22 Jun (Sun) First
full day of summer and I get to ride
into Piute Meadows! Yee! Haw! Failed to mention yesterday that some sort of
cold front is passing through. Yesterday it was 27° when I woke up and, this
morning, I had 23° just before sunrise! I’d have to guess that Bodie probably
registered the nation’s low temps for this day—might’ve been 19 or 20° there.
Wow. [Bodie, for some reason, is fairly often the coldest place in the country
during summer months.] ◦◦◦◦◦ Another improbable meeting yesterday. I popped
into the office before heading to Twin Lakes, just to get a cup of
bad-coffee-to-go, and walked through the front door to see a fella I knew when
I’d first moved to Lone Pine in ’83 (and hadn’t seen in almost ten years). He
was stopping by on his way through town to pick up a wilderness permit. ◦◦◦◦◦
This guy—Brian Cavalier—was soon to leave on a backpack with his teenage son. I
already knew about this; Brian was a sort of little brother to my friend &
patron, Robert Frickel. Brian was (and still is) a “bad boy,” prone to all
manner of scheming and scamming and troubles attendant. He lives on a boat,
down Mexico way. Without knowing any details I’m under the impression that
Robert helped him forsake (forstall?) a life of crime and, most likely, kept
him out of prison. I never much cared for Brian but he has the innate charm of
any natural-born hustler so you can’t help but like him a little. He hasn’t
changed at all except for going grey. Same beady eyes and irritating,
high-pitched voice. Same big belly. Kid appears to be a typical sullen teenager,
whose existence I knew nothing about until a couple months ago when Robert told
me that Brian and his son were planning to hike the Yosemite to Tahoe Trail
this summer; when we discussed Robert’s visiting me at Piute, he said the most
likely scenario would be if he hiked that portion with Brian. (They’ve stayed
in occasional contact through the years.) So—it was pretty improbable that I’d
meet him at this exact moment (both of us passing through). It was so in-character that he was getting his
permit illegally: the plan was to leave from Tuolumne Meadows but it’s a real
hassle to get the permit there so he was signing a non-quota permit out of
Leavitt Meadows. He proudly told Jo, the front desk lady that day, right to her
face that he was scamming this. (She just shrugged.) And, no doubt, Brian will
have a story ready when the Yosemite ranger asks why his permit says he left from
a place 30 miles away…. ◦◦◦◦◦ Decided to take the cats in today, after all. At
the pack station, walked up to the house to check in with Bart. I was met at
the kitchen door by a tanned woman in her fifties, with bright orange hair,
wearing some sort of anti-gravity bathing-suit top that lavishly displayed a
profusion of bosom. She said, “Remember me?” (I did, but she had to help me with
her first name.) “Cindy! Cindy Silva! Yeah, of course I remember you.” She’d
been a trail cook for Bart, 10 or 11 years ago. Assertive, iron-jawed, strong
woman who likes…men. Many men. She was always “dating” Marines from the base;
always brazenly displaying her breasts. (When we talked, always made sure to look
her right in the eye.) It’s a terrible distraction—and I’m not even a “breast
man.” I just don’t like it…a form of manipulation. What’s up with your tits, Cindy? I should just ask her flat out; see
what she says. Anyway, she’s gonna be around…said she’d “come up and see me”
before giving me a bag of cookies Shirley [Bart’s wife] had just made and a
couple of still-warm cinnamon rolls fresh from the oven. Bribes? ◦◦◦◦◦ Did see
Bart before I left. He walked over, looking
good but obviously weak & tired. [he had prostate cancer.] ◦◦◦◦◦ Sacked
the cats last thing. All sweaty already. Only 5 minutes past the back gate,
Piute’s load rolled over. He suddenly just stopped and I turned to see him
standing there with the panniers around his belly. I knew it was a few pounds off [in balance]—me in a hurry, as usual—but
forgot how easily Piute’s loads turn over (‘cuz him so fat and round).
Fortunately, he’s calm in these situations and in a mere 10 minutes we were
underway again. Balance yer loads,
cowboy! Red stood calmly all the while, cats-in-bags safely slung off his
saddlehorn. ◦◦◦◦◦ Right near the old helicopter-wreck site I rode up on two
lovely young women. One was bent over and touching (examining) a larkspur in
bud. From a goodly distance I could see her
elegant posture; how tuned-in she was to
the plant. We all had a nice chat. They were from Santa Cruz County and I was
sad to leave them. I put out a little prayer just after we parted; very seldom
ask for favors but, right then, felt like my heart was shriveling so I asked
the gods to send me a nice girl like that one this summer. Just one to talk to
and look at a few things with for awhile before she has to press on…. ◦◦◦◦◦ Got
to the cabin at a bit after 5:00. One of the easiest cat-transports ever;
always a relief to get them here safely. All six of us delighted to be home. Mosquitoes
in abundance.
→ 11 miles rode → 10 visitors contacted → 250 lbs freight
23 Jun (Mon) Home…ahhh.
Good to be. Clouds started building early. No grandiose plans for this day—I’m
beat. Some serious cabination with books & naps. The horses had crossed the
river and I could see tiny red specks in the top meadow hillside. And it got
stormy. ◦◦◦◦◦ Had a solid two hour sleep. Roused in the afternoon and walked up
the Tower Lake trail to assess damages. ◦◦◦◦◦ It started graupelling [“soft
hail”] right off. A wonder form of precip: looks like snow, feels like tiny
foam pellets when they hit and just bounce off. The ground can turn white and
you’re still warm & dry! Perfect! And this was a fine storm. Graupel usually
precedes a thunderstorm and rain but this was all we got today, in a series of
dramatic squalls. Took out a couple small trees with my folding saw. Got as far
as the first stream crossing where I could see big snowbanks ahead. No reason
to proceed farther on this recon. Saw the fritillary [locally rare lily-like
plant], soon to bloom and—first time ever—found one plant on the west side of the trail; 8 total. This is the only
place I’ve ever found it in the entire region and I still have a sort of crush
on it, after all these years. ◦◦◦◦◦ On the way back it stormed good and I
ducked under trees a couple times. Sky just riven
with snow-white pellets…a few clear minutes, then more squall. Clouds
shrouding the peaks. John Muir weather. Spooked some mergansers off a pond and
watched them streaking through mists and disappearing into layers of white
veils, like a movie version of a Japanese painting. ◦◦◦◦◦ I burst out into
Upper Piute Meadows as another squall cut loose. The sun—low in the west—came
out from under clouds just then and illuminated the meadows and falling graupel
(about 8.6 million pellets/second) with the peaks, beneath really dark clouds,
behind. It was one of those sights where you can choose to a) Fall to your
knees, hands clasped over your chest, b) Weep quietly, or you can c) Ecstatically
extend arms and twirl around with a silly grin. I chose the latter this time,
emitting awe-sounds. The sky was falling! Really! The sun was dramatically
lighting up all these tiny white pellets—so many of them they, physically, took
up a lot of space—and the scene was illuminated such that it created an almost
dizzying sensation of sky falling down (on my
head!). I’ve said it more than a few times in this log but…this…was one of the finest light shows I’ve been blessed with up here. ◦◦◦◦◦ Back
home, tended the pot of chili I’d made in the morn and hung out with kitties.
It began to thunder, finally, and some even heavier squalls blew through. All
graupel; no hail or rain. Most unusual. Right at dusk, a pair of serious dumps
that left the green meadow all frosted. Went to bed with white ground outside to end this new-summer day.
→ 4 miles
walked → no visitors → 2 trees removed → 150 lbs rock tossed
Quotation printed inside the cover of this volume
of my log:
“…for a long time he had
learned how to live and do his work without ever being more lonely than he
could bear…. [His life] had many of the inventions that lonely people used to
save themselves and even achieve unloneliness with and he had made the rules
and kept the customs and used them consciously and unconsciously.”
—Hemingway, from Islands in the Stream
©2014 Tim Forsell 5 Jun 2014
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