..: August 2012

And now well, to persist after a fashion.
This one or that one, either way demands action.
Pick your direction (connection), I've dined in a mansion,

Pleased to meet you,
Anyway
What name?

Scythe moon questioning
Either way
Somewhere in between
All of the has and hasn't beens,
Gesturing
Which way do you go?

Torn
Asunder,
In right and out from
Under, stand out
In the crowd a
Smile and aloud, a
Secret noun
Like a peek-
In window.
Its been more
Years now,
Seasons change
Wind blows
Down that cloud,
Preference
And a sound,
A presence.
A bird on the
Battlement sings
With pools of blood
Snowing beneath
The window seal.
It's a done deal
So fork it over,
Teach me to die.
And well I might:

This Pasadena wishlist
Shines bright as a
Death wish,
Written in a note to the wise.

Day One

Walking back to camp last night the sky was dim and clear. No moonlight shining to guide us back to our tents. Our camp was for backpackers only and happened to be situated behind the regular campsites. We walked by the RV's and campers with the noise of family and friends ringing out into the night. This is Yosemite in the summer time, a flurry of activity and commotion. Within my first three hours of arriving in the valley I heard French, German, Russian, and Chinese. The destination is always packed and you must reserve a camp ground up to one year in advance. Driving into the valley was gorgeous. The mountains, carved out by glaciers of old, shoot up towards the sky surrounding us like a playpen for the gods. The iconic face of half dome smiling down on us, wishing us safe travels as we camp. My father is embarking on a seven day backpacking trip along the John Muir Trail, I am here to drop him off and resupply him during his trip. Walking through the regular camp grounds the combined smoke from the fires became trapped within the tree covering creating a smokey situation. I heard the rattling of pots and pans, and the playful screams of children, the steady drone of conversation, sometimes at a lull, and then crashing like waves in the ocean. The backpackers camp was just a short walk across a footbridge and the air cleared as the trees thinned out. The nature of backpacking is inherently minimalistic and this was apparent looking around the campground; the individual sites housing only a couple tents each, food in the bear boxes. The light from a single fire was flickering out its last rays of light to us all. My father and I shared some wine. This was his last night before entering the wilderness. We were joined by my Dad's friend Chloa along with her two sons, Heath and Karl, age 15 and 12 respectively. Heath is joining my father on the hike while Chloa, Karl and I camp along their route to meet up with them at predesignated spots. My father tells us stories from his childhood, his father brought him to Yosemite often and at a young age. Back then the impact of continual visitors was less apparent and you only needed to show up to secure a camping spot. As Heath and Karl drifted off to sleep I listened to Chloa and my Dad talk. They talked about the life and health of our rivers in Oregon, and the impact of agriculture on the water supply. (Chloa is a whitewater rafting river guide, so her life is tied in with the health of the rivers. My father is an agricultural scientist.) And we sat in silence as everyone drifted off to sleep, eventually settling down ourselves. The night felt safe and warm as I laid on the dirt, eyes gazing up to the heavens, peering through the thin layer of mist that occasionally blanketed the sky. I watched a satellite wiggle its way across the sky, seeming to waver being imposed against the bright burn of the stars. I think about those places, burning with intensity, nestled within infinity, a stoic beacon to our world. I hear the last few voices flood into our camp as I relax and fall asleep at peace away from home.

Day Two

The morning air was warm as I woke up around seven am. Dad had been up since five as usual and had everything packed up. The clouds had rolled in and now covered the valley with light showers that dispersed themselves intermittently around the area. We broke fast with honey dew, bagels, and green tea then promptly drove to the trail head. I said my good byes to the backpackers (Heath and Dad) and made plans to meet up with Chloa and Karl later that evening in Tuolumne (too-all-oh-mee) Meadows. We would be camping there for a night and then rendezvousing with Dad and Heath the next day as their path wound its way from Yosemite Valley into Tuolumne Meadows. The main part of Yosemite contains two touristy villages, one called Yosemite Village, the other called Curry Village. They have coffee and food, housing and showers, as well as scheduled events hosted by park rangers. I spent my time in the commons area within Curry Village. There was a nice open air covering with natural wood chairs and tables. I spent $2.68 on a 16oz coffee with free refills from Peet's Coffee. I wrote and watched the visitors. This area has the highest population density because it is the most accessible area of Yosemite National Park. The chipmunks here are fearless, running under people's chairs looking for morsels on the ground. A few times I was almost afraid that one would just run up and nip my foot! I watched the rain fall while an old man played lap steel slide guitar. The long drawn out notes in a blues style matched the atmosphere magnificently. I listened in as an old Mexican grandmother asked a Spaniard what language he was speaking, commenting on how different it was from her form of Spanish. The people here are friendly, shining eyes and bright smiles, usually with a kind hello on their lips. "How could anyone be unhappy in among all of this natural splendor," I wonder. I certainly felt the weight of my troubles lifted as I was over eight hundred miles from my home. My thoughts were no longer in that place and I was happy to leave them, replaced with a calm air of observation. I though it was funny (my father would definitely make fun of me for this) that the thing I wanted to do was not hike on a mountain trail, but rather sit in among all of the people and drink too much coffee as I wrote in my notebook. After my two cups of coffee and sufficient time to muse I made my way over the the Awanhee Hotel in order to charge up my father's cell phone with one of the outlets. The Awanhee, like much of Yosemite's infrastructure, was built using funds from the WPA (workers progress administration) under Roosevelt's "New Deal" program. Many of the trails in Yosemite were created and maintained with the same funding. The hotel is constructed with massive stone pillars and natural wood exterior to give it a cabin like look, albeit much more lavish then any humble Sierra Club cabin. And on top of that, a room will cost you 450 dollars per night! I let the phone charge and went to the Yosemite market, a little grocery like store they had in the valley. I bought a half rotisserie chicken for $3.50 and ate all but the breast as I was famished. A Romanian family had bought the rotisserie chicken just like me and were eating it at the table next to mine ( the chicken was the best deal in the whole overpriced market). The father looked over to me and said "Bon Appetite!" making me smile and feel connected. I made my way to Tuolumne at around 4 pm admiring the mountains as I drove. I found the note Chloa had left me "Noel - we are in b2" and was excited. I found them at the camp site and set up my tent. I then had a glass of Merlot ( of the five dollar variety) while Chloa cooked brown rice and kale with a couple of hot dogs for Karl and I. We played a card game called blink which is basically a different version of speed. We only had one headlamp and Chloa had to shine the light over Karl and I as we played, which caused some hilarious situations. We washed up and then headed to bed. Karl and I slept out on the tarp while Chloa slept in her tent. The stars were incredibly clear as Karl and I gazed and discussed constellations, his school life, and basketball before drifting off to sleep.

Day Three

On the third day I woke up at 8, Chloa and Karl were already awake and there was a market just out of the campground down the road so I gathered some change and went to buy coffee. The coffee was $1.60 and the girl serving me told me $.90 if I brought in my own cup. We split two Amy's frozen burritos between the three of us for breakfast and pack up camp. Chloa had gone to secure our camping spot for tonight, as we would be meeting up with Dad and Heath this afternoon. She chose campsite number one of the walk-in only campground, which was only a 2 minute walk from our current spot. We moved all of our gear to the new spot and put the extra food in the bear box. Chloa had made some sandwiches and loaded a day pack before we set out on the hike to Cathedral Lake. Karl and I drove together in the CRV and I picked up another cup of coffee, this time for the refill price. There was no trailhead parking for this hike so we just parked on the road near the trail. The path was very gravely and mostly uphill and the sun was very hot. We made sure to slather ourselves in sunscreen before we left as per Chloa's friendly reminder. Cathedral point overlooks both the upper and lower Cathedral Lake and is named that because of its spire like shape. We made it to the fork, forcing us to decide whether or not we should hike to the upper lake of just wait for Dad and Heath. Fortunately for us just at that same time we see none other then Heath trotting down the trail, Dad in tow. We all proceeded to the lower Cathedral Lake for lunch and a swim. The path leading up the the lake was in an expansive meadow that was riddled with a maze like system of swampy pools and little channels connecting them. There was a field biologist there conducting a study on the tree frogs that grow from polliwogs in these cricks and pools. Chloa chatted with him and we made it to the lake. The lake was fairly small, taking only about ten minutes to circumnavigate. There were huge slabs of rock extending into the water, no beach but the granite was warm and comfortable to lie on. There was a large group of people in some sort of organized group, and we took up residence next to them for the time being. In his usual fashion, Dad stripped down to his boxers, let out a hearty whoop, and dove into the frigid water. He inadvertently splashed a women sitting near the water but everyone was laughing about it. The lake was too cold for my tastes and Chloa and I opted to hang out on the rocks instead of braving the waters (although, looking back on it I was the only one to get called "weeny boy" because of it). We ate lunch after they swam and it was delicious. Turkey sandwich with mayo and cucumbers, with some extra thick sliced salami added on the spot. We also ate apricots and crackers. After lunch Karl and I explored around the lake, jumped in the mud of the marsh, and saw a garter snake together; on top of just acting generally silly. We made our way back to the cars and I drank a lot of water. That night we were supposed to meet up with Paul, my Dad's cousin, and Anna Maria, a colleague of Paul's, who would be joining them on the backpacking trip, but they called to say they would just meet us tomorrow morning. There was a bonfire at the amphitheater there and Karl and I listened to the Ranger give an entertaining talk on Ravens and Crows, but left halfway through to go play cards or something. One thing I learned is that the collective noun for a group of Ravens is an "unkindness." That night I decided to sleep in my tent because it was a bit colder outside. It took me sometime to fall asleep that night and I wrote this poem the next day.

"Sometimes"

Sometimes, at nighttime

my thoughts run wild

just like a feather in the breeze, Ha!

More like a ship tossed on stormy seas.

Should-I's and hasn't-beens

a stage set for disappointment,

and what is after?

This vast distance

from my house to yours

is but a pinprick, just a visage.

So why do I take the long way?

I aim high and set my sights on reaches

only patience can attain,

those sparks that left me speechless

The silent sound of pain.

But to let me see these reaches

and everything begins again

(let me be).

Bold and starstruck

not a stick in the mud

but in the middle of the current

Steady with the grain.

a needle in the hay

Golden sol shines, seeker

upon the frontier of everyday,

everyman's parade and the

Revolving door of change.

..

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Have an Ax

Sunday, August 26, 2012

Ain

Thursday, August 23, 2012

Pasadena Wishlist

We'll Prefuse

Red Star

All Systems Go

Friday, August 17, 2012

Camping Memior

Teth

Hand in Hand

Kerosene or Suddenly