Biomass: Highlights in Low Light

Day six begins at the beach, as I wake up and decide to get movin’. I figure that it should take me

about three hours or so to get to Sequoia. I grab 198 from 101, and figure that there should be some gas nearby since I’m getting low. Nope. I turn onto 198 and see the "No services next 53 miles" sign just as my "low fuel" light goes on. But if I turn back, it’s going to add at least half an hour onto my trip. And there’s a real good chance that there’s enough left in my tank to go 53 miles (I mean, that’s less than 2 gallons even in the worst of driving). As I begin my trek to Coalinga, California I slowly begin to realize how much of the drive will be up the mountains. Well, I’d committed, so away I went.

It ended up fine, though I’m sure it was somewhat close. The first place I go to turns out to be this type of fueling station that’s new to me. It appears that you need to be a member of this "fuel club" in order to get gas. Apparently just having money isn’t enough for them, though at least it was one of those automatic places, so there wasn’t any attendant to laugh and point at me. I find a place just down the road, grab coffee at one of the only Starbuck’s in the nation that doesn’t have wi-fi (the whole reason I’d stopped), and carry on.

I stay on 198, stopping in Visalia to find a slightly more modern Starbie’s so I could drop a post and read about the Pack crappin’ on the Bears (which just seemed to make my new year all the better). As I’m driving through central Cali I’m amazed by how dense the fog is. Or smog. It’s really disgusting. The worst part was that having spent so much time earlier in a coastal rainforest, it didn’t immediately register that this wasn’t fog anymore. When you drive for two hours, and it’s so dense that you need your headlights on, it’s depressing.

Anyhow, I pull into Sequoia around one o’ clock. Pulling out my map and the trail info for where I was planning to hike, I realize that I’ve entered the park from the completely wrong end. Now, I’m not in a rush- after all, where do I need to be? Wherever the hell I want. It is a minor bummer, though, since it means I won’t be able to get any hiking in during the daylight. Of course, if I’d only know how much of a pain in the ass it would turn out to be...

General’s Highway, the main route through the park, is under construction. It’s already one lane in each direction, and between a couple of switch-backs it reduces to one lane period. Because of this they have a traffic light that stops traffic in each direction for 15 minute periods, allowing traffic to switch through. This already slows everything down, but to make things even better, the day before there had been a snow storm. This meant slick conditions higher in the mountains, and vehicles were expected to have either chains or snow tires. Minnesota being a little light on the mountains front, I don’t have chains but I do have all season tires that are well rated for snow and ice.

As it turns out, it was having a half functioning brain and a basic understanding of how to drive that made the difference. It appears that most people in California do not have these advantages. There were cars (even one with chains) stuck all over the place, with particularly wonderful concentrations in the really popular areas where dealing with oncoming traffic was even more pleasant. At this point I’m very frustrated, my anger tempered only by how awed I am by the massive trees around me (you don’t see them until you’re most of the way up the mountain). It takes me two hours to go just under 30 miles.

I stop at a viewpoint and make myself some venison minestrone,

since I’m so freakin’ hungry (that's me bein' all sexy in front of my dinner >>) that I’m getting the jitters. I enjoy a nice view and the sun is starting to go down. Clean some of the garbage out of the car and enjoy my dinner. I finish and pull out, and only make it about another mile before the next pull out. I swing in on a whim and check it out. One of the best decisions of the trip.

It was an overlook of Redwood Canyon (the valley I had come to hike, no less), though I didn’t know it at the time. All I knew was that I was witnessing the single most beautiful sunset I have seen in my life. Layers of glowing orange, soft indigo, and warm red poured themselves over the landscape. To the north a ridge of sequoias were silhouetted, giant black fronds emphasizing the light behind them. It was silent, too. The road bent away in either direction, and the sound of oncoming vehicles was muted until they were right there, and then they were gone (what few there were).

The pictures don’t do it justice. Firs

t, I didn’t think to grab the camera at first- I was too awed by what I was seeing. I just stood there, watching the shades of color grow darker. It was a moment where I was seeing something so beautiful that couldn’t help but be joyful. It doesn’t fit with my feeling on the "Greater Scheme," but for lack of a better term, I felt closer to God.

When the sun had finally set, I headed over to the ranger station. Unfortunately, I’d missed their hours of operation

and would have to wait until 9 am the next morning to get my backcountry camping permit. Now, you can only camp in designated sites in the national parks, but they’re situated amongst the national forest, where as long as you’re off the road you’re okay. Since the overlook was in the forest, I decide to head back there (it’s only a 10 minute drive). It’s a gorgeous spot, even in the dark, and I settle down for some sleep. Come morning, it's off to the ranger station and the trial...