Kai's Voice — Nature Poem

Seeing hummingbirds
and bricks smothered with ants
down all the way to my front door.
Everyday and everything is nature
and nature is peace
and peace is understanding.

Kai
Age 8
San Diego

John Muir Trail: Day 20 — Blayney Hot Springs to Piute Creek

We enjoyed a slow morning beside the San Joaquin River, Pam and I lingering in the sun, trying to make our single cup of coffee last while the boys waded in the shallow water.  Shortly before lunch I walked back to Muir Trail Ranch and retrieved our resupply package, two five-gallon buckets stuffed as full as possible and sealed with packaging tape.  I’d weighed the buckets a month earlier before taking them to the post office, so I knew the food inside totaled 49 pounds.  Still, I was worried that it might not be enough to last all four of us the sixteen days we’d allotted to reach the trail’s end at Whitney Portal.

With the exception of a handful of gluttonous meals in Tuolumne Meadows, Red’s Meadow and Vermillion Valley Resort, we’d been hungry almost every day since leaving Yosemite, and from this point on, we would be entering the most remote section of the John Muir Trail.  We didn’t have any more gluttonous meals in store until we’d hauled our butts the final 110 miles to civilization.   This would be our last chance to get extra food, so I spent almost an hour sorting through the hiker buckets in detail, taking several more pounds of nuts, energy bars and dried fruit.  I also scored a few packets of tuna, a sleeve of Ritz crackers and a little extra hot chocolate powder so that Pam and I could drink mochas on a handful of mornings.

The catch of course was that Pam and I now had about 60 new pounds of food to carry… along with all our other gear… and it was going to hurt!

It went unspoken, but I’m sure that played into our decision to hold off on hiking for a couple more hours and revisit the hot springs instead.  We waded across the river and into the meadow, finding an additional hot pool that was wider and deeper than the one we’d soaked in the night before.  And just beyond that, on the far side of a dense band of willows, we came across a pond.  It was picturesque, tucked against a forested hillside with several large rocks along one shore, scattered lily pads along the margins and willows sprouting from the meadow to overhang small portions of the water.

Not far from us, we spotted a bright yellow inflatable raft, which someone had carried in and left for hikers to enjoy.  The kids jumped on it immediately, and spent well over an hour paddling around the pond and exploring.  We swam and soaked in the sun, visiting one of the hot springs once again before finally heading back across the river to face the trail… and our packs.

We started hiking in the mid afternoon and only went about three miles before making camp along a rocky, rapid section of Piute Creek.  The sky had stayed completely clear all day, and the boys and I decided to sleep under the stars again.  We laid our sleeping bags on a shelf of ground beside the rushing stream, and read The Hobbit by the light of my headlamp.

Before we fell asleep Noah rolled over to look at me.  “Dad, when we get to the top of Mount Whitney do you think we can all take turns standing on the very peak while everyone else squats down so we’ll each get a chance to be the tallest person in the US for a while?”

“Sure,” I said.  I liked thinking about it.  It made me smile.

We fell asleep with our bodies against each other, and this time Kai stayed out with us the entire night.  He didn’t seem worried at all.

Read the full series by clicking on the links below:
Day 1 – Day2 – Day 3 – Day 4 – Day 5 – Day 6 – Day 7 – Day 8 – Day 9 – Day 10 – Day 11 – Day 12 – Day 13 – Day 14 – Day 15 – Day 16 – Day 17 – Day 18 – Day 19 – Day 20 – Day 21 – Day 22 – Day 23 – Day 24 – Day 25 – Day 26 – Day 27 – Day 28 – Day 29 – Day 30 – Day 31 – Day 32 – Day 33 – Day 34

J.S. Kapchinske is the author of Coyote Summer.

John Muir Trail: Day 19 — Marshall Lake to Blayney Hot Springs

Morning slipped in peacefully over the high mountains to our east—Seven Gables, Gemini and Mount Senger—the sky cloudless and wide.  We ate breakfast in a rocky meadow beside Marshall Lake then hiked a short distance to Seldon Pass.  Stunted trees grew here and there, but mostly the peaks and ridges around us rose stark and cragged.  We passed several alpine lakes—Marie Lake, Heart Lake, and a cluster called Sallie Keyes Lakes—their calm water like turquoise and sapphire set into the mountains of white granite.

As we started to descend we passed several western juniper trees, their shaggy, red bark giving them the look of wild mountain sasquatches.  We stopped in a wet meadow, thick with sedges and rushes, and took turns filtering and drinking cold water from a trickling stream.  Then we left the high country and continued our 3,000-foot descent towards the San Joaquin River Valley, the trail now switchbacking down a hot, dusty, south-facing slope.

I had looked forward to a downhill day, but now I second-guessed my logic.  The trail was steep, rocky and rough, and it just went down and down and down.  I ached from the pounding—my knees, my ankles, the bottoms of my feet.  I was hot, sweaty and hungry, and my mind slipped into that numb, mechanical state that every long trail hiker experiences at some point—everything blurring away, my whole world becoming the singular act of placing a foot without stumbling.   Step.  Step.  Step…

I wanted a huge plate of smothered enchiladas and cold Sprite.  I wanted to sit on the couch and watch a football game.  To hell with these switchbacks.  Whose idea was this anyway?

Eventually, though, we reached the bottom, the trail dropping into a lush, shaded cluster of log cabins at a place called Muir Trail Ranch.  It was an idyllic setting, like the frontier homestead you’d imagine creating for yourself if you lived in a Disney Movie.  I wanted to lie down in the soft grass beneath the shade of a poplar tree and stay there forever.  Unfortunately, that would have been expensive.  We arrived at Muir Trail Ranch at 4:50, and they closed their gates to non-paying guests at 5:00 sharp.  I was tempted to plop down the credit card, rent a cabin for the night and get a family style meal.  But we’d already blown our budget at Vermillion Valley Resort.  Instead we quickly looked through the hiker buckets, scavenging some extra trail mix and energy bars that other hikers had recently left behind to cut weight.  We filled our water bottles at a spigot, scratched a friendly border collie behind the ears, and set off to find a campsite nearby along the San Joaquin River.  We had two resupply packages to pick up at the ranch, but I decided to return in the morning to fetch them.

We found a peaceful campsite along the river, shaded by a grove of tall aspens, and we ate dinner on a large rock overlooking the water.  The San Joaquin ran wide and shallow over a bed of cobbles, and after dinner Pam and I sat watching the kids wade and play along the banks.  As the sun dropped behind distant peaks, the water’s surface took on pastel shades of blue, lavender and pink.

We’d read about natural hot springs nearby, tucked into a meadow on the far side of the river, so later, as the sky grew dark, we put on our headlamps and waded across the river, holding hands and using trekking poles to avoid falling on the slick cobbles.  It was hard to see when we reached the far bank, so we picked our way across the wet meadow, our bare feet sinking into warm mud with a few inches water puddled here and there.

“Do we have to sit in this?” Noah asked, shining his headlamp down at the muddy ground and scowling.

I laughed.  “I hope not.  There must be some real pools around here somewhere.”

About a hundred yards further on we found a perfect pool, the hot water springing from the base of a large rock along one side, tall grass growing around the rest of the pool’s perimeter, pine boughs arching over the water’s surface.  We turned off our headlamps and eased into the water, groaning with pleasure as the heat soaked into our bodies.

The pool was the perfect size for our family, large enough to spread out but close enough to feel cozy, and we sat there for a long time, watching the moon rise into a sea of stars above mountain peaks.  The water felt sublime, easing the pain that had haunted my joints throughout the day.

When we finally dragged ourselves out of the water, our bodies steamed in the glow of our headlamps.  We made our way back across the wet meadow and once again held hands as we carefully waded across the river.

“This is the coolest night ever,” Kai said.

“Yeah,” Noah agreed.  “It really is.”

As I lay in the tent that night, my mind buzzed with the best kind of feelings.  Our nighttime journey across the river to the hot springs had given something fresh and new to the boys.  I couldn’t name it but you could see it in them, some new sense of adventure and wonder, and I thought back to when I was kid.  Just being outside after dark had carried its own wonderful mystery, and when my parents had added some other element of excitement—a moonlight cross-county ski, a campfire beside a desert cliff face where we danced and our bodies cast giant shadows on the sandstone, a walk to a mesa top to watch a meteor shower—I’d felt completely alive.

Those were wonderful moments in my life, memories I’ve always cherished.  And tonight I’d seen that same thing in my kids.  There were moments on this trip that were going to stay with them, shape them, give them meaningful images to lean on throughout their lives.

I smiled and listed to the river.  Thankful.  Peaceful.  Happy. 

Read the full series by clicking on the links below:
Day 1 – Day2 – Day 3 – Day 4 – Day 5 – Day 6 – Day 7 – Day 8 – Day 9 – Day 10 – Day 11 – Day 12 – Day 13 – Day 14 – Day 15 – Day 16 – Day 17 – Day 18 – Day 19 – Day 20 – Day 21 – Day 22 – Day 23 – Day 24 – Day 25 – Day 26 – Day 27 – Day 28 – Day 29 – Day 30 – Day 31 – Day 32 – Day 33 – Day 34

J.S. Kapchinske is the author of Coyote Summer.

John Muir Trail: Day 18 — Bear Creek to Marshall Lake

We slept in and ate breakfast beside Bear Creek.  Pam and I spoiled ourselves by stealing one of the boys’ hot chocolate packets and making mochas which we sipped slowly, leaning shoulder to shoulder in the sun.  Everything felt especially peaceful, the boys relaxed and content, the air still, birds singing from nearby pine branches—the whole world inviting us to linger.  So we did.

We swam for the better part of an hour, jumping off rocks into crystal pools of cold water, shouting and hollering, splashing each other and then warming our skin in the late morning sunshine.  It was the most playful morning we’d had on the entire trip, and the kids loved it.  We all did.

When we finally hit the trail, we climbed steadily all day, following Bear Creek towards the high alpine lakes that fed it.  The sun blazed, and we were thankful whenever we passed from high meadow into the shade of pine trees or the lush riparian forest along the creek.

At one point Kai walked beside me and said, “It would be fun to be a frog…  Do frogs lick their eyes?”

“I don’t know.”  The question was funny to me and I smiled.  “Would you still want to be a frog if you had to lick your eyes?”

“It would probably feel good,” he answered.

A while later he turned to me again.  “Dad, when I spit do you think it’s as fast as a bullet?”

That’s the thing about hiking long trails.  You have plenty of time to think important thoughts.

We made camp in the midafternoon at Marshall Lake, just shy of Selden Pass.  Noah and Kai seemed especially happy all day, and they played in the shallow water along the lakeshore as Pam and I set up camp.  Eventually they settled on a game in which they were both magical martial arts heroes, Kai’s character wearing a suit of iridescent feathers and Noah’s covered by flexible amber.  They made up stunts, challenged each other and occasionally set off running across the field of bunchgrass.

Both Noah and Kai have always been relatively creative kids, but I noticed them using their imaginations even more on this adventure than they typically did at home.  They were more cooperative too, and it wasn’t only that they had more unstructured time or freedom.  At home during summer vacation they had hours of down time together, and they often filled it by bickering and competing over silly things.  But out here in the mountains, they seemed to let go of small disagreements more easily, redirect their games to keep things fun and give each other space without taking it personally when one of them wanted to be alone.

There was an easiness about their relationship on the trail.  I can’t pinpoint the exact reason for the change, but if I had to guess I’d say it was a package deal.  The quiet moments, the daily exercise, the wonderful feeling of smallness they received while standing beneath the star-filled sky or on top of a mountain ridge, the daily discovery of living things, the heightened connection we shared as a family—my guess is that all of these things gave them feelings of peace, a new enthusiasm and a sense of openness.

We ate dinner together at dusk, resting our backs against rocks in a quiet meadow.  Afterwards Pam crawled in the tent to read, and I went to sit by the water’s edge to catch up in my journal.  The boys continued to play as stars grew visible in the sky and bats emerged to hunt.  A quarter moon glowed above the distant peak of Mount Hooper, and I was captured by the stillness of it all, the world so peaceful and commanding at the same time.  Mountains surrounded us, reflections of their monumental fissures and crags placid on the lake’s surface.

In the middle of the night I woke and crawled out of the tent.  As I stood looking up in the blackness, a shooting star streaked across the sky and coyotes yipped in the distance.  I smiled, feeling lucky to be a part of the moment, and when I crawled back into the tent the boys were awake.  We cuddled against each other feeling connected and alive, listening to the family of coyotes howl into the night.

Read the full series by clicking on the links below:
Day 1 – Day2 – Day 3 – Day 4 – Day 5 – Day 6 – Day 7 – Day 8 – Day 9 – Day 10 – Day 11 – Day 12 – Day 13 – Day 14 – Day 15 – Day 16 – Day 17 – Day 18 – Day 19 – Day 20 – Day 21 – Day 22 – Day 23 – Day 24 – Day 25 – Day 26 – Day 27 – Day 28 – Day 29 – Day 30 – Day 31 – Day 32 – Day 33 – Day 34

J.S. Kapchinske is the author of Coyote Summer.

John Muir Trail: Day 17 — Edison Lake to Bear Creek

After stuffing ourselves on breakfast burritos and pancakes at Vermillion Valley Resort, we got a ride to the Bear Creek Trailhead, which we planned to follow almost eight miles until it intersect with the John Muir Trail.  At first the trail passed across a dry, dusty portion of Bear Ridge, and it felt like a relief when we reached the dense growth and cooler air around Bear Creek.  The trail followed the creek upstream, passing beneath aspen trees, ponderosa pines and willows.  Paintbrush and other wildflowers scattered the ground, and we found pockets of wild strawberries and gooseberries.  The stream gamboled beside us, forming countless pools that beckoned to us in the growing heat.

Finally we stopped for lunch beside a wide waterfall and swimming hole.  I swam while Noah and Kai caught frogs and Pam lay in the sun.  It was a peaceful spot, and we lounged on the flat, sandy stream bank longer than usual.

We hiked another three miles before evening set in and we made camp beside another perfect section of Bear Creek.  Here the river ran through big blocks of granite, forming short cliffs, cascades and a series of swimming holes shaped like jumbled railroad boxcars.  Noah hopped his way from rock to rock to reach a large boulder surrounded by rushing water, where he nestled into a cranny and read.  Kai sat on the stream bank with his journal and wrote a western story about a sheriff who realizes his brother is a murderer and feels conflicted about what action to take.

At dusk we ate dinner overlooking Bear Creek.  Bats emerged, darting through the sky above us, and we watched them until it was almost too dark to see.  We read The Hobbit then turned off our headlamps and fell asleep to the water’s lullaby.

Read the full series by clicking on the links below:
Day 1 – Day2 – Day 3 – Day 4 – Day 5 – Day 6 – Day 7 – Day 8 – Day 9 – Day 10 – Day 11 – Day 12 – Day 13 – Day 14 – Day 15 – Day 16 – Day 17 – Day 18 – Day 19 – Day 20 – Day 21 – Day 22 – Day 23 – Day 24 – Day 25 – Day 26 – Day 27 – Day 28 – Day 29 – Day 30 – Day 31 – Day 32 – Day 33 – Day 34

J.S. Kapchinske is the author of Coyote Summer.

Monday Meditation

“Like winds and sunsets, wild things were taken for granted until progress began to do away with them.  Now we face the question whether a still higher ‘standard of living’ is worth its cost in things natural, wild, and free.” 

– Aldo Leopold

John Muir Trail: Day 16 — Rest at Edison Lake

First thing after waking up I visited the little shop at Vermilion Valley Resort, purchased a big bag of chocolate chip cookies and brought them back for Noah and Kai to eat in bed—and they lounged on the soft mattresses for a couple hours, reading newspaper comics, drawing pictures and writing postcards to family.

That set the tone for the remainder of our day—eat, rest and eat some more.

Pam and I did do a little work.  We washed clothes, scrubbed our camp dishes, bought more supplies to doctor the family’s blisters, and shed a little weight by mailing binoculars, books, a clunky knee brace and some other supplies back to San Diego.  But added together I spent at least a couple hours sitting barefoot in the shade, and we must have clocked half the day sitting at the diner as a family, stuffing as much food into our bodies as we could manage.

At dinner, between the main course and large plates of pie and ice cream, I asked the boys if they’d thought about the discussion we’d had a few days earlier.  “This is it.  We have to decide if we’re continuing on tomorrow.  Do you want to keep going?”

They looked at each other, as if trying to read each other’s thoughts before answering.  Then Noah turned to Pam and me.  “I think I’d kind of regret it if we quit.  I really like all being together out here like this.  I want to climb Mount Whitney, and it would feel neat to have done the whole trail, even though it’s hard.”

“Me too,” Kai said, still looking at his big brother.

“You guys have gotten so tough,” Pam said.  “It’s going to feel easier and easier.”

I felt like I’d just swallowed sunshine.  I waived the waitress over and ordered another Stone IPA.  “I’m proud of you guys.”

Later that evening, a group of hikers and campers gathered outside the cantina around a large fire.  Noah borrowed a guitar from one of the resort staff members and played a few Johnny Cash tunes before we made our way back to our room.  We had one more night with blankets and mattresses before setting out to complete the final 130 miles of the John Muir Trail.  We’d paid a pretty penny for the comfort, and we were going to bed early to soak it in. 

Read the full series by clicking on the links below:
Day 1 – Day2 – Day 3 – Day 4 – Day 5 – Day 6 – Day 7 – Day 8 – Day 9 – Day 10 – Day 11 – Day 12 – Day 13 – Day 14 – Day 15 – Day 16 – Day 17 – Day 18 – Day 19 – Day 20 – Day 21 – Day 22 – Day 23 – Day 24 – Day 25 – Day 26 – Day 27 – Day 28 – Day 29 – Day 30 – Day 31 – Day 32 – Day 33 – Day 34

J.S. Kapchinske is the author of Coyote Summer.