“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.
Here in this photo, the floor of Kings Canyon is about a mile beyond Cedar Grove. Which is just over 4,600 feet above sea level. With ancient upward vertical cliffs far above the lowest glacier-carved depth. It is said that rivers carve a “V” shaped valley. While glaciers carve a “U” shaped valley. Yet here what is to become a canyon with soaring walls on each side. The depth of Kings Canyon is at about 8,200 feet. One of the deepest canyons in the U.S. Further shaped by plentiful rivers, cascades, and the life they support.
A distinct contrast to the Western side of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Owens Valley is far more sparsely populated as compared to the San Joaquin Valley. Left uncultivated, one might wonder how common these separate valleys would appear along the vertical stretch of California’s Central region. The Western side is more irrigated, while receptive to the Pacific Ocean’s circulatory conditions and from seasonal rainstorms. To thereafter include late Fall season fog and Spring/Summer melt.
When out on the trail and while alone, you might be more inclined to pick up on what you hear with extra sensitivity. While the visual quality of an area can be overwhelming, there is a peace that comes with rushing or gentle waters you can hear if you listen. These waters are a symbol of life. They nourish, rinse, and soothe the spirit. If there is any favorite wilderness quality I would have chosen above all others, it would be still, gentle, or rushing alpine waters. To stimulate the heart and bring renewal all at once.
This is Mt Hoffmann in Yosemite. Standing high above May Lake, it has an easy class one route to the top with a class 2 approach to the summit. The route to the top is at times guided by cairns with a trail that comes and goes below the graded chute. An easily completed hike to the top with the family. An overnight stay at May Lake provides easy access to much of this wilderness area. Or as a full day from an early start at the trailhead.
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