13 Jul (Sun) Had Mike
& Rene over for breakfast early. Pancakes & sausage. Mike has a new dog,
one of those unfriendly, serious little cow-dogs that you see hereabouts riding
in beat up, mud-smeered pickups that have gun racks in the cab and saddles in
back with a bale of hay and the dog. This one is a canine ”teenager” named
“Snuffy,” all jacked up and under-foot or nosing your leg or jumping on you.
Mike yelling after him all the time. ◦◦◦◦◦ After breakfast we wandered down to
the sunny meadow edge with coffee mugs. Lucy followed. Snuffy was off somewhere
but reappeared. Mike asked if I wanted to put my cat in the cabin. “Nooo…that’s
okay. She needs some ‘education.’” Sure enough, young Snuffy bonded over ready
to play, obviously just curious and not intent on slaughter and feasting on
cat-meat. Lucy was suddenly twice her normal size, every hair erect, up on
tip-toes like a ballet dancer but with a scowl. She had her head cocked to the
side and this look that TV wrastlers use on each other while circling in the
ring. A deep grow to go with the scowl, running on adrenaline and mojo. Snuffy
advanced. Lucy leapt and spit and I barely perceived the lightning-swift strike
of paw that barely missed. Snuffy retreated, ears down and worried look, but
soon was back. Lucy seemed to understand she had the upper hand because she
became bolder and started moving toward the
dog all puffed and sideways with back arched and head down with ears flattened,
a picture of menace. The dog bounded toward her a couple times but she kept
advancing and—just like that!—the dog was running toward the cabin with cat in
hot pursuit. Dumbfounded, I watched my frail, feminine, seven pound kitty vault
off the log bench in front of the porch onto
the dog’s back, all claw and tooth. For a long long moment she rode Snuffy
like a bull, stuck like a burr, and he spun in a panic and squealed. She
dismounted gracefully onto the wood-chopping round. All this happened in about five
seconds. I laughed so hard! Sic ‘em,
Lucy! Mike was crestfallen and I told him I could hardly wait to tell all
Cranney’s packers how my cat licked his dog! Har har har! Too Rich! ◦◦◦◦◦ Ready
for an easy day. Inclusive of my “active” four days off, I’ve been traveling daily for 19 days. That’s over
140 miles on the Forest plus two big hikes in Yosemite. ◦◦◦◦◦ Hiked up the hill
behind the cabin into what I call “Piute Wilderness.” Walked the ridgetop to
Pt. 10720+. Two “excuses”: wanted to find new alpine wildflowers and have a
look-see. (Lorenzo used to say, “A ranger’s job is to range.”) Typically, I don’t visit the timberline ‘til later in the
summer when things have calmed down but the flowers up there are past. This is
an area in the local flora I’m pretty behind on. Found several new ones today. ◦◦◦◦◦
That little unnamed “bump” on the ridge turns out to command a fantastic view.
Looking down on all six Sister Lakes plus Dorothy; down canyon to Long Lakes, a
chunk of Fremont, the edge of Leavitt Meadows. Sawtooth Ridge, Doghead Peak,
and Whorl Mountain in Yosemite, directly across at Tower Peak with the sheer
face of Hawksbeak a white wedge across the canyon. Whew! Scanned all with
binocs. ◦◦◦◦◦ Cruised home, down into Tower Canyon cross-country; even got some
glissading in [“boot skiing”]. ◦◦◦◦◦ Oh, yeah: on the way up I was approaching
the ridgetop, pounding up snowslopes between rock ribs. I stepped off rock onto
one big snowpatch right where a coyote had done the same. I followed its
prints, the route I was choosing on my own. The coyote’s prints well-spaced and
resolute. Hit rock again and strolled across glacier-carved slabs between
outcrops. A bit farther on I came onto more snow and the wild dog’s prints were
there again. This happened twice more as
I weaved a route through rocky passages and across slabs—it wasn’t an obvious line; had to “choose” a route—but
kept striking those prints. This was a dramatic confirmation of a notion I’ve
had for a long time: that, when you’re traveling cross-country, there’s a
“proper” route. It’s a matter of one-step-at-a-time. Each step requires a
decision as to the next one. If you continuously make the right choices, while
always scouting ahead, you’ll find yourself on the “right” route—the easy way,
the direct way. Of course, this isn’t always the case, but I’ve noted so many
times while hiking off trail that I’ll repeatedly run into somebody else’s
tracks. So, today: that coyote and I were both headed for the ridgetop while
going in a southerly direction. We both picked the same path. Maybe sounds
trivial but it was actually quite a thrill to keep striking the wild animal’s
trail. Made me feel wild, too.
Quotes copied inside the cover
of this volume of Piute Log:
Wilderness
appealed to those bored or disgusted with man and his works. It not only
offered an escape from society but also was an ideal stage for the romantic
individual to exercise the cult that he frequently made of his own soul. The
solitude and total freedom of the wilderness created a perfect setting for
either melancholy or exaltation.
—Roderick
Nash
There
are people who follow instinct and impulse, much like a horse or a dog, all
through rather eventful lives and, in some things, make fewer mistakes than men
who act only from reason.
—Joaqin Miller
©2015 Tim Forsell 7 Apr 2015
No comments:
Post a Comment