At Kaweah Gap, there is this widely familiar monolithic and natural structure along the route. A few days casual hike into the wilderness. Alongside Precipice Lake is this standing cliff just below its immense rocky ascent above. From one side of the lake or the other, a place to fall for or a place to fall over. A place normally either calm and welcoming or with strong winds whipping through.
This is why there is sometimes the false choice of seeing the forest through the trees. To dismiss detail, beauty, and a way to go. Where there is shelter, safety, and acuity in the detail. The forest gives context, situational awareness, and bearing. There is just as much unseen here as there is seen and observed. What is the place doing? What happened here? Who or what feeds off this place? How are the vertical surfaces formed? What do the leaves, wind, and birds say? What angle of elevation is this at? What is dying and what is thriving? Why is moss predominately concentrated on one side of most trees? When did that lightning strike? How much snow weight did those small branches have to bear before being stripped of their growth?
“The true ownership of the wilderness belongs in the highest degree to those who love it most.” – John Muir
Still waters in Yosemite. On a clear and beautiful day. Even after you have visited so many times, there are always fresh new places to learn more about. The farther and wider spread you go, the deeper the wilderness captivates the heart.
Here I am at a random location along the Merced River in Yosemite. The surface of the river is fully felt whether it’s rushing, or calm yet moving with purpose. Not only as a natural occurrence but as life-giving waters. To see, hear and feel the river as it runs by, it also runs through at resonance. Its enduring force of renewal and replenishment. To see, feel, and hear its soothing roar.
Castle Rock stands in prominence across from Moro Rock in Sequoia National Park. High above the Kaweah River, it is a visual formation that stands out and comes into view for miles. Aesthetically, it presents a character and vertical profile that attracts climbers and explorers from all walks of life.
Sometimes you come upon someone or something that stands out. To make an impression, to influence, or to say something of meaning. By its own being, by what it does or what it says, there is a clear purpose. Creation, as it exists, gives full awareness of life, its source, and what it supports.
Here is a section of the cross country route up to Ontario Peak. With a number of observations to read what the mountain says. It speaks to you if you listen. If you observe with humility. This gentle ridge to the summit gives a way to read the force of wind from West to East. Look at the shape of the branches on the worn trees. One side of the ridge was consumed by fire, the other side was defended or survived. Strong winds contribute to the erosion and shape of the Western slope. There isn’t much undergrowth at this elevation at about 8,700 feet. Arid exposure damage on one side with a lower thermal gradient on the other. What the wilderness says is what it is willing to speak to anyone who would listen. Visual observation and by what you feel, hear, smell, and touch. The more you abide in its presence, the more it changes you.
Where the wind blows through you and not just above you or around you. At elevation where the spirit of the Sierra has its best meaning. Where it’s not just about the place, but about being. Here is Hamilton Pass along the Great Western Divide. I’ve been over this pass twice surrounded by Mt Stewart, Black and Red Kaweah, Eagle Scout Peak, and Angels Wings.
“The blessings of one mountain day, whatever his fate, long life, short life, stormy or calm, he is rich forever.” – John Muir
“Another glorious Sierra day in which one seems to be dissolved and absorbed and sent pulsing onward we know not where. Life seems neither long nor short, and we take no more heed to save time or make haste than do the trees and stars. This is true freedom, a good practical sort of immortality.” – My First Summer in the Sierra (1911) chapter 2. John Muir.
On the descent from Vetter Mountain. Angry storm clouds can sometimes give quite the light show. Lightning that doesn’t strike still gives a loud and thunderous ripping sound when it is discharged to its atmosphere. The closer you are, the higher the heart-rate picks up. Accompanied by a distinct sulfur-like odor without any regard to the scent of my own fear. A fair price to pay for witnessing such places as this.
Alone on the long walk home. On a 12-mile loop with much of it off-trail. Along ridges, over small mountain rises and through wide-open fields. Deep in thought yet situationally aware. Here and there heading off to a false path like so many times before. Persistent and successive approximation. Listening to the wilderness, watching the time and weather, paying close attention to my body knowing full well its exposure, limits, and weaknesses.
Off-trail direction and course. Limited visibility on each path over a long distance. Intercepting a trail here and there. Fog density varies, but that adds to the mystery of where you are and where you’re going. Where the atmosphere is still and thin, there is a quality about the area very unique compared to seasons more familiar. With a still quiet, soaked forest floor, a fresh wet scent, and a stinging cold biting at the nose.
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