I imagine folks have tried to capture, through images, words, and even music, the Sierras. Mark Twain caught some of the light in his travels through here, but even Sam could not fully fill his canvas with its brilliance. We’re moving north again, chasing the eternal spring and autumn as we can in our old Conestoga, Nell. Sequoia/ King’s Canyon is our appointed stop now. Specifically, at the southern entrance to the National Park lies Potwisha campground where we have managed to reserve a space for time to base our forays from. From this vantage we can climb the ranges to the groves of big trees, Sequoias. And, so we did. The winding two lane arches and circles and doubles back through one biome and life-zone to another. The winter was generous and gave great snowfall, much needed after years of drought. The creeks and streams are, again, effervescent with crashing waves of runoff, impatient to reach the valley. The temperature and weather is perfect for hiking.
Potwisha campground is a great base camp for this region. Within hiking distance of the campground lie great hiking trails. Mountain streams course on two sides of the camp. A mile up the road the remnants of a large Native American village are located, and it’s easy to understand why they would choose this location for their village. Gasoline, however, is a good twenty miles back down the grade, so one needs to come prepared. There is no electric power here for campers, which is par for the course in national parks. It is a smallish campground and one of the best we’ve had the pleasure to live in.
Setting out, virtually across the main street outside the camp, there is a trail that leads down to a river, roaring and tumbling now in the spring runoff. A fabulous suspension bridge traverses the boulder-strewn stream below. It is exhilarating to cross. Standing midway across and breathing in the mist from the roiling waves below, we are frozen in time, both of us thanking the Creator earnestly for this moment and this adventure we are on with each other. Later on one evening I returned by myself while Diane was making dinner and climbed the steep path on the other side of the river through near endless patches of Van Gogh yellow and blue wildflowers. Midway to the summit of the small mountain there I reached a bench of sorts where an old flume, a concrete elevated lazy river carried not so lazy river water to some parched landscape in the valley below. Totally fascinated by this semi-ancient construction I followed it upstream for a good mile. A path of sorts was worn into the hillside next to it making walking easy. Around bends I followed it taking in the multitudinous and gorgeous views of the river valley and mountains beyond. Breathtaking would be no exaggeration for this place.
From the other side of the campground another path leads up into the mountains from yet another river valley. A series of switchbacks leads up, up, and more up. Again, wildflowers literally billow along the sides of the path. Live oak trees shade the way and provide needed respite from the heat of the day for the flora and fauna there. Lizards and snakes share the path. This is rattler country for sure, but we didn’t see any. We did see a racing garter snake about 3’ long. One precaution we were warned about by the ranger staff was the poison oak, which is prolific here, if not infested. In fact, later during our hike we came across moon-suited rangers pulling the stuff up by the roots. I couldn’t imagine how hot they were in those suffocating outfits. Oddly, at the base of the river lay yet another flume of the same design. I later found out that these were constructed by Pacific Gas and Electric to carry water to generators somewhere below. They were build in the 1930’s during the great Depression. We hiked upwards a good three miles or so and then returned inspired yet again by what we encountered.
The central point of the park, Sequoias, are something altogether unique unto themselves. They only grow within prescribed altitudinal belts of something like 4500’ to around 7000’. Arriving in the groves after endless switchbacks of driving we were stunned at what we saw. The massively arranged groves are beyond big. They shoot up beyond normal sight hundreds of feet into the air. And, on the days we were there, the clouds hung over the mountains and the obscured most of the tops of the trees. Rather than being disappointed in this weather, we delighted in the ghostly fog as it gave the groves and landscape an other-worldly feel. We clambored up and down the hills climbing over fallen trees where we could and crossing little run-off streams of crystalline cold water. We brought the dogs and they were equally thrilled with the hike. They relished the water in the run-off streams. It must be a delightful taste in itself. A main road was closed due to the heavy snows that fell during the winter. Though the snow was melted, the road itself needed some repair. We used the road as a hike and this gave us a broad avenue from which to experience the groves. It made seeing through the trees easier and opened our perspectives to even more sights and sounds. I don’t care what words a poet uses to describe the scenes, words fail. The full power of creation was on display here in a way that infused us with wonder.