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.