(...continued from Parts I and II)
Waking up in your car isn’t actually as bad as it sounds. Sure, you’ve only gotten four hours of sleep, at most, and you slept in a very awkward position in an area that was in no way intended for such a restful activity. But there’s something about the peace of mind that comes from sleeping in a place and position that wasn’t intended for it, and being satisfied that somehow your body was able to overcome the environmental limitations and still find a way to relax and restore itself. The best is when you wake up a little early, go outside because nature is calling, see the moon still out above the towering hillsides, and then crawl back into your space and pull your hoodie over you as a makeshift blanket, realizing that you’re actually looking forward to being back in your sleepy driver’s seat.
Waking up in your car isn’t actually as bad as it sounds. Sure, you’ve only gotten four hours of sleep, at most, and you slept in a very awkward position in an area that was in no way intended for such a restful activity. But there’s something about the peace of mind that comes from sleeping in a place and position that wasn’t intended for it, and being satisfied that somehow your body was able to overcome the environmental limitations and still find a way to relax and restore itself. The best is when you wake up a little early, go outside because nature is calling, see the moon still out above the towering hillsides, and then crawl back into your space and pull your hoodie over you as a makeshift blanket, realizing that you’re actually looking forward to being back in your sleepy driver’s seat.
The whole process is even better
when you do finally wake up for real and realize that you’re only ten minutes
away from a brand new day filled with beauty and glorious
natural splendor. All you have to do is
move the driver’s seat back into position, re-arrange a few objects, turn the
key and get back on the road.
That’s what happened the Friday before last when I woke up in a large open dirt area near the gates of
Yosemite. It was disappointing to find
out that the campgrounds were all full at 2 am.
It had been a frustrating 9 hour ordeal of finding my way out of San
Francisco, across the bay, confusion in Oakland, missed turns on the highways
and then finally arriving at a destination with no vacancy. On the plus side, I didn’t have to pay to
camp that night, which meant that besides gas and food, my Yosemite experience
would be entirely free.
After the turbulent tests of
patience, stamina and wakefulness the night before, it was beyond a welcome
relief to begin the day with a calm drive through a sunlit valley early on a
Friday morning, well before throngs of tourists flooded the one road into the
park.
I eventually made my way to Yosemite
Village, where I enjoyed a simple breakfast and stocked up on a few basic food
supplies such as cereal, fruit and Clif Bars.
Then I proceeded to the Wilderness Office where I obtained
a free two night permit to camp in the wilderness. The line wasn’t that long, but unfortunately
the people who were in the line hadn’t camped much before, or at least not in a
national park. This was evident because
of their continued stream of questions about everything the park ranger told
them about the conditions of their stay.
When I finally got to the desk the girl asked if I knew where
I wanted to go, and I said that all I wanted was a short hike to somewhere free
to be. She said there were plenty of
lakes and rivers that could meet those conditions, but started off with
suggestions of “non-strenuous” six mile hikes to secluded areas. So I changed my conditions to “I don’t mind
if there are other people around” and she directed me to Lake May, which was
only a 1.2 mile hike after a 45 minute drive up to an elevation of 9,000
feet. This was High Sierra territory,
and the actual gain from the hike to the camping area was only a few hundred
feet. The lake was supposedly small, and
there were even cabins on one side where people who didn’t want to rough it
could make reservations to stay. Next to
that was an area for people like me to set up their tents. There was an outhouse with a flush toilet, a
pump with drinkable water, and steel bear boxes for storing extra food. Last summer I would have shunned such
conveniences and crowds, but the entire point of the journey was simply to find
a place where I could lay down my sleeping bag and rest at night. The beauty of nature was merely a bonus. On top of that, I didn’t have any energy for
long hikes, especially not with huge backpacks carrying tents, food, clothes
and my sleeping bag.
All of that being said, she seemed eager to direct me to
possible hikes where I could get the most out of my experience, and was happy
to point out that the campground was only a couple miles and a thousand feet
elevation difference from Mt. Hoffmann, which happened to be the epicenter of
Yosemite National Park. It seemed like a
worthwhile trip the next day, if I had the energy, but for then I was just
happy to know that I had a place to go for two nights and that I wouldn’t have
to spend any time during the next 48 hours planning where I would go next.
In fact, after the Wilderness Office I headed over to the
main information building to find out if there was an internet connection
somewhere in the park. I not only needed
to check e-mail, but I needed to continue to apply for September sublets in the
Bay Area. After all, I didn’t want to be
homeless. It was merely this strange
interval period between visiting home and the first of the next month that had
left me in this situation. Even so, I
hadn’t had any responses to my applications.
I’d only found five within my price range at the time, but still no
luck. I wasn’t panicked yet because I
still had over a week to go, but I couldn’t put it off too long. Luckily there was a lounge at a village
nearby, Curry Village, where I could get free Wi-Fi. So I went to that lodge and explored Craig’s List
and applied to three more apartments. I
also went onto the state park reservations web site and booked a tent site at
Half Moon Bay for Sunday night so I wouldn’t be scrambling again on Sunday
before having to work on Monday.
After an hour or so of enjoying a simple connection to the
outside world, I bought a few more grocery supplies, got back in the car, and
drove an hour up winding roads to Lake May. Of course, there was that huge wildfire burning at the western edge of the park, so that was something to be aware of. Maybe I'd get some good photos of it from Mount Hoffmann.
From the highway it was another two miles on a narrow bumpy road, and when I arrived at the parking lot near the trail head, it was already packed because it was the starting point for many other hikes. I’d already gotten my pack ready for the hike, so there wasn’t too much preparation time, and I was back in the wild once again. Well, wild probably isn’t the best word, but compared to the city it might as well have been.
From the highway it was another two miles on a narrow bumpy road, and when I arrived at the parking lot near the trail head, it was already packed because it was the starting point for many other hikes. I’d already gotten my pack ready for the hike, so there wasn’t too much preparation time, and I was back in the wild once again. Well, wild probably isn’t the best word, but compared to the city it might as well have been.
The air was much cooler and crisper at the high elevation,
but I still managed to sweat intensely as I carried a stacked pack with my
sleeping bag and pad strapped to each side and a two liter bottle of water in
my hands. Then again, it was only just
over a mile, so it didn’t take long. The
only challenge came from the fact that I was so wiped out from the week
before. I don’t think I could have done
six miles if I tried. I passed many
other hikers, so I knew I was going to a populated area. Everyone seemed to have a smile on their
face, and people coming back the other way told me I was in for a real treat.
They were right. I was
overjoyed to see the sparkling lake and mountain side cascading down to the opposite shore. I was even happy to see the tents
of fellow campers with ample room spread out in between. It wasn’t even close to being a crowded car
campground, while on the other end, it wasn’t complete isolation. Some other time I might have been put off by
that, but I wasn’t seeking a solitary experience. I kind of liked seeing other humans enjoying
the area, walking around the lake with hiking poles and smiles on their faces,
warming their hands around campfires and sharing camping stories.
I found a spot on the edge of the grounds so I could have a
little privacy and quickly set up my new tent.
After some dinner I walked to the other end of the lake in my bathing
suit and got prepared to swim. We were
allowed to do so, but not at the camping end because that’s where the water for
the pump came from, and they didn’t want us stirring up all sorts of things
that live in the dirt at the bottom of the lake. Luckily the sun was still sparkling on the
water at the other end, so it was a little warmer, despite it already being
close to 5 pm. I found a log where I
could easily go in all at once as opposed to slowly subjecting every inch of my
body to freezing cold water, and then I dove in. It was ice cold, and it was glorious, because
I hadn’t showered since Wednesday morning.
I was in for about ten seconds and then got out to dry off immediately
and put on jeans and a long-sleeved shirt.
After that I went back to my car to get a few more food
supplies and my laptop so I wouldn’t miss a day of writing. It was right around sun set, and it was
absolutely silent on the walk down and back, which was much easier without all
the weight.
When I returned to my tent I got into my sleeping bag and
finally began my new library rental, Maya Angelou’s third book of memoirs. She’s 18 years old and has a baby, and is
working in San Francisco to simply get by.
Then she goes to San Diego and somehow ends up pimping two women for a few
months until the operation falls apart and she decides to go back to
Arkansas. Maya Angelou was a madam? Who knew?
Soon the sun had set and the sky grew
dark and swept by starlight. I moved
my sleeping bag outside my tent and listened as a man with a loud voice at a
nearby campfire told stories about encountering bears on the trail. It wasn't long before I'd had enough of that and put on my headphones so I could listen
to Ludovico Einaudi, a modern minimalist Italian composer and pianist who my
sister turned me onto just days before my journey to India began in 2009. “Passaggio,” “Questa Notte,” and “Ancora,”
played well with the Milky Way. After a
starlit concert I crawled back into my tent and went to sleep nice and
early. I may have been in a tent again, but
at least it was my tent and my space, and I could sleep as peacefully as I deemed
necessary. There was no one snoring or
rustling through a backpack in the bed next to me, or going in and out of the
dorm door. There was no one insisting I
stay awake for just one more Swedish massage.
There was no need to keep my eyes open and focus on the highway lest I
doze off and die behind the wheel. I was
totally exhausted and very happy.
_________________________________
I tell you half the
story, the rest you fill it in…
“Dead Presidents II” – Jay-Z
I slept very late the next
morning. Even though I kept waking up to
that same guy who was telling loud stories, I had no trouble falling back
asleep in my comfortable purple and black sleeping bag. Eventually I got up to eat breakfast, put on
some clothes and read some more Maya Angelou.
I overheard some passing hikers say
something about a “four hour round trip,” and I just assumed they meant Mt.
Hoffmann. Just the sound of the words “four
hours” made my already aching bones and muscles want to crawl back into my
sleeping bag, and I figured my one idea for a decent hike wouldn’t happen after
all. It was fairly cold to begin with,
and I had nothing in the tank. Besides,
I was hoping to enjoy a very different, minor,
yet absolutely spectacular Hoffmann-esque journey in nature that day…
While you ride the
bench, catch me swinging for the fence…
After my breakfast I began to
re-read all of the highlighted areas of the first wisdom packet I had put
together for my Oriental journey in 2009 and 2010. The soular source shined upon and fed all the life within and around me, the waters flowed peacefully
and the breeze blew through the trees as I re-read the wisdom of Coehlo, Campbell,
Jung, Smith, Robbins, Whitman, Einstein, Rilke and so on. Meanwhile, a beautiful inner peace was
blooming inside of me, further revealing the divine beauty of all that surrounded
me. There was nothing truly absent to
see. Just a shining radiance bathing the
universe of be.
The wisdom reminded me of just how
lucky I had been to be everywhere I had been, to see what I had seen, to meet
who I had met, to learn what I had learned, to experience the joy and satisfy
just about every experience for which I had yearned. It hadn’t been easy. It had been incredibly difficult and
soul-testing and awful and ugly at times, but it had always compensated for the
down times in spectacular fashion. And
as I read these pages that made sense to me four years ago when I put them all
together in the same web of words to guide me around the world, I realized that
they resonated within my soul with far more brilliance than I could have
imagined at the start, making me realize from the bottom of my heart that the
journey itself was a work of art.
J-A-Y hyphen
Controlling,
manipulating, I got a good life, man
Don’t get it corrected
This **** is perfected
I packed a smaller backpack and
decided to go for a walk around the lake.
But before I did that, I decided to cut through the forest to check out
a new view of the valley from which I had hiked the day before. I listened to a few songs on my headphones so
I could feel these moments at their utmost magic, commencing the ceremony with
Harrison’s “Here Comes the Sun”. The
previous night’s stars belonged to Einaudi, so today’s sun would start with the
incomparable emotional energy from Hiromi, revealing the magic spin ball as fun
and fancy free: “Pachelbel’s Canon,” “Green
Tea Farm,” “Somewhere,” “Wind Song,” “Place to Be,” “Brand New Day,” “Rainmaker”
and “Joy.” Yes, everything was worth the exertion.
Then I returned to my campsite to
drop off my backpack. I brought a Clif
Builder’s Bar, my camera and my iPod on the walk to the other side of the
lake. I sat beneath the sun and felt as
one to Aphex Twin’s “I,” Phish’s “Bliss,” Radiohead’s “Treefingers,” Einaudi’s “Eden Roc,” Christopher O’Riley’s Radiohead covers of “Thinking About You,” “You,” and
“I Can’t.” Then I got up to walk through
the forest and along the edges of the sparkling water to Einaudi’s “Laissez Moix en Pais,” “Chanson d'Amour,” and “Dessert Dans Le Dessert.” Then Kamakawiwo’ole’s “Somewhere Over the Rainbow/What a Wonderful World,” Dylan’s “Forever Young,” Ben Harper’s “The Three of Us” and “Blessed to Be a Witness,” Bach’s “Joy of Man’s Desiring,” Ry
Cooder’s “She's Leaving the Bank,” and Dylan’s “River Theme.”
At this point I was already climbing
up rocks and along the cascading edge of the mountainside, walking
slowly and stopping repeatedly to breathe in, take pictures and be in the
moment. There was no goal, I was simply
walking and enjoying nature with little baggage. I didn’t have any water, but I did have a
Clif Bar, which I bit during “Dessert in the Desert.”
Eventually I realized that it just
might be possible to circumvent the entire lake, and even better, you could see
the upper edge of Yosemite Valley rising above the trees on the opposite side.
I was making great progress when I
realized that there was a five or six foot gap filled with water that I would
either have to leap across or wade across.
I had plenty of room to get a running start and make a leap of faith,
but the landing side was a jagged rock, and I didn’t like my chances. Meanwhile, it wasn’t a big deal to remove my
boots and walk through it. So I
carefully removed the hiking boots I had bought at the enormous PARCO mall in
Japan the day before I climbed Mt. Fuji.
They had served me well on that hike, on every hike during the America
move the previous summer, while standing on suspended beams working harvest at
the winery, and just about every time I hiked Bernal Hill in San Francisco to
take in the cityscape and see the crescent moon rise in the east over the
bay. You can buy some excellent shoes at
PARCO, but you have to take them off if you want to walk in the life water.
When I reached the opposite bank I
stretched out my bare feet on the rocks and let the sun dry them off as I
listened to Bela Fleck & The Flecktones’ “Big Country,” reminding me of
every beautiful journey, especially the previous summer’s automotive camping
spree in the home of the brave and land of the free, spread about before me as
I set my sights east. Sigur Ros’s “Svefn-g-englar”
as a divine chaser.
I finally returned to the side of
the lake where my tent was pitched, but first I rejoined a path that appeared
to head west as well. It was then that I
saw a man and his girlfriend returning with some climbing gear. I recognized him instantly. The day before I had met him in the parking
lot as he sang “My Favorite Things” at the top of his lungs. I said, “I remember you!”
He said, “I don’t know, that was
yesterday.”
“You were singing about your
favorite things.”
“Ah, yes.”
“Were you just doing one of your
favorite things?”
He appeared to be exhausted, but he
nodded and said they had been climbing and something about Mt. Hoffmann.
“Is this the path to Hoffmann?”
“It sure is.”
“How far away is it?”
“Oh, I don’t know. You look like a fit guy, and you’re not
carrying much weight. Maybe 45
minutes. It’s been 35 since we descended
the summit. You can’t miss it. They’ve piled tons of cairns along the way.”
“Do I need climbing gear, or can I
walk to the top?”
“You might have to climb up some
rocks at the end, but you don’t need gear.
Be careful though. It’s a scramble
to the finish, but then it’s a complete drop off at the edge, and you don’t
want to go over.”
“Good to know. What time is sunset?” It was already 5:30.
“Probably in an hour and a
half. John Muir said Mt. Hoffmann was
his favorite place to watch sunset.”
“Excellent.”
The glory of Hoffmann was swimming
in my senses in more ways than one, and I had overcome the morning’s
sluggishness to rally and be extra enthusiastic about life. I put on my headphones and resumed Godspeed You! Black Emperor’s “Storm” and returned to my tent. They have these amazing drums that evoke
images of preparing for battle, which came in handy as I packed my
backpack. This time I had plenty of
water, some raisin bagels, carrots, a long-sleeved shirt, a hooded sweatshirt
and a headlamp for the walk back. I went
to the bear box to get some more supplies when a man in a purple shirt asked me
if I knew anything about moon rise trends.
How did he know?
“Well, what time did the moon rise
last night?”
“About 9:15.”
“Then tonight it will be around 10
or shortly thereafter. It’s somewhere
around 50 minutes later every night.”
“Thank you. Last night it was gorgeous. You could see it rising over Cathedral Point.”
“I fell asleep too early last night, but I’ll definitely be awake this time.”
“Enjoy!”
“You too!”
I relaxed on my sleeping bag for about twenty minutes to restore my energies, because I didn’t want to rush anything. By then the sun was already behind the closest hill, so it would be a dusky ascent, which is the way I like it.
Of course I began the journey up the hill to “Wagon Wheel,” and then some Enya (Don't judge me!) for atmosphere and then Bob Dylan’s “Main Title Theme (Billy).” Sometimes I took off my headphones to feel the stillness of nature, but I’ve climbed many a mountain in silence, and this time I wanted the musical inspiration to propel me. It’s more fun that way, as simple as that.
Unfortunately, although there were many cairns, there were also many stray rocks to begin with, so the path wasn’t nearly as clear as they suggested it was. Plus it was dusk instead of sunlit. I paused many times to scan the landscape and spot the next marker. A few times I strayed, but I always found my way back. I passed two hikers on the way down who were surprised I was going up so late, but I said I had a headlamp, so they were appeased and let me go on my way.
By the time I finally got to the final stretch, I was already utterly exhausted. I hadn’t eaten nearly enough carbs during the day, and I could already feel my muscles converting stored up fat into energy. But the sun was setting, and time was of the essence.
I was well aware of all of the mental lessons I had learned from masters in books and previous climbing experiences, and that each step up the mountain held the entire journey and was all that mattered, and the mountain was there first, and I was there to respect it by experiencing it because someone had to, and that I couldn’t use it for my own purposes, but merely be thankful that it included me in its purpose, whatever it was. Even so, I had to keep moving if I was going to make it.
During the final stretch I actually listened to Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing.” I’m serious. I used to detest that song. I hated it with a passion. It evoked memories of drunken sorority girls swaying to and fro and shrieking not to lose faith that they would continue to live an easy life, get a lucrative job, and land a wealthy husband who loved them for who they really were. It reminded me of the resurgence it enjoyed due to its being performed by the characters on Family Guy, whose absurd non-sequitur humor over-packed with below the belt blows at B and C celebrities just might be one of the reasons I did stupid things like climb mountains named Hoffmann with passionate pineal poetry. Not that I wasn’t a ragged clown. I wasn’t a saint who never made mistakes, or enjoyed the simple pleasures that life makes for us to take. But ever since I was a young human standing on Lake Champlain’s and the Great South Bay’s shore, I knew that the universe held something more in store, with magic and passion galore, for whoever was willing to believe that there was always something more beautiful and worthwhile at the core.
When the song finished the playlist, I walked the final stretch without music. It was steady and simple until the final wall of rocks. I wanted to stop and breathe and rest more than anything else, but I could feel the ticking of the clock. Besides, a unique moment such as this, being amongst the universal bliss, is certainly nothing to mock.
I screamed and groaned and growled and went “Ughhhh!” with every lunge and push and propulsion up the boulders, and had to remember why I was doing this.
“Love!”
“Argggh!”
“Magic!”
“Yahhhh!”
“Beauty!”
“Ahhhhhhh!”
I didn’t care if my words floated through air to cynical ears filled with insecure fears. I had already found a Snickers wrapper on the path that day, and thrown it in the trash where it belonged.
“LOVE! MAGIC! BEAUTY! GRRRRRR! LOVE! MAGIC! BEAUTY! UMPHHHHH! LOVE! MAGIC! BEAUTY! That’s… my… only… duty…”
“Love… magic…
“….beauty…”
___________________________________
I walked back through the dark under the stars, and saw the yellow moon rise before I walked through the forest to return some weight to my car.
I remember the song "Inside," where I imagined I was flying up high amongst the mountain peaks, with the stars sparkling in the sky above.
9 years later I was walking around a lake beneath those stars about which I had dreamed, and recalling all the glorious beauty I had seen in between. Moby's "Inside" helped me enjoy the ride, as did "Fireworks," of which I have great memories meditating to on a mountain top in the East beside a Golden Buddha while waiting for the Moon Queen of Love.
________________________
After escaping the Disney-like crowds at Yosemite's headquarters, I was on the road and heading back to the coast. No one had replied to my requests for a place to live the next month, but I had found three more places to e-mail.
When I gassed up halfway home, I got a call from a place in West Oakland, which is where I write this post. There has been a lot of confusion and back and forth the past week, but I think I am going to live here for one month, if not more. Who knows what the universe has in store? I have two weeks to decide if I'm going to give notice at my job and move back east, or continue to try my best to make it work out west. Time reveals the truth soon enough. Is this still a test? Have I done my best? I really need some rest before I embark on a new quest.
I returned to the Pacific Ocean after dark that night, and set up my tent on the beach. I wrote in my journal and listened to my music, and enjoyed a glorious shower with soap and shampoo.
I awoke in the early morning to use the bathroom, and looked up at the sky...
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