Chaparral Wisdom
To celebrate the magic and beauty of Nature & the chaparral
The Nature Of Life. Wilderness As A Crucible For Finding Our Humanity For The First Time
The trail along the ashen gray cliff was maybe ten inches wide. To the left was a 200-foot drop into Convict Canyon and its roaring creek pushing through jagged rockfall. To the right was a steep mountain side of scree and gray boulders, all the product of the massive, decomposing marble metamorph above. The darkened sky matched the rocks. The wind blew snow under the flaps of our packs. No greenery, anywhere.
The trail gave way. My exhausted legs attempted to maintain balance, but the 40-pound pack on my back, along with the disorientation caused by the wind and snow blowing in my face, allowed gravity to take over. I have had a few moments like this in the Sierra Nevada, but never with gnawing teeth below.
I slowly teetered to the left. Scree poured into my boot. I could feel blood draining from my face. There was nothing to grab. Yet, upright I remained, albeit down on a single knee, with my left leg sinking into squishy sand and pebbles. Tilting to the right for leverage, I pushed against a rock, somehow managing to convince my weary thigh to push me up. I stood there for a moment, my lungs straining to pull in enough oxygen in the thin air. Then I took a step forward. Continuing onward down the trail, I eventually caught up with my friend Rudy around the bend.
“This snow is something else,” he said after hearing the crunch of my boots on the fragile trail.
The morning of, having just emerged from our tent, noses blown, peed, and faces splashed with water, we walked back and forth on the cold, barren rock that surrounded our camp as tiny snow drifts accumulated in the crevasses. We occasionally examined the little stove to check if the flame was still lit, to see how close the water was to boiling. “People will ask, ya know,” Rudy mumbled as he paced, “You guys really had fun being that uncomfortable?” Both of us laughed. “Nothing we can say will make any sense,” I said.
Photo: The trail going home, in the wind and snow, in August.
Several days after returning home, my friend Dave, the third member of our backpacking adventure, came by for a cup of coffee. “One day of bitter cold and rock in the Sierra,” he said while watching the birds from our backyard deck, “is worth a thousand days sitting here like this. Comfort doesn’t mean much without knowing how it feels to lose it.”
Read MoreCelebrating John Muir and Teddy Roosevelt
Have you been seduced by urban myths, or in this case, mythical urban quotes?
As part of our celebration of John Muir and Teddy Roosevelt this summer season (because we are headed into the John Muir Wilderness soon), we wanted to share with you our new Muir/Roosevelt display at our retreat center (see photo below). We also thought we’d engage in one of our favorite pastimes – shinning light on misconceptions about Nature. As you know, chaparral suffers an especially heavy dose of urban mythology whenever we endeavor to educate the public about our favorite ecosystem.
You may have heard this quote attributed to Muir in context of celebrating the outdoors:
“The mountains are calling and I must go.”
We were going to use this as the title of our note to you, but we first visited our favorite fact-checking site on Muir, maintained by some of the few folks who still respect Muir at the Sierra Club.
Well, as with much about Muir, this line is taken out of context by those who (unintentionally or not) use Muir to accent their own beliefs. In this case, making us think that Muir was just expressing his love for dashing off to the Sierra for a recreational adventure. Think not.
Read MoreYou and I Will be the Last to Feel an Emotional Tie to D-Day
This morning, June 6th, eighty years ago, your father, mother, grandfather, or grandmother likely participated in some way in the greatest battle ever fought to preserve the civilized world. And they did so as Americans. Together.
There’s only around 200 veterans left now who hit those beaches of France on D-Day on June 6, 1944. We are celebrating them this week. When they are finally gone, a piece of America will vanish with them. And within another few decades, when you and I are gone, the sons, the daughters, and grandchildren of the Greatest Generation, D-Day will only speak from the history books as we know of the Civil War today.
Do what you can to preserve what you have. And if you are one of the lucky few who still have a veteran parent or grandparent who is still with us, who fought for our country in World War II, take some precious time to honor them in whatever manner seems proper.
I’ve been shifting through my dad’s records the last few months to prepare them for safe keeping by his 381st Bomb Group’s historians. I wish he was still here to talk about what I’ve found. But then again, he never talked about the war, so I suspect he wouldn’t now.
His personal journal was filled with detail and anticipation after he arrived on base at Ridgewell, England, November 10, 1943 to fly a crew of nine other men in one of the most storied planes of the war, the B-17. As the mission descriptions progressed, and his men, his friends, didn’t return, the sentences became shorter, the rhythm increasingly unsettled. On December 24th, dad was given command of the 535th Squadron. On February 19, 1944, dad stopped making journal entries. He had only completed half his tour.
A page from dad’s squadron crew book. He kept track of every member. This Berlin mission was described by some in the 381st as the toughest of their tour. Six 381st aircraft were lost. The Higgins crew was flying in the Flying Fortress B-17 “Spamcan”. There were six killed and four POW. Higgins’ dog-tags were found in the wreck as he stayed with the plane for the crew to bail until it exploded midair per witness statements. There are lingering questions about whether Eddie Delgado died in the explosion or whether he was killed on the ground by civilians after he bailed out. Thanks to the 381st Bomb Group Association for this information.
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