“Love alone is capable of uniting living beings in such a way as to complete and fulfill them,
for it alone takes them and joins them to what is deepest in themselves.”
— Pierre Teilhard de Chardin
I woke early again, as usual, and quietly slipped out of my tent to avoid waking the others. The silence was liquid and palpable, and I wanted to fully merge with it during my last morning at the lake. The forest laid still and subdued, as if waiting for a signal to come to life. Not a chipmunk or bird stirred in the underbrush, and the snakes were all sleeping in their dens. My soul expanded to meet the challenge of being the only awareness cast upon the slumbering landscape. I wandered aimlessly around the many pathways that went to and from the lake, touching the tree branches gently, as an old man greets a favorite dog. The surface of the lake shimmered soapstone green in the pre-dawn twilight, and sullenly reflected the trees and rocks all around. The legion of faces dozed in the gray, granite wall behind the lake, but were nonetheless aware of my presence.
I knew that coffee and oatmeal would break the spell, so I ignored my grumbling stomach and feasted on the permeating solitude. Who knows if or when I would return – I go through this realization at the end of each trip – so I inhaled the peace, and absorbed the tranquility through every pore of my skin. I wanted to make this present moment last forever. Eventually the top of the Sentinel caught the first rays from the rising sun, and the early morning enchantment gave way to the alpine agenda of a new day. Little forest birds came down to the edge of the water for a drink, and chipmunks stirred in the underbrush. I heard signs of my human companions waking up and contemplating the new day, and it was time to return to camp and attend to the business of living. I brought one last bag of water to douse any remaining embers from our campfire, and top off our water bottles for the trail.
“Good morning,” Miles and Dimari greeted me cheerfully on my return. Jordan was fetching the food and trash bags from where they hung, and coiling the ropes because they wouldn’t be needed again on this trip. Miles washed his spoon one last time, and started rolling his sleeping bag inside the tent, without having to be told.
“There’s no hurry to leave, guys!” I chuckled fondly, “We don’t have to catch a bus, so we can leave whenever we want.” My brain purred at the smell of fresh coffee brewing.
After breakfast I left another deposit in the local fertilizer bank, said my last goodbyes to the lake spirits, and turned my attention to breaking down camp and packing for the descent. I advised the boys to take their time and pack everything well, knowing that the relentless pounding and jostling of the descent tended to loosen knots and shift things around inside backpacks. “Everyone please make one more walk around and look for bits of litter to grab, or things we might have forgotten,” I requested in my friendly ranger voice. Soon all the gear was ready, and there was nothing left to do but leave. I checked the fire pit one last time, and squirmed into the straps of my pack. My shoulders and hips protested feebly, but they’d have to shut up and do the work anyway.
“Goodbye, Little Bear Lake,” Miles waved with his trekking pole, and we loudly crossed Rattlesnake Creek, leaving our own personal paradise until another day. It was astonishing to realize that there had been no other campers or hikers up here the entire time! The experience was like visiting a luxurious resort, or an attractive amusement park, and having it all to yourselves!
Our platoon was predictably quiet and subdued as we crossed the tiny meadow at Mama Bear Springs, skirted the newly fallen tree trunks along Wee Bear Lake’s shoreline, and hopped over the Wee Pee outlet. Each hiker was immersed in his own mountaineering thoughts. It was so quiet, we could hear the gurgling of the trickle deep under the rocks. I saluted the Altar in my mind as we passed, and then we were through the granite portal and immersed in the hundreds of little decisions needed to make a safe trek across the rugged terrain.
We made excellent progress, with only a little minor bushwhacking and balance checks along the way, and in just over an hour we were back at the sliding pools below Big Bear Lake. The morning sun had been hot on the bare, granite breast of the mountain, but it was nowhere as blazing as it would be later. We took a brief pack-off rest and I changed into a dry shirt and fresh pair of socks (due to sweating like a pig already), and it was Miles who cracked the whip to keep us moving.
“We’d better go if we want to make it to the car.”
“What happened to camping at the big trees?” his dad asked jokingly.
“Actually, it would be nice to get home early and take a shower,” big brother mused out loud.
I laughed at the very predictable concessions, and dispensed my nuggets of Grampy advice about downhill hiking, reminding everyone to be on the lookout for loose rocks, roots, and most of all snakes. “Let me know if you feel any pain around your toes, it’s easy to get blisters when your toes get jammed into the front of your shoes,” I counseled. We had been lucky so far, with no injuries to speak of, and I wanted to bring the Epps boys back safely to their mom. Dimari was doing great on his own. Like I said, he’d hiked to the top of Shasta before, and of course he’d had to make it down, as well. He knew what I was talking about, and made his sons tighten their laces before we left.
Leaving the idyllic pools and entering the jungle at the top of the trail, we quickly fell into the rhythm of the descent. It came naturally to find the optimal speed, where one’s footfalls conveyed the weight down with every step; moderating the pull of gravity and avoiding undue shock on the legs. I took the lead because I knew every inch of the trail, and Jordan followed close behind, while Miles kicked up a ton of earth (which was normal for a boy his age). Dimari brought up the rear, and complained about the dust like a cowboy riding drag on the herd. Miles responded by short-cutting wherever he could to get ahead of Jordan, which became a contest between the competitive brothers. The trail playfully dodged and wove ever downward, through rock-strewn slopes, across meadows, and deep into shady glades of the natural obstacle course. It became a video game for the feet.
“Is this the magical forest?” Miles would ask at the entrance to each little patch of trees. He knew the Twin Towers marked the halfway point, and he needed to tick that box off his mental clipboard.
“It’s really close, don’t worry,” I assured him. “Look at these beautiful Incense Cedar trees. We couldn’t see them on the way up.”
It seemed like less than an hour from the pools when we entered the enchanted grove where we had camped on our first night. Here the trail was soft and even, with dappled brown shadows patterned on a deep carpet of pine needles. Miles suddenly took another opportunity to short-cut his brother, and his momentum carried him all the way past me at the front. “Hey Miles,” I said slyly, knowing how to stop that game, “If you’re going to be in the lead you have to watch for snakes!” He stopped instantly, moved to the side of the trail, and graciously gestured for me to resume the point. I took two steps and gasped loudly, “Like that one!!” A big, fat rattlesnake was quickly moving off the trail from a flat spot where it had been collecting the first rays of morning sun – right where I was going to put my foot, and where Miles would have certainly trodden had he continued! I stopped suddenly, Jordan thumped into my back, and Dimari froze at the rear. The alarm of shaking rattles could be heard loudly, like a hundred bees buzzing against a windowpane.
“Oh my god!” Jordan exulted, “It’s huge!!” It was well over three feet long, and almost three inches thick in the middle.
“It looks like it just had breakfast, too!” exclaimed Dimari, already moving downhill and above the trail. We were now at a safe distance because the fat, startled viper had wisely kept moving away from the four bulky hominids that disrupted his morning sunbathing session. That Big Boy didn’t get so large by being stupid! He coiled up against the trunk of a tree about ten feet away, and did his best to look fierce and dangerous. He writhed and shot out his tongue menacingly with a hiss, and feinted a couple of strikes. That was all we needed to decide it was best to leave him alone. In our haste to vacate the premises, we even forgot to take a picture!
Our adrenaline was surging with yet another close call. “Miles, Grampy just saved you!” big brother Jordan admonished, “You would have stepped on that for sure!”
“Thanks, Grampy,” Miles squeaked, genuinely humbled. He wasn’t short-cutting or kicking up dust anymore.
“Dang, that sucker was beautiful,” admitted Dimari, now that we were a hundred yards away and moving quickly. It wasn’t one of the golden rattlers, or perhaps that was a juvenile coloration. It had a pronounced diamondback pattern from head to tail, with beaded specks of white in its scales.
“Keep your eyes open, there’s bound to be more!” My mind was contorted with astonishment at our incredibly good fortune. The snake had been right in the middle of the trail before it moved, and Miles was only two steps away from a very nasty surprise. Now, it was mentally exhausting to scan the places where my feet had to go, the sides of the trail, and the path up ahead; all while practically jogging from the adrenaline rush of the fourth near-miss with a rattlesnake! There was no question of stopping anywhere for another night… we all just wanted to get home.
My feet started to get sweaty from the quickened pace, and I could feel my socks congealing in a squishy mass around my toes, but I didn’t care. The sooner we got out of snake territory, the better. I’d trade a few blisters for a nice seat in an air-conditioned vehicle for sure! Down, down, and down we went, silently following each bend in the trail, navigating every tangle of roots, and whipping the bushes left and right with our poles. As the point man, I had to do the most bushwhacking, making sure to test the underside of every log, and the far side of every boulder, to avoid any more surprises. My toes were feeling rather chafed and tender by the time we reached the bridge, but we continued our descent after a short water break.
With the trailhead nearly in sight, I snapped one last portrait of the Epps Men as they posed in front of the Trinity Alps Wilderness sign. It was beastly hot down in the river valley, and although we had strategically left the Honda in the shade, it was like an oven inside. We left the doors open, and crammed all our sweaty, filthy gear into the trunk. I changed my clothes for the ride home, fearing the worst as I peeled off my lumpy, stinky socks. My toes were twisted and red, but no sign of blisters yet, thank God! At last, I settled into the passenger seat, stopped moving, and let the artificial balm of air conditioning soothe my scalded skin. We made it! And nobody got bitten by a poisonous snake!!
The bumpy dirt road back to the highway seemed to take forever. Inside the car, the ancient cooling system was fighting vainly against hot metal and plastic. We rolled our windows down, and rolled them back up again when the dust and dry, hot air streamed in. I noticed the Sunflower Cabins still appeared to be open for business. That would make a nice base camp someday, where one could book a cabin for departure and return days to use the showers and relax. The Epps Men had food on their minds, however, and we took a quick right turn onto Highway 3, headed south for the Bay Area and our homes. But first, we intended to pillage some random, unsuspecting restaurant along the way.
We took a few back roads, and soon found ourselves winding down from the Buckhorn Summit on Highway 299, headed for Redding. I would have settled for a roadside taco truck, or a greasy spoon backwoods diner, but the Epps Men were on a mission. Miles voted for another “Ugly Burger,” but Dimari had seen an iHop in that area, and soon everyone agreed on a common quest that led us to a rundown building with a faded, blue roof. Stepping out of the car into the scalding parking lot near Highway 5, our skin felt the way an egg pops when it hits a hot griddle. The inside of the restaurant was a little better, but appeared ransacked already, as if it had been looted by hungry Forty Niners. The breakfast and lunch crowd had ravaged the place, and our host had the empty gaze of a war-torn refugee. Roasted cooks sizzled, and scraped the grill, and dirty dishes were piled high in the kitchen. We probably didn’t look so great ourselves, after staying three days next to a lake on top of a freakin’ mountain! We ordered half the menu, and reflected on our considerable good fortune to have had the privilege of visiting a wilderness paradise, and managing not to get injured along the way.
After eating I offered to drive, but Dimari claimed to be in a groove. He was doing a great job navigating the curvy highland roads and overheated highways, so I was content to lean towards the feeble air conditioning vent that whispered at me from the dashboard. The boys were quiet in the backseat; their bodies dealing with the shock of tumbling down 3,000 feet, and pounding down two breakfasts at iHop! The unavoidable hours passed quickly, and soon we were nestled in the familiar gridlock of Bay Area traffic. This was somehow harder than carrying a backpack up the side of a granite peak. It took as much time as getting down Highway 5 just to get to Pinole. There, the returning conquerors basked in the admiration of the females who stayed behind, and remodeled the kitchen, and took care of the house. They were prepared to hose down their men before they entered the door.
Many accolades were bestowed upon Miles and Jordan for their exemplary attitudes and fortitude on the trip, not to mention the fact that they jumped off tall rocks and conquered mountains, too! Dimari and I reflected on our great fortune as guardians to have avoided any rattlesnake bites, which wouldn’t have gone over so well with the female co-guardians. I was proud to have had them all as companions in my familiar journey through the wilderness. As a life experience it was memorable for all; the kind that makes young men and boys stronger, and gives older men a deep, immovable satisfaction.
Miles summed it up best, in a candid moment with his brother Jordan, when he said, “I think I left part of my soul up there.”
“The first peace, which is the most important, is that which comes within the souls of people
when they realize their relationship, their oneness with the universe and all its powers,
and when they realize at the center of the universe dwells the Great Spirit,
and that its center is really everywhere, it is within each of us.”
— Black Elk