“Trees are the spiritual language of the earth.”
— Gregory David Roberts
Departure day dawned clearer than the day before. Most of the smoke was gone from Little Bear Lake basin, but the eastern sky is still a pallid yellow-gray. I emerged from my tent earlier than usual, before the vampire bugs had returned to their crypts. I killed at least 20 of the hungry buggers that tried to make the most of their opportunity before the hots sun peeked over the ridge. Methodically fixing breakfast, breaking down the tent, and packing the last of my gear, I was ready to go by about 8-ish. That gave me plenty of time to say my goodbyes to the lake, since the sun was up and the bugs melted away. A curtain of amber light was falling on the huge wall of Altamira, and the shadows pulled down to the lake shore. It promised to be a glorious day in paradise, but I had to return Logan’s car, and resume my inglorious domestic life. I checked my boots and socks one last time, and slipped on my pack, ready to begin a very careful and deliberate descent to Big Bear Lake and the trail home.
I made pretty good time, despite the extra caution I invested to choose the easiest routes, and place my feet ever so carefully. I used lots of oxygen (even though going downhill was much easier), because I didn’t want any surprise fainting spells. I found a way to easily cross above the gully that caused so much drama on the way up – there was no need to have tortured Sam with narrow ledges and sharp rocks! I had forgotten this route, and I spent some time scouting it from the direction of ascent, so I could easily locate it again next time. The descent to the pools was uneventful – I knew all the tricks and twists to avoid toppling over the more difficult ledges.
I rested at the pools for a good 20 minutes, knowing that I could make better time on the trail itself. At the entrance to the “alderfuck” tangle at the top, I met a solo hiker and his dog, just emerging from the torment. “I love that feeling when you get to this clearing,” I said by way of greeting, and he agreed wholeheartedly. So did the dog, with a few wags of her tail. The temperature was a pleasant 75 degrees when I left the pools, but it rose quickly in the jungle, with the morning sun gleaming through the branches. I spent some time photographing the many flowers that bloomed along the watery places. Many different kinds of butterflies were making their rounds, and I even startled a mountain toad the size of a large potato. I saw beautiful yellow and green mottled patterns on her corpulent body, but she lurched and flopped into the bushes before I could get a photo (the big ones are female). I guessed that she was maybe 20-30 years old at that size, so I respectfully left her alone.
There was so much water on the trail, rippling down from melting snow, flowing across the rail, or using it as a bed for several yards. There were underwater aquifers bubbling up, and percolating streams disappearing into the rocks. I could feel the intense humidity all around, and many of the plants were just getting started in the late growing season. I kept making good time, still being very careful about where I placed my feet. I developed a new downhill hiking technique, where I sort of eased my weight down on the next foot, instead of plodding dumbly ahead, and letting my knees and hips take all the pounding. I met another pair of hikers – first the father, who was waiting at the “Quitting Tree” for his son. He informed me that the fire up north had exploded from 300 to over 7,000 acres. He was from Mt. Shasta, and came up here (southeast of the fire) to get away from the smoke. He’d only seen this area from Mt. Eddy before, from which it looks just like what it is: a crumbling, blown-out volcano of solid white granite. His son’s music showed up before he did, since he had speakers attached to the top of his pack. He was about Jordan’s age, and typically looked like he’d rather be home playing video games than sweating on a dusty trail. I wished them well, and continued on my way.
Even as it got hotter at the mid-levels of the trail, and it was tempting to speed up and arrive at the air-conditioned car faster, I maintained my slow and careful pace, taking it easy on my legs. That tactic was paying off, because I didn’t feel like a zombie, or the walking wounded from an apocalypse. I was actually enjoying the hike, and seeing things I had often missed on a hurried descent. By the time I reached the Forest Service bridge, about a half mile from the car, it was over 90 degrees and prickly hot. It was going to be another roasting day over 100 in the Trinity River valley, and I looked forward to reaching the air-conditioned comfort of the car (and taking a bath in the river, too). I made it there by 1:00, and it was already 98 at the parking area. I rolled down all the windows to release the overheated air in the cabin, and trundled down the road to the place where the river is only a few yards away. I gratefully got out at a semi-shady spot and dunked myself, trying to avoid the blistering hot rocks in the sun. I washed off all the trail dust and sweat, changed into clean clothes, and headed back to civilization.
I’d been thinking of that delicious lettuce-wrap sandwich I’d had on the day I arrived, and I stopped at the Coffee Creek General Store to get another on, and some cold drinks. I also bought some of the local wine they had, since it was made by an off-the-grid winery, Alpen Cellars, in the Trinity terroir that I loved! Later, I would enjoy imbibing some of the molecules that made their way from soil to fruit to bottle. I stopped in a shady spot in Carrville to wolf down my awesome sandwich, and was headed for home by 2:30. From there, it was 4 hours of straight driving to reach Sacramento, passing through Redding and its 110 degree heat-dome hellhole. By 6pm, it was a relatively comfy 93 at Logan’s house, and the cats (and plants) were very glad to see me! I cleaned the house and watered the yard while waiting for Joy to pick me up, and I even washed Logan’s car by hand (to save water). I finally made it home, and to bed, by 11 pm. It was a 15-hour ordeal to get from the beautiful lakeside to my cozy suburban home, but I already couldn’t wait to do it again!