“The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek.”
― Joseph Campbell
We made good time from then on. The trail to the Bear Lakes is not long, but it is particularly demanding of stamina and concentration. Kevin and Logan scurried like Hobbits in the meadows, where the riotous ferns grew to be 8 feet tall, and the faithful pack-dogs had the noble demeanor of the ponies of Middle Earth. Judy steadfastly brought up the rear, and with her floppy hat I tried to visualize her as Gandalf, but couldn’t get past the height difference. I fancied myself to be like Samwise Gamgee, the devoted porter and heart of the Fellowship. I may not have been as brave as he, but I was certainly the “mayne” beast of burden! (I know the puns are painful; they are the thorns of our family’s rose.)
Suddenly, disaster struck our little band of intrepid sojourners. My overburdened pack frame abruptly snapped like the rigging of a ship, and the load listed hard to port, scuttling me into the bushes unceremoniously. Fortunately, there were no hidden rocks, and once untangled, I was relieved to be unhurt. An injury to the porter would have meant going back to the car without most of our gear! But my pack was much worse off than I. Logan volunteered to carry his pack again, which was a nice gesture, but my shoulder strap had sheared off the frame, which rendered it unbearable. I instinctively checked the angle of the sun, and figured we’d be lucky to get to Big Bear Lake before nightfall; much less another hour and a half to Little Bear Lake. Judy the mechanic quickly diagnosed the problem, and jury-rigged a temporary repair from the odd bits I always carried for just this possibility. She used a key ring and a large cotter pin to refasten the strap, and I was back on the trail, though still listing a bit due to a bent and uneven pack frame. We still had a chance to make it.
Logan wound up carrying his pack for another half a mile, to the spectacularly picturesque spot where Bear Creek slides across flat granite rocks the size of parking lots. We didn’t go the last few hundred yards up to Big Bear Lake for lack of time. I found a way to fasten his pack on top of mine to counterbalance the listing feeling. I didn’t want Logan to carry anything up the difficult maze of boulders and bushes that confront anyone taking the direct route up to Little Bear Lake. The kindly members of the Fellowship laughed at me, and mocked my lopsided awkwardness, but the pack was finally balanced right, and I somehow managed to drag it up, ever up, through the tangled brush and ledges that formed the most difficult part of the trail. Grimly, in defiance of all known backpacking convention, I lashed myself to the wheel and navigated that ungainly sloop the final thousand yards over granite waves and troughs.
When we finally reached Wee Bear, we took Kevin’s pack off and let the boys be the first ones to reach the exquisite shore freely (with the dogs, of course). I felt like Tenzig Norbay, the forgotten Nepalese Sherpa who deferentially let Sir Edmund Hillary become the first human to stand at the top of the world, after carrying most of the knowledge and gear to make it possible. The sense of vicarious triumph brought tears to my satisfied eyes. I had brought my son to the gates of paradise on earth! My quest was fulfilled. When the momentous surge of appreciation faded, there was still over 100 pounds of sweaty, grimy camping gear that had to be schlepped up the final path to Little Bear Lake. Before enlightenment, one must chop wood and fetch water.
The landscape was just as I had left it the year before. I recalled my ignominious retreat back then, and thought I could hear faint echoes of laughter emanating from the forest. “Look, he’s back!” the trees seemed to say, tittering behind their boughs in mockery. The ghosts of my past inadequacy were amused that I had come back with so many companions and so much gear. That time when I first tried solo backpacking, I had basically turned tail and ran whimpering from my own self-loathing, and the shame still lingered like body odor. All my life, I have picked myself up from the deep pits into which I have cast myself; always trying to reach for the light. To be a good human being was all I wanted out of life, but I was my own worst obstacle. The most frustrating thing by far is to know what one is supposed to do, and not do it. I hoped to use this trip with my son and nephew to feel capable of overcoming my terrifying self-destruction. I busied myself with setting up in my favorite campsite to dispel the negative thoughts. We were fortunate once again, as we had the beauty of the lake all to ourselves.
The boys laughed gaily, their energy renewed by the accomplishment of arriving. They scampered from one perfect spot to another, using the huge logs that lay about like a network of gangways on the forest floor. They wanted to see the “bear cave” right away, so I gave them the choice of going there alone with the dogs, or helping Judy and I set up camp first, then we’d all go together. They looked so cute setting up their tents with such alacrity!
“Come on, let’s go!” Kevin tried to run the show when they had finished with the tents. He acted as if he and Logan were leaving, then looked back to see if we were coming. Judy and I knew we would not have any energy later, so we got everything set up for bedtime first. The boys came back impatiently, but with genuine deference. They weren’t going to stick their heads inside that cave, to see if there were any bears. They would rely on their parents’ heads going in first.
Instead, we sent the dogs in first, according to interspecies protocol. Kevin was annoyed that he hadn’t thought of that. Logan grimaced, to show he half wanted to see the spectacle of dog fur flying out the rock entrance, and half wanted to run back to the car. The dogs sniffed around frantically, as if there had been a recent varmint convention, but there was absolutely no sign of anything larger than a chipmunk. From outside, we were all disappointed but relieved. I lectured the recruits about proper cave-entering technique, the merit of which was to avoid the scar on my scalp, and blah, blah, blah. They scurried quickly inside without a problem. I silently cursed their flexible limbs.
Inside, it appeared as though someone had cached a tiny bit of firewood. Perhaps it was a gift from the primeval elders of the cave, for there was no sign of fire, no footprints, or other indication of human presence. Small rocks and bits of wood still lay strewn on the floor in a pristine state, like the remains of a glacier. Perhaps they froze solid every year, and melted into a composed position. The incredible firebox was still intact, which really came as no surprise, because it was created from massive shards weighing hundreds of pounds. I suppose it was likely that the freezing and expanding action of winter, coupled with the oppressive weight of this pile of huge boulders, would cause it all to settle someday. Gravity always wins. For now, the cave was still the most amazing thing up here; permeated with the austerity of an artifact from a primordial civilization.
It struck me how the interior of the cave gave the impression of a dwelling place in transition. The uphill side was on the left as one entered, and the rocks seemed to pour down in a granite cascade from higher boulders. There was a flat face the size of a picnic table that sloped down at about a 30-degree angle. The downhill side of the cave had a small but level floor, and its walls seemed to be fitted together by very creative masons. It was as if the rocks were slowly being transformed; creating an artistic interior out of granite. Or maybe the reverse: an ancient dwelling place, long unused, was returning to the land. I examined the ceiling and firebox carefully, looking for smoke stains or prehistoric drawings of cavemen being devoured by saber-toothed bears. Nothing.
“What are you looking for?” Logan asked me, knowing when I was on to something.
“Caveman drawings.” I said mysteriously, letting him see the pictures in his mind.
“Cool,” He replied reflexively, not knowing if I was joking or not. This was a common problem for my children, and they learned to go along with my odd utterances until I revealed my true intent. He peered out the corners of his eyes in vague discomfort, like a mother visiting her child’s dorm room at college for the first time.
“Hey, you wanna sleep here tonight?” I suddenly asked, very sincerely. I wasn’t quite using the tone of voice I would use to ask a dog if he wanted to fetch a stick, but it was close. Logan was immediately on guard.
“I dunno, we already set up the tents…” He appeared to be thankful for that excuse, and his voice trailed off as he looked around to see if there might be anything a bear would come back for in the night. He edged towards the exit.
“Well, let’s get a good look at the weather. I saw some rain clouds on the way up here.”
“My tent’s waterproof,” boasted Kevin, “I’m not sleeping in any dirty ol’ cave!”
I remembered to duck low when exiting, and my sore hips and legs protested weakly. I half-waddled, half-crawled back up to where I could stand, and immediately a drop of rain hit my nose.
“Oh, shit, it’s raining,” Judy always saw the glass half-empty. “And it’s getting dark.”
It was indeed raining half-heartedly, but it was far from getting dark. From the look of the rocks around me, a light shower had just started. The sky was a translucent gray sponge that absorbed light; pressing down on the basin. Flecks of moisture hit the warm faces of the boulders and dried instantly. The sound of fat drops hitting tree boughs all around us spoke of a larger deluge to come. “Let’s get back to camp!”
We hurried back the few yards, and startled a troupe of chipmunks with little umbrellas who had been balancing on Kevin’s tent lines. (Okay, I’m kidding about the umbrellas, but their furry circus was all over the tent.) “Did you put any food in there?” I asked, laughingly. Jesse bolted at the little acrobats as a spear that wanted to come apart in five directions, as they scampered into the bushes and trees. Kevin sheepishly removed from his tent his precious cache of candy bars, (now melted and misshapen), and stashed them in his pack.
“They’ll get ‘em there, too,” I added, and his face grew suddenly cloudy, as if a sudden storm was brewing. Then it passed, he shrugged, and placed his misshapen candy bars ceremoniously inside the food bag we were going to tie up soon.
“Nobody eats those but me,” he announced dramatically, looking directly at Logan, who was suddenly very interested in his own pack, and was fussing with the zippers. “I carried them up here, I eat them.”
“No you won’t, unless you put them in hard plastic,” Judy said in her matter-of-fact tone, not missing the chance to inform Kevin of the correct protocol. He kicked the Tupperware container she had pointed at, then roared and stomped away, waving his arms as if a swarm of bees was attacking him. I noted the huge difference in his reaction when his mom told him something, vs. when ‘Uncle Don’ gave advice. Having grown up with Judy, and having been in the same subordinate position, I knew her scalpel-like tone of voice all too well, and guessed that Kevin was sliced and diced quite often. She glared at me, knowing my thoughts, and blurted in self-defense, “What!?” Then she stuck her tongue out at me. The raindrops were fewer now, and everything in our camp was still pretty dry. The deluge never manifested, but the threat remained. We dodged nervously beneath the tree boughs around the campsite, as if thousands of pigeons were waiting to poop on us. It was a dreadfully apprehensive feeling.
~
“Oh what a catastrophe, what a maiming of love when it was made personal, merely personal feeling, taken away from the rising and the setting of the sun, and cut off from the magic connection of the solstice and equinox. This is what is the matter with us: we are bleeding at the roots, because we are cut off from the earth and sun and stars, and love has become a grinning mockery because,
poor blossom, we plucked it from its stem on the Tree of Life and expected it to keep
blooming in our civilized vase on the table.”
— D.H. Lawrence