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.