but a witness who is also a partner in the silent life of nature,
bound by secret affinities to the trees.”
— Dag Hammarskjold
I woke up as soon as I could see the faintest details in the newborn gray dawn. Seen through the clear mesh of my tent, the dark boughs of surrounding trees hung limp and sullen as seaweed at low tide. Distant trunks of hemlock, pine, and fir bulked dimly as ghostlike columns of a vast cathedral. What feeble light there was glowed indistinctly in the eastern sky behind the rock pile. All creation was still and silent with hesitant anticipation, except for a far-off mockingbird that needed to entertain itself. I unzipped my nylon cocoon and exited slowly, gently, the way a mother leaves the room of her sleeping child… who seemed to be snoring. The Epps Men! I was so enchanted by the prescience of the dawn that I forgot I had companions! A stunning assortment of outdoor paraphernalia was scattered all over the campsite, as if a sporting goods store had exploded. Two other tents occupied the prime spots in my familiar forest domicile, and the whole artificial scene was shocking in its incongruence. Do we really need so much stuff to survive for just a few days? I wondered to myself, as a naked chipmunk scurried across a rock, completely unaided by technology.
It struck me sideways that we were still alone in this beautiful part of the world, on the biggest camping holiday in the country. No other hikers had made it up to this enchanted alpine lake, but I wondered about Wee Bear below. Some may have arrived late enough to crash in the first level spot they found. It would be incredible to have this awesome playground all to ourselves for another day! Coffee and oatmeal on top of White Bear Rock was a breakfast fit for the gods, but led this mortal to search for a flat rock latrine soon after. I had instructed the boys about backpacking hygiene and etiquette on our first night at Twin Towers, but nobody had performed a constitutional yet. The shock of the overheated hike and overwhelming physical exertion had derailed our regularity. I did my business strategically, with an artistry of concealment that would impress a chameleon. There were small stirring noises inside the tents when I got back, and my early morning dreamtime was over.
“Good morning, Grampy.” That was Miles, the self-appointed company clerk of our unit. He was already rummaging through his pile for something that resembled breakfast, forgetting that it hung from a nearby tree. All his stuff lay heaped in the dirt; resembling a homeless encampment. Nearby, Jordan’s gear splayed across the bedroom rock with all the organization of a slaughterhouse. Dimari consulted the contents of his neatly arranged pack, then retrieved the bear bags from where they hung. It was fun to observe three people I knew and loved, as if I hadn’t met them before. Miles was very fastidious about how he prepared his granola with powdered milk, which amounted to little more than tearing off the top of a pouch and pouring water into it. If you saw him, you’d think he was making a YouTube video. Dimari couldn’t hide his disappointment at the dehydrated fare he had chosen to carry up from the car. His expression betrayed his preference for steak and eggs. Jordan quickly moistened a meal pouch and wolfed it down before it rehydrated completely. Their personalities and familial banter reminded me of birds in the forest.
“What are we going to do today?” Miles again, requesting the daily agenda.
“It’s really pretty down by Wee Bear in the morning,” I offered invitingly, “Later I’ll show you how to use the fishing pole, or you guys can jump off that rock up there.” I pointed at the obvious spot, and when this didn’t get the response I’d hoped for, I added. “On the side that faces the water, of course.” Miles laughed without smiling.
“We could go over to the other side of the lake,” suggested Jordan, “I saw some pretty lush growth over there, with lots of flowers and bees.”
“Ah, that would be Bumblebee Springs,” I reverted to my tour guide voice, and resisted the urge to wax eloquently on its virtues. “That’s a great spot in the afternoon when it gets hot, because there’s shade and coolness over there.”
“Let’s go check out Wee Bear,” Dimari decided, and a few quick preparations had us tromping back down the trail towards the holiest ground. I wanted to teach the kids how to walk silently in the forest like an Indian, but making lots of noise was essential for novice campers, to warn off any snakes or mountain lions that might be hiding in the bushes. On this trip, I wanted my grandsons to learn how to broadcast their presence to the wilderness; not to blend in.
We poked around the near side of the little tarn first, admiring the color of the water and expansive views across its surface. Then we retraced our footsteps across Mama Bear’s grassy patch, and skirted the newly fallen logs. Down by the shore an impromptu rock-skipping contest broke out, and I snapped off a beauty that made at least fifteen circles. We quickly ran out of suitable skipping stones, and Miles led the way along the winding trails through the brush. Just as I moved to overtake him (wanting always to lead for safety), he suddenly pointed back behind me with his trekking pole. “A snake!”
We all froze in our tracks. I craned my neck around to get a look behind me, and sure enough, a gold-colored rattler lurked on the sunny side of a rock I had just passed! It was about six feet away, but less than three feet in length, so I knew I was safe. Snakes could not fly through the air to slice your neck arteries like the bloodthirsty rabbit in Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Of course, the wisest command under the circumstances would have been, “Run away!!” Instead, we all gaped like tourists, marveling at the rustic beauty of this dangerous creature, nestled in a spot where we certainly would have stepped right next to its head if we had taken the main trail to cross the trickle of Wee Pee. It seemed that Miles’ choice of route was much better than mine would have been! I snagged a pic with my camera, as the snake was growing very concerned about all the attention it was getting from large, stick-wielding hominids, and it curled up obligingly in a striking pose for a close-up.
The excitement of our Crotalus oreganus sighting energized the Epps Men, and we scrambled cautiously up to the dubious safety of the Sanctuary. This phenomenal site, formerly known as God’s Parlor and displaying the astonishing Furniture of the Gods, had evolved over the years in my personal taxonomy to be known simply as The Altar. I explained how the unlikely rocks must have been left in their fortuitous positions by the melting of a glacier thousands of years ago, and with snake adrenaline still fresh in my veins, I gushed profusely about the legendary attributes of those remarkable objects. I waved my arms at the signal pyre, the upright monolith, and the mysterious block of granite suspended in a vein of feldspar, and fairly assaulted my companions with the urgency of recognizing the special energy of the place. They listened patiently, and were kind enough to nod with respect. To the east, Queen Shasta was finally becoming visible, but had little snow left on her flanks already. The smoke from the nearby “Lava” fire was flowing away from us to the northeast, and the air was fairly bristling with the vitality of a summer day in the mountains.
“C’mon down and meet the Beater Cedar,” I gestured grandly to the lone, iconic Incense Cedar on a knob below us – the one we had seen from our previous night’s campsite. My Attenborough-like enthusiasm must have been annoying, but I couldn’t help myself! Dimari and the boys fanned out and took different routes, but I went directly to check on the fallen Cheerleader Cedar. She was still alive and green, so the remaining ribbon of roots that grasped at an improbable crack must be providing her sufficient sustenance for now. I habitually patted her now-prone trunk fondly, and left to show Jordan the incredible feats of engineering achieved by the parent tree. The roots of the Beater Cedar still sat on the rock as a knee rests on the ground, and – thank all the gods – she still appeared to be healthy and weathering the abuses of climate change. The ancient, rotting trunks of her ancestors could still be seen among the rocks, and I wondered aloud (for Jordan’s benefit), how they ever got up here… so many hundreds of years ago.
Enough time had passed that I knew the snake had probably moved on, and it was safe to re-cross the tiny creek. Actually, the poor thing had probably been traumatized for the rest of the day, and likely slithered off to tell his friends about the close call he’d had. We gave the bushes a good advance thrashing, just in case. The boys were learning the rhythms of the mountains, and their busy feet found the best path, right in behind the adults breaking the trail. They were very respectful of being in reptile territory – they had a pet milk snake at home, and knew the animal’s character. The thick bushes overhanging the little rivulet between the two lakes was the most likely place to find them during the hot, middle of the day. I told them the legends of the Queen Rattler as we walked. Their eyes were wide, and heads on a turret. Naturally, when you’re ready to see a rattlesnake, one never appears.
We got back to camp and Team Epps started preparations for swimming. There was already trash talk about who was going to be the first one to jump off the top of the rock. Everyone changed into shorts… even I might get in a dip! We were low on water, and I volunteered to fetch some from the shoreline in the cove, where the water was deep and clear. I brought one trekking pole to whack the bushes and beat off any menacing serpents. The cove’s water was closest to camp, but the trail cut through a patch of Sierra Laurel. With my heightened awareness of the reptile kingdom, I would have walked on the tips of the leaves if I could! I stayed on top of fallen logs as much as possible, then thrashed the shrubbery near the rock where I usually got water. Nothing. I stepped across to the water-pumping rock. When I tore my eyes away from scanning the ground and looked at the water, it was covered in tree pollen. Yuck. A trout turned abruptly and swam away, leaving a phenomenal fractal design on the decorated surface. I watched until it dissipated, then turned to go. As my eyes picked out a landing spot, I hopped from the rock, and right where I had just walked, there was now a small rattlesnake emerging from the bushes! “Ack!!” My weight was already committed, so my left foot landed next to it, and the other one naturally followed. The startled little varmint was now coiled up in alarm – right between my exposed ankles!
I froze.
The snake froze, too, and time stood still.
Every cell in my body wanted to blast off towards outer space, but gravity held me firmly to the planet. A chill went up my spine and exploded through the top of my head as my hair stood on end. The venomous viper was directly beneath my testicles, which were now trying to hide behind my liver! After what seemed like several seconds, but was probably less than three, I ever-so-carefully removed my right foot from its spot and placed it far, far away. The snake turned sharply towards this moving object, and writhed menacingly. I shifted sideways to avoid going into the water and making a noise. Think loving thoughts, I reminded myself. Be harmless. My weight slid soothingly away from the little snake, which was now focused on my vacating left ankle, but miraculously not striking! And then, just as fast as I had been in mortal danger, I was out of range. I was safe.
Still only four feet away, the snake suddenly realized it was no longer surrounded by biting targets, and slithered off into the bushes. Within moments it was totally camouflaged, and disappeared completely. A thousand thoughts a second crowded the switchboard in my brain. I was as close to being poisoned as I had ever been in my life! Now that loud sounds would no longer disturb the shape-shifting reptile, I shouted, “Snake!” repeatedly, and my three tribe-mates came running from the other side of White Bear Rock. They saw where I was pointing, and stopped. “Don’t go in the bushes!” I yelled dramatically, like a cheesy actor in a low-budget horror movie. “I just saw a baby rattlesnake! It was right between my feet!!”
“No way,” Miles said reflexively, and looked for a tree to climb. Jordan moved to flank the creature, as if we were going to capture it.
Dimari was sensibly holding a distant position on the rocks. “Stay away from it,” he advised sternly to all present. Nobody needed much convincing. “How big was it?”
“About 18 inches, I think.” By then, my toes had crawled around the edge of the shoreline to escape, and I was now on solid rock. “I didn’t see it all stretched out. It was coiled up right next to my ankles! Damn, it was beautiful!” It really was a pretty snake, with a distinct diamondback pattern and golden accents on its skin. I told them the whole story of how I had been so careful, whacking the bushes left and right to clear the trail when I came down. Then I turned and stepped right where I had been just a few seconds before, and the snake materialized! It shimmered from out of thin air, as if it had beamed down from some serpentine version of the Enterprise… or was that just the rush of adrenaline between my ears?
On our way down to the swimming rock, I related to the boys all the things I’d done wrong, as a warning for them to be ever vigilant. I had shifted my weight from the rock before I looked where my feet were going, because of course I had just passed there. I had taken a route to water that led through shady bushes. I was wearing shorts and water shoes. The only thing I’d done right was not bathing the day before. I think the poor little thing was paralyzed by the tear gas of my body odor! It was time to wash the oily sweat from my skin and cool down in the water, where venomous reptiles were rare. Two rattlesnakes within an hour! It was enough to make me buy a Winnebago.
My heart was still racing in fight-or-flight mode, and it was hard to relax in the lake. I just dipped a couple times to get the film off my skin, but didn’t actually go swimming. The water was nice and cool, and dozens of blue dragonflies lined the edges of the flat rock next to the water. When I was in past my waist, they swooped and careened all around me, looking for a place to land. I put my arm on top of the water, and several of them lined up on it as if it was piece of driftwood. I smiled and blessed them (mostly for eating other bugs), and shook them off gently after a few moments. The sensation of being touched by anything was giving me the creeps. I just couldn’t erase the after-image of writhing serpents from my retinas. What a close call! Baby rattlers were the most dangerous of all, because they didn’t have the sense to save their venom, and usually let it all gush out with every bite. That certainly would have changed our itinerary! We were many steps and many hours from the nearest hospital. Our spectacular, multi-generational, Sound of Music adventure in an alpine paradise very nearly became a backwoods nightmare from Deliverance. I vowed to take the longer, brushless route to water from now on. They can have the Sierra Laurel; we humans will stick to the clearings.
After swimming, Miles wanted to try his hand at fishing. Dimari had brought my old, sectional fishing pole in its plastic tube, along with a bag of tackle and a jar of trout bait. I showed Miles how it all fit together, lectured him on the dangers of fishhooks, and gave him a crash course in casting and reeling. I had observed fish jumping in the waters just outside of the cove, so we went down to the foot of White Bear Rock to dip the line a few times. Miles got the hang of casting soon enough, but the bait wouldn’t stay on the hook very well. There was nary a nibble after fifteen minutes. I expected he was tired of all the instructions, and just wanted to be alone with his new experiences, so I left him and Jordan to figure things out, and headed back to camp for some lunch. The midday meal was the highlight of my modest menu, consisting of instant noodle soup with miso, jerky, and freeze-dried veggies mixed in. I also wanted another cup of coffee, after my “near-death experience”! I heard shouting from the vicinity of the cove, and wondered if the boys caught a fish. Alas, they soon returned with a hopelessly tangled reel, a broken jar of trout bait, and a resolute disinterest in angling.
When everyone had their fill of rehydrated lunch, we all went over to Bumblebee Springs to enjoy a fine, summer afternoon. The short hike was nerve-wracking due to the many fallen logs and thick patches of brush. If anyone had been listening, our passage would have sounded like a dozen weed-whackers had been turned loose on the local vegetation. We didn’t want to see any more snakes! A few wildflowers would be nice enough, thank you. The little pools in the bottom section were a bit smaller, and the vegetation a little thinner, due to the dryness of the year. I explained to the boys that the spring was likely fed by melting ice deep in the rocks, and there was probably less of it during a drought. We sought the cool shade available up by the Elf Prince Throne, which was now thoroughly overgrown with little plants and ferns, and no longer suitable as a butt rest. The local flora must have benefitted from all the good energy I shared while sitting in that spot during previous trips. (This is the same effect normally ascribed to gnomes and elves.) Everyone enjoyed the views from nearby perches, while Dimari explored the surrounding rocks. Busy bumblebees, butterflies, and dragonflies dodged and vied for the best flowers, and I introduced the kids to the dragonfly nymphs that lurked in the pools. A closer inspection revealed more of them than I had ever seen, which explained why there were so many electric blue adults in the area. The new generation underwater had a peculiar habit of affixing random bits of debris to themselves, such as hemlock needles, tiny twigs, and leaf particles. This gave them the appearance of a crawling junk heap, and whenever we touched them with a twig they stopped and played dead. This costume drama soon lost its fascination, and I suggested we go up to the larger Elf King Throne at the base of Keystone Rock.
It was an easy climb up, and the boys remembered my instructions to avoid walking on the sensitive moss and grasses; using rocks and logs whenever possible as stepping stones. There was deeper and cooler shade up here, where the ferns grew lush and neon green. We could easily see across the lake to the area of our campsite, where any new hikers would naturally appear, but so far, we still had both of the upper lakes entirely to ourselves. The temperature remained warm and pleasant, with no hint of the blast furnace that probably still lingered at the lower elevations. Not a single cloud was in the sky, and the world was a kaleidoscope of blue, white, brown, and green – as if seen from space. I could have stayed there the rest of the day, but Miles and Jordan grew restless and wanted to swim again, so they headed back to camp by the same bushwhacking route. It was impossible for us to stay together all the time, but I trusted their ability to follow the trail and keep their eyes peeled for any snakes. Dimari and I relaxed and chatted about mystical topics that suited our surroundings, such as aliens, earth energy, and ancient cultures.
Upon returning to camp, we weren’t surprised to find the boys eating again. There is a special fascination with camping food, and it all tastes great in the outdoors – even if it would be considered disgusting in polite company. Our families were fortunate to have an abundance of excellent cooks at home, and our rustic fare reminded us how spoiled we were to enjoy so many delicious, home-cooked meals. By the time I hung up my camera bag, Miles was already absorbed in his spoon-washing ritual. Like his dad and brother, he usually ate rehydrated meals right out of the foil pouches, which left only one utensil to wash. Miles turned this into a major aquatic production, using about a quart of water each time, splashing large dollops repeatedly until he was satisfied. Then he put the spoon on a dirty rock. I watched all this without comment, because safe water was much easier to come by, now that I had brought my new water bag filter. This ridiculously simple contraption worked by dunking its open end and hanging it from a tree branch, where it filled an empty gallon jug in about a half hour. I silently rued the thousands of pump-strokes I had performed over the years to obtain filtered water, but we’d brought a pump anyway for quick fill-ups.
The afternoon devolved into a relaxed pursuit of reading (Jordan), card games (Miles), dental hygiene without a toothbrush (Dimari), and just appreciating the fact that we were all here together, safe and well fed; as happy as being in a five-star resort. When the setting sun got close to the rim it was probably 8:00, and time for another tiny fire to prepare our s’mores. The mosquitoes wasted no time, dropping from the lower branches of the trees as soon as the rays of sunlight disappeared. Copious amounts of bug spray were applied by the Epps Men, but I opted for gloves, long sleeves, and a fine mesh mask that allowed me to laugh at the hungry beasties without bathing my skin in harsh chemicals. I showed my companions how to spray their hats, bandanas, and other articles of clothing instead of their skin. After the sweet treats were consumed, the boys opted for card games inside their tent, while Dimari and I moved up to the top of White Bear Rock and continued our deep conversations. We swatted the few vampire bugs that followed our pheromone trails, and soon we were nearly insect-free, which let us both relax and settle into the meditations of twilight. It took longer than we expected for the first stars to appear, and we found ourselves getting tired and uncomfortable on the hard granite, so we retired to our tents, vowing to meet again sometime during the night. We both wanted to see the intensity of a fully starlit night in the clear mountain air, but it was so nice to get the weight off our legs and have something soft to lay down upon. Soon the night forest was buzzing with quadrophonic chainsaws. The stars came out anyway, as the planet swirled among the constellations, but we were oblivious to the cosmic dance.
“Another glorious day in which one seems to be dissolved and absorbed and sent pulsing onward we know not where. Life seems neither long nor short, and we take no more heed to save time or make haste than do the trees or stars. This is true freedom,a good practical sort of immortality.”
— John Muir