Sometimes it feels like too many of these log entries are little more than accounts of a renegade ranger out a-gallivanting. Gallivanting was indeed my weak spot. And maybe all-time-favorite activity. But, as I’ve noted previously, what I’d put on record for an average sort of patrol day (mundane things like route taken, trailwork details, visitor contacts) make for boring reading. So, okay…many descriptions of beautiful places; wowza! lightning storms; dazzling sunsets. Then there are the ones—too many, I fear—about the times one of the horses or mules almost killed me or I almost got them killed; gripping entertainment, yes, but maybe not the best depictions of “the life.” My personal favorites center around meetings with interesting characters, critter-encounters, or those golden days when something amazing went down—which, I gotta say, happened on a regular basis. ◦◦◦◦◦ At any rate, without question one of the very best features of living and working in the backcountry—for me, at least—was having endless opportunities to explore hidden corners and secret byways that led to craggy viewpoint vistas. It was a thrill, always a thrill, to stumble upon things I’d never seen before that were right in my own backyard (which is how I thought of it). Majestic trees, undiscovered lily ponds, elegant mini-waterfalls, long abandoned trails, nineteenth-century sheepherder carvings…right in my backyard! Within walking distance! ◦◦◦◦◦ Now, I wouldn’t say I “envy” anyone, but there are loads of people who’ve backpacked all over the Sierra and visited wonderlands I’ll never set eyes on—all those high lake-dotted basins in Sequoia and Kings Canyon, for one. (Not to mention Utah. And Arizona. Alaska…et cetera.) Truth is, I’ve only seen a tiny sliver of the Sierra, having spent all those spring-summer-falls on just the one district. But I did get to know a few special places. Really…well. Piute Log entries like the following hopefully convey some of what it means to feel a soul-deep connection to PLACE; what it’s like when PLACE becomes an extension of one’s interior life.
27 Jul (Sat) Really beat from two days of hard ridin’ and hard workin’. Hard to wake up! Laid abed, unable to open my eyes, listening to the river-talk coming from where it starts into the gorge (only place the river speaks with more than a whisper in the whole mile-long length of the meadow). ◦◦◦◦◦ Caught and grained the equines. Unsure what to do with my day—psyched to work but feeling pretty depleted. Finally opted for sort-of-a rest day. Sprayed Red and Val down with bug juice then turned ‘em loose. Yippeee! ◦◦◦◦◦ Once across the river, I walked up the trail just a bit before striking off due north, traversing to a small saddle (this, half a mile from cabin). Continued on a contour til I reached a darling little pond, then began a slow climb through mixed forest of Jeffreys and junipers and white pine til I was on a steep, sandy slope maybe 600 vertical feet directly above Sheepherder Meadow. I’ve noticed this open slope from the Long Lakes trail, directly ‘cross canyon, and thought it looked like an easy way to get over the ridge and then on down to Beartrap Lake. Near the top of this steep slope was a stately juniper of the “inverted carrot” variety: 8’–9’ diameter five feet above ground level on the uphill side but only about 55 feet tall; southern exposure, symmetrical form, in its prime. I hoiked myself up to the tippy top of this maybe two-millennia-old grandfather juniper (thanks to a virtual ladder of dead limbs down low) and stood in comfort on its uppermost branchlets, eyes above the ultimate twigs, and surveyed ay my leisure the entire western half of my domain. Superb vantage and perspective. Tower Peak looking very grand. While scanning sky & peak, I spotted one of the local eagles, a good mile away and soaring very high. They don’t see detail but can detect motion at great distances so I began waving my free arm and, sur’ nuf, within about a minute the eagle glided over, still sky high, and circled directly overhead. This is their domain, too, and they do like to keep an eye on things. ◦◦◦◦◦ From there I proceeded coyote-style, zagging and zigging according to whim only, on up to the crest. A forgotten piece of ridge-top real estate, easy on the legs and eyes—in places an open woodland with tall grass where the sun makes it to the ground, all of it cut up by tasteful white granite slabs and little bluffs. Found lion scat (compressed marmot fur + bone). Glacierized knobs (one, with xlnt 40’rock route, nice big incut holds), a tiny spring-fed brook on very ridgetop flowing through an alpiney meadowlet. Came to a rocky point overlooking Upper Piute Meadows, cabin directly below. Right there! Feeling a bone-deep tiredness set in (probably shoulda stayed home and rested) but it was all so fine and Wildernessy. Must say, not many folks have the opportunity to take strolls of this caliber right out their door. And for this gift I am forever grateful. ◦◦◦◦◦ Right at the top, found Stenotus acaulis and Eriophyllum lanatum, two yellow-daisy type flowers, both perennials. Only the third locality I’ve seen either of these plants up here but, so far, never together. They favor open patches of DG. ◦◦◦◦◦ Lowered myself down the hill on heavy legs—1700 vertical in just over a horizontal mile through a series of verdant pocket meadows that are invisible from the cabin, hidden beneath dense timber. This whole mountainside is watered by springs forced to the surface where shallow soils overlay granite bedrock. Found crumbling remnants of ancient cowpies—old Bim Koenig’s cows would spend entire summers up here trampling these pristine hillside meadows and never be seen by a soul. Loads of bear sign. ◦◦◦◦◦ Popped out of the woods directly above the log bridge across from the cabin, feeling a bit smug and self-satisfied with my honed route-finding skills. ◦◦◦◦◦ To the cabin, now thoroughly zonked and flagging. Après nap, worked on this log whilst sitting on the porch in my little folding chair…a light drizzly rain, horses grazing right over there. I’m writing in the present (for a change). One of the young marmots just jogged up to the porch with a ridiculous mouthful of elk sedge protruding from either side of its mouth. The little feller stopped a scant yard from my left foot, stood up on hind legs, and eyed me intently while sniffing the air for more info. Seems they’ve begun to accept my presence somewhat. Times like this, I’m tempted to start feeding them…maybe get ‘em to where they’re eatin’ right outa my hand. No, no. Better not.
©2024 Tim Forsell 22 Jan 2024
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