I wake up and look out my picture windows (I slept in the truck). Straight ahead I see the sun shining brightly upon my pond, dispersing the cool shadows of the previous night from its surface, backlighting the aquatic grasses so that they almost glow a bright, neon green. To my left I look out upon a forest of mighty trees standing proudly against the backdrop of a bright blue morning sky. Among their many, mighty boughs I can see birds of various sizes diving from one branch to another as they embrace the morning and its warming glory (or maybe just looking for breakfast). To my right is a grove with a plethora of pines (that’s for David) so dense that the forest floor is a veritable carpet of needles, twigs and pinecones. And I’m too lazy to see what’s behind me.

I finally roust myself up, tumble out of the truck and stumble up to the campsite. A breakfast of cereal and milk completes my revival and I’m ready to face the day. With the sun recharging my batteries I decide to go for a short hike to work out the kinks of the previous night’s sleep. I come to the outflow from the pond and hop over to the other side. I decide to follow along its course for a bit and looking back upstream I am presented with a sweet little view of a miniature cascade, the waters falling over a series of little boulders into miniature pools. At various spots the flow disappears into the ground only to pop up again a bit further downstream. All along its path grows a lush belt of vegetation and even this late in the season I find wildflowers of all types and colors – here lacy white ones, there lavender bells on a tall stalk, and over there showy red berries beneath an umbrella of orange-yellow petals. All the while, my ears are being serenaded by the gentle rush of the water as it tickles its way down the mountain to Tamarack Creek below.

After a bit I just stand quietly, observing the peaceful surroundings. It’s soothingly calm here. Whatever worries or concerns that I might have had just remove themselves from my consciousness – at least temporarily. I sit and absorb the serenity, close my eyes and listen to the wind whispering through the upper reaches of the many tree growing tall here. My ears are tuned not to the discordant sounds of traffic on the 405, nor the dissonant din of the office, but rather to the harmonious melodies of nature. So relaxing. So relieving. So rejuvenating!

And then I move on. I now start working my way back along the side of the mountain, sometimes going uphill, sometimes going downhill. Wherever my fancy takes me (that and the contours of the slope). I spy some pretty red flowers growing in a clearing of tall greenery so I head down the hill a bit to take a closer look – treading carefully the whole time because I do not want to twist my ankle on the side of this steep hill, below my campsite, alone… You all know the sorry state of my ankles (volleyball is not always very, very good to me). I get down there, safely, and wade into the lush vegetation to take a closer gander and snap off a picture or two. Then I head back up and around the slope.

After scrambling up and around some black-specked (mica I think) granite boulders and clambering over some huge decaying, fallen tree trunks, and picking my way carefully through some dense undergrowth, I find myself looking at a beautiful green meadow sprinkled with an assortment of wildflowers, mostly yellow and white – a bright, warm, sunshine-filled spot set amongst the cooler forest that surrounds it. The ground is a bit soft and damp here as it sits just off from the creek that feeds into my hideaway pond. Looking down I see a little green frog sitting quietly among the grasses. Bending down to take a picture I unfortunately startle it, and it sets off hippity hopping away from my intrusion. "Sorry dude." "My bad!"

Next I head up towards the “top” of this part of the mountain and am rewarded with a wonderful view when I arrive there. Spreading out before and below me is the valley cut by Tamarisk Creek running down far below me. It’s a “closed” valley, i.e. there’s no apparent outlet and with no signs of people or manmade structure in sight anywhere, it feels like my own private picture view. Across the way and to my right – uphill – stands a promontory of rock colored a deep rusty red. To my left – downhill – the peaks of nearby mountaintops recede gracefully into the soft haze blown up from the foothills. Where I stand is a flat outcropping of the light gray granite which predominates here in the Sierras, sparsely adorned with the low growing, gnarly-branched manzanita whose reddish bark adds a nice counterpoint of color to the sturdy blandness of the rock.

The sun is warm, the breeze is fresh and gentle, and the hike has sapped what little energy I was able to generate today, so I sit myself down in a convenient depression, my back leaned against a more convenient boulder, and proceed to relax and soak in the vista. I enjoy an acrobatic aerial display put on by the local troupe of songbirds flying to and fro and chuckle at the antics of the chipmunks scampering about. It is calm and peaceful, serene and soothing, and I actually nod off for a short little snooze. “Don’t bother me right now. I’m taking a nap.”

After the short refresher I creak myself up slowly, stretch, and start heading back to the campsite. I skirt by the sweet little meadow and find myself on rocky ground again; a field of boulders. I decide that in order to proceed safely I must make my way only by stepping and hopping from one boulder to another. To touch the ground would mean “certain death”. After, I must say, some deft and skillful balancing prowess, I step down safely onto the pine cone and needle-covered floor beneath the trees surrounding the pond. “Whew!” I head to the pond and ease myself slowly out onto a half-submerged log to get a better view. My weight causes it to sink deeper and the coolness of the water rushing up and over my feet feels good. (It also cause me some consternation about falling in!) I snap a few shots and then turning very carefully around, step back onto terra firma again. Looking down at my now wet feet making squishing noises as I walk, I am captivated by the mosaic created by the thick mat of pine cones and twigs upon which I walk. The sight of the “textures” below my feet causes me to think of my friend and fellow photographer Tom Chang, who loves that kind of stuff, so I make an attempt to capture them on film to show that I am more than grand vistas! ;-)

It’s still early in the day so I grab my beach chair and head to the pond’s edge and it’s compact little “beach” to catch some rays, read, and relax. I bring down my small cooler filled with ice cold Coronas and set up the auxiliary campsite for the afternoon. Before getting lost in my new novels I watch for a while the electric blue dragon flies buzzing all around. They periodically explode out of the bright green grasses growing in the pond’s waters, fly around drunkenly chasing each other or some prey, then plunge back into the rushes where they proceed to make a veritable racket of buzzing doing who knows what. I am almost mesmerized by their frenetic activity. A delightful show – just for me.

I read for a while but the warm sun causes me to nod off (again!), or maybe it’s the several beers I quench my thirst with. In any case the rest of the day passes uneventfully, with no more adventures and by the time the sun starts getting low in the western sky I’m starting to get a little bored – dragonfly dive bombings notwithstanding. So I head for the truck to check out road’s end which is but a short distance upwards.

After only about a quarter of a mile I come to a fork in the road where I decide to keep heading straight. I don’t get very far on that before the road (such as it is) runs out. So I turn myself around and when I get back to the fork I hang it left to see whatever there is to see. This part hugs the side of the hill, which plunges steeply down on my right side. It’s slow going as the road is obviously not maintained anymore – it was, I am sure, created only to harvest this section of the forest – but very soon it too ends, in a big turn around in a large clearing. I park, get out, and start hiking down to what looks like some interesting rocks I see not too far off in front of me. I’m looking into the sinking sun now as I hike and the sky is starting to fill with a soft yellow glow as it heads down to the jagged horizon created by the peaks west of me. I find a few interesting things to take pictures off, including a good dead tree (actually a huge one), and am able to finish off my 3rd roll of film for this trip.

Dinner is again takeout heated in foil, but, seasoned with the fresh, pine-scented, alpine air, tastes as good as a gourmet dinner at some fancy restaurant. Yum! I finish my day in the mountains by reading some more, via lantern and campfire light, and compose some of this for sharing with you all later on my trusty laptop. Too bad I can’t get a signal up here. How cool would that be if I were able to email from up here. Wouldn’t that be something!

The evening brings with it the chirping and trilling of crickets and frogs, which blends with the snapping and crackling of the campfire keeping at bay the chill that has descended upon the area. I read for a while, write for a while, and then just sit staring at the fire for a while, enjoying it’s cozy, embracing warmth, enjoying my solitary retreat, not worrying about anything or anyone. My sphere of concern, for a short time at least, extends no farther then the opposite shore of my Sierra pond and I enjoy the retreat. Tomorrow I must return to reality, but now better able to do so having come again to this little haven up in the Sierra National Forest. I am thankful for having been allowed to “discover” this special spot. I will miss it even as I head down the hill tomorrow, but I take great comfort in knowing that it will be here whenever I may need it’s soothing presence again. Life goes on. Life changes. This little Sierra pond though remains the same. I am lucky. I am grateful. I am sleepy. Good night!

Peace,
Chris