Wright Lakes Basin

The ocean. The desert. California’s oak-studded coastal hills. They are all beautiful, but each of us has a favorite – a landscape that strums a chord deep inside. For me, it is the glacier-scoured granite expanses of the high Sierra. The occasional tree cover makes for a wide landscape. A wanderer can clearly see distant peaks, and no matter which way he or she may wander, the way is clear. It’s not easy, but when one looks down from the distant view, he is likely to find a gentle stream sliding past a garden of shooting stars and elephant heads. What is this delicate beauty doing amid such rough rocky country?

Wright Lakes Basin is a perfect example, and this image shows why. Gnarly foxtail pines make a living amid granite boulders; a creek tumbles toward the Kern River; the Great Western Divide as a backdrop. Good Lord.  
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Lush Desert – Anza Borrrego Desert State Park

The wet winter of 2016-2017 was one of those that wildflower lovers long for. In California, when they come, the show is in the desert. Features on the CBS Evening News and NPR from Anza Borrego Desert State Park confirmed that the display was epic. Friends who had gone there in prior wet years returned with enthusiastic reports of jaw-dropping sights. I was not going to miss out this time.

I found an airbnb in Julian, only a one-hour drive from Borrego Springs, but as different as a landscape can be. At an elevation of 4,226 feet, Julian sits at the crest of the Cuyamaca Mountains that drain all the moisture from east bound storm clouds leaving little for Anza Borrego and the desert beyond. 

 

Specifically, it is the go to the pharmacy shop cialis sildenafil first step toward eliminating the doughnut hole altogether, but not before 24 hours as over dose of Kamagra can be dangerous. For example with viagra online france this is something you will probably need to buy on more than 800 men has revealed that those who reported low sexual desires and thoughts were more likely to experience erectile dysfunction condition. The good order viagra overnight news is that ED (erectile dysfunction) is treatable now. How does Kamagra act? Before knowing the action of Kamagra, one is required to not consume heavy fatty meals as it will dissolve the solution’s viagra no rx component and not allow to properly get absorbed by the body. Even on my midweek visit, Borrego Springs, the town in the middle of the 600,000-acre park, was packed. I wanted to get guidance at the visitor center, but so did everyone else. I had to park a half-mile away. The repeated advice they gave was to drive a “standard” loop road around town. Sure enough, the most gaudy display I saw was right by the side Henderson Canyon Road. 

 

Here are a few shots from that spot. It was lovely indeed, but such a vast park beckons a visitor to quieter corners. So, I ventured out, but a park this size is a feast that can only be weakly sampled on a three-day visit. In my next few posts, I will share some images of simpler beauty away from the busy loop road.  

Your Landscape

 


When I stood here at the entrance to Miter Basin, I was truly amazed. It was so vast and grand, and it had appeared so suddenly. The urge to enter and explore was irresistible; not only the basin floor but the succession of lakes I knew were nestled above. When my wife, Renée, saw this photo, or when she sees any landscape like it, she dismisses it as barren. It holds no allure for her.

I am interested in the responses people have to different landscapes. I won’t pretend to be a psychologist and guess what they might mean, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they might reveal a good deal about our basic nature. Renée loves a seaside setting or the golden oak-studded California hills. I do too, but they don’t trigger the same spinal tingle that I feel at the likes of Miter Basin.

I came to Miter Basin with four friends, and I was interested to note that the others set up camp in or near the grove of foxtail pines at the base of the slope you see in the picture. I preferred to plunk down near the middle of the basin so that I could feel the immensity of the landscape and see as much of the night sky as possible (the tent was only in case of rain). Mmmm, I wonder.
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Wherever we chose to roll out our bags, each of us was enchanted with Miter Basin. The rim of the basin is surrounded by 13,000′ peaks, and each recess above holds a mountain lake with its own unique charm. Beautiful fall reds colored a ground-hugging mosaic of alpine flora. Daybreak songs of a coyote choir echoed up and down the granite walls, adding to the mystery and magic.

Leave the psychologists out of it, I guess. Let each of us prefer the part of nature we do without explanation. “Why” isn’t important. The gift of just standing there is enough.

 

 

Digger Pines

M-Oak SilhouetteI’m not supposed to say that. It’s not PC. “Digger” is a condescending term that was used by early Eurpoean settlers to characterize some of the Native Americans in the Great Basin and in California who dug in the soil for roots and bulbs. One of our native pines inhereted that moniker as its common name, but the modern day arbiters of politeness say no, it must be changed. So, the digger pine has become the gray pine, or the ghost pine, or the foothill pine. I like digger pine. It is a good reminder of just how mean and insensitive we can be.

One thing for sure, the tree doesn’t know or care. It is widespread in California’s hot and dry interior foothills where it often teams up with blue oaks to brighten hills where it is tough to make a living. But digger pines are most striking when the sun bends low and illuminates the tree from behind. The open and airy way the tree carries its needles causes it to light up like a fluffy cloud, or as one new common name suggests, like a ghost. A hillside of backlit digger pines is dazzling scene of airy elegance.

For years, I walked through backlit digger pine forests looking for a way to capture the scene on film. Though it was a lovely sight, there was no photograph there. I needed something I could hang an image on.
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About 25 years ago, a friend and I were hiking out of the Coon Creek region of Henry Coe State Park. We were descending an open grassy slope. Across the valley, the entire hillside was luminous with backlit digger pines. Then, there it was. Just steps in front of me, a valley oak, its leafless branches tracing an elegant artistry, provided the perfect structural counterpoint to the raft of fluffy pines across the valley.

This photograph remains a favorite and hints at the beauty of a forest of backlit digger pines.

A Good Wildflower Year?

W-Goldfields1I am never quite sure what the exact recipe is for a great spring wildflower display. While I enjoy botanizing in California’s Coast Range and in the Sierra, I know just enough to be dangerous. I’m likely to concoct some groundless theory and assert it as fact. But based on the significant rainfall we have had thus far, I wonder if this spring could be a memorable one.

Sierra PrimroseNaturally, rain is a must, but there have been many so-so spring blooms after a wet winter; other factors certainly play a part. It makes sense that during the recent drought years viable wildflower seeds have not received enough water to sprout. Perhaps through the sparse blooms of recent springs that seeds have been accumulating waiting for a winter like we are having now. With an average amount of rainfall during the rest of the California winter, maybe we will see a spring bloom like 1997.

M-Hunter Liggett LiteDo you buy it? I may be way off base, but it sounds good.

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I’m guessing, but I am hopeful. I will keep an eye on the various wildflower hotlines (here are two: http://theodorepayne.org/education/wildflower-hotline/ and http://www.desertusa.com/wildflo/ca.html). This might be the spring for a long-awaited trip to Anza-Borrego.

We’ll see. Keep your fingers crossed.

Guided Tour of Early California

Menjoulet CanyonIf you have ever wondered what California looked like before 38 million of us engineered it to meet our needs, allow William Brewer to take you on a guided tour.

In 1860, California’s state legislature named Josiah Dwight Whitney State Geologist and directed him “to make an accurate and complete Geological Survey of the State.” The first man Whitney appointed to the survey was William Henry Brewer, a man he had never met, but who came so highly recommended, he chose him sight unseen.

Over the next four years, the survey traveled the length and breadth of California. Whitney only occasionally joined the field survey team as his leadership responsibilities kept him tied to his San Francisco base. But Brewer was an ideal field leader who chronicled day-to-day events in regular letters sent back east to his brother, Edgar. Those letters have been compiled into a wonderful volume called that creates a vivid picture of a an unsullied state. Imagine Los Angeles, a city of only 3,500 souls. Or Monterey, population 1,500. During his descent of the Salinas Valley and his time on the Monterey peninsula, he is constantly concerned about the threat of Grizzly Bears.

Central Valley Wetland Lite

In early California, after a wet winter, one could almost row from the Coast Range to the Sierra foothills

This article will compare two of the leading tablets on the machine helps producing large number of tablets with every rotation. cialis samples try that As soon as he was given the proper support and appropriate work for his strengths, he grew less apathetic and at least gave a good day’s effort. online viagra soft you could try this out Moreover, we all know about the problem of erection, overdose of http://deeprootsmag.org/2014/12/18/our-christmas-best-to-you/our-christmas-best-spotlight/ cialis viagra can cause serious health problems. Health Benefits of generic cialis uk Medication cialis medication such as Kamagra has been shown to reduce risk of type 2 diabetes. I am early in my third reread of this book, and I am excited about what is in store. If you know some history of the Sierra, you know the story of the famous traverse of the Sierra by Clarence King and Richard Cotter that led to the ascent of Mt. Tyndall. Still regarded as one of the great mountaineering achievements, King and Cotter climbed Tyndall hoping it was the highest peak in the range. When they reached the top, they were disappointed to see a higher peak in the distance; Mt. Whitney. King tells an exaggerated death-defying tale of his climb of Tyndall (I can confirm this as I have climbed it by the same route. It is a simple scramble.) in his classic book “Mountaineering in the Sierra Nevada.”

While the assembled letters make this volume eminently readable, don’t quickly flip the pages. It is a book to linger with, to steep in like a tea bag in warm water. You will be truly transported to time never to be seen again.

Humphreys above BishopTo mark the 150th anniversary of the survey, Tom Hilton has created a blog (http://upanddowncalifornia.wordpress.com/) with posts linking dates 150 years apart. He includes maps, photographs, and links to related historical and natural history resources.

While California has changed dramatically, the California Geological Survey just wasn’t that long ago. My 96-year-old mother has lived 2/3 of that time span. Amazing. It just wasn’t that long ago.

Open Space and Freedom

Distant Nevada Mtns

Keeping us Free

I have just cracked Ian Frazier’s book On The Rez. I have always admired Frazier as a writer, but steered away from this book for the very reason he states on page one that readers might be deterred: the story of the lives of present day Oglala Sioux on the Pine Ridge Reservation seems bleak.

It has quickly become apparent that in his hands, bleak will become bright and interesting. He is a master. After only one chapter, he has dazzled me and turned some of my long-held beliefs on end. In that opening chapter, Frazier reframes the story of European/Indian interaction to show how Europeans have adapted to Indians ways, not how they have been forced to adapted to us. He cites many examples, but the one that has stuck with me is the role Indians played in shaping the freedom we enjoy in the United States.

What the…? I know. I had the same response, but bear with me.

Frazier points out the tendency across all American Indian traditions toward “disregard for titles and for a deep egalitarianism.” He further writes, “The Indian inclination toward personal freedom,…made for endless division and redivision among tribes.” When tribe members couldn’t get along, some left and went on their own. To make the point, Frazier lists the many subcategories of Sioux, a result of groups diverging to pursue their preferred way of life.
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When Europeans came to the New World, they had no experience with freedom or democracy as we know it today. Through history, they had lived under the rule of potentates. Frazier says, “In the land of the free, Indians were the original “free”; early America was European culture reset in and Indian frame. Europeans who survived here became a mixture of identities in which the Indian part was what made them American and different than they had been before… Thanks to Indians, we learned we didn’t have to kneel to George III.” He cites Benjamin Franklin’s admiration of the confederacy of the six Iroquois nations who remarks what a fine (and new) model it might be for a union of states.

What lay beneath the Indian “inclination toward personal freedom” and decentralization of power that rubbed off on European settlers? According to Frazier; open space – lots of open space. If you aren’t happy here, you are free to go over there. And for early settlers in America there was a lot of “over there.”

I have always been aware of the great personal sense of freedom I feel in wide open spaces, but I never thought of open space as a force for freedom across society as a whole. Frazier skillfully connects the dots from the Indian influence on early European settlers to the principles set down in our Constitution; the founding document of the world’s first democracy.

This adds a new dimension to the significance of open space. It’s not just a sanctuary of peace and personal freedom. The DNA of freedom as a force in the world resides in open space. It was born there and is sustained there.

Path to a Favorite Photo

W-Chorten-CholatseAt the Sherpa village of Gokyo (15, 580 ft.), we decided to split up. My sister, Scott, and one porter would decend the Dudh Kosi drainage to its junction with the Imja Khola, then ascend that river to the village of Dingboche. Rather than go down and around with them, I would go with our guide and a porter over Cho La, the pass that connects the two drainages, and we would reunite at Dingboche. Our guide had never been over Cho La, but it all looked straightforward.

We parted ways just below Gokyo. Ratna, our guide, the porter, and I crossed the Ngozumpa Glacier and began our ascent of the pass. It was steep, but pleasant going under a bright sun over solid rock footing. At the top of the 17,780-foot pass, things changed. Instead of rock, we were now walking on a glacier. Instead of sunshine, we were wrapped in a low cloud dusting us with gentle snow flurries. But, no problem; the route was clear and there was a gentle magic about walking through a delicate snow flurry in the Himalayas.

We reached the lone trekking lodge at Dzonglha (15,912 ft.), our destination for the day. All of the lodges we had stayed in before were primitive, but each had a coarse quaintness and a bright open feeling. Not this one. In a room so dark it felt subterranean, I rolled my sleeping bag out on an unclaimed portion of a long common sleeping pad where all visitors would spend the night. The luxury of resting after the day’s effort trumped any concerns about the accommodations.

Ratna came in and tapped me on the shoulder. The porter did not feel well, and we would have to pack up and go lower. Ratna carried the porter’s load, and I carried Ratna’s load so that the porter could walk unburdened. The pace of the earlier snowfall had increased, and now it was nearly dark. Off we went.
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Our destination was Tuglha, about three miles and 1,000 feet down the slope. Each of us walked through the snowy darkness in our own envelope of silence. After a while, it was clear to me we had walked longer and farther than the distance to Tuglha. Where were we, and where were we going? I can’t remember the conversation I had with Ratna, but all we could do was keep walking. Finally, I heard nearly the sweetest sound I have ever heard: Yak bells. We were just outside Lobuche. Instead of three miles, we walked five. Instead of dropping lower, we climbed higher.

M-Himalayan Pass

Cho La

The next day, the porter was fine. We marched down the lightly snow-dusted valley to Dingboche where we rejoined my sister and Scott. Over lemon tea at a village tea house, we shared our misadventures and then found lodging for the night. The next day, low clouds chilled the morning air, but as they began to dissipate, they luffed and danced on the surrounding peaks revealing them in the most artistic and spectacular ways. As I walked through Dingboche, I looked up to see a Stupa appear in front of Taboche and got this image; my favorite from the trip.

Fall Again

Aspen Trunk Forest LiteI envy the sensitive souls that truly feel the energy or “vibe” that pulses through our world. What a gift. Apparently, I am cursed with a thick shell because very few channels come through, and when they do reception is sketchy. But fall is different. Whether I am feeling some distant yearning or it is just my imagination, I have a physical response to fall.

If I had to characterize the feeling of fall in a word, I would say it is lazy. Summer winds have died down and the hills are as quiet and still as a museum painting. The heat has eased and temperatures are ideal. On such calm and lovely days, fall feels more than lazy; it feels sleepy. I can’t help but think Maple Color widethat an instinct from my distant primal past is awakened in my DNA urging me to start digging a den and prepare for a long winter nap. Granted, it could be my imagination or some other sensation. I have ruled out old age or lasting effects from the 1960’s. No, I’m pretty sure it’s my DNA talking.

And why not? Look around. The DNA in all of nature’s other creatures is preparing them for repose, or in the case of annual plants and some insects, death. Another cycle is drawing to a close. But this recurring sleep/death process is punctuated by a gaudy display. On a recent trip to the Rockies, I was surprised by the a hillside of maples I did not know lived there. This is not New England.  It is Idaho.M-Vineyard Detail
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Even in my area, where fall colors are modest, a careful eye finds lovely surprises. Years ago, I made this image in a nearby vineyard.

Enjoy the beauty and the fabulous days. If you feel a little lazy – even sleepy, don’t worry. It’s just your DNA talking.

Can I Buy You a Beer?

B&W Bristlecone Lite

Excuse me, do you have time for a beer?

When I am on the trail, I often run into people or “lower” life forms that impress me. I am moved to think that it would be great to sit down with those creatures and talk. Not talk actually, but listen. There is something about the people that venture into the wild and the things that live there that fascinate me and arouse my curiosity.

To wit: When my son and I walked the John Muir Trail, we regularly bumped into Rose along the way. Rose was from England, she was approaching middle age, and she had come to the United States by herself to take a 220-mile three-week walk through the Sierra wilderness. Only a very special woman sits on her sofa in England and says to herself, “I think I will go to America and walk the John Muir Trail alone. Yes, that’s a good idea.” I would like to sit down with that woman, have a beer, and just hear what she has to say. Rose, I am not going to talk, I am going to listen. I want to hear the musings of a spirit like yours.

Another woman, Joanne, who lives in my home town divided the John Muir Trail into four sections and hiked one each summer for four years. This past summer, Joanne completed the last section of the trail. That means she hauled a pack over 13,200-foot Forester Pass, then walked another twenty-five miles to the summit of 14,495-foot Mt. Whitney. Joanne is 82 years old.
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Wouldn’t you, wouldn’t anyone love to sit down with Joanne and simply listen to her say whatever she chooses to talk about? I know that in the course of drinking a beer or two with Joanne or Rose I would be immeasurably enriched. How could it be any other way? What’s more, on the trail, I frequently meet people with bright spirits like theirs. In a world where it is easy to lapse into cynicism, the people I meet like Rose and Joanne make me proud to be a member of the human race.

This beer-buying urge even occurs with creatures, trees in particular. Have you ever walked past a massive tree on an exposed alpine ridge gnarled and twisted by ages of holding fast against hail and snow pushed by a raking wind and wondered what it has seen during its life? Pick any bristlecone pine from the White Mountains. The Methuselah tree, still alive and well there, was 3,000 years old when Jesus was born.

What have these ancient monarchs seen? What do they have to teach? I would like to know. My gray matter is extremely thick, but very slowly I am beginning to learn their language. I will never be fluent, but I will continue to listen.

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