Road Trip - 4/26/2021 to 5/1/2021 - Part Six

 Waning Gibbous Moon

There comes a time in the life of every stimulus check recipient/patriot when he or she must decide: how can I best waste this money? This was the conundrum facing me on my last day of my California road trip. I could continue to dribble out my $600 on breakfasts and gasoline for another week or so - I knew I would enjoy that. Or I could plunk down a wad of cash for a spiffed-out room in the Cedar wing of Yosemite Valley Lodge, a mere five minute walk from Lower Yosemite Falls in the stunning heart of Yosemite National Park, an Aramark production. 

I did my duty. I stimulated the heck out of Aramark.

On a beautiful Spring late morning, with my comfort and decadence assured for the night, with a pep in my step aided by a nearly empty wallet, with time to kill before my 5:00 check-in, I set out for one of my favorite easy walks in any national park that I have visited. A few minutes from my parking space was a feeder path to the Yosemite Valley Loop Trail, which would take me for as long as I wished alongside and across the Merced River, past all of the iconic valley landmarks. 

In the days of my youth, like a couple of years ago, I could easily manage the whole 11.5 miles, even with snow on the ground. But on this trip, I wasn't feeling the need for speed. I just moseyed along taking pictures and side-stepping the tourons (the new YNP thing appears to be to cart your mountain bike to the valley on your SUV and ride the Loop Trail with 7-10 of your closest and least healthy friends). The farther I walked away from the Lodge, the fewer pedaling chatter-people there were, so I could relax and take in the scenery, smiling and nodding at the occasional peaceful hiker I met on the trail. 

Passing Camp 4 on the way to El Capitan, a strong figure emerged from the white residential tent cabins where park employees live year 'round. He walked across about a hundred feet of rocks and duff, straight to me. With a broad smile inside his bushy white beard, he wished me a good day and disappeared into the forest. I knew this guy. More about him later. 

I was carrying water, a peanut butter and banana sandwich, and a an apple in my daypack, so I knew I could cruise as long as I wanted and stop as many times as the river and the rocks and the trees and the trail demanded. As long as I wanted turned out to be just over three hours, a pretty moderate course that didn't tax me too much, but let me see the park and fellow hikers in a pleasant mix. Compared to driving the roads and finagling the parking areas at the more famous sites, walking this trail is calm and refreshing. I wish that the Park would offer occasional days on which all vehicle traffic, even bikes, would be banned and visitors and staff would be required to take and abide by a 24-hour vow of silence. Go completely real for one day, observe a nature retreat, listen to the birds and squirrels, the falls and the rushing river water. That would be awesome. 

When the walk was over, I took a little nap and wandered the Lodge grounds for a while and soon I was able to access my spiffy room for a shower and an in-room trail meal. Even though COVID protocol was supposed to be followed in the eating areas, there were clumps of people from all over creation in pretty close proximity. I decided to continue the masked social distancing habits from the past year and avoid the crowds. My hot meal in a pouch was good enough. 

I love Yosemite Falls and I was lucky enough to be there when it was rumbling loud and strong. My favorite time to visit the Lower Falls observation area is right before dark. I could walk over there from my Cedar room in a few minutes, so at sundown I put on my rain jacket and headed on over. The spray from the falls can soak you pretty fast if you aren't careful. It was getting a little cool, so I suited up somewhat.

Several years ago, about 2006 or so, I saw God one evening at Lower Yosemite Falls. Not the real, actual God, duh, but I saw somebody step out of the shadows while I was watching the falls from the bridge. He passed right by me and smiled a big smile from behind his bushy white beard. Whoever he was, he looked just like those pictures of God they showed you when you were a kid. A strong, healthy fellow in his sixties or seventies, with long white hair and a full white beard and comfortable clothing  with a composed, happy countenance. God didn't say anything. He just smiled like yeah, you get it, this is the best time to experience this very holy spot on Earth. Enjoy. Then he sort of faded away into the darkness. I remembered God.

In 2010 or so, I was surprised to see God again. This time, he was sweeping and raking the grounds at Curry Village. Evidently, God is employed at the Park. He keeps it clean, to the extent one supernatural-looking being can. Once again, he smiled and nodded a silent, friendly hello. 

This trip, as I already told you, God actually spoke to me near Camp 4, wishing me a good day while I was on my walk. I feel pretty goshdarn special, to tell you the truth.

Anyway, it's hard to take sundown pictures of Lower Yosemite Falls standing there on the bridge shivering in the spray with your Smartyphone, but that didn't stop me from trying. It's a unique experience, trust me, God or no God.

Peace, Love, and Godliness,

Jim

Road Trip - 4/26/2021 to 5/1/2021 - Part Five

 Waning Gibbous Moon

Chaw'se Indian Grinding Rock State Historic Park off Hwy 88 is one of the finest state parks in California. The Chaw'se is mind boggling, the incense cedar slab structures are holy and inspiring, the nature trails are beautiful and instructional, and the Chaw'se Museum is top notch. A day spent here is way better than going to therapy or attending church.

Chaw'se is the Calaveras Miwok term for the multitude of bedrock mortars ground into the tough marbleized limestone outcrops that form the hub of a vast meadow in this peaceful, wooded park in the Sierra Nevada foothills near Jackson, CA. Approximately 1,200 mortar holes are spread across the carefully protected site, making it the largest concentration of mortars in North America. At 2,400 feet above sea level, the surrounding valley oaks, live oaks, and black oaks provide an ample supply of acorns to grind and process into flour. Standing on the observation platform or walking around the wooden enclosures, it's easy to imagine a sunny day in the meadow a few hundred years ago with people working and children playing.

A small village has been reconstructed near the Chaw'se as a model of the shelters and ceremonial structures used by the Calaveras Band over the centuries. The Chaw'se Hun'ge, or Roundhouse, is actively used for ceremony by Central California tribes, particularly during the Chaw'se Big Time celebration held every September in the park.

There are two nature trails that take you through the woods and introduce you to native plants, flowers, and trees. I walked the South Trail so I could use the park's colorful plant guide to learn about what I was seeing. I am notorious for forgetting the names of plants and flowers, so having a paper guide in my hand is useful!

I ended up my visit at the Chaw'se Regional Indian Museum, where I met the friendly and knowledgeable Ranger/Superintendent of the park named Pepper. After viewing the amazing collection of baskets and other weaving treasures on display, I had a great conversation about the hard-to-see petroglyphs that have largely weathered away on the Chaw'se. Pepper showed me a poster that detailed where they are located and she explained there are optimal conditions and times of day when you can still make some of them out. It won't be long, though, until Earth reclaims them from our sight. 

After pretty much striking out on my Ishi quest the previous day, this visit to the Chaw'se Indian Grinding Rock State Historic Park was a home run. Bonus: they maintain a clean and quiet campground right next to the park, too!

Peace, Love, and Education,

Jim

Road Trip - 4/26/2021 to 5/1/2021 - Part Four

 Waning Gibbous Moon

A short cruise west over the mountains on Hwy 36 from Susanville brought me to the bustling little town of Chester on the north end of Lake Almanor, a large reservoir formed by the damming of the north fork of the Feather River. Chester is the closest town to the mid-point of the Pacific Crest Trail, in ancestral Maidu territory. Before it was flooded by the creation of the lake, the big meadow on the valley floor was home to the original inhabitants of the area for thousands of years. 

I arrived a few days after the opening of fishing season, so there was plenty of optimistic commotion in and around the town. Aside from fishing and other lake-related recreational undertakings, Chester is at its heart a timber town. When you hike the surrounding trails, frequent signs remind you that the logging company that operates in the gorgeous forests is large and in charge.

My business was not in Chester, though. I wanted to stop about 8 miles west of town at the parking area for the PCT and say a brief hello to my old friend. I stretched my legs for a couple of miles south, turned around, and walked back to my car. A few patches of snow still lingered in the shade, but mostly I had a soft forest duff trail and tall, sturdy trees for company in the sunny, early afternoon - perfect! I was reminded that, as hard as all the logistics and planning can sometimes be, hiking on the Pacific Crest Trail is a beautifully simple act.

Next up was something I had wanted to do for a long time. I wanted to ride south along Hwy 32 and see if I could pick up any residual vibes from the past. This was Yana territory, between Mill Creek and Deer Creek in what is now the Ishi Wilderness. Ishi's story is well chronicled in many sources, but in general, Ishi was a man from a small tribe which lived in the rugged, steep terrain between Lassen Peak and the foothills near today's Chico, CA. He was the last surviving member of his band, the rest of whom had been starved and/or murdered in the late 1800's by settlers. California law at the time allowed (encouraged) the extermination of Indigenous people. The Yana had always been a little contentious, even with the peaceful Maidu, due to their difficult living circumstances in rough country, so when the Euro-Americans came along building roads over their ridges and tearing up trees, they fought back. And lost. Ishi, the last of the group, hid for many years, then wandered out of his homeland and was found by a ranch near Oroville, disoriented and hungry. There are books and videos that tell his story in much more detail.

I wanted to spend a little time walking along beautiful Deer Creek and feeling a little of the sense of the place. Had time and people covered up all footprints, real and otherwise, or would I be accepted by this mysterious place and allowed to see any signs of a past presence? I was sad to discover that this was not the day for me to be there. I felt it as soon as I left the car. It was like a wall with a keep out sign, holding back an atmospheric river of pain. I never ignore things like that, so I left. Maybe another day will be better. I really hope so. I took no pictures and I didn't speak a word. I just moved on.

Down the road, on the edge of the Great Central Valley, I entered Chico, a college town which had grown twofold since I was last there. It was a madhouse of car traffic and I couldn't wait to escape - completely consistent with all the feelings that had hit me on Deer Creek. This place was not for me, either, at least not this day. I decided to continue on to Oroville to see if there might be a historical museum with info or exhibits from which I could learn more about Ishi's exit from Yana territory. 

I holed up in a Motel 6 for the night to get clean and to rest from a few days on the road. In the morning I scarfed up some righteous vittles at The Cornucopia Restaurant, a pretty ordinary family diner with really good food.  This was the first time in over a year that I was able to sit at a counter and eat, which I believe is one of life's most enjoyable experiences. I was a happy lad. 

Oroville has a Main Street (Montgomery Street, I think) that runs through a lovely green tree tunnel in their historical district. They have a nice town park, a Veteran's Memorial, and a Pioneer Museum in a cool old stone building. But just like Deer Creek, I was thwarted, this time by museum closure due to COVID. A local walker told me to be sure to come back, though, because they have tons of Ishi stuff, including a wax museum style likeness of him from his time there. "Is that a good thing?" I wondered. 

I wandered over to see the bike path along the Feather River and the park that sits just above it. I was totally impressed. Oroville is a really pleasant place to walk.

Even though I didn't get to hone my Ishi knowledge like I had anticipated, I ended up feeling pretty good about this segment of the trip. I know better than to be disappointed or to give up. I'll come back and try again.

Peace, Love, and Patience,

Jim

Road Trip - 4/26/2021 to 5/1/2021 - Part Three

 Waning Gibbous Moon

The drive between Alturas and Susanville, CA on Hwy 395, as is typical of that highway, features rural grazing landscapes and grand, long-view stopping places. It's not as spectacular as the more famous Eastern Sierra extravaganza-land to the south, but it's also not as crowded with doofus hipsters and freeloading van life creatures. Haha, I sound like a 70 year old man, haha. Much of this land is federally managed, so there are places you can pull over and watch migrating birds and whatever else you are lucky enough to see.

Before long, Susanville comes into view. I like this town a lot. At 4,186 feet, residents experience four distinct seasons. I am sure you can name them, but just in case, here is a helpful hint/acronym: WSSF. With a population of just under 18,000 humans, it is not too big, yet it offers services like Lassen Community College and Lassen Medical Center. The Susan River runs through town, there are snow skiing opportunities, and just about every outdoor pursuit imaginable is within easy reach. Now that I have told you it is a really cool place, please stay away - unless of course, you are passing through and want to drop some bucks at places like the Lumberjack Restaurant. I did, taking in a righteous breakfast-for-lunch experience and the chance to examine up close the silly thing pictured below. It is really hard to miss the Lumberjack Restaurant.

While I was chowing down, I thought about the last time I was in Susanville, two years ago on my convoluted bicycle ride down to Lake Tahoe from Klamath Falls. At that point, I was just beginning to do my research on the tribal bands along the Pacific Crest Trail in this area and I stopped into a small office near the Public Library with a sign on the door that read California Tribal TANF Partnership. TANF, I learned, stands for Temporary Assistance for Needy Families. This office helps to coordinate social programs for Maidu, Washoe, Paiute, and Pit River Indigenous people of the Susanville Rancheria. All of these tribal bands are descendants of natives who lived on land now crossed by the Pacific Crest Trail. Some of the living members still do.

The nice women who worked there two years ago were receptive to my book idea and they provided me with copies of a few maps they had on hand. Overall, they were very encouraging, something I greatly appreciated and have never forgotten. So this time, I walked back into their office with a copy of Walks Far Man in hand and delivered it to the nice lady at the front desk (she was not one of the ones I talked to two years ago, but just as friendly). I explained my story and asked her to read it and share it with her friends. I left feeling like something had come full circle. I really liked that feeling.

The next thing on the agenda was a quick walk on the Bizz Johnson National Recreation Trail. This is a Rails to Trails Hall of Fame Trail (converted railroad track) that runs from the old Susanville Railroad Depot near downtown about 25 miles through the Susan River Canyon to Mason Station (basically northwest toward Old Station, CA and Lassen Volcanic National Park). 

My quick walk from the depot to Hobo Camp and back left me wanting more. I shall return, hopefully with a mountain bike and camping gear. 

There was more to this day, but I will save that for the next installment. Susanville rocks!

Peace, Love, and Towns I Love,

Jim

Road Trip - 4/26/2021 to 5/1/2021 - Part Two

 Waning Gibbous Moon

Many of the locations I wanted to see in Lava Beds  were off limits while the vegetation and soil recover from last summer's fire. It's okay, that just makes me want to come back again and see them even more. I will definitely step up my feeble spelunking gear next time, though, and perhaps recruit a friend or two. 

One thing about Lava Beds is that it is so remote and as yet undeveloped that the campgrounds are unbelievably cheap. Ten dollars per night! With my Senior Pass, I get 50% off, so the price of a night there is about the same as a fancy cup of coffee in the city. The nighttime temperature was still pretty cold, but that was about to change. I think the last week of April is a great time to be there. 

The last site I visited before moving on was Petroglyph Point on the east side of the park, slightly separate from the rest of it. Petroglyph Point is a steep, buff-colored cliff face made of layers of mud and volcanic tuff. At one stage, when the climate was wetter, the cliff face was one side of an island in ancient Modoc Lake. Wave cuts and ripple marks indicate different water levels and erosional processes at the base of the cliff. 

The first humans arrived about 11,500 years ago, paddling their canoes to the island and leaving behind carvings in the soft rock after the water receded, thought to be about 4,500-2,500 years ago. This site boasts one of the most concentrated collections of petroglyphs on the continent, with more than 5,000 symbols in an area the approximate length of a football field. 

Of course, numbskulls from the last couple of hundred years have added their initials and crude approximations of male body parts here and there, so a tall fence now separates visitors from the cliff face. It's ugly, but functional, and you can still photograph the glyphs through the fence lines. I spent a good hour wandering along the rock layers, wondering what the carvings meant, and who had been there when. Great fun.

From there, it was on to Alturas, CA, which serves as the biggest little town in the region. Among other things, it is home to the Wagon Wheel Cafe (breakfast) and Rubio's Taqueria (taco and burrito specials).  I will be back (better-equipped) to check out some of the more complex caves (the truth is that Merrill Cave is rated as one of the least strenuous), see Captain Jack's Stronghold, and behold Medicine Lake, a sacred place for Pit River, Shasta, and Modoc people over the centuries.

Peace, Love, and Petroglyphs,

Jim 

Road Trip - 4/26/2021 to 5/1/2021 - Part One

 Full (Budding Trees or Pink) Moon turning Waning Gibbous Moon

Last Monday, vaccinated with subsequent waiting period fulfilled, blessed with a State of California economic stimulus check, I elected to begin stimulating Hertz Rent-a-Car, Inc. and a myriad of breakfast joints from the Oregon border to Yosemite National Park. It was the least I could do for my homeland. 

I climbed into a nifty little Nissan Versa and blasted North on Interstate 5 to Weed, CA, where I had a delicious breakfast at 3 in the afternoon at the Hi-Lo Cafe. It's a wonderful establishment, exactly as old as I am. 

From Weed, I angled toward Klamath Falls on Hwy 97, part of the Volcanic Legacy Scenic Byway. I had never driven, walked, or ridden on this piece of road. What a show! I pulled over just west of Mount Shasta to look in awe at its cloud hidden majesty. This mountain is the geographic hub of far northern California, normally visible for miles in every direction. Just to view its base and imagine the snow covered peak above it made me shiver. The whole drive to Klamath repeated scenes like these, as the previous week's cold front retreated back toward Alaska.

That night (below freezing) and the next morning (sunny and warming up) I stimulated the economy of southern Oregon at the prestigious Motel 6 and the iconic Black Bear Diner in Klamath Falls. I am sure the ripple effects of my generous transactions were felt at least as far as Weed, if not Yreka and the rest of the State of Jefferson. 

The main reason to go in this direction, however, was not to feed Oregonians. It was to turn around and re-cross the border into Modoc country and the Lava Beds National Monument. Since my bike trip through the park two years ago I have read a lot of the history of the Modoc Wars of 1872-1873 and of Kintpuash, the chief of the Modocs, aka Captain Jack. I highly recommend Hell With the Fire Out: A History of the Modoc Wars by Arthur Quinn if this time period and subject interest you. Kintpuash was a complex character and a reluctant hero. His story is both sad and inspirational. 

Last summer's terrible fires burned through much of the park lands, including Captain Jack's Stronghold, so several park features were fenced off. Lucky for me, I got to explore the Fleener Chimneys (spatter cones and associated vertical lava conduits), Black Crater, the Merrill Ice Cave, and Petroglyph Point. 

The Merrill Ice Cave sent chills up my spine. I was very hesitant to do something as crazy as to venture into a deep dark cave alone with a $2.99 LED flashlight. I waited at the entrance for about fifteen minutes, feeling around in the cave of my mind for a signal on how to proceed. That's when a carload of people showed up: Dad and two pre-teen boys, along with Mom and Grandma. The women were smart,  determined to wait at the surface with the car keys while the three male humans, also sporting $2.99 LED flashlights, grimly started to descend the metal stairs that lead to the large, dark hole in the ground. 

I asked if I could follow along behind them. They saw my $2.99 LED and my fairly obvious clueless malehood and waved me along. I figured that if an Albino Gollum sort of creature popped out to snack on them, I had a pretty good chance of escaping while Dad busied himself with saving his sons or at least their flashlights. I kept a safe distance just in case.

For a place that was completely unsupervised way out in the middle of charred nowhere, the railings, stairs and walkways were top-notch, heavy-duty, high-quality things you could cling to while going straight down into cold, panic-stabbing darkness. Soon I could only see the tiny bit of space in front of me that the LED mostly failed to illuminate, a smoky tube of light maybe a foot or so ahead with a radius of two inches. Not bad for $2.99. I could hear the muffled voices of the Dad and the boys somewhere way down there. Invisible voices in the dark, my favorite.

Soon a pattern developed. A metal ramp leading steeply down to a metal staircase leading really steeply down. Cold steel railing sweating and slick. Uneven overhanging ceiling hard and, like the voices, also invisible. The footing unsure. I found myself forgetting to breathe and I could no longer hear voices. 

After about fifteen minutes of repeating the ramp/staircase/handrail/head bump/toe stub/gasp for breath routine, I noticed three round bobbing circles of light moving toward me from the general direction of way down below. Either the Dad and his boys were coming out or Gollum had eaten them already and he was tricking me with the LED circles. I stopped with the toe stub thing and waited to find out which one it was. That whole notion of turning around and hurrying to the surface was out of the question. 

"Friend or foe?" I asked, seeking solace in what passed as humor given the circumstances. 

No one laughed or otherwise answered my query.

As the lights came closer, the somewhat solemn Dad (pale, I imagined) explained that at the end of a steep staircase, they had come to a vertical tube with a metal ladder attached to one inner side, leading straight down. The two-part question that came to his and his sons' minds was this: how deep was this hole and did the ladder go all the way to the bottom of it? I understood their concern.

They had decided to scram in the up direction, muy pronto, leaving my next move entirely up to poor lonesome me. Naturally, I wanted to see Gollum's Hole in person, who wouldn't, so I hedged my way ahead to probable, if not certain doom. A couple more curving pathway/staircase sequences later, there it was. You could literally step straight into it or trip over the top ladder rung across it or simply be snatched into it and never be seen again - the hardest thing of all of the possible things to do was to stop at the end of the staircase, turn around, and using the ladder inside the hole, lower yourself backwards into oblivion. You would have to pocket your $2.99 LED flashlight and hold on to the cold clammy ladder rungs with both hands. Staring at the invisible, slippery ladder. In the dark. 

Well, I did not even consider proceeding any further. Whatever impossible-to-see cave structure was down there did not hold my interest for one nano-second. Without fall protection, gloves, lights, and a minimum of three large, strong EMTs trained in Gollum warfare, I was not setting foot into that hole. I turned and began to scramble in earnest for the surface. 

When I finally saw Sunlight beaming into the opening, I started to calm down. Everything was okay. I climbed out and headed straight for the Whitney Butte Trail for a few miles of normal hiking on the honest-to-God dirt. The Sun felt so great.

Peace, Love, and Personal Protective Equipment,

Jim