“We are not human beings having a spiritual experience.
We are spiritual beings having a human experience.”
— Pierre Teilhard de Chardin
I chose to time my trip with a solar eclipse that was going to occur across the continental U.S. in mid-August. Only a narrow band traversing central Oregon would witness the “total” eclipse, but my latitude would be high enough to view about 90% occlusion of the sun by the intervening moon (using proper eye protection, of course). Naturally, I planned to be sitting on the Altar when that happened, so that I might receive the full astronomical effect of whatever was going to happen. I hoped there wouldn’t be any clouds on that auspicious morning!
Before I left, I learned some new words on the Internet websites that featured everything science knows about a solar eclipse, including:
Umbra = the darkest part of shadow of the moon on the earth
Penumbra = a lighter part of the shadow, i.e. partial eclipse
I heard that Oregon was expecting a million people to invade the umbra, or “zone of totality” as they were calling it, which was the definite path the shadow of the moon would follow as it tracked across the state. It was very tempting to drive farther north and view the full effects firsthand; perhaps even to find another wilderness lake from which to enjoy it. However, a week before the event there was a forest fire near Mt. Jefferson – one of the prime viewing spots – and the Forest Service closed access to thousands of square miles north of Bend. All the people who were planning to camp or backpack in that area would be displaced. With all the hype leading up to the phenomenon, this would certainly condense the traffic in a state that had mostly small highways. By the actual Day of the Eclipse, there was going to be so much congestion that one would have to endure quite an ordeal just to witness two minutes of a total eclipse! It would be more like the Apoc-eclipse than a communal gathering. The choices were plainly different: either experience a moment of celestial magnificence with a huge crowd of people, or get away from the hyperbolic masses and share a timeless interlude with the spirits of the wilderness. For me, the decision was easy.
I borrowed Dimari’s dependable manual Civic again, and hit the road. The boyish sense of adventure returned once I was clear of the familiar local freeway traffic and merged onto Highway 5 headed north. I went through Redding during rush hour, but it wasn’t too bad. That town used to be about the same population as Novato, but was now nearly double, and the place was crawling with an infestation of cars and people the way a kitchen becomes overrun with cockroaches. Once clear of the city, Whiskeytown Lake filled the Civic’s windows with blue water views. The massive construction project on 299 was still going strong, but I drove up just as the pilot car was turning around, so there was no delay. I took the cutoff towards Lewiston properly this time, bypassing Weaverville to head north once again on Highway 3. It was such a joy to drive a manual transmission on a wide open road – especially one with a killer view! Downshifting for the turns, and releasing the clutch when accelerating, I could truly feel the allure of the highway.
The sky was hazy and sepia toned, as if there was a forest fire somewhere nearby. Along the way I passed the site of the old “Wyntoon” resort, which was now a commercialized KOA Campground. I bought a big salad for my dinner, and ate it next to the North Fork of the Trinity River at Eagle Creek campground, just for old times’ sake. As I grazed placidly on my garden veggies, I remembered “scrooching” (floating prone on an air mattress) past this very spot 45 years ago! The campground was now rundown and dusty, but remained a picture postcard memory in my mind’s scrapbook. I drove slowly over the waves of potholes back to Highway 3, and continued a couple miles north to the Bear Creek Loop. The access road to the trailhead has been sporadically maintained over the years, and parts of it were like driving through a dry riverbed on exposed stones and boulders. I was disappointed to see there were three cars and a truck already parked at the trailhead. I still had a couple hours of daylight left, however, and explored the area surrounding the confluence of Bear Creek and the Trinity River on foot. Two narrow tracks led off in opposite directions from the dirt road. One turned uphill just before the parking area, and another went downhill towards the river. Both led to awesome campsites that were level and shady, and suitable for large groups (with or without horses). The one right next to the river had its own swimming hole! I considered relocating for the night, but had already set up my tent and was too lazy to move it.
I slept almost not at all, while busloads of horses paraded through my dreams. I heard two distant voices coming down the trail about an hour after dark, as a couple was using headlamps to navigate down the trail. They got louder as they neared their car, threw their stuff in the trunk, and promptly left. Probably day hikers, was my last coherent thought before I awoke in the predawn gloom, barely able to see the walls of my tent. I got up as soon as I could see outside without a flashlight. I had been tossing and turning all night, and didn’t want my back to stiffen up. Apparently my old Coleman air mattress had sprung a leak, because it was as flat as a tortilla! I performed my morning body ablutions of ejecting yesterday’s food out one end, and cramming more food into the other, the way grist is added to a mill. I easily shouldered my pack, which was already prepared of course, but by then it weighed about 35 lbs. with trail water. Not bad, but still heavier than the load for which I had hoped. I left as the sun was illuminating the treetops to the west with an orange light that reminded me of the many fires burning out of control all over Northern California during the hottest weather of the summer. It was going to be a real head-roaster today, but I wore long sleeves anyway –to thwart the mosquitoes in the shady first part of the trail.
As I ambled down and across Bear Creek, I tested my injured knees with trepidation, and worked out the best way to wield the trekking poles with both hands. I had a compression sleeve on each knee, under the usual Velcro and neoprene braces. I was prepared to abort the backpacking trip and drive up to watch the eclipse in Oregon if my old joints weren’t up to the task. To make it worse, I stupidly left my hiking boots (of all things!) at home, sitting on the hearth of the fireplace, where they had been drying after a little repair with shoe goo. All I had were my vintage Nike Air Monarch basketball shoes, so I expected to have more trekking discomfort than usual. On the positive side, my dribbling skills were sure to benefit. Fortunately, I had some sticky ace bandages with my gear, so I wrapped my ankles tightly as if I was ready to take the court. It felt like walking on stilts. So far, so good, I pondered, as I crossed the Loop again and headed uphill into the wilderness, taking it nice and slow; carefully placing each foot and repeating my mantra for this trip: “Only excellent steps… Only excellent steps.” One always has to be careful when navigating the back country alone, but both of my knees already needed surgery, so I vowed to be extra cautious. If this old wagon breaks down, I mused, I’d have to wait next to the trail until someone comes by, and that would ruin their trip, too.
Amazingly, the first part of the trail was as easy as I ever remembered. The lighter pack and new trekking poles seemed to make a big difference! I crossed the creek again before it was fully light in the forest. The deliberate pace also helped me to avoid dehydration and altitude sickness, and by the time I got to the Two Towers for a pack off rest, I still felt pretty good. The charming little campsite next to the creek was getting to be too noticeable, though. Someone put a sawed-off tree trunk on its end for a table, and another fool took a crap right next to one of the twin Ponderosa columns! To me this was a sacrilege, like finding soiled toilet paper in a temple. This is supposed to be a wilderness area, people!! However vexed, I still felt compassion for a being that was so ignorant as to defile its own sacrum. I took more time than I intended, burying the offending organic waste, and scouring the area and picking up bits of trash. Next to a shady bend in the creek, I could easily see the Beater Cedar 2,000 feet above me on the ridge, while I was still standing right next to the fire ring of this pretty little glade. Bear Creek chuckled through a labyrinth of boulders at my feet, which made it easy to refill my trail bottle.
Seeing a campfire ring was an ambivalent reminder of human presence. On one hand, it was a blemish on the forestscape; a stark reminder of our species’ propensity for ruining nearly everything it touched. On the other hand, it evoked a timeless sense of human beings communing with the wild while gazing into a campfire on a starry summer evening. I decided I could abide by the fire ring, but not the sawed-off log that looked like a chopping block. I discreetly rolled the offending lumberjack table behind a nearby stump. I could feel the approval of the trees as the wood was rescued from its unnatural use and returned to the matrix of living forest.
It was heartening in the past few years to discover that the science of biology had progressed to the point where it proved something I had felt for most of my life: that the forest is an interconnected, symbiotic system that is alive and networking. I recently read the book The Hidden Life of Trees by Peter Wohlleben, a forester from Germany, in which he described how trees communicate through arboreal senses of touch and smell. This “tree-mail” is facilitated by networks of mycocelia, or fungus, which are usually the largest organisms in a forest – indeed, on the whole planet! The soil beneath my feet was alive with billions of messages being exchanged back and forth at a sub-molecular level… and probably also on levels which science has yet to discover.
The subterranean interchange was starting to get hot, however, and it was time to get going. The increasing smoke in the air was now casting weird blue shadows on the white granite boulders that stood out in the forest like memorial statues in a park. About a half mile below Big Bear, I met a group of four packers leaving for Oregon so they could watch the eclipse. I bade them good tidings, smirking to myself that I might be entirely alone up here to experience a solar eclipse! But I was worried I might never see it. By the time I got up to the pools where I would cross the creek a third time, the smoke was so thick, I couldn’t even make out Shasta to the east.
My intent on this trip was to go around to the back of Big Bear Lake, which I hadn’t done in a long time, and hike up the pass to Little Bear Lake. Every day I saw a picture of that liquid alpine gem taken from that pass, because I have it as a screen saver on my computer. Baking in the sun, I poled my way up the final stretch of trail to Big Bear, and found just one guy camping there with his dog. The former was friendly, and the latter was asleep. I scanned my planned route to the southwest with my field glasses, and decided it was much too overgrown to allow easy passage. The entire opposite shoreline appeared to be choked with brush – probably alders and manzanita – and I was in no mood for bushwhacking! I changed my plans and headed back down to the pools, where I took off my pack and refilled my water bottle before scrambling up over that huge shoulder of granite to access the usual route to Wee Bear Lake. Up on that crumbling ridge, I slipped a couple of times on loose stones, but saved myself with the trekking poles. They were useless in the brush, being too light to cut a path, but were excellent for balance checks and pushing off on rocks. They took some getting used to, but were proving nimble and up to the task.
By the time I got to Wee Bear Lake, the smoke was still increasing in the sky, and a dirty wind from the north had picked up. Perhaps that was the source of the fires, which would make things even more interesting for the masses headed up to Oregon this weekend to watch the eclipse on Monday. The sky was shrouded in an eerie haziness, but was filtering the intense sunlight, too. It was supposed to be triple digit temperatures all throughout the Trinity Alps this weekend. How awful it would be in the hot, rugged canyons! As I stepped through the granite portal, and the lovely face of Wee Bear reappeared, a cool breeze bounded across the tiny lake and kissed me in welcome. Once again, I found myself to be the only person in the entire basin, and I triumphantly claimed the shadiest campsite. It felt so wonderful to peel off my knee braces, compression sleeves, ankle tape, and thick socks, but underneath it all, my white legs quivered like noodles. My knees felt intact, but tired and sore, and my ankles were played out. How I wished I could hover like a hummingbird! At best, I could hobble around camp and set things up in the shaky but deliberate manner of a very old man moving into a rest home. I was even using my trekking poles like a walker! There was no way I was going back down that trail without a couple of days rest, at least. I was stuck up here, even if the eclipse was obscured by smoke!
I pumped some water before my legs stiffened up, then washed my body and my trail clothes in Little Bear Lake. The haze was so thick already – even in this high lake basin – I could barely make out the features of the stunning rock wall behind the lake. It was obscured in a blue-gray miasma that burned like gun smoke. It appeared as though this trip’s activities would have to focus on the little things! I gathered my dinner fixins together and headed back down to Wee Bear to check on the weather. The panoramic, jaw-dropping views, for which this spectacular bluff was a legend in my mind, sadly weren’t there anymore. Scouting around, I was astonished at how appallingly thick the smoke had become to the north and east. I couldn’t see anything of Sawtooth but an indigo silhouette, and Sphinx Rock had the shrouded, sepia tones of a mystical Chinese watercolor hidden in the mist.
I was seated above the best fishing spot at Wee Bear, doing my best to enjoy the compromised scenery, when I heard voices… and two men suddenly appeared on the bluff I called the Sanctuary. They had missed entering through the portal at the north end of Wee Bear, which confers the special blessings of its revelatory view when approached humbly. They did seem suitably impressed with their surroundings, however, and were making appreciative noises to some people behind them, still out of sight. Then a third man appeared, and they muddled about like tourists looking for a place to eat, then started making their way around the shoreline and up towards Little Bear. Then a solitary, more observant man appeared on the bluff, and he saw me almost immediately, lounging on my horizontal bench in the rock wall. He waved, and I waved back. Soon, three more people materialized from the smoky haze, and I pegged them as older women. Their uncertain gait and diminutive packs gave them away, but they never saw me, either. They were all headed up to the bigger lake by this time, chattering and gesturing about the beauty of the setting. Their large group would soon discover that I had already claimed the best shady campsite! I figured I should make my presence known so they didn’t toss my tent into the bushes and take over the place. I pushed my way back up the hill, enduring the vehement protests of my lower body, and leaning on the trekking poles heavily. I came upon the observant man who had waved at me, but now he was smoking a cigarette by the trail and staring at his cell phone! Like, OMG, he just had to check his Facebook in the middle of a backpacking trip! The rest of the noisy group had spread out on the flat areas near the shoreline past my camp. I hobbled back to my campsite, and tried to look possessively busy; spreading my meager equipment out a bit more like a perimeter defense of personal belongings.
As the afternoon wore into evening they all settled down, and were probably as tired as I was. My social tendencies were intrigued by having company, but a part of me was very disappointed that a group of seven people had invaded my sanctuary! This was the largest group I had ever seen staying overnight. I wondered if I might make the best of it, and mosey over to be friendly later if I wasn’t too tired. But I was too tired. The sun was going down, and I was really looking forward to a good night’s sleep on my new air mattress! I hoped my neighbors wouldn’t make too much noise, or the local homeowner’s association was going to hear about it in the morning…
“My spirit is warmed up with the visions of my destiny; while my heart is burning with the desires to achieve them all. Those thoughts have produced a thick smoke that’s clouding my mind from focusing in the present moment.”
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