I cannot use “inaugural” without
thinking about one of the last times I was able to hear Alan’s voice. He had regained consciousness in the
hospital and we were told to try and orient him to the present. His daughter asked him, “It’s Inauguration Day,
do you know who will be president?”
He
thought about it for a minute then replied, “No.”
“Donald Trump.”
“You’re shitting me.”
God he made us
laugh those last few days.
*
And so we are off beginning Beagle
2022, a year that promises to be the most exciting yet in large part due to my
new lithium batteries and in immense part due to my acceptance that this is how
I prefer to live.
I do have certain goals: There will be a lot of hiking in Alaska this
summer so this Winter through Spring I am turning myself into a lean, mean
hiking machine. Last year, my average
miles driven per night in Beagle was over one-hundred miles a day. Way, way, way too many miles each day and
clearly not enough hiking. (I do give
myself a little slack for the fact that for most of 2021 I was either still
being operated on or in some state of recovery.) I would like to see that average be more like
fifty by the end of 2022.
You find me today relaxing just
outside Beagle in the dappled sunshine (my very favorite), listening to the
creek running less than twenty yards from my door. River is at my side in her large, fluffy, blue
bed, and Opus is recovering from our six-mile hike in the back of Wurzig (Opus,
off leash for at least half of it, did more like nine miles including wading
three times across the Sespe River [think creek].) When he wants to sleep, if he cannot be behind
my knees, he opts for the warmth of the car and the security of his crate.
Beagle is luxuriating in the
backcountry behind Ojai, California, at Wheeler Gorge Campground, a funky place
but one to which I plan on returning often.
There is no cell service for miles and miles and, after the initial, “What
in the hell?”, I have come to love it. I
do have my Garmin (satellite communication) for emergencies and at least two
people always know on which trail I am hiking.
The weather is delightful; high 60’s at camp, low 50’s during the higher
elevation hikes and cold nights. Heaven.
Having camped twice in the KOA
near Ojai (one-nighters on my way through the area), I am thrilled to have
found this delightfully wooded and much more private spot. We have developed a nice routine of peanut
butter toast and coffee in bed (of course, we are not heathens—wait a minute,
we are heathens…we are not Neanderthals), a half mile walk with both dogs, a quick
clean out of Beagle, then settling River inside Beagle before taking off on a
longer hike with Opus. I try to not be
gone more than four hours; although I know River is sleeping the entire time, I
just worry about her. When we return,
Opus remains in the car for his aforementioned afternoon nap and I walk River alone;
she prances slowly along, her spirit lifted by the thought that she might
finally be the #1 Dog.
The first hike was up Chorro
Grande, altitude averaging 4,500’ and only five miles. But a nice start to get my legs reacquainted with
a full pack.
The second hike was up Piedra Blanca which was beautiful and quite easy so we quickly clocked six miles (my first time in the Sespe Wilderness!)
The final hike for this stop was up Matilija Creek Canyon, a mere three miles; the trail was difficult to follow after a mile-and-a-half, clambering over the many fallen trees and, after the second time I got one foot stuck between two narrow trunks, I turned around.
Although short, the hike was oh so
sweet as the entrance to the trail was through the Matilija Creek Ranch which,
with its stone walls and sheltering oaks and the smell of live chicken and
goats, took me back to Guejar Sierra, a lovely town in which Alan and I camped near Granada, Spain.
Wait, can we David Whyte that
lovely phrase? “…with its stone walls
and sheltering oaks and the smell of live chicken and goats…” Yes, worth repeating.
I spent most of the hike reminiscing
about the hikes we did from that picturesque town which started in the stone streets,
flanked by stone walls, and wound up taking us through similar topography of
soft, rolling hills and fresh flowing creeks. Here sits the elegant, stone, Matilija Creek Ranch.
You can imagine my thrill when, on the drive home, I turned back onto Highway 33 and saw…it’s hard to believe…a small Spanish man walking two heavily laden burros down the narrow highway. I considered the fact that I might be in a time warp.
Four nights in one spot and three
good hikes. An excellent start to 2022!
*
As most of you know, I am not a
big one for the New Year meaning anything. But starting out on this trip I did
flash on the fact that ten years ago this month Alan and I were making our
final plans to ship Salt, Pepper, two dogs and ourselves over to Europe for an
unknown amount of time. (You can still
read about those adventures here.) And
five years ago this month (unbelievably), Alan woke up just in time to
die.
Take stock dear Reader, this is
your life and the only thing you absolutely know for sure is that it will end. To paraphrase Sam Harris, it doesn’t matter
what you choose to do—you can sit and watch hours of YouTube videos, stare at a
tree, read a book, go to work—just recognize that it is the choice you are
making for your life; give yourself over to it, and live those moments completely.
According to my neighbor’s bumper
sticker, “The purpose of life is to live it.”
It has beaten out my prior favorite, “I refuse to have a battle of wits
with an unarmed person.”
-K
