Hawaii – Day 3

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Taking our time may be contrary to our natures, but we’ve been to Hawaii before and so we are committed to this visit to go slow. Six years ago, we couldn’t be blamed for thinking our time on the islands might be our first and last, and so we rushed to see as much as we could. We’re certainly older but probably no wiser (besides being Wise), still, we have to try and make the most of our limited resource of time and immerse ourselves as deeply as possible so our memories might form deep roots.

Caroline and I are in some ways like the water lilies in this photo or would like to be. Meaning that while we find beauty on the surface and can explore delight in the watery garden floating on still-glistening water, our connection to even a muddy foundation is held fast. And though our roots are immovable regarding who we are in our essence, we are like the bloom standing tall over the water below, catching a breeze that has us waving in the wind so we may see more of the world we live in and upon.

If we never moved, how could we be here to encounter flowers such as this? The non-sentient plant will send out its seed, and with favorable conditions and a vast enough space across time, it might spread its species to faraway corners. That plant, though, will never know where its descendants ultimately ended up. We humans, on the other hand, are sentient beings that briefly have a near-total awareness of our place, and with our ability to recollect our past, we can choose to live a life full of experiences that define something more than mere existence at the moment. We, too, will never know where our descendants may go, but we can know where we have been and what we’ve learned.

This doesn’t require us to go to Hawaii to gather these lessons, but it does mean we have to look closer at the world around us. Not everyone is as fortunate as Caroline and I or maybe as curious either; this, though, doesn’t inhibit people from at least becoming aware of a lack of curiosity and then cultivating it. Slow down, read about things you know nothing about such as the history of Alexander von Humboldt or the ocean crossings of Thor Heyerdahl. These are only examples of something you may not yet have heard about, but these people and what they found played important roles in our perspectives of how people have come to relate to our Earth. The same goes for others who ventured out on unsure footings either on the surface of our planet or in the depths of their mind. Just because there’s nothing below you but a thin leaf of support doesn’t mean that the view of the world from above is nothing less than spectacular. First, you must take the risk of exploring areas and things you never knew existed.

We are exploring the Waimea Valley Botanical Garden and we’re taking our time to do it. The Waimea Valley here on the North Shore of O’ahu is what is known as an ahupua‘a. That somewhat difficult word to pronounce for non-Hawaiians is a pie-like slice of land that stretches from the interior of the island to shore and was considered to have everything required for a group of Hawaiians to properly live and thrive. In the highlands were medicinal plants and the woods required for dwellings and watercraft. Below that is farmland for bananas, taro, breadfruit, sweet potato, and coconut. At the sea, an abundance of fish was readily available for the early Polynesians who discovered the islands to enjoy their island paradise. Today, the Waimea Valley is 1,875 acres of land, of which the botanical garden occupies 300 acres. Within this corner of the island, there are over 5,000 tropical and subtropical plants. We plan to see each and every one of them.

On our second visit to the biome known as a tropical forest, we became more familiar with one of the major habitats we humans have populated. To date, Caroline and I have visited six of the eight major biomes, and although we were close to a boreal forest while we were in Quebec last year, we have yet to visit one; the same goes for the tundra. The list of habitats is as follows: tundra, taiga (also called boreal forest), temperate deciduous forest (Eastern United States), scrub forest (called chaparral in California), grassland (the Great Plains), desert (we live in one of the major desert types of which there are four), tropical rain forest (right here on Hawaii), and temperate rainforests such as the ones we visit in Oregon and Washington.

Champagne beehive ginger, just the name, makes you want to sample it. Maybe the gift shop has some beehive ginger candy? Nope, other than an infrequent food item and some alleged medicinal use there’s not much the plant offers at this time other than it’s beautiful. Hmmm, when I think about it this way, it’s much like the majority of life, and I guess that’s good enough.

You know you always wanted to go to Heliconia and back. You can’t, though, because Heliconia isn’t a place, and it’s not found in Arizona either. This tropical plant is also known as lobster-claw, toucan peak, wild plantains, or false bird-of-paradise. The white seeds in the claw are not ripe yet; when they are, they will turn a dark blue-purple, which drives the birds wild; well, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but it sure sounds dramatic.

This is a picture of a tropical donkel. Yes, you read that right, part donkey, part camel. You’ll notice the large protruding hump on its back, which is unique to the female of the species. Darwin once speculated that the male of the species is too lazy to carry his own shit and that, somehow, it convinced the female to adapt and evolve this permanent growth on its back where the male could store the things he couldn’t be bothered to carry. The two enjoy a symbiotic relationship where the ass and donkel are able to move through the environment with everything needed for survival carried by the docile female.

I’m not even going to try and tell you what this is because I have no idea, but it looked amazing.

It’s already a lucky day just being on O’ahu, but here we are getting to see the endangered Hawaiian Moorhen, also called `alae `ula in Hawaiian. Not only is it endangered and rare, but the bird is typically quite secretive and will dash for cover at any disturbance. There are an estimated 250 to 450 of the birds left and we had this opportunity to see one with our very own eyes. So, while anybody could have watched the North Shore surfing competition live or on TV at some point, few will ever be witness to this bird’s existence.

Anybody who has talked with me will know that I just have to go where I’m going next. Look at the beauty of this flower and how the contrast of it standing out against the green background makes it all the more striking. Now imagine the people who once populated these islands being priced out of their lands because wealthier folks drive them out. The Hawaiian islanders were like this flower against a green backdrop; they stood out and were free to be wherever they popped up and found themselves on their ancestral lands. Revisionist histories of warlike people with a rich tradition of the warrior are, in my opinion, a bullshit cockamamie romanticized story that is used by conquering douche-bags to justify why the savages had to be contained. It is us white people who wanted control and wealth in addition to purging the earth of species and peoples that were considered inferior. Now, we know that we took their lands by sleight of hand, but even with this knowledge, there is no way in heaven that the 50th state of America will be allowed to return to its sovereign roots. I’d like to say that at least Native Americans were given reservations, but for the most part, we isolated them on lands we felt near worthless with little to harvest, mine, or steal from to build our own wealth; our ancestors kept that for themselves. In some way, this flower and the bird above have more rights and freedoms than the average indigenous Hawaiian. Paradise loses some of its luster should you look too deeply because, under the surface, you’ll often find muck.

The traditional dwellings in Waimea Valley are mostly not accessible by the general public, but a few can be visited such as this one. The valley here is a sacred site to Hawaiians where many high-ranking people would have lived and where religious ceremonies were practiced. At one time, the area was referred to as the Valley of the Priests. Prior to the protection of the area, the valley was owned by a land developer who was also responsible for the Kahala Hilton, which today is known as Kahala Resort and will cost you an arm and a leg to stay at.

This may forever be my favorite canopy photo I’ll have ever taken. The fractal nature of the trees and near-even distribution of leaves with just enough branches to paint the appearance of arteries stretching to the sky to harvest the nutrient of sunshine delights my eyes and brings back fond memories of amazement.

There’s much to learn and an equal amount to see here at Waimea Valley Botanical Garden. Time and hunger are pushing us towards the exit, but visiting has been a treat. We are well aware that being next to a pool, on a beach, or being seen in the coolest watering hole or a trendy restaurant means more to the average visitor to Hawaii, but we are not those kinds of visitors. Sadly it is the image of the buffoon tourist and their conformist ideas of what a vacation is that drives a larger amount of money into an economy. Caroline and I can only hope that places like this continue to draw in enough people to maintain their upkeep and pay staff so wildlands remain available. The places of history should always be cherished shrines where humanity strives to preserve our heritage so future generations can also celebrate those who have come before them.

I shot 132 images here in Waimea Valley and have shared just 15. There were another half dozen I would have liked posting, but already, this is a lot of plants and none of the images one has come to expect from a visit to Hawaii. As we are leaving I look over at this curious-looking bird and wonder what it’s thinking and then realize maybe it’s just listening for the movement of insects so it can grab a meal, like we are about to do.

Fortunately for us, we don’t have to put an ear to the asphalt and try to pull a bug out of crack to satisfy our hunger. Instead, we spot a food truck called Nakai Saimin and decide it has our flavor of gourmet written all over it. Their claim to fame on their sign is “Fresh Homemade Noodles,” and so that’s what Caroline opts for; I went for the Loco Moco. For whose dish was better, I think it was hands down mine. Loco Moco is a relatively simple dish of a hamburger patty on white rice topped with an egg and brown gravy, but like so many “simple” dishes, it is the totality of the parts that create a chemistry that goes far beyond the average ingredients. This was the GREATEST Loco Moco I’ve ever had and the standard for which all that will follow will have to compare to. Caroline is enjoying some fresh coconut next to our Jeep. We’d have preferred something with better gas mileage, but it seems the tourists feel more adventurous driving these foolish things.

Liquid metal glistening in the late day sun. We have no schedule and no other places to visit; we will meander for the rest of the afternoon and see what we find. Oh, is that the call of Poseidon, or is it the voice of shave ice I hear beckoning us? Sure enough, the universe was transmitting signals to Caroline and me that we should revisit the Old Sugar Mill and order a lilikoi shave ice sitting on a scoop of vanilla ice cream with a splash of coconut milk on top. While I’ve never been harpooned by an angry sea god, I can state with some certainty that gluttony accentuated with Hawaiian shave ice is likely preferable.

At a beach, a small crowd had formed, looking like the Hawaiian version of the animal spotting groups in Yellowstone. Sure enough, they were watching a few sea turtles in the surf next to shore delivering a message from Poseidon, who told those present that disrespecting the all-powerful sea god would result in a heavy price to pay. The turtles whispered to us they could intercede on our behalf if we were to throw them some sugary yummies, and so instead of facing the wrath of His Holy Water Monster, we gave up the rest of our shave ice to the turtles. By now, I’m starting to wonder if those Heliconia berries we ate earlier were some kind of psychedelic. Okay, full stop. Do you really think we fed those turtles our shave ice? Hell no, we didn’t care how dire those turtles made it sound.

The sky started turning overcast around the time that daylight was about to give way to sunset, so we headed back to the hotel in a light rain and were offered a rainbow in place of a glorious sunset; it would have to do. Remember my dissing of people who do the tourist gig and lay on the beach in the sun, go to the pool, and hang out at the bar? Well, we went back to our room, changed clothes, and hit the hot tub before heading out for dinner again at the Kahuku Grill for some more Fire in Paradise burgers. A fulfilling John-and-Caroline kind of touristy day was had.

The day ends with me writing the notes that would become this blog entry while Caroline sits on the balcony in a light breeze, reading about Hawaiian history and knitting.

Rafting The Alsek – Canada To Alaska Day 13

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Midnight on Alsek Lake in Alaska

Waiting for the lake tsunami that never comes. It’s five minutes after midnight, and everyone else is asleep while Caroline and I try to cherish each and every second we have left here in Alaska. This will be our last full day on the Alsek. Those clouds on the right are hiding Mount Fairweather, which, according to Wikipedia, stands at 15,325 feet (4,671 meters) and is one of the world’s highest coastal mountains. We’ll not see Mount Fairweather on this trip, as the weather didn’t allow it. Something for us to come back for.

Four o'clock in the morning on Alsek Lake in Alaska

Four o’clock in the morning is the perfect time for a perfect sunrise. Looks like we might be having a sunny day here on the lake.

7:00 a.m. on Alsek Lake in Alaska

By 7:00 a.m., the clouds are moving in; fingers crossed, they will burn off. The funny thing about how the weather goes, it nearly always seems to have been perfect for the situation wherever Caroline and I find ourselves traveling. If it’s raining, well, that rain added something that made the place all the more special. Yesterday, it looked like winter had closed in on us, but still, there was incredible beauty to be found. I wonder how many people go on vacation wishing for great weather and are disappointed when they don’t get it? I, for one, am one of those who wish for it and then am pleasantly surprised by how all weather is great. Suppose it’s better than being in that situation where one will never again experience the weather.

Midday on Alsek Lake in Alaska

Midday and overcast. But it still looks great to me!

Here comes the sun and the wildflowers. On Alsek Lake in Alaska

Wandering around checking out the wildflowers when, guess who decides to show up. The sun, that’s who.

Soft velvety flower next to Alsek Lake in Alaska

To those of you who might really be appreciating the details I have been bringing to you here on my blog regarding the Alsek River: I am accepting donations that will allow me to spend a few months and half a dozen back-to-back trips down the river, so I can share even more with you. I should be able to pull this off with about $25,000. Got an extra grand you can spare?

Out on Alsek Lake in Alaska looking at the reflections on the beautifully rippling water

We have left camp to row out onto the lake. The weather is beautiful, and there are icebergs to inspect. In case this photo is too abstract, it is the lake’s surface with the mountains in the distance reflected in the water.

Icebergs floating in Alsek Lake, Alaska

The majority of our group has opted to explore the mosquito-infested island in the lake; this is perfect because we can now explore the lake in near-absolute silence.

A rock and dirt covered iceberg is the black sheep of icebergs on Alsek Lake in Alaska

Just as it fell from the glacier, this iceberg still carries with it the rocks and dirt it had accumulated over the decades as it slid closer to the water’s edge.

An iceberg from Alsek Lake in Alaska

Something rolled over not too far from us. It was at first a thrilling moment of wow, the low rumble, the craning our necks to find where the berg that just tumbled was, but nothing to be found. And then the tension started. From the wave created by the invisible iceberg rolling over, the ice between us and the rollover started crashing into each other. The sound of multi-ton massive chunks of ice can be more than a little unsettling. I start to wonder if this won’t trigger other bergs to roll, too, and here we are right out in the middle of them all.

The icebergs on Alsek Lake take on strange and sometimes familiar forms.

Strange and almost familiar forms can be seen in the ice; it’s almost like finding animals in the clouds.

A massive iceberg seen in Alsek Lake, Alaska

We try to find a path through the ice to go visit this 8-story tall massive iceberg, but our passage is blocked. Floating on the lake, drifting through icebergs, this is nothing short of spectacular.

A rock clings to the edge of an iceberg as it floats away from the glacier and towards the Pacific Ocean in Alaska

How this rock still clings to the edge of this iceberg appears to defy gravity. I’d like to know how long and from how far this rock has traveled. Soon, it will sink to the bottom of the lake, and we may be the only people on Earth in the entire history of our planet who will have ever seen this particular rock. It now joins the history of observed rocks.

The weather isn't perfect, but it does add dramatic effect here on Alsek Lake in Alaska

The weather isn’t perfect, but it does add a dramatic effect here on Alsek Lake. The other interesting aspect regarding the play of light, everything changes with the intensity of the sun or the shadows cast by the clouds. Look to the left of center the ice is deep blue; five minutes before, it was merely pale blue.

More icebergs in Alsek Lake, Alaska

Just like the rock above, this piece of ice seems to have mere days left before it becomes an independent mini-berg.

Blue iceberg in Alsek Lake, Alaska

Bruce is our guide out here, or should I say, the man letting us drift all over the place? If you’ve been even slightly intrigued by these images, let me suggest that you contact an outfitter and take yourself on a trip down the Alsek or maybe even the Tatshenshini; both rivers bring you to Alsek Lake! It’s cheaper than going to the Antarctic.

Iceberg on Alsek Lake in Alaska

We sat here a while, listening to the drip, drip, drip of the iceberg as the sound echoed out of the enclave. If only I could share the delicate sound with you, it alone would convince you that you, too, need to visit this remote corner of North America.

The sun reflecting off the silty water of Alsek Lake in Alaska

Silty water and sun, everything I need to see art. The qualities of water, of wild water, are something we will see very few times in our lives. Unless we are at the ocean, most water that humanity will encounter has been sequestered – it is, in a sense, dead water. But on free-running rivers, we see the turbulence, convulsion, elasticity, and randomness that change by the instant. There was a time not too long ago when any of us would have been far more familiar with the flow of this life-sustaining liquid.

Deep blue ice from a freshly turned over iceberg on Alsek Lake in Alaska

Stumbled upon this freshly turned-over iceberg. Could this be the piece that created the wave? We can’t know. No matter because at least we get to witness this incredible deep blue undulating and curved ice sculpture that elicits our oohs and aahs.

It's getting late in the day as golden light falls on Alsek Lake looking in the direction of the Pacific Ocean in Alaska

We continued floating and checking out the icebergs until it was time to turn back to shore and get busy with making dinner. Shaun stayed in camp today in order to get some things prepared for our departure from the river tomorrow. Hopefully, he has also started cooking. After the visitors to the island left their mosquito encounter, they paddled out onto the lake and joined us as we enjoyed the discarded ice that Alsek Glacier tossed into the lake.

Evidence of flooding on shore at Alsek Lake in Alaska

On the previous evening, I guessed that the driftwood onshore came from lake tsunamis; tonight, I get proof. While wandering around waiting for dinner, I was about 100 feet from shore when I noticed these exposed roots of plants that appeared to be growing well out of the ground. Then I figured it out: this is where the water drained off the ground and pulled the surrounding sand with it back to the lake, leaving these roots high and dry. Even on this scale, these details are nothing less than fascinating. Of course, this could also simply mean the lake level was higher at some point, but lake tsunami sounds way more dynamic – thrilling even!

Sitting around the campfire on our last night on the Alsek in Alaska

Spending our last “night” around the campfire. Tomorrow will be difficult, but tonight, we warm ourselves next to the flames and admire the surroundings. What an incredible day and an incredible journey down one of the few remaining wild rivers left on Earth.

A Moment To Explore

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

A dandelion gone to seed, also known as a wish.

Fresh homefries and eggs were enjoyed sitting at the window of our cabin overlooking the lake as the sun rose over the San Juan Mountains. We may have sat lakeside on the deck had it been about 15 degrees warmer. It’s not always easy going from 110-degree days with 90-degree nights to 55-degree mornings – especially when you are dressed for summer in the desert. We woke late, moved slowly, and when it was time to leave the lake, we drove slowly on the way to Durango. Caroline had to register in the early day at Fort Lewis College so she could get checked in for her class.

Wildflowers roadside north of Durango, Colorado

Last year, Caroline volunteered to set up the Intermountain Weavers Conference website with online registration and payment for their bi-annual fiber conference. For her efforts, she was gifted a workshop. I’ll tell you which workshop in an upcoming blog post when I can show you what she was doing. Today, though, was simply registration. Vendors of various weaving and fiber art supplies were already set up and selling their goods when we arrived upstairs to see what temptations might exist for Caroline to spend her puny budget. Funny how “puny” never really stays that way but has this mutability where budget becomes bonanza, which is what she ultimately walks away with.

A chipmunk hiding in the brush in the mountains north of Durango, Colorado

Seeing this would be the only day for my wife to do some sightseeing in the area, after registration and lunch, we headed up the road in the direction of Ouray, Colorado. We didn’t get far: the sign said Ouray was 67 miles away, and we knew that our cabin was 30 miles in the other direction, requiring at least 45 minutes to get there from the college. Having an appointment with our barbecue and a lakeside sunset, our meandering through the mountains would be limited. At one of our stops with a fair amount of wildflowers that were demanding our attention, we spotted this little chipmunk. Our first wildlife encounter.

Caroline Wise blowing a dandelion, making a wish in the San Juan Mountains of Colorado

Make a wish. What was it? Can’t tell, or it won’t come true. Do you believe that? Don’t know, but it must work to some degree, as so many of my wishes keep coming true. I’m here with you today, ain’t I? It’s a familiar story repeated ad infinitum: we get lost in the green, and our eyes get woozy, taking in the deeply saturated colors of the forest. Do people who live in lush areas know the pleasure we feel when we compare the world of the parched to that of the verdant?

Purple flowers growing from some random roadside plant in a tablespoon of soil on a rock north of Durango, Colorado

And now, our worlds meet: Tan, let me introduce you to Purple and Green. This burst of color appears to be growing in 2 tablespoons of soil. No, I am not feeling nostalgic for what we left behind in Arizona; it was Caroline who asked me to take the photo. As I get older, I slowly learn to be slightly more obliging, and so I stopped, rolled down the window, and took the photo for her. I hope you enjoy “Plant on Rock.”

A roadside cascade north of Durango, Colorado

If you like cascades, you’ll love your drive on Highway 550 north of Durango. Keep a keen eye; they are everywhere. Attention road designers, those of us armed with cameras are a danger to ourselves and others when engineers do not afford us pullouts at convenient locations, i.e., beautiful landscapes. We will stop right in the middle of the road if need be and take pictures – wife yelling at us and all. It has even happened that people encourage me to do so as they drive around me yelling at me to get a good one, combined with hand gestures I interpret as a thumbs-up of “good job, buddy.”

Panorama of a mountain top and its surrounding area in the San Juan Mountains north of Durango, Colorado

By this time, we no longer need to pull over to take photos; we are only driving 1200 feet an hour; who needs miles per hour when you are in nature? I think it’s almost funny when a Kia is driving slower than a 40-foot motorhome towing a Hummer. If you people behind me are in such a hurry, why are you driving through someplace that is astoundingly beautiful? Did it not occur to you that some people don’t enjoy rubber-necking traffic accidents but can’t help themselves when driving on California’s Pacific Coast Highway, anywhere in Yellowstone, or moving through the mountains, desert, forest, or anywhere else that demands one’s appreciation?

A travertine bump on the side of the road with a mysterious bubble of water coming out of the top - north of Durango, Colorado

Is this real? Caroline and I have driven this stretch of road many a time, and we have never seen this before. A travertine bump being created by a flow of water out of the top of what looks suspiciously like a pipe? The travertine looks real enough; the water is not all that hot; why haven’t we seen this before? It turns out that it is real. It is called Pinkerton Hot Springs – suppose I’m now a monkey’s uncle.

Los Pinos River just before entering Vallecito Reservoir in Bayfield, Colorado

Los Pinos River is seen from the bridge into Five Branches Campers Park seconds before it enters Vallecito Reservoir. There’s something about these types of wild rivers, even when they are small, that begs me to get out of the car, abandon everything, and follow them upstream. To all you millionaires out there who are in ownership of your very own private stretch of wild river (think Montana / Wyoming area), I’m available for house watching — summers only!

A sunset created sky flame made of clouds over Vallecito Reservoir in Bayfield, Colorado

Another barbecue, another lakeside dinner, and one more beautiful sunset. We are working on a theme here on my blog this year; I should change its name from Photo of the Day to My Perfect Day. What more can I say that would let you know how wonderful a day Caroline and I just had?

Canyon Blooms

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Flowers blooming on the Mums plant we were given on our Colorado River trip through the Grand Canyon back in November

Two months ago, Caroline and I were still on the Colorado River, floating through the Grand Canyon. Every day since then, we spend at least a few thoughts reminiscing about those perfect days. I have continued my writing about the experience and am presently in the middle of the sixth day, reaching over 21,000 words to describe my perceptions. Sorry, but this won’t be showing up on my blog any time soon, nor will the photos, as first I want to finish writing my story. But this entry is not about fond memories; it is about this flower. On the last day in the Canyon, trip leader Rondo handed off the potted mums that had sat table side during each and every meal we shared with our fellow passengers and the boatmen. Slowly the plant, which had been picked bare of blooms, is coming back and is putting smiles on our faces as we come and go – it sits outside by our front door.

Kings Canyon – Day 3

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Caroline Wise receiving her Junior Range pledge from Ranger Frank Helling at Kings Canyon National Park in California

Fourth of July is America’s Independence Day, and Caroline finds one more reason to celebrate. Ranger Helling placed his ranger hat on Caroline’s head and swore her in as a Junior Ranger with a pledge to protect Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks. He also showed us details on the ranger uniform we hadn’t paid attention to before. The National Park Ranger patch on the left shoulder is in the shape of an arrowhead; it features a bison, which represents wildlife but is also indicative of the first National Park, Yellowstone. The bison stands in front of a mountain which is Mount Rainier, and next to a tree, which is a giant Sequoia. On the Ranger’s hat is a black leather band with two metallic ornaments in the shape of green seed cones of the Sequoia, and even the Ranger’s belt is embossed with a Sequoia cone pattern. Caroline is now a Junior Ranger at Yellowstone, Arches, Canyonlands, Petrified Forest, Natural Bridges, Grand Canyon, and Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks! Only 51 National Parks left, and who knows how many national monuments, seashores, battlefields, historic parks, and cultural sites.

Trail side in Redwood Canyon at Kings Canyon National Park in California

With the formalities out of the way, it was time for recreation. Not far from the Grant Grove ranger station is the narrow dirt road into Redwood Canyon. We are taking the Sugarbowl trail. Early in Arizona’s summer, around mid-March leading into April, we will typically have already been experiencing days that are approaching the upper 80s. During these weeks, we might venture north to enjoy a great spring day in the mountains only to be reminded that it is still winter in other places. Here in Kings Canyon, we are reminded that while it is summer almost everywhere else, it is still springtime up here. Wildflowers are in abundance; we feel lucky to be witnessing this spectacular bloom and are all but certain that in two weeks, summer will have arrived, and the wildflowers will be but a distant memory until next year.

Standing in the burned-out center of a very live Sequoia tree in Kings Canyon National Park, California

We are in the Sugarbowl grove. This is another one of those moments where it would be easy to show you the obvious, that being the giant trees that were all around us, but you should see that with your own eyes. What I am offering is a much rarer sight. Just off the trail at the bottom of a tree is a hole, a hole singed by fire and not too small that it would keep big guys like myself from crawling through. To our amazement, we could both enter the tree. Once inside, there was ample room for both of us to stand up – at the same time. The center of the tree was burned out, but the hundreds of feet and tens of thousands of pounds of the tree above us are very much alive and well. How far up the black scar ascended was impossible to see.

On the Sugarbowl trail in Redwood Canyon - part of Kings Canyon National Park in California

The trail continues. On occasion, a hiker or two passes us, but it is quiet and peaceful out here. I hope the photo conveys to you just how perfect a day we were having. And while I will soon sound like a broken record, suppose I’m dating myself with that reference; we are moving as slowly as humanly possible so that we might not miss even one detail. Sure, we know we’re missing a million little things and probably more than a few big things, but augmented reality with geospatial overlays offering detailed information regarding geology, flora, and fauna, are not yet available for hikers in the backcountry, or maybe anywhere else either.

Fresh green growth of a tree in Kings Canyon National Park in California

The narrow ringing of fluorescent green at the ends of the older and darker green growth was an impressive showing of how far this tree was extending itself into the world. This was also our first occasion to see something like this, which makes one wonder if our powers of observation are normally asleep. Are these phenomena always around us demonstrating the magic of nature that we are simply not truly aware of? It leaves me pondering why as a mass of humanity, we concern ourselves with the machinations of talking heads, relegating the grand stuff to the eggheads.

Base of a Sequoia tree in the Sugarbowl grove in Kings Canyon National Park, California

Halfway. No photo will ever convey the feeling to be had being here. You may perceive the colors and shading, and you may glean size and random details, but these are all poor perceptions of a design by nature that only one’s own eyes, nose, and other senses can at once be intrigued with and baffled by. The immensity of this perfection is often lost in the cynicism of those who prefer the artificial. Had other men had their way, all of these trees would have been converted into fences distancing us from our neighbors and ourselves. When you look into the beauty of nature, you should be so lucky to witness your own complexity and great fortune at being counted amongst the teaming life, sharing a moment of mutual respect. Sadly, our reality is more akin to the idea that tree huggers are a weak shadow of humanity who would steal the bread from the hungry mouth of a child. Our balance tilts to the stupid; the nature of man has the roots of the ugliest weed.

Caroline Wise on the Sugarbowl loop trail in Kings Canyon National Park, California

I cannot break out of the idea that in the second half of the loop, we are returning to an endpoint. What conditioning brought this poor thought to my mind? If only I could not see the end of the trail and this hike until the moments just before seeing the parking area. I feel part of the magic is stolen from me as I walk along in recognition that this is the last half. It is pessimism; my glass is now half empty. Is this an affliction of modernity or of aging where time has become our master? Lucky children never see their own end of innocence as time has not yet become their guide; they still see all of the opportunities ahead of them; time is boundless and full of promise. Alas, getting old rears its head, letting you know that an end is near, and these trail moments, happy moments, and pleasant moments that come to a close are little reminders that our own existence is limited. Maybe I should spend more time hiking into life than returning on its trail.

A butterfly sucking up nectar in a flower at Kings Canyon National Park, California

For a moment, I envy the butterfly. From flower to flower a neverending feast of nectar. But it too will see the end of the trail; in so many days or weeks, the flowers will shrivel and fall away. With nowhere left to nourish itself, it will then lay eggs to start the next cycle of life, and its wings will cease to flutter. Is self-awareness all that it is made out to be? To live instinctually served our ancestors, but a milestone in the development of our mind and the advancement of language gave our species the curse of recognizing our own frailties, shortcomings, fears and understanding that death is on the horizon. Maybe it is our ultimate fatalism that has us running amok on earth, trying to lay our next seed before all of the flowers are dead and gone.

In the forest of Redwood Canyon at Kings Canyon National Park, California

Deep in the forest, with trees towering into the heavens and plants surrounding me, I feel the ancient wisdom of the man or creature who might have looked around and knew their place. They were themselves but a tree, a leaf, a branch, the butterfly, one with and of the natural world, not its master. While standing here in awe, there is also the overwhelming sense of tragedy that these small corners of what remains of nature are forever being diminished and lost due to our need to control all facets of our existence. A real Independence Day would be for these trees, these ferns, and salamanders to be able to live without the ax, the bulldozer, and the smog threatening their environment.

A stream flowing under a fallen tree in Kings Canyon National Park, California

Meanwhile, Caroline was off exploring a creek, cutting her own path through the thicket. I hollered out but heard no response; my first thought was that nature in the form of a bear had struck; no, she would have screamed. On second thought, she fell into a hole. The third was that incredibly dumb TV-induced idea that someone jumped out of the bushes and attacked her. Now, on my way to panic, I holler out again, still no answer. Cursing won’t help me now. Once more, I holler, or maybe it was a scream, and not eighty feet away, I hear her asking me what I want. Just making sure that Mike Meyers hadn’t dragged you into the bowels of the earth to chop off your limbs before selling you into an international prostitution ring. Fears allayed, I followed my wife with both arms and legs still intact over to the stream for this beautiful view and some hugging, knowing she wasn’t bear food either.

Lush green foliage and purple flowers at the foot of giant Sequoia trees in Kings Canyon National Park, California

Now, I know we are slow, purposefully lingering at a crawl, but can we really be this slow? At other times, slow was typified by our mile-per-hour pace. Well, if this trail is six and a half miles and we have been out here nearly eight hours, we must surely have lost the trail back to the parking lot. Caroline is assuring me that I can stay calm, that we are right where we should be, and we are not far from the finish line. Earlier, we passed a family that was heading up the trail to the Sugarbowl grove from where we had come, and they insisted they were on their way back to the parking lot and that there wasn’t a fork leading to the parking lot in the direction we were hiking. We did go through an especially thick, overgrown part of the trail; maybe we missed the turnoff? I must be getting forest fever as now I start wishing I’d brought more food, water, and a flashlight for our night in the forest.

A bear crawling up a giant Sequoia tree looking for food in Kings Canyon National Park, California

What’s that? Did you hear that? Yes, I heard it too. There it is again; what does it mean? IT MEANS BEAR!!!!! No, this wasn’t a forest fever-induced hallucination; it was a real bear. And the sound? It was clawing into trees looking for food, maybe grubs, maybe bees, but hopefully not looking for fat guys about to make pee-pee-filled hiking boot appetizers. Where the hell did my wife get this sudden burst of calm? I’m ready to run if I could breathe, and she’s like, shhh, let’s just stand here and watch it. Are you serious? Maybe its mother is on the other side of the trail and is getting ready to gouge some eyeballs out of my puny, not-bear-proof head. She tries to reassure me that it’s obviously not interested in us and that everything’s cool. The only reason it’s not interested yet is it hasn’t picked up on the scent of fear I’m exuding. Slowly, my lungs refill with oxygen, and I step back to Ms. Braveheart and snap a few photos before I slither away with both eyes over my shoulder making sure we’re not being hunted. After an hour of being tracked by this monster bear, we safely returned to our car, but I’m sure life was in the balance more than Caroline would ever admit.

Kings Canyon – Day 2

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Hazy layers of mountains in the early morning at Kings Canyon National Park, California

It’s morning in the mountains with the sun straggling over the heights, slipping over one peak to be trapped behind another. Shadows still rule the early day up here. The traffic that will befoul the roads in a few hours is still at bay, as is the heat. A cool, moist air tries to convince us that we could be a bit chilled. But we come from the desert below and will enjoy our moment of freedom from oppressive weather. At home, even the early morning sun peaks over the horizon with a sizzle this time of year, up here, we are temporarily saved from its blistering attack.

Kings Canyon National Park, California

Addition: It’s January 2023, and in the process of creating an index of our travels, I recognized that over the years, some blog posts weren’t connecting to the uploaded photos and instead were using some kind of cached image. This has required me to reupload dozens of day’s worth of photos spread out over some years. In some cases, I’m seeing images I should have uploaded or at least, some I want to upload now. The images that are reuploaded are also being adjusted as in my view, I think I’m able to do a better job using Lightroom. There’s one other image I’m adding below that I’ll also mark as an addition. As for the subject matter, we were driving through a canyon on a narrow road hanging to the side of a cliff.

Grizzly falls in Kings Canyon National Park, California

A subtle yet magnificent waterfall – Grizzly Falls. The mist is being shot out of the foot of the falls; all around us, the ground, the trees, the leaves, and soon we, as well, are covered in moisture. Until then, we delight in standing near the cascade of wispy veils of water that spray over the boulders, wet our faces, and cover our glasses in droplets, obscuring our sight. Eventually, the cold of the early morning finds its way through our thin layer of toughness, shortening our stay. Anyway, we have a date with a ten-mile-long trail.

Mist Falls trail in Kings Canyon National Park, California

So, we cut the thirty-mile drive from three hours yesterday down to an hour and a half this morning, but it still was too long to be off on our hike near sunrise. We reach the trailhead at 7:45; we might have to do better than a mile an hour this time – maybe. Luck would have it that the parking lot is still relatively empty, so not too many people should be on the trail yet; plus, some of these cars probably belong to the backpackers who have taken the longer hike up to Paradise Valley and points beyond. We are on the Mist Falls Trail, which becomes the Woods Creek Trail just beyond our destination.

Amongst the ferns in the forest on the Mist Falls Trails in Kings Canyon National Park, California

The first part of the trail is nearly level and casually cuts a path through the meadow and intermittent forest. In a moment, boulders dot the landscape, and the hike turns up a canyon. Grasses give way to ferns, and the trail becomes even lusher. Down at the foot of the canyon, we are once again in shadow, this time from the sun eating Mount Gardiner standing overhead at 12,907 feet. After more than an hour, no one else has passed us, but this is about to change.

Vibrant green summer growth on the forest floor in Kings Canyon National Park, California

The forest is old and constant yet, at the same time, new and dynamic. The trees may have towered above for hundreds of years, but this fresh green growth has come up with the disappearance of the last snow and the march forward of spring. We would easily be forced to our knees and crawl to catalog all that is to be seen here, but that would give short change to what is above our heads. And what of all that is before our noses? The day is too short for everything our eyes, ears, noses, and fingers can behold; life is too short to see all that it has put before us.

White water rushing by the Mist Falls Trail in Kings Canyon National Park, California

For an hour now, we have been walking along the river. It’s not always visible, but we can hear it. When it does come into view, it doesn’t fail to amaze. Maybe we dam our rivers to allow us to forget what a wild river looks and sounds like. This way, we do not wish to see more racing, tumbling water; we accept that water is controlled, portioned, priced, and commodified. There is an inherent, maybe even primordial, draw to rushing water. When you look into the crashing waves, the deep emerald flow, and the white foamy tumult, there is an elevation of senses that tells you that the world and all that is around you is vibrant and alive. It demands your attention, your respect, and your sense of awe.

Cascading water next to the Mist Falls Trail in Kings Canyon National Park, California

The trail steepens, and the river grows louder. Mosquitos politely remind us that we should put on gobs of insect repellent, which we do in great haste. We are gaining in elevation, and while the trail map claims that we will only gain 800 vertical feet, it feels like a lot more. If it weren’t for the flying mini-monsters emitting those high-frequency buzzing noises, we could pull up a chair and feel like we’ve seen it all, being content to call this the end of the trail. Moving forward keeps the blood-sucking tyrants away from the places the repellent missed, and who knows, maybe Mist Falls will be even more beautiful than what we are looking at on our way.

Kings Canyon National Park, California

Addition: With so many intimate shots showing the details of the place we were visiting, I thought it was needed here in January 2023 when I updated this post to add a better overview of where were at in Kings Canyon National Park.

A rattle snake on the Mist Falls Trail in Kings Canyon National Park, California

Is that the sound of a rattlesnake? Well, look at that: right next to the trail, the first rattlesnake in the wild Caroline and I have seen. Over the rest of the day, we’ll see two more. For twenty minutes or so, we stood still, watching the snake map his territory. Or maybe it was just trying to figure a way out. From where we first saw this five-year-old specimen, it was at the end of the road unless it was going to try to pass us. It curled up behind the rock next to the trail in a defensive position until it recognized that we were not trying to corner it and finally, it started to relax and slithered back up the trail in front of us. The snake found a crevice and, within minutes, was above us in the rocks and soon gone.

A lush fairy garden on the Mist Falls Trail in Kings Canyon National Park, California

To think that a few months ago, this trail was covered in snow. Maybe ice had formed along the river, or had it stopped flowing over the winter? Is it silent here under the trees in January? While wildflowers can’t literally scream and dance, they do come close with their beauty beckoning us to admire their perfect setting as we walk by. All of the pieces are laid out in such a way that the contrasts, gradations of color, and depths say you are about to see just what your imagination of what a perfect reality should look like, looks like. And there it is, next to the red bark of a tall tree, against the dense forest, in sun, speckled with blotches of shade, fern fronds in the background catching glimmers of light, fluttery insects bouncing from purple flower to flower and floaty ephemeral unknown things drifting in the air above this perfect scene, it is all so dreamy and all ours for as long as we choose to bask in its glow.

Caroline Wise standing in a pool next to a cascade above Mist Falls in Kings Canyon National Park, California

Mist Falls. We have arrived. While Mist Falls themselves were quite nice, it was the cascade just above them that really drew our attention. Riverside Caroline took off her boots and stepped into the “very” cold waters of what is part of the South Fork of the Kings River. This was also a great spot for her to dry her socks and for us to break out our lunch. Today’s gourmet mid-day meal was of whole wheat bread bedecked with peanut butter, raspberry peach jam, and sliced banana – a PBB&J. Drink was courtesy of our Camelbak and was of the lukewarm water variety. But then, who cares about food while the eyes are feasting?

Caroline Wise and John Wise on the Mist Falls Trail in Kings Canyon National Park, California

Ok, time to run down the mountain. Like that’s going to happen with Pokey and Sleepy Wise. Everything looks so different hiking in the opposite direction; we have all the reason in the world to inspect these details with all of the attention spent on the trip up. There was a photo I didn’t include of our trek up the trail; it was taken just before the photo of the rattlesnake, and a glimpse of it can be seen behind us in this photo. The view from up here is the kind of vista you hope to see after hiking through the forest and up mountains. It is obscured here by our big heads, and to see it in its full grandeur, one should have to make the journey to Kings Canyon National Park and get off the beaten path to witness it in person.

On the meadow of a loop return trail after leaving the Mist Falls Trail in Kings Canyon National Park, California

The trail back to the car took a detour over a bridge and through the forest on the opposite side of the river. We were almost turned back by our apprehension of crossing a small but fast-moving knee-deep stream. Lucky for us, a group of half a dozen hikers came by and marched right over those strategically placed tree limbs like they were a bridge built just for them. We mustered our courage and followed their path. Yay, we will be able to take this alternative route to finish our hike! This was only as good an idea in theory as the reality of the soreness in our feet counterbalanced that enthusiasm and had us thrilled when we finally saw the next bridge that would deliver us back over the river towards the trailhead.

Mosses growing on a dead burned out trunk of a Sequoia tree in Kings Canyon National Park, California

With that hike behind us and it still early in the day, we weren’t about to waste the light of day by putting our tired feet up; we drove right over to Converse Basin. The night before, Ranger Frank (aka John Muir) Helling told in his narrative of a burned-out sequoia tree that the real John Muir cut into with his ax more than a hundred years ago to count the growth rings. Those ax marks can still be seen and rings counted like they were exposed just yesterday. Funny thing to stand there thinking that John Muir would have seen pretty much the identical things I’m looking at. No, this picture is obviously not those ax marks; it is the moss that grows on the opposite side of this burned-out hunk of tree. As mentioned above, some things have to be seen by your own eyes.

The General Grant Sequoia tree, the second largest tree on earth at Kings Canyon National Park, California

The sun is low but not gone after dinner. We take the short drive to Grant Grove to see the namesake of this corner of Kings Canyon National Park. The General Grant Tree is the second largest tree on earth, and the nearby General Sherman is the largest. While reading about the trees, I was reminded that Caroline and I have visited the largest trees on earth here in Kings Canyon and Sequoia National Park, the tallest trees at the Redwoods National Park, and the oldest trees on earth, the bristlecone pine in the Great Basin National Park. Not ready to go to our cabin, we took in another ranger-led campfire talk, this one about the history of the sequoia groves, logging, and Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks.

Kings Canyon – Day 1

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Looking east on road number 245 on the way to Kings Canyon / Sequoia National Park in California

Up and gone from Barstow, California on the way to Visalia, where we catch road 245 north that will take us into Kings Canyon National Park. Before that, we must drive the 99 that cuts a path through nondescript farmland and the suburbs of farming communities. Haze blankets the view of the Sierra Nevadas on one side and the coastal range to the west. Outside of Visalia, we start our climb through the rolling hills and enter the mountains. Our enthusiasm for what lies ahead starts to mount. The morning sun is still low in the sky and there are a hundred great photos to be had along this twisting, narrow road – just not many an opportunity to pull over. Where there is a pullout, we stop, look, and listen. It’s quiet save for the birds, nearly no traffic on this route, but the beautiful landscape distractions make for slow going.

Kings Canyon National Park, California

Addition: It’s January 2023, and in the process of creating an index of our travels, I recognized that over the years, some blog posts weren’t connecting to the uploaded photos and instead were using some kind of cached image. This has required me to reupload dozens of day’s worth of photos spread out over some years. In some cases, I see images I should have uploaded or, at least, some I want to upload now. The images that are reuploaded are also being adjusted as in my view, I think I’m able to do a better job using Lightroom. There’s one other image I’m adding below that I’ll also mark as an addition. As for the subject matter, we are at the Kings Canyon Lodge and Gas Station located just outside the national park that no longer exists due to a fire that destroyed it.

Kings Canyon National Park, California

Addition: Another photo that I felt offered greater context about where we are; I suppose there are more, but adding another dozen images is not in the cards today.

Near the trailhead for the Zumwalt Meadow trail in Kings Canyon National Park in California

Sure, it’s only minutes before nine as we are passing the welcome sign to this rarity – a National Park we haven’t visited yet, but there are another thirty miles to the end of the road, which is also today’s destination. Our first hike is at Zumwalt Meadow. Wow, nearly three hours to drive thirty miles, almost a new record for our ability to crawl a road. I’m certain we have gone slower in Yellowstone. On the way, we stop to gaze from half a dozen overlooks, we stop some more at riversides to watch and listen to the roar of the wild white water crashing through the mountains, and then, even more, stopping to check out a waterfall. Finally, we arrived at Zumwalt Meadow. Hey, look at this amazing little footbridge taking us over the South Fork of the Kings River. We have left Phoenix behind.

Zumwalt Meadow trail in Kings Canyon National Park, California

The meadow trail is a short mile and a half, but that won’t stop us from turning it into a ten-mile all-day hike. How does one turn a mile and a half into ten miles? Slowly. You amble, smell, observe, linger, dawdle, dilly dally, take photos, eat, drink, meet people on the trail, stop to talk with them about their bear encounter the day before, and then you mosey along. Before you know it, hours pass where you could have hiked miles, but instead, you are barely halfway down the trail. This pace is fine by us, though, as who knows when we might return. Kings Canyon is barely open half the year due to heavy snow, and it has taken us years to return to this area; we will soak in every detail our brief time in the park allows.

Caroline Wise looking to photograph some random detail on Zumwalt Meadow trail in Kings Canyon National Park in California

Living in a desert primes one for loving meadow, coast, green, and shade more than anyone else could possibly appreciate these sights for sore, dry eyes. We bask and stare in disbelief that greenery, wildflowers, and vibrant chlorophyll-laden life still exist on Earth in abundance. Wait a second, was that a bear? Oh, it was just a butterfly. At the front gate, you are warned of bears; at parking areas, you are told to hide food if you must leave it in your car; at camping areas, there are bear-proof boxes for your edibles, and we’ll pass more than one couple toting a bear-proof canister of their food atop their backpacks as they trek into the backcountry. Maybe we’re cynical, but there is an element of disbelief that we would actually see a bear; this is like those roadside signs warning of animal crossings; it just doesn’t work for us.

A Steller's Jay in King's Canyon National Park, California

You can be certain I shot many a photo between the trailhead and this Steller’s Jay, over 135 actually but just how many can I post here with my brief recounting of our day? And for your info, Caroline and I have come to recognize that a good amount of time must pass between the taking of a photo and the appreciating of a photo. You see, after we return from a glorious place, our mind’s eye can still see a clear and detailed view of the beauty we witnessed on our vacation; the photos we took are weak approximations that barely scratch at the majesty a great place can behold. Even choosing the few photos that will accompany these blog entries is labored over as only rarely do we find a photo that really speaks to us.

Roaring River Falls in Kings Canyon National Park, California

Roaring River Falls is just up the road from the meadow and is our next stop. It is also the stop for a dozen hams. Self-anointed models are important only to themselves; they jump in the view of anyone in their way and apparently feel that throwing themselves into various contorted poses and postures will complement the waterfall behind them. These more easily accessible roadside features attract all the wrong people. The wanton, loud, rude, and obnoxious flock out of cars, moving herdlike with great fanfare to announce that the stupid have arrived and are here to destroy any ambiance we tree huggers might think was here just for our appreciation. Lucky us, we can outwait those rubes because we have something special called patience – well, I actually only have very little of that patience stuff, but I try. Five minutes pass, and they are bored and quickly gone; it is all ours for a few minutes before the other dancing dorks of delirium drift back to the ruination of the natural order of peace and harmony.

Caroline Wise sitting next to the Roaring River in Kings Canyon National Park in California

Hmmm, no waterfalls here, so everyone just walks by like it was Swiss cheese. So, the attraction has to have its own sign to have significance. No sign, no interest. This reminds me of the Eddy Izzard skit, where the conquering invader doesn’t find a flag, and so obviously, the land belongs to no one. Plant the flag and claim this ungoverned land as your own; the flag does all the work. I’d nearly bet that if there were a sign where Caroline is sitting that said a rocky mountain, a white water river, and trees were before your eyes at this point, there would be twenty-five people vying for a place on the stage in order for them to best model themselves for that special trophy photo. We just sit here listening, watching, mesmerized by the scene.

Interior of a cabin in Grants Grove Village - Kings Canyon National Park, California

It’s not late yet, but we have to get back to Grant Grove Village. We’ll have to check into our cabin and get some dinner because, as you can guess by now, here comes the Junior Ranger part of the story. There is a requirement to attend a ranger-led program to qualify for a Kings Canyon / Sequoia National Park Junior Ranger badge, and we have chosen the Camp Fire talk with John Muir at 8:30. As we walk into our cabin, we both look at each other and begin to ask, are those holes to the outside in the walls? We can’t believe it and walk up for a closer inspection, sure enough, there are gaps in the planks that make our cabin walls. This being the Fourth of July weekend, everyone must be barbecuing because the dining room is almost all ours.

Late afternoon sunset illuminating tree leaves to the point they look as though they were on fire in Kings Canyon National Park, California

We were done so quickly that we still had time to spend before Park Ranger Frank Helling traded in his persona to become John Muir for an hour and a half. Up the mountain to Panoramic Point, jeez, this road is narrow. At the top of the mountain, we walked the short distance to look out over Hume Lake, the forest, and some really tall mountains, catching the late afternoon glow of the setting sun. Other cars are pulling up and so before the crowd arrives, we decide we’ve seen enough, and the campfire talk will be starting soon. I guess the short walk was too much because as we arrived at the car, no one else had passed us, and no other cars were parked there. On that narrow little mountain road, the sun bursts through the trees, and around one corner, the trees look like they are on fire; who cares if we are late? We must grab a photo of this.

The John Muir presentation was AMAZING. Ranger Helling is a natural fit for presenting John Muir; we were both entertained and educated about this man responsible for much of the preservation of Yosemite, the Sequoias, and the beginning of the Sierra Club.