like the entrance to this section of Kennedy Grove, home to grand old Ishi. I continue down and find myself among ever larger trees. The plastic tagging continues on down the valley, but at this point it is clear that I am heading into the realm of a very important being; the route is obvious. A mile or so down and the forest clears slightly, as if like a big porch to an even bigger house. Enormous Sequoias line either side of the wash, up the hills to the east and west, and suddenly straight ahead of me stands a gargantuan old grandpa. No marker is needed, I have discovered Señor Ishi… or rather, Señor Ishi has discovered me, this tiny creature ambling about his ancient home. I pay my respects and take a seat on a large downed Fir tree, which has fallen directly between two other trees some 50 feet in front of Ishi, almost as if intentionally aimed to land in the middle of their trunks. Centuries of bark and Sequoia dust lie about his base, on one side creating a pile probably ten feet high. My lord, this is a massive tree.
            At least 1/5th of Ishi’s base is gone, burned away by fire and time. A tiny sliver of root remains on the south side of his trunk, a twenty-foot crevice carved inside him. I envision what his whole trunk must have looked like five hundred years ago, before some red-hot fire burned away such a significant chunk of him. Would he be larger than even Generals Sherman and Grant with his base intact? I don’t know, but it is clear that Ishi is indeed one of the largest living things on Mother Earth. When you place your hands on a tree this old, this enormous, it’s as if you can feel the centuries. The energy of these beings is as real as you or I, and it does not take much creativity to allow yourself to feel it, and feel it profoundly. It’s unfortunate that this connection to the Earth has been reduced to cheap, childish language and talk of “vibes” and other nonsense, man. We “Americans” should be required to learn Native American languages so that we might truly understand these concepts; these emotions that describe this good Earth. I don’t think I could ever tire of the sensation of physical contact, hand on bark, that you receive from the Big Trees. It’s like sitting on your grandpa’s lap when you are a small child – comfort, security, respect, wisdom.
            I sat listening to grandpa Ishi for a while, and then wandered a bit through his neighborhood, meeting some of the other abuelos that live on the surroundings hills. When I felt like it was time to head back, a sudden sadness washed over me. I realized this was the last moment I would have to listen to the Big Trees, to visit them, to feel their ancient energy, for at least six months or so. Hard to describe the emotion - just a wave of nostalgia and sadness at having to leave. It is hard to leave holy places. I slowly turned away after a final deep, deliberate inhaling of the grandness of Ishi and everything around him, and started back up the ravine. It was a difficult hike out because I didn’t want this Summer to end - I could have sat there for a day or twenty, just basking in the energy of twenty five centuries. But as I walked I realized what an honor and privilege I had to even be here at all. How many of us will ever have (or take) this opportunity?
            What I felt certain of this day was that this was not going to be the only moment in this humble little journey of mine that I will get to spend weeks and months slowly sauntering amongst the ancient giants of these blessed Sierra Nevadas. As brother Muir said, “We are now in the mountains, and they are in us.” So odd, is it not, that we humans ever forgot that most basic of truths? So many of us now trapped in the soul choking materialism and consumerism of what has come to be called ‘civilization’. Wilderness now a foreign place for living; wildness now a foreign state of being.
            But Ishi shared a little nugget of wisdom with me that day: the chaos of the cities is not reality. In the cities, we are lost – look around at the mass confusion and despair, the anger and frustration, the cheap, shallow entertainment. Nor is reality to be found in the invented culture and half told history of many small towns in this wild land, this Turtle Island. Out in the great forests is the reality we all seek. Amongst these Big Trees, we are finally back home and at peace. In the mountains, true history is told. Amongst these great mountain temples, we are finally back home and at peace. Cement and steel skyscrapers are but weak, vain, arrogant attempts to mimic the majesty of a 3,000 year old, 300-foot tall grandfather, or a million year old granite cliff soaring into the heavens – the true teachers who will tell you everything you could possibly need to know in this lifetime, if you but choose to listen.

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