The original plan was for us to drive out of the national park late in the day yesterday. Instead, we opted to grab a night at Kings Canyon Lodge, which had a free room – on a holiday weekend! We’ll have a few more hours in the midst of all this spectacular beauty, although we’ll get home later. We arrived at Hume Lake just at sunrise when a breeze blew through and disturbed the water’s glassy surface. Ducks were beginning to stir, and a light fog was lifting off the lake– a perfect sunrise moment. But we had little time to linger.
The General Sherman tree!
We do decide to take time to enjoy the sights at the General Sherman trail after all. Eight years ago was our last visit to this corner of Sequoia National Park, and being right here in the middle of the park, it would have been a shame to skip a return walk through the woods on our way south. Everything is different. Well, the trees are all the same, but the parking lot has moved, and the trail is altogether new. The next thing that strikes us is the evidence that yesterday was a major holiday that brought out the worst in people. Trash is everywhere. Paper, wrappers, bottle caps, pieces of plastic, and toilet paper. That’s right, TP. Who is it that thinks about bringing toilet paper out on the trail, squats next to a giant sequoia to take a pee, and then leaves her wad of paper right there at the foot of the tree? Good thing there is all this beauty around us competing for our attention.
Something these photos have trouble conveying is the size of the trees. With Caroline standing in the trunk, it’s easier to get the idea of the enormous footprint these giants have imprinted on the hillside. Besides the General Sherman tree at the beginning of the trail, nothing looks familiar. Had there been a billion fewer mosquitos, maybe we could have walked slower, allowing us to remember a few familiar locations; instead, we hoofed it. The Congress and the House parts of the grove were the only other trees that stoked our memories.
The Senate stands tall over the rest of the grove, likely doing a much better job than the old wooden characters back in Washington, D.C.
As we are leaving the trail, everyone else is joining it. Less than two hours to cover the two-and-a-half miles, a land speed record for the snail hikers. The truth of it was the motivation brought on by the angry hordes of mosquitos. Before leaving the park through the south exit, we have to endure a partial road closure that is regulated by a light, a long, painful red light that takes forever to turn green. Eventually, though we are quickly descending the mountain to rejoin urban America. Oh, the misery of forcing ourselves back into reality.
Most of the drive home is through the desert. From out in the Mojave east to that infamous hotspot Needles, California, we cruise along at ten miles per hour over the posted speed limit. Here comes Ludlow and Dairy Queen, yummers; a chocolate malt sounds good right about now. Off the freeway, and OMG, there are ninety-five cars and three hundred other ice cream-hungry travelers here. We don’t even get below fifteen miles per hour as we turn around and are right back on the I-40. At the last possible second, I pull off in Yucca, Arizona, to photograph a town that has all but disappeared. A defunct neon sign is all that remains of the motel that is no longer to be found.
