From the poem “40 Days and Nights” 
 

So I decided to go into the Sierras for a short trip of 40 days and nights hoping to repair the damage wrought on my psyche, by too  many phone calls from too many irate girl friends, irate bill collectors, and irate governmental agencies.  And I did!  But because I left very late that year all of the shops that man and woman had so crudely hacked a spot for in the wilderness,  were thankfully closing for the winter,  whether they provided city folks with a hankering for ice cream with Ice cream, or for alcohol with alcohol, or for a cholesterol blast with 8 ounces of the best that America’s mega corporate farms in conspiracy with the FDA could create, calling it beef but grinding it up to reduce the chance of it being correctly identified in any ensuing litigation and then putting onto top of that bacon, or at least what they call bacon, cheese, or at least what they call cheese and chili beans.  And lest the poor unsuspecting city folk about to be delivered a high elevation cardiac arrest on a bun not get enough fat and salt then some French fries dipped in blue cheese dressing could be ordered!  I know this as the store I was unwittingly buying my last ice cream cone of the trip in closed as I walked out the door (oh well, Jesus didn’t even get one ice cream cone on his 40 day and night trip!).  

With no supplies, the people left.  And with no one to bust, err, I mean to help, the rangers also left, hoping they could find some other place to bust kids who had a joint in their sock.  And with no people there was no more need for horses, those defecating machines par excel lance and they were sent to some other place to pollute trails, streams, and campsites!  Heck, even the pay phones were closing for the winter!  All of those closing doors created a strong tail wind that propelled me down the trail. 
 

I had all of the sierras to myself whether I wanted them or not!  But what struck me the most was how all of the meadows, had also closed  for the winter, in a kinda-sorta way, as they had all become brown.  I’d never seen that before.  In fact, weren’t meadows green year round?  But through their brown I continued on, stopping here,  camping there, getting better, getting stronger, sorting everything out in my mind! 
 

And then one day, near the closed Red’s Meadow, I found life again, green life, really green life, I found the “Ultimate Green!” life!  It was almost as if time had forgotten this area, as if it didn’t know that it was winter and it wasn’t supposed to be green. 
 

How, I wondered as I wandered, did the rules of winter not apply here?  

Purple Hat  

May 20, 2007

From the poem "Ying & Yang"

I don’t know why I ever agreed to do the second half of the John Muir Trail from Florence Lake down to Mt. Whitney with FresNo , no, FresYes, oh I don’t know, how about FresMayBe Gary, #1, not to be confused with FresMayBe Gary, #2 or Coalinga Gary, or Ceres-Auburn-San Jose-Georgetown-Gilroy-Sacramentoe-Campbell Gary, especially after our first trip, what with him bugging out at the half way point claiming that he was so dirty that surely he must get sick, but I did.   

It isn’t that he impacted the rest of the trip negatively when he bugged out, no, to the contrary, my trip really took off as soon as he left, with more swimming, more sleeping on passes, more freedom, and even meeting that lovely lady from Santa Cruz that morning atop Glen Pass, without him vying for her attention.  

So then, on our second morning only 15 miles into our adventure, he told me that he was so afraid of the snow up ahead, of which there was a lot, but we both started the trip knowing that, that he was bugging out again, and whether he knows it or not, the last time!   “I’ll meet you down the trail, Purple” he said as he was getting ready to bail, “take all the images you want on the way back” and just like that, he was gone! 
 

Of course, it goes without saying that he didn’t wait for me down the trail, rather, he hiked all the way back in one day, caught the last water taxi across Florence Lake, and hitched a ride back to FresMayBe, where his girl friend, steaks, bottled red wine, and a bed awaited him.  

So on my way back I came up to the beautiful McClure Meadow, all dewy from the little streams cutting through it, meandering their  way down to Evolution River and steamy from what morning sun had succeeded in struggling through the dense pines surrounding it, and was just starting to dry the meadow which made the greens, yellows,  and blues shimmer and glisten!  Because I knew that I was at a special spot, at a magical moment, and the incredible mix of colors just went on and on in front of me I needed it all in focus, from the blades of grass on the edge of the trail to the farthest object, so I shot it at f 22. 

Leaving that spot, I thought of how when I’d hiked by it yesterday in the late afternoon it had looked totally different with no artistic potential, and how had FresMayBe Gary #1 not bugged out on me I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to have seen it looking so beautiful! 

Purple Hat 

April 30, 2007 

Initially, you think it will be easy, a piece of cake, while not necessarily triple chocolate, but at least angel food with whipped cream frosting, as you get lulled into thinking that this will be some easy circumnavigation, but all too soon the seemingly 100 yard long, and 10 degree climbing switchers begin, and they begin to work on you, to wear you down, to suck out your energy, and your water. 
 

And then the going levels out giving newbie’s the thought that it is all over, that it wasn’t so bad, that those who’d told them to be prepared didn’t really know what they were talking about, in a truly delightful sunny and wildflower filled area, but enjoy it while you can as soon it will be all over and the climb will begin again, but this time in ernest! 
 

The only thing that keeps me going as I grind my way along is taking a slug of water out of my bag at the end of each switcher, and the thankfulness that comes from being on the north side of Bear Ridge and in the trees, where you escape the direct sun but not, I’ll ad, the heat.  The end of another switcher, another sip.  Onward and upward, unrelenting, sweaty, drinking, sweating. 
 

As my water bag grows lighter I think how dry those must be who only added a quart or didn’t even take any on, thinking they could flash Bear Ridge, what throat agony they must be experiencing!  They must strain their ears for the sound of running water, but they hear nothing.  They must be on constant lookout for signs of running water, but they see nothing until eventually on one of the eastern most turns they see a faint gully appear way out there, but there is no water in it, but it gives them hope. 
 

With each wide swing to the west and then back to the east they see the faint gully getting closer and closer and they must think can they make it higher and higher until hopefully the faint gully arrives by the switcher and hopefully brings water with it.  But they really don’t have any choice but to continue on climbing higher.  Hot, dry, sweaty, out of water, climbing higher! 
 

I always derive pleasure at knowing that soon I’ll get a laugh as eventually the gully swings closer and you can hear water running in it and someone walked out there, and they must have been fearfully thirsty, for the way is very steep and you are very, very exposed and you would tumble a very, very, very long way, and this intrepid backpacker created unfortunately a fearfully exposed almost dicey “path” using that term in the loosest possible manner when, just a few switchers higher the gully is right there by you! 
 

But it’s not just the water, which by the way doesn’t need to be pumped or poisoned to drink, that replenishes you, but your soul is replenished by the view of the effect of that water on that place! 
 

Purple Hat  

May 12, 2007