2024 (3) – Lost Beside Myself

“Landscape has long offered us keen ways of figuring ourselves to ourselves,
strong means of shaping memories and giving form to thought.”

— Robert Macfarlane

Today is supposed to be the hottest day of the year… so far. 2024 has been the hottest year in recorded history to this point, taking that distinction from the year before. The Trinity River valley could reach 110 degrees, Redding might get to 120, and even up here at the lakes – at over 6,000 feet – it could be 100, Time to switch to the Celsius scale of measuring temperature, if only so the numbers aren’t so scary. Despite the heat, I have a more ambitious plan today than I have attempted in the recent past. I intend to hike up to the top of Cheops (at just over 7,000 feet the highest peak around the lake), by way of Dat Butte. I might even sit on a Pharaoh’s head.!

I wisely decided to get an early start, and avoid the hottest part of the day. I started crunching my way through the dry needles of Lothlórien right after breakfast. The air was predictably dry and prickly already. I gained altitude wherever I could, circling around the back of the forest and ramping my way up the side of Dat Butte. It’s very wild, rugged country up there, where the rim has crumbled away, leaving a jaw full of jagged granite teeth, with tangled manzanita “gums” in-between. I zig-zagged my way through the widely spaced trees, and finally topped the ridge where I could see a wide expanse of rugged mountains to the south and southeast. I was surveying the area that was severely burned two years ago in the Haypress fire, but it didn’t appear to be charred from so far away. Just ash-gray mountains upon mountains, with the sultry glaze of Trinity Lake off in the distance. To the southwest, the higher peaks of the Trinity Alps were still capped with snow, even in the midst of a heat wave. To my left, I was surprised to see Mt. Lassen for the first time, jutting stubbornly above the dark ridges, far to the southeast. From that vantage point, Queen Shasta was obscured by the forested, pyramid-shaped peak of the mountain I intended to bag that day.

I angled over to the top of the exposed granite bluff I called “Dat Butte,” to visit a prominent, disfigured dead tree I had been observing for many years. From Wee Bear below, it gave one the impression of a totem pole, or Tiki Man, keeping watch over the basin. He was a Ponderosa Pine of very significant girth; long dead now, with most of his top missing, save for about 15 feet of gnarled trunk, and a few twisted limbs. Behind him were the large, jumbled granite boulders I had last visited about 40 years ago, adorned with the typically hyperbolic name of “Standing Stones.” They more closely resemble a massive cairn, assembled by giants, to mark a path they must have found significant in ancient times. These are odd-shaped blocks and boulders that must have been pushed up when the mountain was formed, long since split and tumbled together to form a maze of niches and crevices.

There are even more deadfalls. debris, and dry branches up here, which crackle and crunch when stepped on. The southern slope of Cheops tilts steeply down towards Highway 3, with deep ravines and forested ridges. Noble fir appears to be the dominant species near the top, with a few Ponderosa, and the ubiquitous Mountain Hemlock mixed in. The northern side of Cheops has been sheared away by an ancient glacier, creating a ragged escarpment that forms the cliffs and heads of the Pharaohs that gaze out across the Bear Creek valley. This is wild, lonely, broken terrain, where few have ever ventured. I was trying to keep a relaxed, sauntering pace, with no anxiety about making it to the top. Still, I found it increasingly difficult to find a safe path… one that would be prudent to traverse alone, in such an isolated spot. Nobody in the world knew I was up there at the time, and I liked it that way. A serious injury, however, could prove fatal.

I located the “summit” of the great pyramid, but chose not to ascend the last 30 feet or so, due to overgrown manzanita bushes piled up on themselves to a depth of over six feet. I focused my explorations on the north side, looking for that distinct, round-topped rock on which Judy, Chris, and I sat more than 40 years ago. I could see it from the side through gaps in the dense forest, but didn’t want to risk scaling it alone. I clearly marked the tree right next to it that forms the Pharaoh’s beard, and it’s getting tall enough that it nearly blocks the entire regal countenance. I settled for a shady spot with a great view, to consume the trail lunch I’d brought with me, and left a generous offering for the local ants and chipmunks. Later, after having my fill of lofty views, I carefully navigated the most direct descent back to camp, right down the face of Dat Butte, angling for a return through Lothlórien.

My campsite was HOT when I returned, and I busied myself with doing laundry in the shady part of the shoreline. I noticed that another group of campers had arrived – a young couple and their dog had set up on the far side of the lake, near Bumblebee Springs. I had planned to visit that spot during this, the hottest part of the day, because it’s much cooler under the melting snowpack, and I anticipated that the little meadow below it would be bursting with life by now. But first, my pants had to dry! At least the heat is keeping the vampire bugs at bay. They come out at night, of course, avoiding the intense sun and warmer temperature. I saw dozens of them outside my tent in the late evening and early morning hours, but they couldn’t get in (ha ha). The heat makes the flies crazy, and aggressive, and I do my best to ignore their obsessive need to land on me. They move so fast, it’s not worth the energy to swat them, and shooing them away just agitates them more. With so many insects around, naturally there is a corresponding bloom of spiders, which can be found everywhere, hunting on branches and spinning their web-strand parachutes from the tips. I saw one little wolf spider jump 20 times its body length when it ventured out onto a sizzling rock! Meanwhile, the ants never sleep, and they lay claim to everything eventually. The arthropods run this resort – I am just a guest.

It was 92 in the shade by then, with a hot, dry wind that gathers just a little coolness as it crosses the lake. I thought of Dimari and crew, and hoped for the hundredth time that they reached their car before it got too hot. If all went as planned, they should be getting home soon, but there would be no way to communicate until I reenter the zone of cell service later in the week. I moved my chair with the shade, as the sun was reaching the climax of its fury, and packed some supplies for the big move to Bumblebee Springs. When I got there, the other campers were nowhere to be seen. They had probably (and sensibly) retreated to the deepest shade. I was disappointed to find that the little meadow below the spring was still in its early, formative stages of seasonal development. Parts of it were still muddy, and it appeared that the snow pack had only recently receded. Nothing was blooming, and the lush grasses and plants had not yet taken their places. No ferns, flowers, or bumblebees! So I headed back to camp. I had brought The Return of the Bird Tribes with me on this trip, which would keep me entertained until it got cooler.

My intention was to spend the afternoon learning (or relearning) how to appreciate the fact that I am connected to everything. As John Denver sang, “Oh, I love the life around me, I feel a part of everything I see,,, and oh, I love the life around me, a part of everything is here in me.” I was especially seeking to lose my sense of annoyance with insects, my dismay about our changing world, and irritation with how others live their lives. The couple on the other side of the lake were jumping in the water, making loud splashes, and exciting their dog to a barking frenzy. Their joy was me. The nearby parents who brought their baby were trying to teach him how to swim, but he didn’t like it, and made a big, noisy fuss. I felt compassion for his fear and discomfort. The teenage dudes were getting their kicks rolling large rocks into the lake, and laughing loudly. Their sense of fun and curiosity was me. I was one with everyone.. and everything (except mosquitoes, which were still an alien menace).

I already had my big adventure that day, bagging Cheops (well, almost), and I was content to just relax in the shade near my camp, reading, writing, and reflecting on the new threshold life had presented to me. When I get back home, I would probably need to find a job of some sort, but I would like it to be in alignment with all the good things I had learned in life. Perhaps a non-profit that helps people understand, or one that does its part to protect the environment. I’d had enough of simply trading my life for money, doing someone else’s idea of what I should be doing. I was also re-examining my monogamous relationship with this “one place,” and thinking it would be fun to explore other backpacking destinations… ones that were easier to reach!

So there I sat, moving my stare chair frequently with the spot shade, on the hottest part of the hottest day of the hottest summer so on record! (The latest in a recent series of “hottest summers.) I glimpsed some movement, where the teenage dudes were scaling the steep sides of Dis Butte, on their way above the lakes. They were dressed in only t-shirts and shorts, and carried nothing …not even water. I wished them the grace to survive their foolishness. Behind them I could see signs of smoke spreading from the north, and some of it was headed our way! I decided I had better put my boots on, and climb up on top of the rockpile behind camp to get a better look at the situation. Sure enough, there was a huge plume of wildfire smoke behind Sawtooth, pointing an ominous finger to the northeast. The smoke coming into our area was wispy, and higher up. That was most likely from the fire I had seen on my first day, when I was up on the Scott Mountain pass. Tragically, it appeared as if it had spread in a big way! I said a deep prayer for the firefighters toiling in this heat, and considered my own options. The body of the fire was still quite distant, and appeared to be moving away from my location. Only the overflows and eddies of smoke were spreading this way. I decided if it looked worse tomorrow, it might be prudent to pack up and return to the car before things got out of hand. At the least, it would probably spoil the clarity of the air for the remainder of my planned stay.

When the angry sun finally sulked behind the rim of the lake, evening fell upon the basin with a sigh of relief. Cool breezes tentatively ventured out from the lake, soothing and cleansing the acrid, blistered air. The teenage dudes made it back alive, but continued their foolhardy ways by lighting another campfire. The couple on the far side of the lake returned from the shadows, and erected a garish, red, white, and blue tent on a granite ledge… seemingly in honor of the patriotic holiday. The parents with their baby were making happy domestic noises. All was right with my little world, except the vampire bugs were hungry, and trying to make up for lost time! They immediately buzzed my camp, forcing me to put on long sleeves and DEET cologne. I ate my simple supper out on a rock, from which I could gaze at the thousand faces in the back wall. They were not pleased with the excessive temperature, or the smoke in the air! I could feel their anguish and sorrow at what humans had done to ruin the natural balance of the Earth. I hoped that the recent birth of a white buffalo calf in Yellowstone was a portent – or event the fulfillment of a prophecy – that we would finally wake up and make the urgent, difficult changes that were necessary in our way of life.

As I enclosed myself in my nylon cocoon for the night, I reflected that every tiny fragment of microplastic that was now my tent would eventually survive me by thousands of years. It would be possible, I supposed, to assemble a tent made of biodegradable material, but it would be heavier, and not as durable. Throughout my ruminations, the local horde of bloodsuckers didn’t care what the tent was made of. They gathered on the outside of the nylon mesh, and whined anxiously just inches from my face. I began to discern the subtle differences in the vibration of their wings, as they first arrived in eager anticipation of a meal, then flew off in utter frustration. I thought at first that it might be difficult to sleep with all that wailing and gnashing of little teeth outside my tent, but it wasn’t hard at all.