There’s nothing
particularly dramatic about this entry. It represents a typical, ordinary day
of rangering in one of my more remote areas, frequented by few tourists. Some
trail work—this day, just the clearing of waterbreaks so that water drains off
the trail-tread, pruning of bushes, and removal of loose stones. Nature
observations. (And, since I wasn’t visiting a popular lake on a weekend, no customary
cynical rant.) And this entry includes one of my very favorite activities: the
post-work cross-country exploratory hike back to the cabin. In this regard, I
was a poor ranger—a proper ranger always stays on trails to meet as many
visitors as possible. I, instead, often chose to avoid them in favor of learning
the lay of the land. A true joy….
20 Jul (Sun)
Warm and cloudy again. Visited with three guys just coming down from Tower
Peak and showed them where to cross the river. ◦◦◦◦◦ I’d already decided to
head up that way myself. Not been to Tower Lake yet this season plus this is
one of the trails I wasn’t able to work last fall and so wanted to make sure
all the drains are at least unclogged after the rains (with more coming). Warm
again—75° today!—and so humid! Not used to this at all; any little bit of work
or uphill walk and I’m almost instantly dripping, shirts soaked, brow swabbing
constant. Guzzle water, quarts a day. Today—bless-ed clouds mostly and I missed
getting rained on (in both senses….) Rocked and cleaned W-Bs. Lots of pruning
and clearing of saplings needs doin’. But the trail was in great shape ‘cept
those sections just below the meadow which are too steep and out-of-control,
big gullies fulla rock. Getting worse by the year. ◦◦◦◦◦ Checked the handful of
obscure camps along the way. Some are lovely sites, very seldom used. Everybody
hell-bent to get to the lake. ◦◦◦◦◦ Rested there on the turfy shore and tried
to dry off in the eternal breeze there near the outlet. Saw no fish again.
(Supposedly a few are left.) And, sigh, that horrid but inevitable camp in the
whitebarks—a real abortion—that I’ve ignored for 15 summers now. Will it just
go away by itself? No, not until the next glacier arrives but that may be
awhile. Move it up to the short list, Fersell, and deal. ◦◦◦◦◦ Took
scenic route home. Despite rumblings, no rain fell on me. Crossed at the outlet
(by the way, no mergansers here, neither…where they be?) and followed Hobbit-ledge
along the top of the striped face made famous (to me, at least) by Gary Snyder [in
a poem he wrote during a visit to Tower Lake] and, first time ever, followed
the crest of glacier-hewn ledges that rim Tower Creek. On the way up I
noticed (again, 1st time) that there was a semi-continuous series of
these cliffs atop the otherwise crumbly gorge of Tower Creek. “Great views and
slabs,” I thought. Well, it was a four-star classic rock-hop of a journey. I’d
certainly been through there, many times. First stop was the ultra-classic
“Pond-On-the-Edge,” one of the most scenic spots around, period: a cliff-bound
kettle, its outer “shore” perched right on the brink of one of the broad ledges.
But I followed that edge the whole way and visited all this new, glacier-smoothed
granodiorite with views down into the gorge and across towards Hawksbeak Peak
and down into Upper Piute. Most inspiring under grand lighting conditions with
the grey sky, patches of blue, with light shafts spotlighting various hills and
dales. Joined the trail again near where the old and new versions meet. More
stones and W-Bs. Looked for the fritillary. None blooming; only about four
plants, drying and almost invisible in the grass, none with pods (as usual).
Couldn’t find the one plant I’d seen on the other side of the trail. What a
mystery this little lily is—why it’s here, why it’s nowhere else, how it hangs
on. For all I know, it’s grown here for thousands of years. Is it pure
coincidence that it looks mysterious and exotic and is virtually
invisible? Every season I try to get to Tower Lake sometime in July and
anxiously scan for individual plants in that maybe 75 square yard place under the
lodgepoles where that little brook crosses the trail—the only place I’ve ever
seen this species.
→ 3
visitors → 400 lbs. rock → 36 W-Bs cleaned → some trash bits → 8 miles
Copied on the first page of this volume of Piute Log:
There is a little voice in all of us that is
just a whisper. A tiny whisper. When you go into nature, into the wilds,
especially alone, the whisper can come out and talk more. Inside each of us is
the spirit that whispers. This little voice is our true self. If we can listen,
it will start to get louder. Eventually, that whisper will be our normal voice.
That’s when I really live and when dreams become reality. When I live from that
deep intuitive place.
Jennifer Hahn
Thought doesn’t help; what you need is not
casual explanations but will and a great deal of mental energy.
Etty Hillesum, journal entry
Fact: Americans use about 800 million
gallons of gas per year to mow 54 million lawns.
©2017 Tim
Forsell 22 Aug 2017
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