“Quiet minds cannot be perplexed or frightened,
but go on in fortune or misfortune at their own private pace,
like a clock during a thunderstorm.”
— Robert Louis Stevenson
At dawn, ragged clouds left over from last night lingered in patches around the basin. More snow melted; more water flowed away. Another day in the Trinities. My goal was to visit Fairy Falls today, below the Beater Cedar. Tomorrow, I could either spend another day, or head home. The days resist planning any strict agenda up here. The summer campers were packing up, and the chances were good that I might have the day to myself. I’d seen about 30 different people so far… more than I ever see at home, ironically. I gathered some supplies, and hiked the drifts down to Wee Bear. I could have skied all the way down on my feet, but that probably wouldn’t have turned out well. The temperature was a little cooler today, and the air was clean and fresh, with an abundance of puffy clouds.
I made my way down slowly to the waterfalls, saving my legs to get me home, and taking lots of pictures. The “wee pee” outlet from Wee Bear was full and noisy, in its bustling haste to reach the ocean. I came upon the roaring 12-foot falls from the top, and navigated the easiest way down. I found a seat in the cool shade, next to a splashing, enchanting fountain. The crystal cascades were broken up by slanted ledges, imparting a curiously soothing, musical quality to the soundscape. I was overjoyed with gratitude to be there on that day; the only one of its kind. I forgot my butt pads, so I took off my boots & socks, and deployed my neoprene knee braces as substitutes. My feet were happy to get some sun and fresh air. Buzzy the fly fell in love with my big toe, which had a bandage where I gashed it on a rock. It seemed to be healing well, fortunately, because I’d soon be abusing my toes all the way down the trail. I’ve been extremely lucky on this trip, I reflected; filled with gratitude for learning more important lessons without seriously injuring myself in the process.
It was very cool down at the Fairy Falls, in more ways than one! The temp was 68 in the shade, with cool air moving all around the chilly cascades. Naturally, the lake water was a little warmer by the time it got down there… but not by much. The overflow from the falls split into two shiny, sliding black ribbons that created another small pool on a bench about 200 yards below, before they continued 3,000 feet down to meet the Trinity River. I certainly wasn’t going down there, unless there was an escalator to get me back up! Cloud-watching was more my speed, that day.
I laid out in the sun on a flat, sloping rock, and watched the cumulonimbus amateur hour. Time slowed to the rhythm of water vapor shifting, spiraling, and surging directly above me. I said a prayer for nothing in particular – just from sheer thankfulness. My heart rays formed a force field at the top of my vision, where the cloud wisps probed, curled away, then regrouped and tried again to continue in a southerly direction above my head. But my love was too strong, and the curly tufts piled up on themselves like meringue in a mixing bowl. It seemed as though I could reach out with my finger and taste it! That angel dance would continue all afternoon, but I was warm enough to move back into the shade.
In my cool, pleasant spot next to Fairy Falls, caressed by soft hemlock branches, I observed the water performing acrobatic tricks for my amusement. Part of the flow trickled downward in a sweet little chute, splitting into multiple threads along the way. The main downspout plunged off the top onto a slanted ramp, careening off the attractively angled granite shelf. Most of it thrusted forward into the pool from there, while a small side flow smashed against a rocky right angle; rejoining the torrent with a little chaotic back flow that plummeted to yet another platform. All this time, a dark background of mossy dribbles seeped behind the main current in slow motion. Totally agitated, the entire stream surged into the lower, circular pool, which was maybe two feet deep, roughly 8 feet in diameter, and whirling like a washing machine. From there, the mass of water gathered momentum, and leapt off a sheer platform of rock in a smooth sheet about 6 feet wide; just before the split. The symphony of frothing and splashing provided a delightfully hypnotic soundtrack to the warm afternoon. But alas, it was time to bid that magical scene farewell, and head back up the tumbling cliffs.
On the way back to camp, I discovered the melting drifts were exposing more familiar rocks, logs, and trees. The snow was getting slushy in the hot sun on its surface, but remained firmly packed underneath. It was still possible to walk on snow all the way up to Little Bear, where the biggest campsite was now half-clear. The blessed mountain air conditioning was still working, too, which was a true comfort. Nobody else had moved in during my absence. Oh, woe is me – all alone, and nothing to do! Unlike home, I wasn’t even thinking about what I “should” be doing, or planning what to do next. My operating system was just practicing appreciation of each present moment. Clouds were now billowing above Altamira and its sentinel spire, with no plans of their own, except to celebrate change as a passage from one moment to another. The thousand faces in the back wall behind the lake dozed in and out of contemplation, like sleepy monks in a comfortable monastery. For them, simply watching the snow melt was a religious practice. The whispering sound from tiny, hidden waterfalls gurgled with the rhythm of chanted prayers. Only an occasional breeze, or the weirdly out-of-place droning of an airplane, disrupted the meditation.
Suddenly, I heard footfalls and root-stumbling that could only come from an approaching human. Even Sasquatch would’ve been more graceful than that! A dapper chap in a polo shirt, linen shorts, and white hat didn’t see me standing there, and headed right for the lake. As he prepared to celebrate his new discovery by pissing on it, I sat down out of his view, and summoned a swarm of thirsty bumblebees to deter him. I didn’t want to witness such sacrilege! I heard him stumbling over to where he finally saw me, and we exchanged polite meet & greet trifles. He had no pack, camera, or even a walking stick, as if he’d just come from the bar of a yacht club. It turned out he was at Big Bear Lake with his wife for a couple of days, and brought nothing on his day hike up here… not even water! I offered him some, but he preferred to flop down and drink from the streams that flowed down from the latrine areas above camp. Whatever. He was a jolly chap, and who was I to spoil his gentrified walkabout? He appeared strangely – an incongruous emissary from another dimension – and then he was gone. Or was all that just a bizarre, cartoon hallucination?
My ears caught a far-off burbling of thunder, and I glanced up to see that the puffy, aimless clouds had changed to a serious gray color. It seemed possible that some evening thundershowers could be in the forecast, but for me, that would be just another form of entertainment. The only blue sky left was directly above me. Another indistinct rumble skittered across the sky, but I had everything prepared already. It would just be a matter of drying out a few things in the morning. I had decided another day’s rest at home, before returning to work, would be valuable. Also, if I left a day early, I could afford to take my time and be extra careful. I had another wonderful trip to add to the mental album of my memories, but this one was special because I truly earned it – by rehabbing for a long time, after some truly freakish accidents in the past 2 years. Not to mention that the whole region nearly burned down recently, or that I almost fell off a cliff! I felt the prudent play was to quit while I was ahead.
It was getting close to supper time, and the sky became more indistinct, but at least conditions hadn’t worsened. There was lots of grumbling all around me, but nobody had rained on my party yet. As another rumble rippled across the ridgeline, I realized what was so very different about this trip: the lack of SILENCE. The awesome, palpable quietness that is a hallmark of this sacred place was always being interrupted by the sounds of change. There were constant water sounds of course, and now the thunder, warming up for what could be the grand finale for my expedition. I was determined to remain focused on the present moment, and appreciate whatever it brought to me. I stashed some stuff in my backpack, and prepared my soup and jerky for cooking, in case I had to eat quickly inside my tent.
It is said that thunderstorms can materialize rapidly in the mountains, and this one was no exception. I got a few scattered drops for warning, which set me into motion. As soon as I lit the stove, it started pouring… not gradually, but all at once. Large drops were dumped close together, as if I had stumbled inside a car wash. The downpour was churning the lake and puddles close to my camp; bouncing drops upward in a chaotic admixture of warm and cold water. I quickly stashed my backpack under the tent’s rain fly, but it was already quite wet. Good thing I had closed it up! I peeked inside the tent – it looked to be battened down – then turned off the boiling stove. Avoiding the big trees, I took shelter under the little ponderosa I was using to hang my water bag, to wait it out and eat my dinner. I was already soaked, as if I had fallen in a swimming pool. I figured the cloudburst would let up quickly, because I could still see blue sky, in the direction from which the drops were falling. But it went on, unabated, for about 20 minutes, and thoroughly drenched the entire basin… including my campsite. I could see puddles forming all around my tent, which was naturally in a flat spot. I thought of the dapper gentleman in the white hat, and hoped he made it back safely to his wife and dogs.
When it finally tapered off a bit, I ducked inside the tent, leaving my boots on and thrusting them out the door, so I could assess the damage. It was a mess! I realized my 20-year-old tent had never been through a rainstorm before, and the fly was essentially useless! It stuck to the screen walls of the tent, and water dripped through at the contact points. Nearly everything inside was wet in some way, but not too badly. Outside, I could hear the fat raindrops becoming less frequent, until they finally stopped altogether. A quick check of the sky told me the storm had passed, as they always do this time of year in the mountains, and I started extracting the dampened contents of my tent. I hung my Dad’s old sleeping bag on a clothesline, in a spot where there was still a chance for some sun before it set. It was only damp in a few spots, and should be fine. The so-called “rain fly” I spread out on top of some bushes. It was the wettest thing around, except for the lake itself. Steam began to rise from the surrounding rocks, as the still-hot sun made a brief appearance. My long pants and hoodie were the wettest clothing, but they’d dry out by morning. I checked the sky again, hoping it wouldn’t rain anymore. It was clearing, but the sun was close to disappearing behind the ridge, and would not be much help.
There was enough ambient heat in the rocks surrounding the lake, so that the water evaporated quickly. The rising mists collected, and drifted past my camp as a graveyard specter; cool and wet on the almost-dry clothes I still wore. It was a pleasant temperature, but intensely humid. I watched as the mist blew away towards Wee Bear, and could see that the warm rain had melted a significant portion of the lake’s icy covering close to shore. I waited until twilight to start putting the tent and my gear back together. I rigged some ropes to try and keep the rain fly off of my tent, and reasoned that the clouds would blow away, now that they had dropped their load. It was exhilarating to be part of a mountain thunderstorm, without significant danger of lightning, but I was hoping for a full night’s sleep before leaving the next day. I’d have to spread everything out to dry in the morning, further delaying my departure. What an exciting last night at Little Bear Lake!
To arise in us, invisible?
there’s nothing left outside to see?
What, if not transformation,
is your deepest purpose? Earth, my love,
I want that too. Believe me,
no more of your springtimes are needed
to win me over – even one flower
is more than enough. Before I was named
I belonged to you. I seek no other law
but yours, and I know I can trust
the death you will bring.”