HIKING BACK IN TIME

I had a couple of hard miles ahead of me
up the first two long switchbacks, 
past Carillon Creek, the north fork of Lone Pine Creek
into the deep gorge at the base of Mt. Whitney, 
well above the waterfall at Whitney Portal. 
I gained just enough altitude 
that with each step I hiked backwards in time 
back toward the very beginning of summer.

9/15/17
Mt. Whitney

SUNRISE, MT. WHITNEY

SUNRISE, MT. WHITNEY
     After John O'Donohue's poem, At the end of the day: a mirror of questions

The night dreamed of its own beginning.
My eyes lingered on the spires of mountains
I was blinded by the dawn light.
I was wounded and no one knew
I read the dark script of canyons.
The trees closest to me whispered old secrets.
I forgot about the old speech of the mountains.
I neglected that part of myself
that traversed the secret trail heads, into the past.
What did I begin today that might endure?
These small words, everyday conversations
are meaningless next to that of the ravens at dawn.
I keep forgetting that kindness costs nothing
so I greet everyone and every thing with respect.
And when I smile, my heart is lighter for it.
For I remember the dead today, and every day.

I remember my cousin who died too young in his sleep
whom my family will honor at the Druid's Hall in Nicasio
today, with the cows looking on, while I, here,
gaze upon the face of beauty.
These mountains comb the indigo sky
Sometimes it's the only love I allow myself to receive.
The moment of self, a friend unexpectedly hugs me
on the back side of the Sierras
where the past and the present are one thing,
a deep imprint on the psyche.
The poets see me as I see myself,
a speck of dust in the vastness of what is.
I did not avoid that gift I was given—only to ask:
Why was I given this day?

7/15/17
Lo Inyo High School
With Kathy Evans
Lone Pine, CA
video

LAST NIGHT I DREAMED

Last night I dreamed the moon spoke in tongues.
It talked of distant dreams, and far horizons.
It whispered of the past and it splashed
across the stone faces of the mountains.
It danced with the shadows of dark trees.
It sang with the lonely coyotes
who consider it their mother.
The moonlight was well pleased with itself
and the stars seemed brighter still,
if only for a moment, and then the mountains shifted.
They stood a little taller in the darkness.
The world turtle shifted in its sleep,
and the earth moved in its slumber.
There was no one there to translate.

9/15/17
Lo Inyo Elementary School
With Kathy EvansLone Pine, CA

(there was an earthquake)

The Scandinavians in the parking lot

The Scandinavians are having breakfast in the Lone Pine parking lot at dawn with their rented Harleys. In another century, they would’ve been horses in the parking lot. I can almost understand what the Scandinavians are saying... I keep thinking that if I tilt my head a little more, just so, it will become clearer.

Last night I listened to the Norwegians and Finns sing American folk songs badly. But they knew all the words. And they sang with gusto. They've ridden rented Harleys from San Diego to Zion and are headed towards the chilly fog of San Francisco. Adventure of a lifetime.

They are mostly from Oslo. They're singing Happy Birthday to one of their friends in English. Oddly, I will miss them. Today is a birthday of sorts. They're off to San Francisco. Where will they park all those bikes?

My next door neighbor was from Finland, but didn't speak a word of English. He leaned on his bike in the parking lot and smiled. I tried to communicate, and realized that Finnish has few cognate words with English. I was hoping that via the dialectic continuum from English to Norwegian... nope. 

I was looking for loanwords. I didn't even know the word for poet in Finnish, so I said Kalevala. It was pretty surreal. He looked startled, laughed, and said I no speak English, coughed over his cigarette, and smiled again. The universal language.

Dawn, Mt Whitney, from Lone Pine (photos)

The firebird of dawn only sang for a short moment and Mt Whitney was ablaze. I was not expecting to see the magenta shadow fading to purple. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would've thought the camera was fibbing. The smoke is a prism lens. The edge of the rainbow's spectrum revealed on the face of Mt. Whitney. I watched the shadow of the White Mountains draped on the Alabama Hills, the sun rose in a gap in the White Mountains which followed the contour of Whiitney's foothills. Synchronicity. A cradle of light. 



When I first got up, the mountains were a drab dove grey. I was disappointed. But then, sometimes, when you least expect it, magic happened. Sometimes you just have to wait for the right moments to align with the universe. Channeling pure Galen Rowell light this morning. It's a gift from the gods when you catch a moment like that.

Lone Pine Peak, a band of magenta above the shadows. 

A slightly better photo of Mt. Whitney a few minutes later. 

And then the color was gone. A lone raven in the sky.

Later, I visited Galen’s storefront, Mountain Light, to pay homage. And yes, I was talking to a window with his name on it, to tell him a story of mountain light. I got up early for the next several mornings to witness another roseated dawn on the face of Mt. Whitney. It never glowed like that again. 

WHAT ROUTE?

WHAT ROUTE?

So much depends
(no, I'm not there yet)
upon what route
to take to the Eva Conference
to Lone Pine
What deep canyon
to traverse?
The wildfires
are raging,
licking at the venerable
heels of giant sequoias.
What pure poetry combusts
in the form of stardust?

Old poets and lovers debate
on the best route
to take: Highway 50
over Carson Pass,
or ascend 10,000 feet
to Tioga Pass
and risk a blizzard?
Mono Lake eyeing
our descent
to the backside
of the Sierras—
that Range of Light
It's all smoke
and more smoke—
no mirrors
involved.
No weapons, 

other than

the hindsight

of memory.

9/7/2017
Tioga means where it forks

Whitney Portal

Whitney Portal 7,851'. Hard to believe I once hiked up to the top of Mt. Whitney. My knees would strenuously object. The 99 switchbacks will live on in infamy. The trail crest is about 22 miles, roundtrip. My boyfriend and I clocked in at 27 miles after hiking to the Sierra hut, and around the perimeter. There was a permanent iceberg inside the hut. Elevation: 14,505′ (it's gained some elevation since the 1980s. It used to be 14,495".) It's still growing whereas I'm shrinking in height.

Today is John's birthday. Old habits die hard, my old backpack lock is still set to that date... I said hello to Mt. Whitney for him. I can't believe we actually climbed that mountain. Yeah, another 30 turns around the sun. 

The Whitney Portal road was used in "High Sierra (1941), with Humphrey Bogart and Ida Lupino, and The Long, Long Trailer (1954) with Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz." I think The Treasure of the Sierra Madre was filmed here too. I like to think of Bogie on the flank of the mountain.
 
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Whitney_Trail