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本帖最後由 RidgeWalker 於 2010-3-7 15:35 編輯
2000年在此帳篷露營一晚，好去處
The Vulnerability of the Giants
Even though I have been in this country for over 15 years, I have yet to learn the proper lessons this culture offers because I often forget to plan ahead. Take this year, for example. Before I knew it, the long weekend of July 4th came. I suddenly remembered that I owed everyone, including myself, a weekend getaway for the summer. The Sequoia and King's Canyon National Parks popped up in my mind. They had been on my mind for a while as I haven't forgot that two years ago when we visited Yosemite I vowed to visit Kings Canyon and Sequoia next time I drove to that direction. But I had visited Yosemite yet again at the end of last year. Yosemite has attracted way too many visitors from around the world. It's overcrowded almost year 'round and the valley is really rather small.
I searched the Web and found King's Canyon and Sequoia. There was an 800 number (1-800-365-2267) listed for reservations. Also http://reservations.nps.gov/ can tell what's available on all the national parks across the U.S. July 1 through July 4 were fully booked at every camping site in Kings Canyon and Sequoia National Parks. So I was told. The news came not as a surprise. But it's remarkable nonetheless, because there are over ten camping grounds and the total capacity would exceed thousands, yet they were all fully booked.
As a compromise for my tardiness or not planning ahead, I asked if there was anything available on Friday night, June 30th. Hey, I was in luck. Dorst Creek Camping Ground did have some openings. Actually, there were openings in other campgrounds around King's Canyon that are adjacent to Sequoia. My problem was that I hadn't learned any of the campground names yet.
It takes about five to six hours of straight highway driving from Berkeley to Sequoia. And given the summer heat in the Central Valley that we must cross, not many people would do go straight without stopping to take a break. So we got up around 8 o'clock, had breakfast and loaded up the car. Actually we loaded up most of the stuff we would need the previous night just to save time. The traffic was decent, even around the Bay Area, as many folks were commuting to work. Quickly, Highway 580 took us first out of the customary morning fog along the coast and into an on-rushing flood of bright sunshine just beyond the coastal hills. It took my eyes about half an hour to get used to the brightness. So I was actually driving half-blind and half-hallucinating. Only when the eastward 580 turns southward could I see the world of golden rolling hills to my right and fruit orchards to my left in the flat lands of the valley bed.
The big highways are really a bore as they are wide and expanding but really have nothing interesting to offer. As I have the wheel in my hands, I got off 580 before it becomes Interstate 5 and got on the two-lane Route 132. Ah, lush green of many fruit trees, cornfields, vegetable farms. Rolled the window down, let the warm air flood the inside of the car. And the air is permeated with the smell of baked earth and other stuff. Of course, later we discovered that the giant trees up in the Sierra Nevada were threatened by the air pollution from the Central Valley. Yeah, get this right: not only industries pollute, modern agriculture does harm, too. This makes me feel guilty: I as a member of the polluting humanity was on my way to visit those hapless victims, not to console but to be consoled. Nature heals; but, who heals nature?
Anyway, the back roads were a luxury. At Modesto, we had to get on California State 99 and cut to the chase. Around noon, we found ourselves in downtown Fresno. The contrast of economical well-being is startling from the Bay Area to Fresno as cheap goods dominated the stores and food stands. But hot dogs are sold for a buck. That made our 6-year-old's day. There is nothing to see in Fresno, not even a decent shade of coolness; we had to get on the horse and ride off quickly to escape the heat, so it seems.
Fresno was where we had to get off the State 99 and got on the narrower Route 180. It's a nice drive. The heat was mellowing down as gentle breezes started to stroke the face and every inch of exposed skin. But it was arid, dry like a desert. Only the citrus trees are flourishing with the blessing of a robust irrigation system that is the pride of California. Everything else was baked to brownish, yellowish and golden. The fabulous climate of California is that it's always dry heat. No humidity at all.
As we were heading westward, I saw a thick haze dividing the flat lands and the hills and the mountains. Was it air pollution or simply a heat wave? You know, particles puffed up by the early summer heat and decided to test their hang time in midair. Sheesh.
However, the haze cleared up when the rolling hills were behind us. The air always clears up where the towering mountains and the many tall trees reside. So it seems to me. Maybe that's what attracts the soul; maybe that's where the call was wailed out across time and space. As the land elevates from thick and rich soil to barely covered rocks, hard rocks, the trees aren't getting any smaller. Instead, they become taller and taller, bigger and bigger. Maybe the hilly area are too dry. Only a few oak trees and some tough luck commoners still manage to hang on. Then in this belt of snow pack supported mountain zone, those pines, conifers, and other more majestic trees proudly stand up reaching the heavens. The climax is none other than the famed Sequoias. Oh, boy, aren't they colossal?
The giants reside between 6,000 and 8,000 feet in elevation. Above 9,000, the air is too thin and the water to shallow and the climate too cold for big trees to thrive. Only low bushes and a few pine trees brave the no man's land. And above 11,000 feet, there is nothing but bare rocks in their fragmented state of eternal wondering. Wind whistles, but it's also a form of peace. Mount Whitney tops Sierra Nevada at 14,494 feet, the highest peak on the contiguous U.S.
Oh, over the radio I heard that Sierra in Spanish means Saw. So the white teeth of the a long saw cut into the heavens day and night, night and day. And we are still here.
We arrived at the Dorst Creek camping site around 3 o'clock. The sun was still bright and the air was fresh and temperature rather comfortable. We had our tent pitched in no time and had any early dinner. But the little one was too tired to take on any trails, as three scenic trails branch out from the campground. So we explored the Dorst Creek a little bit. The creek isn't particularly big, but the rocks are huge and wild. It's nice to see how water rushes off a gigantic rock and all the graceful flowers, big and small, bright and modest. It's in this creek I noticed that some of the flowers sold in urbane stores, such as Home Depot, are really a variation of the flowers in the wilderness. And wild flowers do smell better because they aren't altered to become bigger and more pleasing, thus preserving all their energy to be naturally fragrant.
Later on, I fast walked into the Muir Grove in search of Giant Sequoias. It was late and the whole trail had nobody but me, alone. And I was trekking in the black bears' native habitat. But I liked it. Before the end of the trail, I took a short cut and found an opening. It's a giant rock standing among the forest of towering trees. And the rock of dark gray (granite) stands by a steep cliff that drops into a deep gorge. There I was, alone in the sun that was still scorching around 7:30 pm, yelling "hurry up and come home." In Chinese, of course, to get the bears confused, hah, you say. The valley echoes. Gee, the mountains learn foreign languages faster than any living being.
The night was a little chilly, and the camp fire was no help. We ended up bundling up for the night. And a black bear approached the camping ground. S/he smelt the food. But nervous campers screamed and yelled and banged on stuff to give the bear "a negative experience" so we were coached by the park rangers. The question is how come the bear never bothered to come to our habitat, you know the concrete canyons we call cities. We invade their territory and elect to treat them as invaders. The sad story is that some bears were spoiled by the ease of getting food from tourists that they became aggressive, damaging property (cars, etc.) and inflicting injury on people. They had to be eliminated.
The next morning, we had the old camp fire going. But soon it was sunny and hot. We took down the tent and drove to the world's largest living thing, a sequoia named General Sherman, a tree that weighs up to 2.7 million pounds, keeps itself alive for 3,200 years, with a bark up to 31 inches thick that is fire-resistant. Yeah, the coastal redwood can be taller, but none of the living things on earth is larger. It grows fast and straight up. Every year, it adds the capacity of 100 feet and one foot in diameter; that's a big tree by its own right. But this hasty giant does not grow roots as well as all other trees, thus the giant can topple (falling down with a big splash, you bet) at any given time without warning. So it's safe to say that the giant is its own worst enemy. Or maybe the creator always devises the demise inside a giant. Therefore, nothing is invincible. After this historic meeting with the giants, we drove to Moro Rock, made of hot stuff spouted from under the ground and cooled down to become a monument. So many steps to climb. The little one was hesitating. Then an old guy coming down from above said, "hot dogs on top." So those little legs suddenly became alive and started churning all the way to the top. Only 500 steps later he realized it was a joke. But the panoramic views from the top of the rock are worth all the effort. Everyone who gets on top of it was happy and thrilled. And we got to repeat the joke on little ones on our way down. "Ice cream on top."
After the rock, we left Sequoia National Park to go back up north to the King's Canyon Park. Only later we found out that we missed out a mysterious cave in the general area of the rock. We told the little man in our car that after General Sherman, we will visit General Grant, the huge sequoia that is designated as the Nation's Christmas Tree. But by the time we get there, he had fallen asleep in the back of the car. So, we decided to drive down King's Canyon. King's Canyon is deeper than the Grand Canyon as it reaches down almost 8,000 feet, because all around there are towering peaks of Sierra Nevada.
This end of the Route 180 was a spectacular drive. Mountains are towering into the sky and the valleys are diving into the unknown depth. Route 180 winds around peaks and valleys. Part of the road was carved out around the waist of rocky mountains. Vultures flew along the road and rivers roared down under and the sky was still blue. Just driving one felt the unlocking of the heart and soul. The expansion of the world and emotion ...
Ah, the ever rushing Kings River displays its splendor in green, blue, emerald, and above all white currents and mists and drifts. The sound of the river is loud yet utterly soothing. We couldn't resist the temptation to take our shoes off and dip into the coldness of the jade colored liquid, God's remedy for our suffering and misery in this world. Ah, the cleansing sensation reached really deep and wide. Then it became heavenly as many of the tourists, including us, changed into swimming gears and took a natural shower under the Grizzly Fall. The sight was nothing short of surreal.
A little before 4 o'clock we turned around because the little one was asking whether we visited Grant Grove without him. Grant Grove has many huge Sequoia trees, rivaling the Sherman tree and the Giant Forest area. By then, I finally had a feeling how spectacular this place really is.
Soon, it was almost 6 o'clock. We left the great parks for Fresno where we would spend a night in a motel to heat the bodies up from the chills and cold penetration. Of course, the little man enjoyed swimming day and night.
July 5, 2000 |
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