Unknown Roads

May 24, 2012

I’m sitting next to a campfire on a lovely evening. I can see the moon between the tall pines. The stars will be peaking out soon. There are no lights here other than campfires and lanterns, so it makes for a stunning star-filled sky. It’s nice to relax a bit. It’s wonderful to be in a place of such majestic beauty, but there is also an intensity and anxiety that goes with it. It has to do with venturing into unknown places for the first time. Even with maps and occasional trail signs, I have felt a little leery and even outright worried about being or getting lost. Hmm. That’s a good metaphor for my life right now.

Metaphors aside and realness upfront, I’ve experienced some anxiety among the wonder. When I first arrived at Yosemite, the campgrounds were completely full and chances of getting a site any time this week are slim to none. The rangers were very helpful in explaining the alternatives of dispersed camping or finding a spot in one of the National Forest campgrounds outside the park. While it was all a grand adventure and the prospects seemed doable, it takes a different sort of energy to seek and find a campsite on the fly. 

It actually worked out better than I could have planned considering I didn’t know the area. I found this great site in the Sweetwater campground of Stanislaus National Forest, just 10 miles from Yosemite Park’s west entrance. As it turns out, this is a much better option than the crowded Yosemite campgrounds. There are only 13 campsites in Sweetwater, all with great space. There’s water and clean pit toilets. I’ve also had the opportunity to meet several interesting people. In Yosemite, campers are shoulder to shoulder. It’s crowded and noisy; not an environment that brings out the socialite in me. So this part of venturing into the unknown went very well and turned out delightfully good. I am grateful.

There have been other times though when the anxiety has gone a bit deeper. Yesterday coming off a hike in Tuolumne Meadows, the trail signs suddenly disappeared.  I knew I had only about ¼ mile to get to my car but the only trail in sight seemed to go out into the wilderness, away from where I thought the parking lot should be.  So, looking at my map, which didn’t indicate this section of trail, I decide to go up the road to the ranger station.

Of course, it is closed. I can see the road back to the parking lot and I know it is not far, but I am very frustrated at this point. The day before there had been times the trail was not clear and there were no markers, or if there were markers, they didn’t match up with the maps. Usually I got lucky and someone was either coming up the unseen trail or there was an experienced Yosemite hiker who could point the way. But yesterday was frustrating. The only help I got was, “well I know you’re very close.” Hiking along Hwy 120, aka: Tioga Pass, was very disconcerting. There was very little shoulder; cars came way too close and too fast for comfort. I knew I was heading in the right direction and it was very close but still I found myself almost in tears. Why do the trail markers just stop? Why aren’t the maps more clear? Why didn’t people offer me a lift if I was so damn close? Wah, wah, wah…

When I arrived at the road where my car was parked, there were trailhead signs. The one that seemed to wander out in the wilderness was the correct one after all. So why didn’t the maps clarify that and why wasn’t there a sign also pointing the way to the Lambert Dome Parking Lot? There had been plenty of trail signs before? Argh!  Ah well, breathe deep; collect yourself. It’s alright. I found my way. It wasn’t the designated scenic route, but I got where I needed to go. Breathe.

Today, after conversation with ranger and map in hand, I headed off to another unknown to me place. I was heading to Cherry Lake, the largest mountain lake in the Stanislaus Forest. It was reported to be great flat water for kayak, canoe and fishing boats. It was a 24 mile drive. I knew the road was going to be twisty. What I didn’t know is I would be driving up and down two different mountains to get there. Whew! Talk about an intense drive. This road was narrow; no signs to warn about the S curves and hairpin turns, and you should see the sheer drops if you missed. Yikes!

When I finally get to the lake it is not at all what I expected. There is very little picnic area or even space to be close to the water. There was one steep boat ramp. That was it. It looked calm enough, but a man hanging around on the boat ramp informed me that the waves have been very unpredictable and choppy that day. It was dangerous. He was in fact waiting for the Sheriff. His nephew, in another boat, had been hit by a wave that sunk his motor boat. They had gotten him and the gear to shore but now needed to have a rescue boat come and well, rescue him.

There was a cool breeze, and I know afternoon winds can kick up a lake. Looking out, I didn’t see anything that looked that threatening. The boat that sunk was low gunneled and open. I could see how a big wave could be a problem for them. Luckily the waiting uncle showed me an opening around what was actually an island in front of us. He warned me to be careful and to stay just in this cove and the next one. Avoid the open water! He was truly shaken.

Geesh! Now what? Do I attempt this or not? It didn’t look threatening, but a sunken boat? Hmmm. I decided to at least explore the two coves; after all it had taken me quite a while and some nerve to get to this point. I might as well get on the water. It is funny though how someone else’s crisis could make me so nervous. I was very tentative getting out on the water of the cove.

With no idea about the size of the lake or what to expect, I paddled forth. I discovered a lovely waterfall in the far corner of the second cove. I paddled along the shoreline and continued pretty much up the length of the lake; spotted an osprey with a fish for dinner. Later it was a bald eagle. Coming back the wind was strong, but I do well paddling into the wind.

It was a good and safe trip, but whew! Venturing down unknown roads and paddling in unknown waters can be a bit unnerving. As much fun as people think this is, it is hard, intense work. As envious as some people are about my wandering so freely, it has its moments of fear. There are risks; it’s not so easy. The unknown is a bit unnerving.

Perhaps that is why I was wide awake at 3:30 in the morning last night wondering what’s next. I have no idea and no maps. Even if I did have a map, it wouldn’t necessarily be clear or coincide with the road signs. Even with a map, there are still some “yowza!” moments when you realize the turn ahead is really sharp – watch out! Even with a map, sometimes the trail will disappear. I just pray that there will be kind and experienced guides to help point the way. Breathe. Collect yourself. It’s alright. You will find your way. 

That’s what I keep telling myself anyway.

The Waters of Yosemite

It will probably be a few days before I have internet access and this gets posted, but for the moment, I’m sitting beside a lovely gurgling stream on a big rock in the sun. Ahhhh…..it doesn’t get much better than this. 


It is peaceful and quiet here compared to the chaos and noise of yesterday. Yesterday I did a 6 hour hike in Yosemite Valley. The valley is absolutely beautiful with mountain peaks, domes and waterfalls every direction you look. The only problem is it is wall to wall people. Actually that’s kind of fun, especially when English is just one of many languages you can hear.  It is great to see so many people excited and awed with the natural beauty of this place. There is something to be said for collective wonder.

Vernal Falls along the Mist Trail

It was also pretty impressive to run into a group of 29 fourth graders hiking to the top of Vernal Falls. Some even went up all the way to Nevada Falls. You have to understand this hike. It was basically going up the side of a mountain. We had an elevation gain of 2400 feet in just about 2 miles. That’s some major steepness! Not only were these young kids out on this intense hike, but there were also some very determined elderly people making their way up the steep switchbacks that eventually got you to the top of the world. I was in some pretty amazing company on the way up.

Rainbow along bottom of Vernal Falls

With all that said though, I have to be honest. There were just too many people on the trails, especially to the top of the first waterfall, Vernal Falls. It cleared out on the second leg, but still, I missed being able to just sit quietly by the roaring Merced River. It was often hard to get that scenic shot because there were always people in the way. I’m chuckling as I write this. With all the traveling and camping I’ve been doing alone, you’d think I’d love opportunities to be with others. I do, but on my own terms.

I often felt like these people were invading my space. And sometimes they were. There are a lot of people with no trail etiquette and they think nothing of hogging entire trails or cutting into spaces that you’ve been waiting to clear. Always in a hurry; don’t get in their way. I guess it’s a bit like real life where everyone is looking out for their own interests and needs; myself included. By the time I had reached the top of Nevada Falls, most of the poor etiquette hikers were gone. They were out for joy rides; this hike required some heavy work. Things were much calmer and quieter (people wise) at the top. Probably because we were all exhausted and we still had a 2½ mile hike ahead of us to get back down to the trailhead.

Nevada Falls from the Mist Trail

Nevada Falls from the John Muir trail

    

It was pretty amazing though, up there on top of the mountain, Half Dome right next to me and El Capitan at an almost eye level view. The scenes before me were absolutely stunning and the opportunity to experience the mighty Merced River coming out of the higher mountains and plunging 1000’s of feet below was breath-taking. It carries the same force as those giant breakers crashing into the Pacific shoreline. I could feel my whole being just humming with the power of that river. I don’t know how to describe the feeling, but if you’ve ever been by big, powerful, fast moving water, you know what I mean. It’s exhilarating and it’s as if the blood coursing through your body is in rhythm with flow of the water. Yes, it makes my heart beat faster and gives my body and spirit this intense energy and sense of power.

Lake Tenaya along the Tiago Pass, Yosemite

Today I’m on much calmer waters and in much less crowded areas. I kayaked on Lake Tenaya at about 6000” elevation, in the middle of some magnificent mountain tops. I was the only boat on the water. It’s a small lake compared to most, but beautiful and smooth, at least until the cold mountain wind blows. Woohoo! Made for some good paddling and made me very glad to have my drysuit.

It’s calming and exhilarating at the same time to be on such a lake all by yourself; just me and the  common mergansers that I stirred up. It’s was beautiful and wonderful, and I was right smack in the middle of its grandeur. Wow…  Now I’m up in Tuolumne Meadows, an Alpine area. Again, no huge crowds. There’s people, but much less. It’s like going from big city Chicago to small town Elkhart Lake.   Much easier pace; people seem more relaxed and less frantic to get places. I’m only doing a short hike here so there’s actually a chance to just sit on a rock, in the sun by a gurgling stream.

I prefer the quieter space and the calmer pace. It’s easier to soak in the beauty and just give a sigh filled word of thanks to the Creator of it all. It is good. K’tov!


May 23, 2012

Eternal Musings

Today was an indescribable day, but I will try anyway. It started early in the morning when I had to crawl out of my relatively warm sleeping bag into the cold morning air. I’m guessing it was low 40’s now that the sun was coming up. After morning routines and packing up my car, I decided to go take a look at this beach on the other side of the lagoon. I’d been listening to the pounding waves for the last two days and had yet to see it. The day before, I almost made it over the dune, but I was stopped by fencing that closed off the area for nesting snowy plovers, and then I was completely drawn back to the lagoon because there in a cove I had not quite paddled to was a pack of harbor seals sunning themselves on the beach.  The Pacific Ocean could wait another day. And it did.

Today, I went over to the day use area of the Big Lagoon County Park of Humboldt County. Find that one on the map. I only found it because it was on the Redwood National Park map. It’s amazing how big everything is out here. On top of the dune I could see breakers coming in for miles. They seemed powerful enough but I had no idea how powerful until I got down eye level with them. These breakers had to be 5-8 feet tall. They were huge, and they thundered as they came crashing down on the shore. It was breathtaking and actually a bit frightening. There is no way in the world I would even attempt to kayak in that!

I hung around the beach for a while because the power of the thundering waves mesmerized me. It was tempting to stay another day here. The lagoon was actually calm today and it was warming up nicely. Today would have been the good day to paddle. Yesterday a strong wind out of the northwest kicked up. It made for a strenuous paddle which is why I never got as far as the seals by boat. I needed a break and was walking a bit.  Ah but that was yesterday.

Today, after letting my heart pound with the waves for awhile, I loaded myself back in my car and headed south again on Hwy 101 to the Avenue of the Giants in Humboldt Redwood State Park. This was where I was originally going to camp, but lately I’m mixing it up a bit and not sticking with the plan. This way I get to discover and delight in the unexpected.

I had already been through the northern areas of the Redwood National Park. I figured this would be more of the same. Well, if adding another 100’ of tree is the same, ok, it was more of the same. Not! It was utterly amazing, the size of these trees. My neck is stiff, but I’m still not tired of looking up to see the tops of these magnificent coastal redwoods. I hiked along the Founder’s Grove Nature trail and was just astonished and awed by these trees.  They’re huge, and in a way they are eternal.

One tree in particular touched me deeply. It was the Dyersville Giant - 17 feet in diameter, 370 feet tall (that’s like a 30 story building and taller than Niagara Falls). This tree came down in 1991 after heavy rains. Another tree in the forest was blown over, knocking into another tree, which then leaned into this giant and sent it over a week later. It was kind of like dominos in slow motion. No one was around when it fell, but someone a mile away heard the crash. There’s your answer to the proverbial question of if a tree falls in the forest and no one is there, does it make a sound? The answer is Yes!  A mile away it sounded like a train wreck. 

The burl is only at the 100' mark of the Dyersville giant. 

Anyway, this tree is guessed to be around 1600 years old. Honestly, I didn’t mess up the number as I’m known to do. It’s 16 hundred or one thousand six hundred years old! It will take at least 400 years more before it completely disintegrates into the forest floor. It is not uncommon for these trees to live 2200 years. I was totally awed, and actually a bit saddened by this tree’s early death. Even laying there on the forest floor it was a thing of beauty, and its size was incredible.

Surrounded by these huge, ancient trees is indeed magical and mystical. Surprisingly I didn’t feel small in their midst.  The sheer size should make me feel tiny. The length of time that went into creating these forests should make me feel like nothing in the spectrum of time, but it doesn’t. Instead, I feel lucky and thankful to be a part of something so much greater than myself. I did nothing to create it. In fact, the One who created these great trees and magnificent shorelines created human beings as well; created me.  And the Creator called it all good. K’ tov!  Regardless of size, shape, purpose or function, we’re all good; we’re all beloved by the One who created us. God takes as much delight in me as God does this tree that grew so strong and beautiful for 1600 years.

It’s an awesome thing to be part of something that began long before me and will continue long after I’m gone. I guess in a way, it reminds me that I’m already part of eternity. As I think of human relationships with all their joys and struggles, they tend to keep us focused in the more immediate section of eternity. We are wrapped up in our own dreams and trials for the day. It’s easy to think this is all there is. Even if we look a few years or a couple of decades down the road, this is it; this is our life, so we better make something of it.

As I think about that in terms of eternity I almost want to think it doesn’t matter. What I do, who I am, what I accomplish or even when I fail terribly, doesn’t matter in the really grand scheme of things. Well, that definitely take some pressure off (lol), but at the same time it matters greatly.  I’ve been reading about Bowen Family Systems theory which connects generations to generations. It sees individual human behavior in relationship to family systems and patterns that have been going on for hundreds of years. Without going into great detail, what it says is we’re connected and linked to people who have lived and died long before us. We’re also connected and linked to people in our families who are yet to be born and who we may never meet.  How we behave and decided and relate and live today is all connected up in patterns that have been passed on to us and we may or may not pass on to the future. What we do and who we are matters. We are all part of the eternal flow of life.

With all that said. I am awed. I am amazed. I am grateful to be part of something so big and so eternal. 

Sweet dreams, all.

This was actually written 5/18/12. Due to no internet access, its a couple of days out of sync. 

Sun Break

Finally, 
the clouds have burned away

and my spirit soars
as the sun breaks through the day
scattering warmth and light
all along the way.

I breath deep,
and my dreams come out to play.
Hope arises;
fears and shadows flee away
giving grace the room
to shape my day.

Grace now
come heal my broken heart
open up my eyes
as your love breaks through the haze
showing me the truth
that will guide my life.

Sunshine
expose both glory and sin

Reveal the truth
and let your mercies in
transform my life
let me begin again.

It’s amazing how much difference sunshine makes. I think I must have a touch of that seasonal affect disorder. While I am mesmerized by the fogs and cloud shrouds of the North Pacific coastline, I enjoy the sunshine even more. I can literally feel my spirits lift when the sun finally comes out to play.  

For the past week I’ve enjoyed ventures in the Northwest - from hikes on Little Si Mountain with friends to exploring tidal pools and coastal trails alone. I’m currently in a little obscure County Park on Big Lagoon along the Pacific. The fog or cloud shroud (not sure which it is) came in yesterday afternoon. It creates quite a mysterious place. Things are not quite clear in the distant. There is a calm and quietness in this shroud.  I can hear the pounding of the Pacific and the strange calls and noises of nesting cormorants. The water of the lagoon is like glass, with the distant shores fuzzy and blue. It’s an eerie, but beautiful world.


This morning I woke up to the cloud. I am learning to appreciate it's strange beauty and quiet. The plan for the day was to do some grocery shopping and write this blog and then kayak this afternoon on the lagoon, regardless of the skies.  Shopping is done, blog is almost complete and mercy upon mercy, the sun has broken through! The clouds have burned away and my spirit soars. Soon and very soon, kayak on the water and sun to warm my body. 


In Seattle, I learned a new term for this: sun break. Today I give thanks for the mysterious cloud enshrouded world of the coast and I especially give thanks for the sun breaks that lighten and warm up the days.

Lost and Found

No, I haven’t fallen off the face of the earth. I do feel a bit lost, I confess, but I am still earth bound. You can find me these days in the rainy, cloudy state of Washington. Last week I attended a Mediation Skills Training Session through the Lombard Peace Institute. It was a very intense week that began with a close look at personal conflict styles and then moved on to family of origin dynamics and self-differentiation.  This came at a very ironic time because just days before, I had caused conflict in a close relationship, as well as within myself. It was hard at times, if not downright impossible, to separate my own inner struggles from the learning. I'm reminded again, God has an incredible sense of timing and possibly a warped sense of humor. For me to land in this class at this time, it was more than just coincidence. It was an opening to understanding and the beginning of potential grace.

One of the light spots of the week was spending time with a former high school friend who now lives in Seattle. Without disclosing a lot of details, I confessed I was feeling pretty lost at the moment. She responded, “Well, you can’t be found until you’re lost.”

At first it sounded like a fun play on words to help make light of the situation, but at its heart is some deep wisdom. I began this journey as a time of self-discovery. I hoped it would be a time to find out more about myself and what I want for my life and future. Well, maybe now that I truly feel lost, alone and utterly homeless, I can truly be found. That’s my hope.

As I look back on this journey, both the recent sojourn and the lifelong road I have been on, I have lost some important things along the way; things that require grieving. I have lost good friends, and have experienced the end of relationships and a job that shaped and defined my identity. I left the place I called home. It is no longer mine; I have no place that I truly belong at this moment. Most of all, through the years, I have lost myself.

Those are the major losses in my life in a nutshell. Facing those losses, reveals new things. I have found how much I need meaningful companionship. Even though this time alone is important, I need to feel connected to others. Without a home, other than a tent and a car, I have found this desire, not so deep within, to be warm and comfortable. I have also found that it is not always enough to be able to call wherever you lay your head, home. I ultimately need a place to belong, a place to return.  I also need to be me, whoever that is, even at the risk of disappointing others.

That final lost and found is perhaps the hardest. From a young age, I found it was better and easier to keep others happy. I have been a people pleaser. That meant holding back with my own thoughts and ideas and feelings. While that may have been somewhat helpful as a child, it has not been a good, lasting or fulfilling way to be as an adult. It has created misunderstandings and confusion. It leads eventually to me striking out on my own in ways that seem defiant, ways that often cause more pain than if I had just been honest and forthright in the first place. 

Yes, I have lost much, and indeed, at the moment, I feel completely lost and at loose ends.  But I remain hopeful and cling to the wise words of my friend, it’s only when you are lost that you can be found.