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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