Always Listen to the Mountain

August 2013

           Suddenly feeling my boots start to slip as I was trying to lower my backpack down, I had no choice but to let go and let it drop over the ledge. I watched in dismay as it tumbled down the sharp incline, pleading, “stop!” Some 20 meters below a clump of bushes heard my plea, caught it, and, thankfully, saved most of my gear from about another 100-meter tumble down the mountain. One water bottle was not so lucky, and I watched it bounce and go flying out of sight over the ledges further below. Five minutes before, realizing I could not get down attached to a 40 lb. backpack, I had removed it, and now sat on a series of ledges, slightly concerned but carefully pondering my next move.

The Epic, pt. II

April 18-May 23, 2013

                        This could become a ritual. These “epic” cross-country jaunts to and from my dear Sequoias. Road-trips that may very well define my decade of the ‘40s’. Hard to feel my age amidst the pure freedom and joy that is roaming alone without a real schedule, seldom even looking at the time or date. This time it was east to west. Back to the divinity of the ancient Sequoia groves, away from the shallowness of the immature concrete jungles. After a spectacular two-month long South American saunter, I could only stay ten days in the NYC before hitting the road once again to go cross-country. I find that nowadays I take my Big Apple in very small slices! Bus ride to DC, quick drive across Virginia and West Virginia (very pretty land them Virginias) and it was on with a full-on family gathering in Louisville, Kentucky. Once on the roadways of this great land, one needs at least a full month to do ‘The Epic’ properly - it’s odd when even a few free weeks of rambling along feels rushed. I visited several remarkable places where I could have stayed two or three weeks alone. Once again, coast to coast in several symbolic snippits.

Abuelo Mapajo, Hermano Tacana (plus Civilization vs. The Great Mystery and Prophecy)

2013 South American Saunters

February 2013

           Wilman stops, listens intently, glances up towards the treetops, waits a few seconds, and then slowly continues on along the barely visible jungle trail. He repeats this routine every few minutes as we amble down one of the numerous trails around the Caquiahuara eco-lodge in Tacana land, Madidi National Park, Bolivia, South America, Earth.  After four or five silent pauses, he suddenly urges us to quickly come forward and look up at the distant tree branches… there we spot a Howler Monkey 100 feet above, almost invisible to the naked eye. Wilman’s finely tuned vision grasps any movement in these jungle trees and quickly directs us city folks toward a whole array of Amazon birds, plants, and animals. I could spend weeks out here studying trees, plants, wildlife, listening to this brother’s knowledge of his land. It feels like I’ve been here before, like I’m re-living something from a past not so long ago.

An Antenna Between Heaven and Earth (Ranger Responsibility)

2013 South American Saunters

April 2013

            As Autumn approaches Mapuche land (Wallmapu - what is now referred to as central Chile), while walking beneath the groves of the beautiful, abstract looking Pehuen or Araucaria trees one can hear the piñons tumble off the trees almost like a rattle shaking or the sound of heavy drops of rain hitting the ground. The ripe pine-esque cones on the female trees grow thick and round when they are ready to deposit hundreds of super rich seeds to the ground, seemingly intentionally sent down for every sort of animal to consume. The entire forest, humans included, lives off this magnificent pine nut. My timing was perfect: I arrived in Conguillio and Huerquehue National Parks at the peak moment of piñon collecting – they were literally falling at my feet as I hiked through the glorious landscapes that make up these two parks.

The Epic, pt. I

September 2012

                                   1 month. 3,500 miles, 20 states, 15 National Parks & Monuments, 100 old friends, a whole bunch of familia, and 2 oceans. Now that it is a road-trip. That is something for which I might justify the use of a car – or at least an old used one that gets about 40 mpg. It began and ended in two of the so-called great urban centers of our society, San Francisco and New York City. In between, I went through more of God’s beautiful Earth than most ever get to see in a lifetime, or two. As well as seeing a few of the saddest and most pathetic places one might ever visit. Along the way I think I discovered just how truly ‘American’ – as in from this land – I have actually become, as well as how correct I probably was in my last blog proclaiming that, “cities [are] not reality.” Of dozens of amazing road trips I taken in my life, this was The Epic. Coast to coast in several symbolic snippits.

In Search of Ishi

September 5^th

           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.

Childish Empires and Ancient Trees (plus bears & meteors)

August 14 –

            Giant Sequoias. Muir Grove, Slight Return. Today I finally wander back to where my epic Summer began. On this day, a light rain falls (thankfully wetting the parched ground) during my late afternoon saunter. After two months of dishing them out, I’m certain there is no longer a need to wax poetic with more flowing adjectives trying to describe the grandeur of these places. So I won’t.

Ahwahnee, Day 6

Day 6, August 3

            From our perfect campsite, sunrise is as spectacular as sunset was. Half Dome and Yosemite Valley are glistening in the early morning rays. The full moon is still visible above them. Shadows glide through Little Yosemite Valley, our route for this final Ahwahnee saunter. Again, sitting in silence for what seems like hours, I am unwilling to leave this place. Views from enormous hills and mountains and peaks have always drawn me into that “Wilderness Trance” I mentioned yesterday. Not surprising that my family names are “Duneman” = Man On a Dune, and “Lamontagne” = The Mountain. I guess we of these clans were supposed to view the world from above. It certainly feels like home to me. Often, as I am leaving a place that had such an impact on me, I stop to soak it in one final time, with a nostalgic deep breathe. I had to do that twice today. It is hard to leave these places.

Ahwahnee, Day 5

Day 5, August 2

            Cloud’s Rest, indeed. Resting among the clouds after an intense climb straight uphill to 9,926 feet above sea level. We earned these views today. All the way up we meandered past stunning mountain views and now we sit at the peak of peaks. It is a 360 degree panorama that puts one in what I like to call a “Wilderness Trance”. You could just sit and stare for a day, or thirty. Religious adjectives abound.

Ahwahnee, Day 4

Day 4, August 1

            Water. Agua. The theme of this divine day. Greeting the morning with the calls of the mountain chickadees and a crisp, cool splash of Lewis Creek’s pure H2O across my face, I could sit there all day and just soak in these liquid sanctuaries. The way to explore Yosemite and its waters is with a slow, deliberate saunter. Thoreau has a wonderful take on walking and “sauntering.” Evidently, the word “saunter” comes from France in the Middle Ages, “sante terre” - holy land. People claiming to be on their way to the holy land would stop and ask for alms and food, and soon they came to be known as the “sainte terrers” – the holy landers. I like that. Because here, in this holy land, you must move slow and pay attention to the water and the hidden adventures to be found around every turn.

Ahwahnee, Day 3

Day 3, July 31

            Glorious day. I am awakened by a text message at dawn informing me that I am now the proud uncle of a brand new nephew. Not sure what could possibly top that event or make this day even more special, I now get to journey deep into the backcountry of Ahwahnee. Evidently there was a bear in the backpackers camp that morning, drawn by some food left outside of one of the mandatory bear boxes found everywhere in the High Sierra. Quite a commotion, evidently. I was so happy with the new news that I slept right through all of it. Glorious day, indeed.

Ahwahnee, Day 2

Day 2, July 30

            Yosemite is a very busy place in the Summer. After a long morning of waiting in lines, our backcountry permit is secured, but only for a next day departure. So we had to skip what had promised to be an extraordinary first night down in Lyell Canyon. Bummed, but realizing that wherever we ended up would be jaw dropping, we weren’t too upset. Plus it’s all the more reason to return to this special, special place for another trip very soon. After a delicious hot breakfast of eggs, bacon and hashbrowns, and a good chat with the good folks sitting around the little communal breakfast table at the Tuolumne Lodge restaurant, we head out for the day. Instead of backpacking into Lyell Canyon, we day hike up to the famous Mono Pass, where you get a clear yet distant view of Mono Lake via Bloody Canyon and down through the eastern valley. As we started off, I was very conscious of the fact that something I had been planning and dreaming up for a very long time was now underway – my first visit to Yosemite’s High Sierra backcountry. Momentous moments abound this Summer.

Ahwahnee, Homeland of the Ahwahneechee (most people call it Yosemite) - Day 1

July 29^th-August 3^rd

            Yes, I talk a lot about John Muir these days. With good reason. He was an example of what a truly “Great American” can and should be. The Sierra Nevadas were his temple and he treated them with the honor and respect due to such a holy land. His writings about Yosemite and the entire “Range of Light” are poetic, inspiring masterpieces. But there were people there long before Brother Muir, honoring and respecting the divine landscape that is today called “Yosemite.” You should know the real name of this place. Ahwahnee = The Place of the Gaping Mouth. Old Chief Tenaya and the Ahwahneechee = the last free people to inhabit this sacred valley. I finally had the honor to visit their land and spent five glorious days wandering its peaks and valleys; soaking in its crystal waters. There is a reason millions of people flock into Yosemite Valley every year. Despite my mixed feelings about such multitudes – many of whose disgusting behavior voids their right to visit there, imho – I understand why it has been flooded with tourists. It is simply stunning in its grandeur. “Man needs beauty as well as bread.”

Picking Your Jaw Up Off the Ground (and fighting off false fear)

July 19^th

             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 Loneliest Tree In Sequoia National Forest

July 5^th

            After being immersed in such awe and beauty for several weeks now, finally came the moment I had been awaiting with a sort of morbid curiosity. It was an experience that I knew would unsettle me and give much pause when thinking about the region I inhabit for the Summer. Converse Basin - one of those dark, tragic stains upon the history of this holy land. If you look on a map of Sequoia National Forest/Monument, all you will see are the words “Converse Basin”, or “Boole Tree”, or “Chicago Stump”, perhaps. But if you have read your history and know what took place here, these words will conjure up some very old demons from American history.

The Freest Free (Thoughts on Independence Day)

July 4th, 2012

            First view of Kings Canyon, California. A hearty "wow!" is appropriate. For a pseudo-Southwest boy, my awe at this most marvelous of West Coast canyons was profound on this Independence Day. The mighty Rio de los Reyes Santos cutting through its heart was considerably smaller due to the absence of snow this year, but still mighty. I miss the canyons. There is something remarkably comforting about gazing down into their depths, or staring up at their heights. They seem to carry this sense of freedom, escape, protection. Canyons call out to you, inviting you in, offering you silent bursts of understanding.

More Mr. Muir (and why hiking down is far worse than hiking up)

June 28

            I went into the “Giant Forest” in Sequoia National Park for the first time on this day. By the end of the day I had seen and experienced more sights and sounds, and been filled with more awe than any previous day yet here in Inyo (as well as tweeking my knee after forgetting my Summer mantra – Don’t Rush Anywhere. Ever.) It was on this day that I finally felt immersed. Deep in it. This grove was one spot in the Sierras that captured brother Muir’s full attention back when he wandered freely about, soaking in every tiny detail of these vast mountains and valleys. After exploring this massive grove, Muir dubbed it aptly “The Giant Forest” because it was and is exactly that, in every sense of the word. They say that nowadays this is one of the most “touristy” of all the places in the park, so I guess I had my doubts as to its current condition. But anything that Muir spoke of with such eloquence draws me, so off I went.

All in the Details

June 27

            A remarkable night stargazing by Emerald Lake in the high Sierras. I have to remind myself and be grateful that I do indeed get to do this all Summer; it’s not just a little two-day getaway. Why we wait to take these journeys when we have the privilege to do so baffles me more each day. So many of our brothers and sisters will never have the chance. With this in mind, I travel, observe and learn from these places. Tonight, I am staring at the heavens under an absolutely radiant night sky high in the mountains… Ursa Major. North Star. Ursa Minor. Draco. Corona Borealis. Bootes. I suppose there is some ancient instinct in us to simply gaze into the night sky and ponder things. This was perhaps the best night to date that I have observed the estrellas. It is easy to do at this altitude with such brilliant celestial light! I can only hope for many more such alpine nights.

Ice Cold Energy

June 26

            Glacier ice and fresh snowmelt draining slowly down the mountains… thus is origin of the water in the thousands of glacial lakes in the Sierra high country. Getting to know a handful of them as I begin my backcountry wandering, I’m fairly certain that I have tasted the freshest water on planet Earth. Clear, delicious, pure and ice cold. It must be a thousand times better for mind, body and spirit than any city sludge.

Azul

June 25

            Blue sky against Red Fir. The vivid blue in this California Sierra Nevada sky is hard to describe. It is a hue so profound and clear that it's somewhat startling every time you look up. Viewed against Red Firs or other dark green conifers it just glows a brilliant blue. I found myself stopping several times to just stare up as we hiked out from our first overnight at Weaver Lake. It was my first night camped out under the Sierra Nevada stars... another momentous day.