When we finally arrived at the Giant Forest, €uroMeinke and Not Afraid were surprised you could no longer park mere footsteps from the famed General Sherman tree, but rather quite a ways up the hill ... and had to hike down a rather lavishly designed staircase-slash-walkway to the forest of Giant Sequoias that are the raison d’etre of the Park. This wide, concrete pathway ... with its interpretive signage and mosaic tree footprints ... must have been constructed within the past few years .... which is a blink of an eye ago in National Park Service Time. The golden age of Park building was decades ago and, it seemed to me, nothing major had been added to a National Park since the 60's.
But though it was a great idea to move the parking lot away from the Giant Sequoias, the beautiful descending walkway merely added to the over-developed and overtly touristy nature of this area that somehow seemed to mock the gargantuan trees and detract from the grandeur of this unique patch of glorious nature.
The General Sherman tree itself, the largest living being on our planet, was displayed like a captive giant ... surrounded by fences and pavement and roadway. If the stately tree were not so far beyond any hint of human concern or endeavor, he would have seemed sadly Kong-like in his temporary captivity.
The entire area, a dense stand of mighty Sequoias, was cris-crossed with paved trails bordered by split-rail fences. Tourists wandered up and down the paths, cars sped by on the road built yards from the world’s largest tree. Yeah, I could understand the need to make the area suitable for masses of humans to safely interact with the famous trees (i.e., without damage to the trees, not the humans) ... but the whole area seemed vaguely sad. Like it was some sort of mankind folly to try and tame these ancient creatures, whose wisdom and grace are far beyond us. But though the Sequoias merely laughed, if they even deigned to notice the human construction that appeared at their feet during the last blink of their eyes ... the way they were constrained by payment paths and fenced off walkways diminished the forest in a vaguely melancholy way.
I was certainly glad my first encounter with the Sequoias was in their natural habitat, in the privacy and majesty of the Muir Grove that we hiked over hill and dale to. Still, I was eager to see the more famous area of Sequoias, the central attraction of the National Park I was visiting. But ... that plan hit a little snag.
It was the snag that snagged Not Afraid’s foot on that beautiful hike to Muir Grove. And the second foot snag. And the third. Oh, and the fourth missed footfall that all resulted in a twisted, nearly sprained ankle which repeated injury had caused to swell up like a flesh balloon. (Not Afraid has what, to the casual observer, might seem like permanently swollen ankles ... but a comparison of the merely thick right to the frighteningly bulging left told the sad tale of woe and ouch).
And so, at the bottom of the stair path, Not Afraid found she could go no further into the Giant Forest. Instead, she planned to take the free shuttle to ... the nearest store! I would not begrudge Not Afraid some shopping therapy under the circumstances. But I knew any excuse to ditch the tiny hike we were planning - the 2-mile PAVED and level Congress Trail through the Giant Forest - would be taken by just about every member of our tired little group (now down to 7 from a high of 15).
And sure enough, everybody opted out of the woods and into the stores. Everybody, that is, except the irrepressible NirvanaMan. And thank goodness for him ... because skipping the forest of Sequoias for the inside of a bookstore would have made for too mundane an ending to our wilderness adventuring ... not to mention my, ahem, birthday.
So after everyone else bussed off to the shops ... NirvanaMan and I wandered through the forest of the Giant Sequoias by ourselves. It was a very fine stroll through a very fine woods. In a short distance, the fences ended ... and after a while even the pavement did not terribly detract from the immensity and variety of the dozens upon dozens of towering Sequoias. So many different "personalities," so many outlandish fire scars, such incredible and overwhelming BIGNESS.
The Giant Forest really is a beautiful place. And the human elements were not entirely awful. In a place where the trees were named for U.S. presidents, it was cute to have a sign proclaim a tight grouping, "The Senate." In an area strangely cris-crossed with myriad paths and trails, little signposts beckoned for future adventures in this Park. Crescent Meadow, Alta Peak, Heather Lake. The feeling that you could head off in any direction to a variety of wonderful places from this single jumping-off point was pretty cool.
But yeah, I’d rather the magnificent forest of wise, old tree creatures have been left in a more natural state. I was glad I’d saved this more touristy environment to the end ... perhaps it was a bridge of sorts ... back to the civilized world.
Because that’s what happened next. The next few hours shifted tone tremendously, and were all about getting back to L.A. ... in a mad dash because we were in no hurry to end our last day on the mountain. Pfft, we stopped at the nuveau-rustic Waksachi Lodge, and at the bookstore of Lodgepole Visitor Center ... finally getting back to camp
about an hour before sunset!
Striking camp was a blur. A hectic, crazy blur of deconstruction and packing. The complex luxury of the Posh Tent reduced to bundles crammed in the car. The final disappearance of the many camps, with their many names, that made up Swank Camp on the hillside. Sniffle, sniff ... but there was no time for sentiment, farewellagains, or sadness.
Not long before it would have been too dark to see, the last of us left Dorst Campground ... and drove down the mountain in the dying light - - embarking on the late, long drive to Los Angeles only to find the entire freeway shut down in the nowheresland between Fresno and Bakersfeld. Sheesh - -
not the kind of thing you want to deal with when you’re way too late getting on the road after an extended period of sleep shortages and physical exertions.
The drive home was
not pleasant. And I knew that my camp friends who were traveling home further than I would be having an even
worse time of it. Some of whom were traveling hours out of their way for a carpooling quirk (and were otherwise headed, as it turns out, for a rather distressing homecoming), others who were limping home under adverse auto conditions. (Conditions not likely to be helped by the giant traffic snag and re-routing of the freeway closure.)
In those sleepy and exasperated hours of travel, I was surprisingly pleased that nothing could change that I’d had a remarkable birthday. The awesomeness of primordial nature mixed perfectly with the comradery of swanky times shared with friends.
It was odd to find myself in the Sierra Mountains on my birthday - with many friends in a bizarre and beautiful setting. And it was odd to be ending a fortnight of pretty intense adventuring in three national parks with an ever-changing cast of characters. Not even the most screwed up journey home could change what a wonderful time and wonderful birthday I’d had. Even in the lamest moments of that tired, grueling drive to L.A. ... there was an underlying and abiding happiness that could not be shook.
I hope the mega-dose of nature and friendship I’ve been treated to these last few weeks will provide some underlying and abiding peace and love in my life that likewise cannot be shook.
Thanks for the very happy birthday.
