Paradise Valley and Beyond

The Ranger was giving us the wilderness lecture. You know the deal. Stuff like how you gotta pee 100ft away from water, dig the poo-poo hole six inches deep, pack out the toilet paper, put all your food and other smelly stuff in bear canisters, have no fires above 10,000ft, and how you gotta throw the smallest child at the bear in order to buy yourself some time for escape. The Ranger was very methodical in her explanations. She got out the map, pointed here, here, and there, highlighting things, writing things down, pointing out where the ranger stations were and whatnot. She would talk, talk, talk, and we would nod, nod, nod. Her tired brown eyes indicated that she had probably been standing there all day long. But with her sleeves rolled up past the elbows and her chipper attitude and great posture and deeply tanned face, it looked like she actually enjoyed waking up every morning and being a Ranger and dealing with people and wearing that iconic Smokey Bear Ranger Hat. The wind was low and the breeze was light and there was hardly anyone hiking down the trail at Road's End in Kings Canyon National Park. Some other Ranger came by with a gigantic box full of chips and stuff. He'd found it. Someone had left it. Or lost it. Bummer if they lost it. Some sorry sap was probably waiting all day to pig out on some Spicy Sweet Chili Doritos. And now they couldn't. Makes me cry just thinkin' about it. 

With our permits in hand we tried to find a place to stay for the night. All of the camps in the Canyon were full. Completely full. Smoke from campfires and barbecues filled the air, the ambient sounds of casual conversations and parents yelling at their kids echoed off the canyon walls. It was not quiet. There was probably a zillion people or so down in that Canyon. We'd have to try our luck elsewhere.

We bought some dinner at the the lodge, or store, or whatever you call it. The pulled pork sandwiches were pretty good but the grilled cheese weren't nothin' to write home about. The NPC workin' behind the counter told us that it was an "Adult Grilled Cheese" (whatever that means) made with "three delectable cheeses" served on a "multigrain bun." Microwaved American Cheese on slightly toasted Wonder Bread is what came out.  For some snacks and dessert we purchased some Pop Tarts, Dippin' Dots, candy bars, Kind Bars, Cliff Bars, and a greasy bag of Combo's Pizza Filled Disgusting Plastic Pretzel Bites. Always a good sign when you look at the backside of the bag and it says CONTAINS BIOENGINEERED FOOD INGREDIENTS. What can I say. They were delicious!

After driving around for a bit we finally managed to find a place to stay. The Convict Flat Campground. It's where the inmates who built the road down into Kings Canyon stayed when they were building the road down into Kings Canyon. They got payed a dollar a day, worked in terrible conditions resulting in several attempted escapes and two deaths, and all that's left of their hardship and misery is a little sign with a few paragraphs and pictures. 

Sunset from Convict Flat

The campground was dead quiet. It was full, all five sites. The towering granite cliffs of the canyon rose above the horizon to the North, bathed in the purple glow of twilight. The pale orange orb of the setting sun could be seen to the West, throwing its last spears of light upon the skeleton trees on the top of the canyon walls. The song "Fire" by KIDS SEE GHOSTS kept repeating through my head for some reason. Lookin' up at the cliffs, watchin' the sun going down, I guess it was just the soundtrack of the moment. 

We set up our tents and prepared for the hike in the morning. I strung up my hammock between two gargantuan California Bay Trees. You hear a lot of things sleepin' outside in the open. Bugs creepin', deer steppin', squirrels jumpin'. The guy to our left had on a radio of sorts, like a police scanner or something like that. It was on all night. Every once in awhile he would get out and smoke or hack up a loogie or use the bathroom or just sit there, staring into the trees. I went up and used the pit toilet after he did. It didn't smell like feces in there. It smelled like cigarettes and old man. 

Road's End

It was cold the next morning. Somewhere in the low 30's. We packed up our stuff, got in the cars, drove out to Road's End and began our adventure. The first two miles were incredibly pleasant. One side of the canyon was dark, the other illuminated by the brilliant early morning light. Only a few people were on the trail, mostly day hikers. At the junction we were treated to tall trees, shade, ferns and silence. Except for the river. The sound of the river to our right was ever present, a sonorous roar bouncing across the forest. The roar became louder and louder, eventually reaching a crescendo in the form of our first stop: Mist Falls.

Mist Falls

Mist Falls wasn't mistin' too much on account of the below average rainfall that graced the Sierra Nevada this past winter, but it was beautiful nonetheless. Occasionally, when staring out at the crystal clear water, I'd catch a glimpse of some tiny little water particles floating in the air, irradiated by the sun. Little mini rainbows, poppin' up here and there over the river, our faces becoming damp, our clothing moist. It was a good spot. 

After Mist Falls were some wonderful switchbacks, most of them in the sun. Up and up and up we went, takin' our time, climbin' up over one large stone step to the next. Couldn't have picked a better day to hike up those things. It was about 70 degrees, with a mild amount of humidity and an ever present breeze. I remembered how horrible it was last year, climbin' up these things in 90 degree weather with a muggy atmosphere and no breeze in the smoke. It sucked.

Up the Switchbacks

After we conquered the switchbacks and a few hundred meters of additional trail we took a nice long lunch break just below Paradise Valley. The water was cold, ice cold, cold enough to where it feels like a quadrillion needles are pricklin' your feet every time you stick them in the water. But once you take 'em outta that cold, cold water the numbness becomes something soothing like, and you sit there on the rocks eatin' your jerky and peanut M&M's and whatnot and you look up at the cliffs and back down at the water and then you lay on your back and put the hat over your head and take a nap listenin' to the ever-present sound of the river and everything is fine and dandy.

Lunch Spot

Lower Paradise Valley was quite the sight. I can say from personal experience that this little chunk of land is aptly named for what it is. It's like a mini King's Canyon, only higher in elevation and with more isolation, no roads, hardly any people, aspens, ferns, meadows and gnarly granite cliffs. It's a worthy destination if you're up for it. Paradise indeed.  

We spent the night at Middle Paradise. It's called Middle Paradise because it's halfway between Upper Paradise and Lower Paradise. Who would've known? We practically had the entire place to ourselves, save for a few groups who showed up around 7:00pm. Chicken Quesadillas were on the menu that night. We ate, we cleaned up, we relaxed, we chatted, we batted away the mosquitos. At some point or other a healthy lookin' cinnamon bear trudged its way through the woods, skirting the outside of the designated camping areas. It looked over at us. It looked away. It scratched up some bark and then carried on its marry way. It came back too, sometime around 2:00am. I know this because I heard its heavy padded footsteps just a few yards away from my hammock. Good times, good times.

Middle Paradise

The next day we packed up our things, gobbled down the breakkie, and continued our saunter through the divine. The tranquil morning air gave a rush to the mind, the tall trees and ferns and dark brown soil on the ground sucked away the remaining sounds, sights and smells of civilization. Each step we took brought us further and further away from anything we had known before, transporting us somewhere in between the here and the now. We were there, walking in a line, observing the whole scene go down; the rising sun, the ever-rushing river, the bees on the flowers, the wind pushing the aspen trees from side to side, the ants in formation, the deer in the meadows. It was an utterly serene scene. Some of the most beautiful country I have ever laid eyes upon. 

Leaving Middle Paradise

On our way to Upper Paradise we ran into a few interesting characters. There was a man and his fiancée headin' down the trail, back towards Road's End. He was bearded; had one of those faces that looked like it wouldn't flinch if you threw a stick at it. Said that they were headin' back down because the missus here had a bout of altitude sickness. The missus took over the conversation at this point, describing how she couldn't eat or sleep, how she had a headache and nausea for six hours straight. They had to head back down. She didn't look to good; the beginnings of a five o'clock shadow were springin' up on her cheeks and chin. 

But they were happy to be there. The man said that it was worth the trip and that Paradise Valley was the most scenic of the country that they had traversed through. He mentioned that it's all "Fins and Domes, Fins and Domes and Cliffs."

"Oh look, another dome!" he said, "Oh look, another cliff! But Each one is different...each one is unique." He was smiling under that beard, the missus was smiling too. We nodded and wished them a safe hike back. 

About a half hour later a rugged old dude with circular spectacles and a bald head and disgusting chin beard appeared on the trail. Said he had been doin' the PCT but had to leave because of altitude sickness. Wow. Another victim. Maybe it was a sign or something. 

We entered Upper Paradise. We took a break, saw the ol' washed out bridge. We crossed the frigid water, and then watched other groups cross the frigid water because it was entertaining. From there the trail became a little odd—took us through the woods in random twists and turns—but we followed it nonetheless. Turns out we crossed the river at the wrong section and missed the main trail, but no matter: the goofy trail that we were on dumped us back on track anyways. 

After that, we trekked on for a few more miles, leaving Paradise Valley. We gained enough elevation to where we could see everything that we had done so far. We were slowly approaching the alpine regions, you know, those regions where the trees become gnarled and scraggly and whatnot. Our original goal was to do the entire Rae Lakes Loop, but this was not a realistic goal since not a single one of us was prepared to hike in elevation. We went as far as we decided was necessary, then turned around. No biggie. No problemo. Everything that we had seen so far had been absolutely incredible. If we kept on going we would've seen more of the same beauty, just at a higher elevation is all. In addition, just that very mornin', I awoke with a horrible gut feeling that didn't go away until we turned around. You know, one of those gut feelings that burns a hole in your stomach and then creeps up into your lungs and just never goes away. Perhaps it was warnin' me about somethin'...perhaps it was best we turned around...

Headin' back into Paradise

We set up camp in Upper Paradise. There were a few people there. Some were settin' up camp, some were breakin' camp down, and others were just passin' through. It was a peaceful scene, just sittin' there in the shade watchin' these people go about their lives in this stunning wilderness. We dunked in the river, we got out of the river. We explored a bit, started a campfire. Near dusk the smell of smoke drifted through this small section of the valley. Other groups had their own fires, their own hammocks. We heard them talkin' and laughin' and such. Everything was alright up there. The people, the deer, the bears creepin' around the camp, the trout in the river, the ants and their larvae underneath the rocks, the scent of the vanilla bark on the trees drifting with the wind—everything was alright up there. Whoever named this place "Paradise" sure knew what they were doing! 

I decided to climb up a few boulders, you know, the kind of boulders that would make your mother worry if she saw you climbin' up them. I maneuvered my way up these boulders to get a view of the whole valley. I wanted to see the whole dang thing, wanted to see were I was in relation to the whole thing. I got to the top, turned around, and just sat there for a few minutes, taking it all in. Sometimes when you turn around and look at something you just gotta sit there for a few minutes and take it all in, kinda like how that weird guy campin' next to us in Convict Flat would just sit and stare into the trees and take them all in. 

Its a simple thing , really. You just sit and stare and take it all in. Everything. The valley, the river, the trees in the valley, the trees hangin' precariously on the cliffs for dear life (how did they get into such a position in the first place?). You look at the massive granite walls and the spires and the domes and the drop-offs and the little plumes of smoke from the handful of campfires down in the shadows...and you hear the ambient voices of people down in the shadows...and you begin to wonder what's going on down there in the shadows...and you see yourself sittin' on the rock starin' at the whole thing, and you kinda lose yourself for a few minutes 'cause the whole dang valley is just so overwhelming it just sucks you right in. And then you blink and you wake up and you say "well ain't that a pretty scene" and take one more quick look and maybe a picture or two and then you head on back down for dinner. 

Paradise Valley

The next day went by pretty quick. We got up at around 8:00am, left around 9:00am. There wasn't any rush. It was the longest day of the year, June 21st, so we weren't too worried about it gettin' dark anytime soon. Plus it was all downhill. Our progress was swift, our minds and bodies ready for some ice cream. 

Mist Falls

We got back, put our things away. We drove to the lodge or store or whatever you call it, bought some ice cream and a bag of honey bbq fritos. Once our bellies were satisfied we skirted on out of there, driving up and up out of the canyon, past Convict Flat,  out into the forest, out of the mountains, down into the foothills, down into the Central Valley. We drove through the orange orchards, through sleepy little farming towns. Debussy and Liszt and Chopin and Eric Christian provided the soundtrack for the moment. We arrived in Visalia. We checked into the Best Western. It smelled like bleach and weed. We got into the pool. It was warm. We got into the hot tub. It was cold. There were things floating in both bodies of water, there were cockroaches scurrying about. But it was all good. Much better sleepin' there in that hotel on a mattress than in the woods. 

The next day there was a freak lightning storm. Forecast didn't pick it up.  High winds, lots of rain, lots of lightning. There was a good amount of snow way up in the mountains, the mountains that we were supposed to be hiking through. Good thing we didn't keep going. That would've been very interesting. Always trust the gut you know? Always trust the gut!

Good Trip

Sespe Jaunt

The windows were down, the cool breeze blowin' though our hair. Cali Life Style's "Ordinary Day" was blastin' through the speakers. We were clappin' and slappin' and yappin' to the beat. It wasn't even 8:00am yet. No matter. Any time is party time.  We were makin' our way down Loma Drive. We were pickin' up the bros. Just two more stops to go. And after that—the beautiful wilds of the local backcountry. It was gonna be a day of fun in the sun. Lots of walkin' and talkin' and sippin' and gawkin'.  Drivin' down the road revealed a cool morning. A benign morning. A Trojan Horse morning. I knew what was up. I knew that the mornin' was lyin'. I knew it wasn't gonna last.  I stuck out my tongue and tasted the air. And you know what? It tasted hot. It was gonna be a hot hot hot day. The air never lies. The weatherperson had also said that the weekend was gonna be stupidly hot due to the record heatwave broiling the crap out of the southwest but the air never lies. How do you think meteorologists track the weather in the first place? The tongue method of course!

We all piled into the minivan. The sweet aroma of "Mr. Zogs Sex Wax" permeated the small interior, loud enough for our nostrils to pick up, quiet enough to not be overwhelming. We drove up the 33, rockin' out to ambiguous tunes. I knew that our destination, the Sespe, wasn't gonna have that much water in it. This last winter was not too very kind to the water sources that inhabit the Los Padres, which means that by September or October most of them will be bone dry. Springs would be the exception, along with the deepest, darkest, cattail infested, algae choked swimmin' holes that dot the Sespe here and there, but everything else—dry. Already, right now in June, the Sespe is dryin' up fast. Swim holes are chokin' up with reeds and such. As we pulled into the parkin' lot I was hopin' that the one I had in mind hadn't suffered this fate. 

The Beginning

Out of the air conditioned van, into the warmth. It was just before 9:00am and the heat was already noticeable. We gathered our things, applied the zinc, and prepared for the long walk into the furnace. There was a swarthy old shirtless dude in the parkin' lot makin' his way down to the nearest swim hole. Attached to his hand was a leash, and tied to the leash was a dog. 

"I bet you boy's ain't ever seen anything like this" he said, tugging at the leash. "I got this thing shipped in from Taiwan. He's ain't a purebred. He ain't a city dog. This one's wild." The dog looked at us with hungry eyes. It was slim and trim; looked more like a serval than a dog. We looked at the dog and back up to the grinnin' man. 

"Cool" we said. "Have a good one."

The drinking began almost immediately. A lone can fell out of a pack and landed "smack!" on the pavement, a tiny hole releasing foam. It wasn't wasted. On the walk out, we talked and sipped, talked and sipped, stumbling our way down into the slow boil of the backcountry. All phones were put away for some reason, buried under gear at the bottom of our packs. I had my camcorder in hand. It films well enough but takes awful pictures. No worries. I hardly used it at all. Hardly any technology was used at all. There we were, stumbling our way deeper into the wilds, talkin' and sippin', talkin' and sippin', enjoying the moment for what it was. The air was dusty on our tongues. The vehemence of the sun bombarded our exposed skin, roasting the body, parching the mind. The scent of dry chaparral invaded the nostrils. Chamise and Yerba Santa caressed our pinkening arms. Conversations slowed. The group spread out. Faces turned red. If the Sespe was dry we were likely to fry; replacing lost liquids with drink is a sure way to die. But as we made our way farther and farther down the trail we saw water, and water means life. A little over four miles in we stopped at Bear Creek. The pool was clean and clear and cool. We didn't hesitate. We jumped right in.

Hikin' in

Bear Creek

If Bear Creek wasn't there we would have had some issues. But it was there so we had no issues. Not yet at least. Cool water performs wonders. It calms you down, soaks your shirt, lowers your body temperature. After spending a good ten or so minutes there, soakin' in the water and eatin' some spam and rice and whatnot, we gathered our things and continued our journey inland. There were a few people campin' at Bear Creek, some just gettin' there as soon as we left. We didn't see nobody further down the trail. Too hot I guess.

Through sun and shine in the cloudless clime we trekked onwards, distracting ourselves from the heat with the use of witticism and ungentalmianly banter. Aside from the heat, it was a beautiful day. The colors of summer were in full swing. Calm browns and crisp yellows, dehydrated greens and pale blue skies. The wild grasses were golden yellow, primed to burn but beautiful nonetheless. Spiky weeds with vivid purple flowers scratched our weary legs, legs that cooled every time we crossed through the lukewarm creek with its neon green algae and moss and what have you. Near the creek it smelled of creek. Stinky creek. With a hint of sulfur here and there. And away from the creek, wandering through the grasses and the chaparral, dirt was the only smell. Dry, dusty dirt and dry dusty plants with a hint of B.O. here and there.

We skirted off trail a ways, scanning the brush with our eyes to make sure that there weren't no rattlesnakes and such. On the way in, we had seen plenty of lizards and such. If the lizards were out, so were the snakes. But we didn't see none. Thank God for that.

I was gettin' a little worried about this swim hole. The creek feeding into it was pretty dang low. It wasn't even flowin'. It was stagnant. And still. Dryin' up before our very eyes. The heat wasn't getting any less intense and we were becoming more and more exhausted and we needed somethin' good. And after weaving our way through the brush and past a few old sycamores we finally caught our first glimpse of this worrisome destination. With great relief, we saw an oasis in the inferno. A nice big pool with a nice big rock and a little bit of shade. That's what we needed. And that's what we got. Hallelujah! 

We placed our things in the shade and immediately submerged ourselves in the cool green water. We leapt off the rock. It was a high enough jump to where we had enough time to think about how high it was before we hit the water. We sat and drank, talked some more. Cooked up some ramen, some MRE's. We swam and swam and jumped and swam. We were just another group of humans participating in the primordial fun of playin' in water. Nothin' else mattered. The worries of the world were forgotten for just a little bit. For a brief moment, playin' in that creek, we observed a side of life that very few people realize still exists. And we loved every second of it.

After a while of jumpin and swimmin' and drinkin', Daniel decided that it was a good idea to jump off the rock in his birthday suit. Off went the underwear and away he leapt, the still image of his naked backside against the opaque green water forever burned into our minds. I followed suit, 'cause, you know, why not? Off I leapt, reaching high into the sky. It was an ethereal moment, flying naked through the air. For about half a second my entire body felt weightless. It was incredibly satisfying. I had never felt so free. After me came Adam, and after Adam, Benny. We congregated on "the naked rock." You had to be naked to sit on the naked rock. Rules is rules, you know? The naked rock was underwater, covered in a thick layer of sludge and slime. When we sat on it everything above the chest stuck out of the water. It was a good rock. And on the naked rock we clothed ourselves, and the naked rock changed into the dressing room rock. And then some of us left and moved on to other things, and those still on the dressing room rock changed it back into the naked rock and so on and so forth until we left.

What happened in the last few hours we spent at this oasis is difficult to describe. The jumping rock was like a stove top, and each individual spec of sand along the creek bed a burning coal. Heat emanated forth from everything. Noon passed, an hour, two hours. We were glad we weren't hikin' in that nonsense. The heat reached its zenith and then slowly began to go away. We remained in the creek, soakin' the grump away. And some of us had more grump than others. They spent a good long while soakin' the grump away. Layin' in the shade on the jumpin' rock, layin' in the shallows of the creek, layin' in the shade of the ol' sycamore. Soakin' the grump away, soakin' the grump away. Takes a long time to soak the grump away. And at around 4:00pm we decided that most of the grump was soaked away so we began our trek back to the trail, back to Bear Creek. 

Our way back to Bear Creek went by quicker than our way in. We made it to Bear Creek in what seemed like no time at all. There were more people there. The place was pretty packed. A lot of them were lined up by the creek trying to filter the green water. I chatted with one of them, asking if they'd been to this location before.

"No" they said. "We were actually trying to get to the hot springs but decided that it was too hot." Why they wanted to travel to the hot springs during a hot weekend such as this I did not know. But at least they seemed to be enjoying themselves for the time being, standin' there, lined up, trying to filter the green water. Funny stuff, funny stuff. 

Hydratin' at Bear Creek

The sun was going down, the air was getting cooler. I sat down, refilled our water bottles. The flies zipping and zooming and biting and gnawing my flesh seemed to have more energy than our group. We were beat. It's surprising how tiring the sun can be. It absorbs your energy, sucking the life out of your soul. Floating in the water at Bear Creek was nice, but what sounded nicer was a soft bed. It was time to get goin'.

When walkin' out of the Sespe, you can experience one of two things: time will either pass by quickly or incredibly slowly. For some of our group it was the former. For the rest of us...the latter. But no matter. It wasn't blazing hot no more so we made good tracks. We naturally split up into two groups—those who skinny dipped and those who didn't. Funny how it happened that way. We stumbled along, our bodies crisp, our legs stiff, our heads full of fatigue. We saw the sun cast its late afternoon light upon the surrounding landscape, an early golden summer glow issuing forth from the chaparral encrusted valley. We passed by several small reptilian creatures, including one very tired looking horned lizard. We moved it off the trail. And eventually, through the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other, we caught up to the others, and our group became whole. 

From there we advanced towards the parkin' lot. The sight of the minivan was incredibly relieving, for it marked the end of walkin' and the beginnin' of sittin'. And air conditioning. Sweet, wonderful, amazing air conditioning. We drove back down the 33, winding our way down the road much like the sun winding its way down behind the mountains. "Old Time Rock & Roll," "Family Tradition," "Fireflies," and "American Pie" were cranked up to full volume, sung till throats became sore and raspy. We were dropped off, one by one, the day coming to a close, the adventure sealed away in the recesses of our memories. And as the sun dipped below the horizon, bringing forth the cooling breath of night, I began to wonder if a certain few of my fellow companions learned anything of great importance that day. If anything, I know for a fact they learned this cardinal truth:

Hedonism requires discipline.