Double Take

1.

Kirkwood Lake is by far my favorite campground in the High Sierras. The little lake nestles amidst tall pine trees and some of the most breathtaking rock formations the High Sierra could offer. The Range of Sierra Nevada stretches about 400 miles long from north to south. The predominant rock types belong to the family of granite. The most famed rocks of the range are the majestic Half Dome and El Capitan of Yosemite Valley. In comparison with those mountain size rocks, those around Kirkwood Lake are actually small. However, I like rocks that are easily scalable. Here around Kirkwood Lake, it doesn't take much to climb onto a boulder. I greatly adore the unique color of the rocks in this section of the mountains, beige perhaps under bright sunshine. My imagination gets stimulated when I see huge boulders piled up to mountain size. Mountains yet fractured, with small pieces of rocks in fantastic shapes protruding, hanging and maybe even crying.

Some centuries old pine trees make a tenacious stand in the gaps up and down of those bare rocks, living off small deposits of soil in the cracks of the rocks; their spirit and beauty always make me bleary-eyed.

In a grove of pine trees there is Kirkwood Lake, not so large as Silver Lake and Caples Lake on the left and right are easily 5 to 10 times larger. I always think that because of her small size, Kirkwood Lake appears green most of the time, the prettiest color for an alpine lake while the large lakes were blue in general. I favor Kirkwood Lake because she is modest, green, and easily accessible all the time.

2.

The Lake Kirkwood campground situates next to the Lake with each unit hidden in huge boulders and under stout pine trees. I had the luck to camp at this site about three years ago. The feeling was so wonderful that every year we talk about coming back again.

This all started four years ago; on our way back from another camping expedition in the Lake Tahoe area, we became curious about how the California Scenic Bypass 88 looked like. We knew that Highway 50 was usually jammed by folks going to and coming back from Lake Tahoe anyway; Route 88 seemed to be a good alternative.

The east side of the road that led to the Kit Carson Pass appeared quite ordinary, though the Pass itself was rather breathtaking for its height and patchy snow in the month of August. The west of the pass, however, featured a series of alpine lakes of different sizes. The water was incredibly clean, laced by groves of pine trees and huge rocks. It was like we had just came to a pristine world, one of fantastic dreams and sceneries. The road went up and down, left and right, swinging like crazy. As one of the drivers, I felt we needed a break; so, we stopped at a vista point where in view was thousand acres of rock canyon, with rock formations simply bewildering.

Some rocks were scorched black by the sun while others still shined with bright colors. For the initial few seconds, the canyon view blew my mind with its size and rocky nature. I haven't seen a canyon of such nature ever in my life. There, I exhaled long and deep. As I was drawing in a mouthful of the oxygen rich air of high mountain pine, something even more dazzling caught the corner of my eye. I had a double take: amidst them all rocks huge and small, pine trees small and tall, I saw a waterfall. Because of the distance from the bottom of the canyon to our vista point, the waterfall appeared tiny; otherwise, it would be visible for everyone to see. I even pointed it out to others but they claimed that I was hallucinating. Indeed, from where I stood there was no running water noise to be heard. Not only did the canyon look dry but also scorched, water did sound like hallucination. But I saw the waterfall, though it appeared no bigger than any of the rock formations. It was a picture carved in my soul forever, as if I saw a bright jewelry on a mountain man's neck. Yes, my soul was punctured. It was love at the first sight. It seemed that I had been looking for her through the millennium. There, only there, when I turned my head casually, she flashed a smile at me. I felt that distinctive click in my heart and something flew up from my soul.

It went without saying that I would come back sooner than later, just for her.

3.

When the next summer came around, I proposed to take a day trip to Kirkwood Lake. Surprisingly everyone was enthusiastic about the trip. Maybe magic possessed by this part of the world also affected them. I guess they forgot that the drive is more than 3 hours and a half away one way. A day trip meant more than 7 hours on the road. Even if no one wanted to join me, I had to come, for this was a predetermined trip.

At the end of the day everyone happily concurred that it was worth the trouble. Wading in the lake was to intimate with Mother Nature at her finest moment as the clean and cool lake water sent tremendous soothing sensations up and down the body. Watching schools of fish in synchronized swim took the mind off daily concerns and cleansed the dust off the human world. There was decomposing in the lake bottom. Even the bubbles that came up here and there seemed miraculous and exciting. We didn't meet another soul by the lake, so peaceful, sunny, warm and loving. Of course there were those huge rocks, with quite a few bigger than normal houses and a number of them fractured, layered, scattered and crowded, the handy job of the previous glacier age and the rainstorm and snowstorms of millions of years ongoing. Nature is the highest master of sculpture. Those rocks from the depth of the Earth's crust came up in mountain making era and cooled off and formed this fanciful landscape that is unique in the Sierra Nevada. Here one could find a variety of granite rocks, some blackened by water, moss, and wind while quite a few rocks and large boulders still maintain the color of light gray or even crystal white that reflect well in the enthusiastic August sunshine in the high country.

A little swim in the spring water was irresistible, for the lake water was magnetically enticing. Because of the exercise and body heat lost to the cool water, the picnic by the lake became very delicious. It was heaven on earth. Nobody should underestimate the soothing effect of alpine lake on the body. All of a sudden everyone felt the urge to smile and talk incessantly about the fish, the rocks and the pine trees. It was awesome to notice that those pine trees could live off with so little soil among huge rocks, bare rocks.

Then we discovered the Lake Kirkwood Campground. What a beautiful place to camp! We knew that we would come back to camp here next summer. Maybe there was too much satisfaction for a jammed day, I forgot all about the waterfall. Maybe the scenery was simply enough to overwhelm the senses. In such state of joy, attention couldn't be divided.

4.

Before long, the third summer rolled over and we came to camp at Lake Kirkwood. Last year we were told by the campground host that the overnight temperature was "perfect" for camping. That surprised me because I thought it would be cold at night at the elevation of 8000 feet. Maybe different people can tolerate different temperature at night.

There was always a surprising factor coming to camp here because the campground took no reservation and was operated under first come first served basis. We were really lucky to get the last camp site available. When we showed up, we were shocked by the sign up front that said "Sorry, Full." After all, the campground has only 12 sites available. We went in anyway and asked. Bingo, there was one empty. Who would know that getting a camping site could bring such a thrilling feeling? Joy became us because we could actually spend the night in our favorite campground on earth.

Soon, the tent was pitched, the grill fired, the melon cut, the juice carton open. Firewood was gathered from the forest floor for an evening bonfire in the fire ring. Everything was in full swing, happy giggles were all around. The time was still before three o'clock in the afternoon. The sunlight was at its brightest. The angle of the afternoon sun was at a point where everything was at its clearest during the day. Every rock, every little plant, every ancient tree, was in perfect pose. We couldn't sit by the tent, for huge rocks were in front of us, issuing a loud invitation. After eating, we went up a hill that was made up of a single rock of million tons. The granite rock's crystals shined brightly in spite of some fine black spots here and there. The air was scorching and yet dry and breezy.

As we climbed, we were dazzled by all of kinds of rock formations and huge pine trees of many centuries. My camera simply didn't have enough memory to capture phantasmagorical rock features, the tremendous size of rock canyons, layers of rocks, and mosaic of rock formations. Trees, huge and small, fading and coming, were all art forms with great spiritual value to those who had the senses. We had no idea about the richness of this natural museum before coming up on this peak of myriad rocks, a place where the body and soul could be cleansed so thoroughly. The mountain spring water was several hundred feet down the hill. The pine trees grew from the cracks of huge rocks. Yet, it was a spot where I felt purified by the spirit of the rocks, pine trees and the air.

The rocks were huge, smooth on the surface and relatively level. The sun had warmed it up to a comfortable temperature. It seemed only natural to lie down and hug the rocks with all fours. Looking up at the late afternoon sky with my back enjoying the warm rock bed, I was thinking that in other places, many of those rocks would have their pictures on some paper as tourist attractions. In China, they might have given those rocks names, poems would have been composed because of them and famous people could have come to carve something here and there. But here in the wild West of America those marvelous rocks remained anonymous and barely noticed. That was how I preferred actually. I felt lucky to be here and had my admiration and devotion before any alternation or decoration could be added. Lying down in absolute silence, a relationship was cemented in its most primitive way. Ah, it was so sweet to lie down on those rocks, waiting for the sun to set. It was absolutely sweet to become lost for hours in such environment. The sun finally set and the scene was spectacular as the sunlight colored everything first in orange then in purple. A beautiful dream started before we even went to sleep.

It happened again. Amidst all the wonderful sights and events, and emotion, I didn't remember anything about the waterfall. Maybe those moments were enough for this year.

5.

Another year went by. This happened last year when we came to camp with another family. Before we came, we didn't have any high expectations of getting a site at the Lake Kirkwood campground. But we checked anyway, with no luck. So, we went up the road about two miles to the Caples Lake campground. They had quite a few spots open.

The landscape around Caples Lake didn't vary too much from that around Kirkwood, except the rocks and boulders seemed darker and less dramatic. While everyone was having a good time, I felt amiss of things I had longed for all year long. This was a much larger campground, with over 30 camp sites. More people brought more energy and vibration, except it wasn't the kind of energy I was looking for. Caples Lake was more suitable for swimming; therefore, kids had a great time. Delicious BBQ meat was sizzling while maotai bottle open; stories were told, jokes made, and bonfire cackling. It was a sweet and happy experience for a camping trip. The waterfall even came to my mind once; but, I didn't mention it because it wouldn't be a good idea to drag little kids up and down the rocky canyon in search of a waterfall of which they may or may not be fond. Most of all, I didn't do my homework to find out the exact location of this perpetually elusive waterfall.

6.

This year I did my research online thus knew exactly where the waterfall was. Even though the fall is closer to Kirkwood Lake, it's called Caples Fall because it is on the Caples Creek.

It went without saying that I was determined this time. We came on a Friday, for I thought that there might be a good chance to get a camp site at Kirkwood on a non-weekend day. Then we couldn't depart early because we had to wait for a car part. After everything was put together, it wasn’t until late in the morning that we departed for the mountains. As a result, we didn't get to Kirkwood until late in the afternoon. Unfortunately, the Lake Kirkwood campground was full and the campground was even busier on week days.

No big deal, we thought, for the Caples Lake campground was just a couple of miles up the road. We could camp there and come down to visit the waterfall. Well, it became a big deal because even Caples Lake campground had just filled up just the minute we got there. We missed the final spot by 2 minutes. We were pointed to the Maintenance Station up across the canyon. That was when the situation became even worse.

Little did we know that the Maintenance Station offered wilderness camping, as opposed to developed campground. Soon, we were driving on unpaved road of uneven surface with gravels and rocks. Rocks on parts of the road were so huge and pointed that I was sweating bullets for the fear that the bottom of the car be punctured and we would get stuck in no man's land for a day or two. The smart move would have been to turn around and look for other alternatives. That was when I found out that I didn't seem to possess that easy reversal in my blood. I grinded my teeth and maneuvered carefully between protruding rocks to slowly moving into the depth of the woods. It brought temporary joy for everyone to find RVs and tents in a wonderful grove of trees. That must be the campground, with plenty of space available. Anyone could camp there. However, there was no facility, i.e. no running water, no toilet, no fire ring, definitely no bear box. It was nice to see that this place was free of charge and other campers made several circles of rocks as fire rings. There were good firewood all over the forest floor. The pine trees were huge and the meadows were sizable, though it was a little dry. While having some watermelon and some chips, I looked around and realized that we were not equipped to camp in a place like this. The main concern was bear, for we had no idea where to keep our food stored at night. If bears came, there wasn't anyone to come to our aide at night. Any damage to the car or, worse yet, to anyone, it would have been disastrous. That was when I knew that we must go.

Again, it was not easy to come down the gravel and rock filled road, we came out unscathed, though I could feel the cold sweat down my spine. We had reached a decision to have a picnic by the Kirkwood Lake, like we did four years ago on our day trip there. After food, we would still search for that soul-clinging and dream-residing waterfall, which was our main attraction today anyway. After the waterfall, we would just go home and forgot about camping. I could never sleep in a tent anyway. When the plan was finalized and agreed upon, the afternoon suddenly became clearer and the sun brighter. Again, it was again gorgeous summer day in the High Sierras.

7.

We enjoyed half of a giant submarine sandwich by the lake. During the meal I noticed that, even after coming to this place three years in a row, there were quite a few places I wanted to spend time in. Some of the rock formations looked at me as if issuing an invitation for a closer look. I felt bad for not being able to honor the call on the spot because of the waterfall was also calling.

The online map marked a clear path to the waterfall. But in the ground, the trail had become barely visible due to overgrown bushes. It was the dry creek for the overspill of the Kirkwood Lake during spring flood or summer storms that led our way. There is no water at all; only rocks, bushes, and a few fallen trees were on the path. The chaos made it hard to navigate. In many places we had to use all fours to climb up and down or jump over trees and boulders. That was still in the relatively level path.

The online map I read indicated that the distance from the Lake to the waterfall was less than half a mile. But it felt much longer because of the difficulty to get around the rocks and other obstacles. Finally, we came to the edge of a deep canyon where trees and bare rocks were the main residents. The path was obscured because huge rocks wouldn't bear any footsteps no matter how many people had come for a visit. But from where we were, the waterfall was visible and the water noise audible in spite of the trees and rocks that tried to hide it. We became excited. So, we really used our hands and feet to lower ourselves down the valley floor.

The Caples Waterfall wasn't large as some rocks were bigger than the waterfall, the reason why it took me by surprise five years ago to spot this modest cascading water amidst all the rocks and trees from distance. Finally, I came, to listen to her sweet singing voice. After so many dreams, I could finally embrace her and feeling her soothing warmth, healthy scent and great vitality. I was thrilled, happy to take off my shoes and put my feet into the water while staring at her to take in all the exquisite details and beauty. Those were the moments when the world became harmonized at the source of life.

Everyone in this world should have a secret waterfall, to fall in love with, to hang the most beautiful dream in life on, and to embrace with abandon once reunited. I am so grateful to have found mine.

8.

It felt fabulous to have finally found the waterfall. Afterwards, we didn't seem to mind about the fact that we came this far to find no camp site. The waterfall was good enough for the trouble of 200 plus miles.

We started our drive home around 7:30. As we went, we were reminded that Route 88 had a slew of campgrounds. After some discussion, we decided to check out the Pi Pi Valley campground, a place where we camped three years ago. Yes, we came here multiple times to camp in one summer. We were fond of the Pi Pi Valley campground because it offered a good night of sleep. The campground was on the banks of the Consunmes River of soft gurgles; the running water lulled us into sleep and offered one of the better nights of sleep outdoors in memory.

It was late and the campground was 8 miles of winding road from the freeway. We went anyway, fully aware that we may be turned down again. We got there before sunset; luckily, the last site was still available. The day thus ended perfectly. I never slept better in a tent in my life before that night and woke up happy with fond memories of the waterfall I finally met.

August 5, 2007