What If Kindness Was Like Rain?

 

Greetings from Morro Bay, a rare posting from Beagle’s southern basecamp.  I did attempt to write this while I was at Bass Lake but the trip felt so much like a vacation, a true vacation, that it didn’t happen.  And so you find me here, Beagle all cleaned up and waiting for Sunday when we hit the road again—but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

The freedom of this fall has been wonderful; no tennis teams, no brain surgeries and, with this past trip, no River.  (She is doing well but I opted to leave her at home with TWGPT enjoying her single-level living, the joy of being the only dog and, I imagine, hours of delightful piano music.) 

So River safely tucked in, Opus and I took off for four nights to Bass Lake, a stop many of you will recognize as my favorite quick stopover on my way to the Eastern Sierra.  This time I pulled out my hiking map, stared at it for hours, and selected a few hikes; it was time to explore this area in depth.

As usual, I took Highway 46 to 41, a beautiful drive any time of the year but especially right now:  Following the recent rains, the hillsides are covered in green, the air was clear and sharp and, once we climbed above Highway 1, we could see all the way back down to Morro Rock nestled in the blue ocean.  (I say “we” as if Opus was paying any attention at all.  Truth is, now that his crate is in the back of Wurzig, he disappears for hours on end, only occasionally coming up to the center console to take a quick look out the windshield and press his nose into my shoulder.)

The Cedar/Lupine Campground is open year-round and almost empty mid-week.  I had reserved site 72 but switched over to 68, my all-time favorite, when I realized it was going to be open all four nights.  The view out Beagle’s door:

Like the area around Morro Bay, the hillsides were sprouting greenery but Bass Lake added deciduous trees into the mix bringing glorious yellow, gold and red leaves into the mix.  

Opus and I immediately hit the trail leading from the campground, getting in a few miles before the sun began to set.

Our first formal hike was the Lewis Creek Trail.  Being at a bit of altitude (5,000’) I figured it would be a good starting hike for the week as it didn’t climb much.  Due to comments posted on Alltrails, we parked off of Highway 41 which is the mid-point of the trail.  Next time I will park at the southern entrance to make it a simple up and back but parking off the 41 gave me the Mountain Lion warning sign.

I responded to the “Avoid hiking alone”, with “Unavoidable”, and considered that maybe dogs count.  In any event, I was glad I saw the warning as Mountain Lions, as I learned in Colorado, are extremely dangerous and, unlike bears, you cannot hear them approaching.   I was happy to put on my large backpack even for this short seven-mile hike; anything to make me look bigger in the eyes of a cat.

It was a pretty hike along the creek with some interesting pools and low-flowing waterfalls.  I could easily see the appeal to lions; a narrow canyon with huge boulders from which to perch or to crawl between for an afternoon nap.  I was more than a little paranoid until more people showed up on the trail.  We did over seven miles and spent hours and hours just playing in nature; it was a delight not having to worry about River being locked up.

The next day we tried to reach the Jackass Lakes trailhead but, just like a jackass, I ignored the comments on Alltrails about the road requiring a 45-minute detour, passed the detour signs and drove to the end, still seven miles from the trailhead, where the road simply vanished; a victim, no doubt of the recent rainfall.  Fortunately, I had seen a sign for the Chiquito Pass trailhead on the way up so we turned around and took that instead.

Talk about a delight!  We didn’t see one other being all day—not a lion (not really lion country anyway), not a bear, not a person, not a dog.  Not a single soul other than some squirrels and birds.  It was a healthy climb up to our lunch spot at Chiquito Lake (pictured in the header) and a bit more elevation up to the pass where we encountered an intersection of three trails.  With mileage markers to dreamy places like “Chain Lakes 4 miles” and “Yosemite Valley 26 miles”, I wished I was still a backpacker.

I stayed up on the pass for a long time enjoying the particular pleasure of hiking along a pass; you are high enough in elevation to see across to other mountains and yet not stressing your body to climb.  Just an easy, meditative meandering along the cusp.  And reminiscing about backpacking--the joy of being totally self-reliant, needing nothing other than what you could carry on your back.  

Again, thankful that I didn’t have to worry about River, the hours flew by.

After two days of seven plus miles with a full pack, my legs were tired so day three I just set out to see some of the ancient Sequoias.  The Nelder Grove Interpretive Area is closed due to the raging fires of last year but I drove up there anyway, parked outside the gate and walked up the road to the trails.  It is impossible to explain the size of these trees and their scale is not nearly reflected in photographs.  We were all alone, it was perfectly quiet and still and I tried to soak up their history and accept that my tiny spark on this planet takes up about as much time as the blink of an eye.

We headed up the Graveyard of the Giants trail which quickly took us to the burn area.   With the black, branchless trunks still soaring many stories above, and the golden needles on the hillsides, I felt like I was walking on the back of a giant bumblebee.  Everything was black and gold until the bright blue sky cut in.

Unfortunately, since I was not planning on hiking much, I did not have on a hat nor was I carrying any water.  So we turned around after only a couple of miles.  On the way back, I was lamenting the fact that the area was closed; what is wrong with hiking amongst dead or dying trees?  Isn’t it all part of life?  Then a sharp crack like lightening sounded about fifty yards from me and I turned in time to see a giant branch fall from a blackened tree. 

During these long hikes I had plenty of time to think about life, to appreciate it, and to recognize the incredible amount of growth that springs from a simple thing like rainfall.   And what if kindness were like rain?  What if just a little bit of kindness sprinkled along your path caused almost immediate, and maybe, immeasurable growth?

Recognizing as well that, just like rain, the benefits of kindness can be hard to absorb and difficult to recognize; like when the rain causes a mudslide to take out a road.  When it causes a detour that you try to avoid.

-K