“You accept the image and likeness of God, the perfect pattern image of the angel that you are.
In that acceptance, you experience the fulfillment that is your mission and purpose in time.”
— Ken Carey, Return of the Bird Tribes
Last night I had company… and not the human kind! I was awakened in the middle of the night by a loud noise: “Chuff!” I became fully alert in an instant, and distinctly heard it a few more times: “Chuff-p!” “Chuff-p!” My body’s reaction was naturally flight-or-fight, with all my hair standing on end, blood pumping in my ears, sweaty palms, and an urge to bolt from the tent and run! It sounded very close – somewhere between my campsite and the lake just a few yards away. For a minute, there was an ominous silence, then I heard a rock tumble as something heavy moved away. Slowly, the rational mind slowly regained control. Calming my initial sense of instinctive panic, I mentally pieced together what really happened. The “Chuff-p” sound was probably sniffing, as the visitor tried to identify what kind of smelly creature was up on the ledge above the lake. What sort of animal breathes like that? I reasoned that the “p” sound was probably nostrils closing after a full sniff. That sounded more like a deer than a bear, thank goodness! I remembered hearing a “click” as the rock tumbled, which could have been the sound of its hoof on stone.
My rational mind continued to process this information for a few minutes, calming my primitive mind, which still wanted to run like crazy. “Where there be deer, there be lion nearby,” it whispered fearfully in my subconscious. I decided to try and get back to sleep, hoping not to stress in my tent all night long, like a hot dog in a paper wrapper. The animal hadn’t been in a hurry, and didn’t seem to be startled by my presence. It was unlikely to be followed, I told myself over and over again, it was probably just an adventurous buck visiting the lake. I prayed the Rosary as a meditation, to calm my pulse and breathing. I promptly returned to sleep, and dozed the rest of the night, dreaming of a pride of lions chasing their prey, followed by a murder of crows in the tall grass.
First light outside my tent was a dull gray, and the air smelled like an old campfire. The windless night apparently allowed some smoke to spread from that fire up north. I fixed a quick breakfast, and scouted for tracks around my camp. I found fresh deer sign, deeply imprinted in the damp soil down by the lake, and followed it up the natural path, into Lothlórien, where the animal apparently turned back towards Mama Bear Springs. Whatever Mr. Buck was doing up here last night, he was probably gone already. That left me, a few sullen chipmunks, and a lot of smoke. I could barely see the rim of Cheops to the east, and the western rim around the lake was faded and tarnished. From up on the rockpile, I could see the cruddy sky get progressively thicker to the northeast. I deduced that what I was experiencing in the Little Bear Lake basin was just the fringe of the pollution. Even the nearby trees looked hazy, the sky had an amber caste, and my nostrils were slightly irritated. I prayed that the morning winds would clear it all away, else I’d do well to seek a lower elevation.
For the immediate moment, I was simply pursuing my unambitious non-agenda for my last day at the lake: hang out in the shade, reflect on my life, and enjoy being alone in such a beautiful alpine setting. Even if things cleared up, I’d be breaking camp and heading home tomorrow morning. There was time enough to just sit next to the relative coolness of the cove, and enjoy The Sentinel’s reflection as it shimmered on the water. Occasionally, a small trout rose and kissed the surface, which set off an expanding ring of ripples that blended with the natural undulations to form mesmerizing patterns. Over my shoulder to the east, I could see the Pharaohs of Cheops were still shrouded in a smoky silhouette of shadows. There will be no amazing views from the Altar today! The best plan would be to continue what I was doing yesterday: move around a lot, stay in the spot shadows, read my book, and enjoy my solitude. The birds were in agreement, singing in time with the muffled trickle of Rattlesnake Creek, as it chuckled and gurgled its way down to Wee Bear. The air was strongly scented with wood smoke and forest earth, with a hint of mosquito repellent. Smells like camping, or maybe Lapsaing Souchong tea! I didn’t bring any, because I thought it would be redundant. Jordan brought a selection of fine teas, little china cups, and a glass teapot as his luxury items. I had a taste with him the morning that he left, and it was really good!
Sitting beside that beautiful, jade-green cove, I was feeling my aloneness acutely, but I wasn’t lonely. I was as much a part of the wilderness as I could be, given that I had brought everything I needed with me. Literature is studded with references to solitary wanderers. Ancient philosophers often sought the solitude of nature. The lonesome cowboys in Louis L’Amour stories usually had a horse, and of course a gun or two. (They were also magically supplied with bacon, flour, and coffee, to augment what they could bag with their guns.) Native Americans were more truly alone, for instance on a vision quest, but even they had their weapons. Mine were a camera and a pen. I brought a little 3-inch folding knife as a tool, but it would be nearly useless against a large animal, such as last night’s visitor. Other than my food and supplies, all I had for survival were my wits, and the providence of God. (And the keys to Logan’s car, still parked at the trailhead.)
The trout in the clear cove were very beautiful to watch. They were so supple underwater – not at all like when they are caught on a hook, when they become rigid and panicky. They squiggled through the water with a smooth shimmy, which traveled the entire length of their bodies. Their fins were large and billowy, tipped with white like the skirts of a flamenco dancer. What I could see of their undersides was a deep strawberry red flecked with white dots, while their backs were gunmetal green for much-needed camouflage. Whenever they touched the surface, they quickly swam away from the center of the telltale ripples. No doubt they possessed a genetic caution about the white death from above! I hadn’t seen any osprey yet on the trip, but thought I heard one on the far side of the lake. last night. It would be awesome to repeat the connection I had when I first read Return of the Bird Tribes at these lakes, about 30 years ago!
Later, I moved to a spot of shade just below my campsite, deep in the feathery arms of an adorably soft hemlock, conveniently perched on a flat rock at the edge of the water. From that cozy bench, I enjoyed a 180-degree view of the full panorama of Little Bear Lake, glistening glas-like in the noontime sun. Subtle energies played across the surface of the water, creating a great variety of messages and fractal patterns that contained intriguing information. A trout was patrolling in the depths beneath my feet – probably the same one that Dimari had tried to catch, because they are so territorial. I truly understand the allure and tradition of fishing, but for me it has to be performed as a respectful cycle of patience, compassion, consumption, and gratitude. To me, the “sporting” practice of “catch and release” seems so barbaric and cruel. Why would one intentionally torture an animal in its natural habitat, purely for one’s entertainment?
I had my book with me, of course, and was enjoying Ken’s chapter, “The Energy Behind the Wind,” which most accurately described the feelings I get when I’m in the blessed wilderness. It is a remarkable piece of writing, both revealing and familiar at the same time. Whether one believes that Ken was channeling a higher energy (as I do), or was simply an uneducated carpenter with an extraordinary, hidden talent for writing, the prose is deeply affecting, and resonant on many levels. One has to be in the wilderness for at least 2 days, away from any human references, to really understand the essence of what Ken was trying to communicate. A group may also experience these insights in a different way, but only with communal focus and concentration. It’s pointless to describe the messages between the words represented on the pages, since the dynamic interplay of actually reading Return of the Bird Tribes is essential for full comprehension. Get a copy today!
The sun was fiercely trying to penetrate the heat dome as the late morning wore on, but the smoke filtered out some of its energy, and the midday temps were much milder… about 72 degrees. I was certain it would become more intense later, when the sun had a chance to heat all the rocks, and shine back on the basin from the west. Meanwhile, my hemlock-shaded perch was extremely cool and comfortable. Changing my sight from the expanse of beauty to the words on the page, I absorbed Ken’s message that he’d received from higher levels. I could sense the effects of “the energy behind the wind” on the surface of the lake, as the Devas and other wind spirits surged across its surface. It was hard to feel worthy of such a spectacle, but why else would I be in that place, at exactly that moment, experiencing the vital energy of spiritual unfoldment?
Despite my flirtation with enlightenment, I still found myself killing mosquitoes out of habit. Being tucked up against the shady side of a tree put me right in their lair, where they hide from the sun all day. For them, it was a surprise but welcome food delivery. For me, it presented a challenge of acceptance that I too often failed. I saw a bug trapped on the surface tension of the water. I thought to reach a dead branch out to try and save it, and compensate for my weakness, but it was too far away. As it was beating its little wings frantically to try and break free, an incredible, spiral pattern of vibrational ripples was transcribed outward from its position like the lines of a sonograph. It reminded me of the crystals I had seen forming in the ice the previous year, when the lake still had a frozen crust on its surface. The effect was profoundly interesting, and congruent with the subtle vibrations I could sense behind the wind, within the sunlight, and emanating from every tree, rock, and insect in the entire basin. This was my reward for being there, and understanding with compassion.
As the very hot day continued in the mountains, the sun had still not found me. I was still nestled in the deep shade, embraced by the same soft boughs of a Mountain Hemlock, ideally situated on a flat rock just above the surface of Little Bear Lake. Soon, the blazing ball of plasma would peek over the top of my tree friend, and I’d have to find another spot of shade. So far that morning, there had been a notable lack of real wind. There were, of course, the subtle lake breezes and air flows about which I was writing in my journal, but nothing was really stirring the pot on a large scale. That was probably caused by the “heat dome” effect that was trapping all the smoke at the lower levels of atmosphere across the entire Shasta-Trinity region. The glassy lake surface remained calm and unruffled because of that effect, with only the subtle energies behind the wind on display — purely for my benefit, since I was still the only human visitor. As soon as I finished writing that thought, the wind naturally awakened and began moving everything around. And why not? I was the conductor of this orchestra that day!
The breezes were circular in pattern, as is often the case over a round lake surrounded by high granite walls. The air was already being cooled by the water, and blew gently into my face, in an easterly direction. Hopefully, that will start to blow some of the smoke out of here, which had been lingering like a bad odor all morning. The sky remained a listless blue-gray, with patches beginning to clear if I looked straight up. I was certainly challenging the limits of my comfort, folded into a tiny camping chair in such a tight spot, but it was such a perfect, air-conditioned viewing platform, that I was deliberately making the most of my sloth. Standing occasionally, stretching, and glorifying in the aliveness of being was about all the ambition I could muster.
When the sun finally chaseed me off my throne, I grabbed some snacks and headed for Mama Bear Springs, which nurses Wee Bear Lake, and often hides secret pockets of snow. It was one of those days to enjoy the scenery close-up, and that small but magnificent gully was already burgeoning with new plant life. I started at the top, where the snow melt collects from Lothlórien’s upper reaches, and funnels down to the crossing. There were still some big snow drifts there, tucked up against the boulders that tumbled down from the rim. These are typically the last to melt in the season, and can provide a welcome coolant for warm drinks and hot skin. At the interface of trickling water and forest, exuberant, flowering plants crowded for space. Shooting stars, corn lilies, and the ever-present mountain laurel jostled for position in the sun, visited by several lazy butterflies making their rounds. The moving water chuckled deep under the rocks, and formed crystal clear pools in unlikely spots.
Down at Wee Bear, the heat was pushing in from the valley, making the water flat and sullen. None of the typical shoreline plants had sprouted yet, as the water level was still too high. I retreated back to the shady spots, but the high, noontime sun was stabbing downward through the branches, and it chased me back to the cooler confines of Little Bear. Thankfully, the smoke in the air was now on the move, drifting to the east. I looked up to see a huge commercial jet passing incongruously overhead, so low that seemed to be a mirage in the smoky atmosphere. It couldn’t have been flying at more than 10,000 feet, but I could hardly make out any details. At any rate, Little Bear Lake appeared to be one of the only pockets of relatively clear air in the area, with cool breezes, plentiful shade, and refreshingly cold water for swimming, if needed. Lucky me!
I moved my “stare chair” under the base of a large Ponderosa, which casted a broad shadow across the flat bench just below White Bear Rock. I continued reading Return of the Bird Tribes, which was written from the perspective of 1987, and prognosticated events out past the new millennium, which was then predicted to bring about a “New Era of Purification” for humans. Unfortunately, we now know that didn’t happen, so what prevented it? It was even anticipated in the Mayan calendar! I believe that in the U.S. and Americas, we witnessed the continuation of fear-based, conservative values, until they clung to the old order, the way cataracts grow to occlude one’s vision. This altered the progression of the new order, culminating in the progressive Al Gore having the 2000 election stolen from him by a corrupt Supreme Court. The greed and graft promulgated a stifling, conservative agenda, led by the Bush family, a bogus war in the Middle East, terrorist attacks, and a whole litany of dark, destructive, fear-mongering events. So, what happened to the “purification” and the Bird Tribes?
I believe they are still out there, waiting for the right moment, when human society is receptive enough for their message. They have probably just pulled back, to let free will run its course. I don’t think they have abandoned us. If we, the people, can make the choices for justice, equality, and stewardship of the earth, I believe they will return again, and the manifesto that was so clearly spelled out in Ken Carey’s magnificent book will still be able to manifest. If, on the other hand, humans choose to condone the paradigm of unchecked avarice, consumption, destruction, and elite power, there may never be another chance for us! That’s why this year’s election will be so important. It sounds trite and cliche, but it really has come down to good vs. evil. A liberal, progressive, inclusive platform (albeit still tainted with the politics of war and corporate interests) vs. a naked power grab through racist, greed-based grifting and “fuck you” politics. The winner will decide no less than the course of human history for at least a generation, and the wrong choices may lead us to a radically changed biosphere for millennia. That’s what’s at stake!!!
Meanwhile, here in paradise, the winds had shifted for the worse. Persistent easterly gusts were now bringing not just more smoke, but also the hot, acrid air from the valley. It was about 2 in the afternoon, and over 90 degrees in the shade (at 6,200 feet)! I stripped off all my clothes, and quickly dipped myself in the chilly alpine water to cool down. I remain refreshed while drying in the shade for about three minutes, and then it got too hot again, so I rinsed and repeated. My plan was to move with the shade until that wicked fireball in the sky went to bed, and the temperature returned to semi-normal. The local birds and chipmunks had wisely taken cover by that time, leaving only the heat-crazed insects to buzz my position. Later, when the shade reaches my campsite, I will begin packing for departure early tomorrow. For the time being, I was happy enough in the shade of that big, mother Ponderosa and her babies. No one else was stupid enough to hike up there in the blazing heat, so my little “beach” would be clothing-optional today.
Return of the Bird Tribes concluded by revealing that humanity is the universe’s plan for seeding the entire galaxy – and beyond – with sentient, intelligent, spiritually nuanced life. I certainly hoped they have a backup plan! Will the bad ways be overcome, and a new way of living started in time? That remains to be seen. We’ve certainly done all we can to convince them that our choices have been wrong so far. Will we wake up in time to make the right choices, and fulfill our destiny? Think well on this, my friends. With the wisdom gained by such a revelation, we could work to repair the damages we have inflicted on the earth and each other, and get on with the tremendous responsibilities for which we have been created. But it seems that a painful, radical shift in human society would be needed to achieve that. I just don’t know if we’re up to it. We seem far too distracted by our comforts, and our phones, and the artificial distractions we have made, such as social media. I wondered, can the Bird Tribes make an app?
Later, when my little nude beach became exposed to the sun’s rays, I re-dressed and relocated to another spot of shade provided by an ancient, lone Ponderosa near my camp. That giant cast a wide swath of shade, with which I could move for hours as the sun traveled to its destination. The cool breezes had slowed down by then to a late afternoon torpor, but the layer of smoke above me still filtered out much of our nearest star’s hostility. I read the final Afterword to the book, which very much speaks to the situation in which we find ourselves today. I reminded myself that the cycles of history will repeat themselves until we learn to get off the merry-go-round. Suddenly, I became aware of a high-pitched whine that I mistook for tinnitis, until it came closer and closer. I looked up to see a large swarm of vampire bugs, frolicking madly on the shady side of my tall tree, and some of them had noticed me! Within a few seconds, the entire swarm was upon me, and I hopped about wildly, as if dancing a drunken jig, slapping and waving frantically. I gathered my things with compulsive alacrity, and moved back to my campsite… in the sun. It was much hotter there, but the only insects were the ubiquitous, pesky flies that were agitated from the heat, and acted as if they owned everything in the world. My newfound “tolerance” for insects was really being tested today!
It was almost time to start pre-packing, but first, coffee! I took my mug out to “the porch” where I had a clear view of the lake, and paid my respects to the powerful lake spirits that had made my trip so memorable. Every time I come up here, I take away a new thread of knowledge and/or understanding, and every one of those get woven into the tapestry of my life. What had I gleaned on this trip? I learned it is important to screen potential companions when planning a wilderness trek, and if necessary, prepare them for what they will experience. The group can only be as strong as its weakest member, and it’s up to the elders to lift up their strength. I also recognized that it’s wise to remain flexible when scheduling an outing, to avoid any late-developing weather challenges. I learned that flies and mosquitoes are annoying little motherfuckers that are on the fringes of karmic acceptance, and when necessary, may be destroyed with impunity. On the positive side, I developed an awareness that most insects are quite benign, and just want to live their lives, the same as I. Intellectually, I was reminded that the Return of the Bird Tribes book is an extremely important road map to understanding human destiny, and I honored the great spirit that manifested on earth as Ken Carey. With compassion, I reflected on how much I loved my family – especially my dear wife, Joy, and that I wished all of them could come up here for a length of time sufficient to share some of the deep insights that have made my life worthwhile. I also considered that perhaps there are other, more easily accessible wilderness classrooms that could supplement the peerless curriculum of Little Bear Lake. I enjoyed becoming reacquainted with the lake Devas, and other subtle spirit energies that permeate this unique portal of the infinite. Finally, I developed a firm resolve to devote my remaining working hours to some organization that is helping people or the planet directly, at this time of great need. So, if I’m eaten tonight by the mountain lion that followed the deer, and someone finds this notebook, at least they will know I had good intentions.
My final late afternoon and evening at the lake was thankfully cooler and calmer than the last couple of days. The smoke was still hanging around, but stayed at a higher elevation, and filtered out the intensity of the sun’s rays that came at an angle. A few persistent flies were desperately trying to get one last lick of my fragrant body. Some of them learned of my reaffirmed disdain for their right to exist. I solemnly prepared my last dinner of soup with beef jerky, and smoothly returned to my perch to commune with the remarkable spirits of the Great Wall that rises behind the lake. I prayed long and sincerely for a great many things, and to wish them all well. I never know when it will be my last time up here – anything can happen – so it’s always good to leave on good terms! The diabolical eye of Sol finally dipped below the rim, and the temperature dropped noticeably. Vampire bugs began dropping from the trees, too, and I could hear their inquisitive, ravenous humming all around me. I packed up whatever I could, leaving just what I’ll need in the morning, and moving frequently to thwart the bloodsuckers. I took one last, soulful look around the beautiful basin, and quickly zipped myself inside my nylon cocoon. Soon, the evening birds started singing early due to the coolness, and I enjoyed an evening concert of thankfulness. Then the bats were coming zooming about, and I could see the last vestiges of sunlight flaring on the treetops of Cheops to the east.
I relaxed fully, safe from the vampire bugs wailing and gnashing their tiny teeth on the mesh of my tent, and all was right with the world. No matter what events transpire in humankind’s future, earth will abide, and the Little Bear Lake basin will endure. Of course the physical elements will change; some for worse or better. But the essential essence is eternal, and unchanging. I fell asleep to that promise.