How I Climbed the Matterhorn and Came Back Alive -- Bear Musings

I love sleeping on the ground, listening to the night noises, and imagining the stars overhead even when they are obscured by tree canopies, clouds, or my own myopia. My sleeping bag feels softer and warmer than any down comforter, and my make-shift pillow, made of clothes stuffed into a bag, gives me immense satisfaction. Whenever I sleep in motels or hotels, I dislike how closed and airless the room is and the negative energy from all the electrical appliances that cannot be turned off. I long for the open air, for the feeling of the ground under me, for the sound of the wind in the trees overhead.

On Monday, we arrived at Mono Resort near Twin Lakes at 9pm, and I was appalled at the number of RVs parked side by side in long neat rows that filled up the campground. We drove after Cliff’s car, searching for a campsite as far away from these large metal monsters as we could, surprised to see some that featured fences, directv antennas and potted plants. Cliff pulled into an open campsite with two picnic tables, and we set up our tent on a flat stretch of dirt. When we turned around to look for bear lockers in which to protect our food, we were in for a surprise. There were none.

Within the borders of Yosemite, visitors are warned to be ultra-careful with their food, to pack it inside bear canisters (the approved method for carrying food in the wilderness) or bear-proof lockers, and to leave none in their cars. But perhaps at Mono Resort, though just a few miles outside the borders of Yosemite, the bears did not present a problem. As we put as much food as we could inside our bear canisters and placed them as far away from ourselves as we could, I wondered, what are a few miles for a bear? Do bears care for park boundaries, or do Yosemite-Valley bears ever hop over to Mono Resort to get a midnight snack from these unprotected stacks of food before returning to the valley?

Cliff slept near the picnic table -- his tactic for protecting against bears. He told us he had an entirely different strategy for mountain lions. He kept Dar’s bear spray nearby and said he would bang on a pot if bears came by. The night passed without incident, but in the morning we heard about two climbers whose climb of The Incredible Hulk, was cut short because bears broke into their food. They had no bear canisters.

Twin Lakes from the trail

At 10am, the bear canisters at the bottom of our packs, we started plodding uphill, toward the Matterhorn. Twin Lakes stretched below us, boats dotting the emerald water, sunlight blinking on the gentle waves. The bear spray lay forgotten in the car. Bears were the least of my worries. My back ached under the heavy pack, and all I could think of was what the next three days will bring and whether I would make it back all right.

To be continued....

Green Energy

On Friday I worked on a blog post for two or three hours, but I couldn’t get it right. I had no idea what I was trying to say, and my words slumped, meaningless, on the page. I had a long to-do list that lay heavy on me, but I just couldn’t get myself to do any of it. I didn’t want to write. I didn’t want to pack for our Saturday camping trip. I only wanted to go to sleep.

Quietly and discreetly, Dar piled sleeping bags, food, first aid kit, and other items on the table. He packed up our cooler, filled water bottles, and added little touches like salt, spices, chocolate, fruit, and pillows. In the morning I woke up, and we were ready to go, no matter how much I was grumpy or obnoxiously unwilling to help. And so, having no excuse to stay, we went.

I was gloomy all the way to the south entrance to Henry Coe State Park. I felt fragile and disconnected, and my worries weighed on me. At Dowdy Ranch, we decided to build our tent down there rather than go all the way up to Orestimba Corral where most people camp. We chose a site with a lovely view close to picnic tables, put up the tent, and then left for a hike to Burra Burra Peak, where I had long wanted to go.

Tie Down Peak

Climbing out of Dowdy Ranch, nature stretched before me as far as the eye can see. My feet pounded the earth, my legs moving rhythmically, working as legs are meant to work. My heart expanded to take in the view: green round hills, oak trees entangled within their own branches, slender-stalked oats bowing their heads to the wind like the waves of a yellow-green sea, and blue skies dotted with a few feathery clouds. Here and there a wildflower bloomed. Elegant ithuriel’s spear. excitable buttercups. Cheery goldfields. I was home. My heart could relax, my shoulder muscles unknotted, my worries lifted and carried away by the breeze.

Shooting Stars

I wish I could live on those hills, my legs pumping in a never-ending walk, connected to the soil, to nature, to the soaring vultures, the warbling wild turkeys, the scrambling lizards, the little frightened cottontail who we surprised around the bend, and the graceful deer as they raise their doe-eyes to stare at us, frozen in the hope that we won’t notice them unless they move. Thank the fairies for Dar and his quiet persistence in doing what he knew was most right. In packing us up. In taking us out. In giving me the opportunity to return to the real me.

My heart lives within these hills, down in the valleys and up on the ridges. My home is the trail, sleeping on the warm ground, waking up as the first rays of the sun mingle with the song of birds. That’s where I belong.

Bottom pool of Pacheco Falls

Where do you feel like you most belong?