Search for the power of place
On a mid-summer afternoon, a row of towering cumulus was building across the mountain crest. A cool breeze fanned in from the south. The air was sweet from the scent of pine duff rising up from the sea of conifers in the valleys below.
Atop an obscure mountain peak east of Crescent City called Jedediah Mountain, my old friend Jeffrey Patty leaned back and used the summit crag as a backrest. In pristine quiet, he took in the scope of the view and said nothing for 10 minutes.
There might not have been another human within 250 square miles.
My old friend is gone now, taken by the wretched curse of cancer, but come every August, I replicate a trip like this: To trek off-trail in wilderness, where we pick our route along streams, ridges and mountain rims, and end up at an unknown mountaintop.
My old friend, whom we called “Foonski,” helped teach me the value of these obscure, off-the-grid spots. They are where you can find the “power of place.”
Preparing for such treks, we’d scan the maps and pick a destination with one rule: “If you’ve heard of it, we don’t go.”
Come each mid-summer, we’d pick out a little-known mountaintop with no trail to get there somewhere across the Sierra Nevada, Cascades or Siskiyous. I’m doing it again in August. The destinations don’t have mass public appeal and it’s rare that I write about these trips.
The trailheads often start along mountain streams, which lead off on long hikes up canyons and into wilderness. At some point, we break off from the trail, wildcatstyle. We learned to read the landscape, tracing sub-ridges to ridge-tops, and then cross the ridges to reach mountaintops.
Being off-trail for days at a time can get so wild that the wilderness begins to feel like home. It is the city that feels like a foreign land.
On the return, your thoughts become crystal clear. You know exactly what is important to you, and, just as clearly, what is not. You vow not to spend time on anything less than vital.
At the end of such trips, Foonski always got glum. During the last few hours on the trail, it was common for him not to say a word. Like me, he never wanted to leave.
At the trailhead, when we’d get back to the truck, he’d always turn to me with this funny little grin and say, “Up and down the ridge he roams ... gets so wild he’ll never go home.”
Salmon windfall
Mid-summer bite: Out of San Francisco, the continued great salmon fishing this past week meant limits for 10 anglers on the Wacky Jacky (20 salmon up to 12 pounds) and a trip back home by noon.The nearby Lovely Martha limited out even earlier. The bite was at the Deep Reef, reported field scout Brian Murphy. “We are really enjoying great salmon fishing after what Fish and Game thought would be a bad season with few salmon,” he said. In past years, after a good July, salmon would school in August outside the Golden Gate at the Channel Buoys, Middlegrounds and Duxbury. Keep watch.
Mink, fisher or pine marten?
One big difference: After the report last week of a rare sighting of a mink at Echo Lakes near Tahoe, a number of people have written in to describe encounters with what appear to be a rare mink, a more common fisher or very scarce pine marten, all similar weasel-like mammals. “Gambolinman,” a field scout who may cover as many miles as I do, also sighted and filmed such a critter one early morning on the South Fork Yuba River in the north Sierra. The key, especially with quick glimpses, is size: Mink are 1-2 pounds and 15 inches long; pine martens are about 3 pounds and 18 inches long; and fishers are about 8 pounds and 2 feet.
Lion Q&A
Q: “Recent reports of a mountain lion have gotten my attention,” writes Larry Rosenthal. “Do you think blowing a whistle would likely scare off a mountain lion, assuming it hadn’t started to attack? I’ve seen stuff on the Web on both sides of this, but nothing more than guesses.” A: In nine encounters I’ve had with mountain lions, they usually square up — sit perched on their haunches, about 30, 40 feet away, and then stare straight into my eye for 20-30 seconds — then walk off to the side and seem to vanish into the high grass or forest. Other than being chased by dogs, they show no fear at all, no matter what you do. If you fear an attack, my suggestion is to carry bear spray (not a whistle, pepper spray or a firearm). Bear spray produces a vapor cloud out 10 to 20 feet in front of you that makes it difficult for an attacker — animal or human — to breathe. The event can end without physical contact. The lighter side On-the-spot report: “If you decide to write a children's book, you could populate it with the skunks, raccoons and possums who traipse through our yard thereby avoiding Ocean Avenue (in San Francisco).” — Joe Balzer