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| San Gorgonio Summit, in my dreams and on the web |
The highest mountain in Southern California somehow escaped
the childish yearning and adult childishness that have led my boots to most of
the peaks near it. I can’t explain such
an oversight, but set out last Tuesday to correct it. The hike was also training, for both you and
me—an exercise for desert happiness coming in October.
Long before last Sunday’s storm, I requested a permit to hike
the San Gorgonio Wilderness above Redlands, California. No one could have predicted that my allowed day
of entry would fall two days after the worst thunderstorm to hit those
mountains in many years. Six inches of
rain fell in two hours last Sunday sending torrents down all the canyons and
dry washes.
To get to the trailhead at the edge of Mill Creek, I had to drive
across several outwashes of rocks and debris. As seen in this photo, the trail ascends a
hillside; but first I must cross the creek.
Imagine a dry wash two-hundred-feet wide flowing five feet deep. That is what deposited the rocks you see in
the picture. But today at daybreak, I crossed
without getting my boots wet.
Soon the steep trail entered dense brush on its way up to a
ridge at ten-thousand-feet which leads to San Gorgonio Peak at 11,502
feet. Washed out in several places, the
trail was hard to find and not easy to hike where it crossed gullies and debris
from Sunday’s rushing water.
High above Mill Creek, hangs a verdant valley of a creek called Vivian where monsters live. This incense cedar might have lined your closet with boards of fragrant odor, repelling moths, had it not lived out of reach, and now protected from such incessant lusts.
Ponderosa pines so fat and tall
the first limb two-hundred-feet above the ground
a forester’s dream
untouchable now
except by lightning, fire, and earthquake—
all minor threats indeed
Old Ponderosas and incense cedars know the pain of fire and the joy of persistence after injury.
Farther up Vivian Creek
in full morning sun, stands a group not crowded
not competing, respecting neighbors’ space
each giving its share of resistance
the group requires against the wind
What do you do
when lightning
lobs your head off?
die like the ones beside you?
or raise an arm
make a face
with your hand
Up and up the rocky trail ascends
wounded by the storm, worn down
as the entire mountains wear in time
unless the opposition wins
the earthquake risings
that brought these mountains up
opposing erosion
Thrust up and worn down
the earth’s granite writhes
in geologic quickness
a speed we sometimes see
but usually find extinct
Lodgepole pines, you may remember, die in droves in the Rocky Mountains, so vast their demise that I called it “Fall of the Lodgepole Empire.” But here a different subspecies does not succumb to the mountain pine beetle, does not die in youth, but grows old and gnarled in the San Gabriel Mountains.
Trees become small near timberline, on the last ridge at ten-thousand-feet,
a ridge leading to the top. I looked
along it toward the summit, which was still out-of-sight behind a lesser peak. Had I not lost the trail and not climbed over
so many storm-strewn rocks and fallen trees, the clock might have shown enough
time to reach the summit and return before night. Or that might be an excuse for being too
tired. I turned back here and completed
the descent before darkness.
This heady dose of wilderness was just what I needed to cause
you to worry again, those of you who don’t quite understand yet. It stilled the mind in a way productive to
poetry, happiness, and a better-feeling body.
Despite having bailed out before reaching the summit, I found
the experience both memorable and metaphorical.
I hiked some twelve miles of trail and washed-out trail, most of them
rocky and steep, while climbing a mile in elevation, all of them beautiful to
both eye and mind.
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| Map of the trail I hiked |
