21 Jun
(Mon) Heading out today. SOLSTICE!
Big walk, in celebration. Came up with this great plan: walk over the mountain
into Long Canyon, over another ridge into Yparrequirre Canyon [local Basque
sheepherder’s surname, pronounced “para-gary”], up another slope to the crest,
follow that all the way out and drop down near Poore Lake. (This is the long
ridge-line bounding the upper West Walker on the east you look up at while walking
in.) ◦◦◦◦◦ Took the trail as far as Sheepherder Meadow then went straight uphill
following a vernal drainage—delightful noisy brook in June. I’d been up this
way once before but by a slightly different line. Today, I paralleled the
little water-run via this route I hereby christen, “Avenue of the Giants.” (Not
very original, I know, but apt.) Saw some grand individuals of Jeffrey and
western white pine, red fir, Sierra juniper. The red fir, on a steep sidehill
with big catface [hollowed-out burn scar at a tree’s base], is probably the largest
I’ve seen in this country. Lower, there was a 6’ DBH
[diameter-at-breast-height] Jeffrey…by
no means the tallest hereabouts but a very mature tree with deeply furrowed
bark and colossal limbs growing straight out; one particularly huge limb gave
the tree real character through asymmetry. As always, I approach the Grandfather
trees with respect and awe—emotions I don’t have to feign—and usually I speak to them. (Guess that makes me
a certified tree-hugger.) But the Old Ones have such presence. Like the fir, this one also had a deep catface. If a tall
conifer is healthy and sound, it eventually gets struck by lightning and partially
burned—saved by its thick, inflammable bark. A catface is the mark of a mature
tree. (Giant sequoias, 2000 years old and more—fallen individuals—have been examined
in cross section and found to be scored by dozens
of fires.) ◦◦◦◦◦ I stood beneath this old fella—not even a hundred feet
tall—leaning on one hand to steady myself, looking straight up its trunk. And
saw another miracle. (That makes two in three days.) ◦◦◦◦◦ As the platy-barked
pines mature, the trunk adds new growth-rings yearly and fresh layers of jigsaw-puzzle
bark-plates. The plates continually slough off like dead skin cells as the
trunk expands in girth, and the furrows grow both deeper and wider. Older trees
have noticeably deeper furrows. Peering up the trunk, I saw that virtually
every bark-furrow was spanned by small, perfectly formed orb-spider’s webs. An
average furrow might be 4-5” deep and wide, a foot or more long, and might
sport two webs. All these webs looked
like they’d been built last night—were unblemished…not yet shredded by
thrashing insects. This one individual clearly housed thousands of webs, which completely swathed the gigantic pine. The makers of these webs were the first spring spider
hatchlings, all of the same age. Every single one trying its best to eke out a
living; each web-maker had staked out a territory and had a solid chance of
making it. (These bark furrows are perfect night-roosts for all manner of gnats,
flies, and mosquitoes.) Not a spider could I see but their handiwork was legion
and I found myself stunned—once again!—by the propensity of LIFE to create forms
that exploit each and every available niche. The pattern is repeated endlessly
in desert, jungle, forest, tundra. This Grandfather Jeffrey was home to literally
millions of inhabitants—viruses, bacteria,
fungi, lichens, insects, arachnids, birds, mammals. For all of them, this tree
is their entire world. For all I know,
this one pine may be home to 50 spider species; perhaps more…or maybe “only” a
dozen. Maybe 100,000 individuals—or possibly “only” 10,000. ◦◦◦◦◦ Now, dig this.
As I continued up the hillside I checked out a number of different trees. Other
Jeffreys, the same: covered stem to stern with glistening silken webs all lit
up in contrast to the shadowed fissures. Red firs had similar deep, long
furrows but no orb-webs—instead, cob-webs. Can’t say I applied purest
scientific rigor to this brief study but what I saw showed a pattern suggestive
of even greater natural complexity than I’ve imagined—a whole ‘nother layer. It
appears that various kinds of trees have their own types of spiders, fer
goo’ness sakes! Different tree species, different arachnid fauna! And these assorted
spiders likely have unique species of parasitic mites that prey exclusively on them. (“The fleas’ fleas’ have fleas….”)
These ideas leave me completely whelmed;
in fact, I’m overwhelmed. ◦◦◦◦◦ More
stuff! Got up onto an open slope and stopped to catch my breath. I’m in the
middle of nowhere, as we say. Had a passing thought: This is perfect country for finding an arrowhead. Moments later I
continue…look down…glimpse a glint…bend down and pick up a broken arrowhead.
Tip and base both gone, but a delicate thing hand-made of volcanic glass
hundreds of years ago. Perhaps several thousand. After admiring, tossed it back
down and the thing landed in a small plant’s shadow…completely invisible. Now,
what are you supposed to think when things like this happen? ◦◦◦◦◦ Over the
top, down into Long Canyon, and hopped the creek. Contoured toward
Yparrequirre, stumbled upon obscure Beartrap Meadow (only my second visit—Doc
Grishaw says that it’s named for an old bear trap that was hanging in a tree; Beartrap
Lake’s name came from this meadow). Thence over what I call “Sheepherder Gap”
into Y-Canyon and then cut straight across and through a granite cliff band to
the ridgetop at about 10200’. I’d ridden Pal over this section way back in 1990
or ’91—an amazing ride, to be on horseback up so high and so exposed, made
possible by the crumbly nature of the andesitic lava flows that make up much of
this ridge. (Andesite doesn’t tend to form cliffs or talus, has relatively
little plant cover.) ◦◦◦◦◦ Lots of sun and sky, great views of the whole drainage. Several “new” alpine
flowers. Saw the ten thousand things. Very little wildlife, though—no eagle sightings.
Great flowers and trees…or impressive lack thereof. Strode right over the top
of Blue Mountain. Some lovely slate rocks with shapes and patterns and color
schemes most tasteful. ◦◦◦◦◦ Getting late and I was still up top, looking down
on the outlet end of Poore Lake from 2000 feet above in pure stands of
whitebark pine. Sheep-sign everywhere. (White woolies, that is….) Finally
bailed and copped a great, unexpected 500 foot glissade down a snow-filled
gulley. Bonus! Followed by another vertical grand of slippery-slidey shale. Ball-bearings
on a slab finally got me and I fell hard on my butt (big purple bruiser…) but did not rip my pants, thanks! ◦◦◦◦◦ Reached
bottom just north of Poore Lake dam. Visited two small ponds before hitting the
old road and got back to my truck, thoroughly toasted, just at 8:00. Almost 12
hours on the mountain striding gaily. For such days I am grateful, amen. ◦◦◦◦◦
But! Not over yet! Further treats awaiting! ◦◦◦◦◦ Thinking: hot water. Spectacular
pink and orange sunset happening. Decided to check out the roadside hot pool
Mike Haas told me about. Never tried it. [This in the vicinity of Fales
Hotsprings.] Mike liked it lots. I’d told Colin; he stopped…said it was no good
at all. Well, I had me a fine soak!
Warm—not hot—water flows through a culvert under Highway 395. Little pool right
below the roadway, pretty much out of sight. Traffic, thankfully, was very light.
Clean-flowing warm current plus pink clouds. I scrubbed out the dirt and angst
and tiredness. Fire in the sky, sighs by and by…what a fine day and perfect
Solstice celebration. (Marred only by no mail.)
→ 16 or so miles
→ 16 or so miles
Copied
inside the cover of this volume of Piute
Log:
To
live in this world
You
must be able
To
do three things:
To
love what is mortal;
To
hold it
Against
your own bones knowing
Your
own life depends on it;
And,
when the time comes to let it go;
To
let it go.
from “In Blackwater Woods” by Mary Oliver
The simplicity I seek is not
the enforced austerity of the poor. I seed instead the richness of a gathered
and deliberate life, which comes from letting one’s belongings and commitments
be few in number and high in quality.
Scott Russell Sanders
© 2015 Tim
Forsell 26 Oct 2015
