Mather Pass and the First Purple Candle

View looking South on the John Muir Trail to

Mather Pass

(the wide "V" in the upper center)

Turkey Tetrazzini Pete and I approached Mather Pass from Deer Meadows on August 2nd, 1988. Mather Pass is the king of pain in the ass passes. Hiking up and over it is exhausting and demoralizing. You can see the pass hours and miles before you are within spittin' distance. You put your head down, you take small steps, you gasp for air, you realize you are thirsty and your lips are really chapped, then you look up. The pass is just as elusive and far away as it was an hour ago. It never seems to get any closer. All you can do is methodically place one foot in front of the other, adjust the weight of your pack and try and distract yourself with the granite debris at your feet or some fanciful daydream about life back home.

On that morning I only wanted the pass to appear closer. I wanted some sign of progress, some sign of hope, a dove with a flower in its beak, a bearded sage like John Muir or Moses descending from the pass and reassuring us that we would indeed reach our goal.

Pete and I marched on in silence all morning, though occasionally he would remind me that we were now formally participating in the Bataan Death March, Part 2, and that he was not having an enjoyable experience in the mountains.

That Pete, God love 'im! This was the trip where Pete left his toothbrush at home ("I didn't know you brushed your teeth when you went backpacking," he explained), and he brought a 16 ounce bottle of sterile saline solution for his contact lens. (This was in the days before ultralight backpacking).

Eventually, after a series of false passes, false hope, and general fussiness and some choice expletives from Pete, we approached the final 100 yards to the pass...

On this first Sunday of Advent I'm reminded of that day Pete and I shared 21 years ago. Advent provides an opportunity for us to reflect on waiting. The Jews waited countless years for the arrival of Jesus. Now we wait for the second coming of Christ, and we also wait for Christ to enter our daily lives in our steps, our interactions and our quiet moments. While we wait we simply need to be attentive, and we simply need to keep walking. Then we discover that the view is much better than expected.

Water in, Water out

McArthur Burney Falls

Noone expects such wonderful falls when travelling on Hiway 89. The falls look like they belong in Maui or in a painting but not here in Northern California. Although the river is typically dry a mile upstream during the Summer months, the falls thunder over the cliff all year round. They do so, because they are fed by underground springs. The waterfall pool and viewing area is an easy walk from the parking lot, and the cold spray is a welcome treat for wilted, travel-wearing children. It works better than a popsicle.

Ahh , water. Here is Clare drinking water in Yosemite on the trail to Cathedral Lakes:

When you drink water, you will eventually need to pee. This is because we are mammals, and the definition of a mammal is a living organism which has kidneys. Mammals also nurse their young, or they give their young formula in a bottle. Most mammals have hair, but others, like me, are in the process of losing their hair.

Can a mammal go without peeing in a 24 hour period? One year at music camp, our friend Steve decided to test this theory. Music camp in Santa Cruz was a week-long adventure in the mountains where you could swim and do archery and get really dusty and sing and play an instrument in an orchestra. You would then do a concert for your parents on the last day when they came up to fetch you. Once at music camp we sang a song called If by the 70s band, Bread:

The lyrics were:

If a picture paints a thousand words, then why can't I paint you? The words will never show the you I've come to know.

For those of you unfamiliar with this song, please take heed and never, ever listen to it. I'm begging you. The melody and the lyrics are intensely depressing and will bring you down faster than gravity. You have been warned.

Anyway, Steve played the cello at music camp. He was one of those cello players who would stick out his tongue when he played. You know the type. Back home he once played a Communion meditation at mass. It was a piece by Bach. The music was lovely, but Steve's tongue sticking out made his mouth look like the capital letter "Q." All of us, including the priest, were in stitches. He was actually really good, because he could do vibrato before he had turned 13! Doing vibrato involves shaking your hand on the strings to make your tone sound really pretty. For a preteen like myself, being able to do vibrato and shake your hand like that defined musical greatness.

Yoyo Ma (a mammal) demonstrating vibrato

He is very good at it!

Back to the peeing. Steve bet some other campers that he could go 24 hours without peeing. He would be monitored closely so he could not cheat, and if he succeeded he would make 10 dollars. He peed the last time at midnight as his cabinmates excitedly yelled, "On your mark, get set, go!" indicating the start of the 24 hour period.

In the morning Steve ate oatmeal and a banana and skipped the orange juice and milk. He skipped the morning snack after orchestra practice, and at lunch he took a hike in the heat wearing a sweatshirt so he could sweat out his urine. This seemed to be a smart approach, I thought. By dinner time he was complaining of growing discomfort in his lower belly, but interestingly, he also complained of thirst. That was weird.

By 10 pm the camp excitement was mounting as word spread about Steve's endeavor. He paced around the floor of the cabin then would sit in a chair and pound his feet up and down like someone trying to hold his breath as long as possible. Other campers were gathering round and asking questions like, "Could he burst?" or "Is this safe?" In general, though, Steve seemed to be winning the admiration of all the campers in the string section and even some of the woodwind players.

In the last 15 minutes before midnight Steve was running around the swimming pool with his hands tightly squeezing his crotch, and all the the other campers were running with him. Many tried to assist him by clearing people out of the way and yelling words of encouragement. "Just don't think of water," they said, or "Squeeze harder!" One of the drummers brought out some bongos and was playing some kind of Tiki-dance music.

In the last minute the entire camp did a countdown from 60 as Steve ran to the edge of a hillside and started screaming. At midnight exactly he unabashedly whipped out his wienie and let loose a stream of urine which arched toward the starry sky in a magnificent parabola which shot over the manzanitas and ended up sprinkling the volleyball courts at the bottom of the hill. Everyone sighed "Oooooh!" like they do when they watch pretty fireworks.

Steve peed for 4 minutes straight. When he finished he zipped himself up and everyone broke into rapturous applause. Steve took a bow. He then went to his cabin, drank some water, put on his pajamas and climbed into bed.

Of King Tut and Split Pea Soup

Awhile ago my family dined at Pea Soup Andersen's in Santa Nella just off Hiway 5. A Danish windmill outside the restaurant was spinning continuously in the warm Central Valley wind. We planted ourselves in the air conditioned dining room. While perusing the menu I noted a man in his 60s sitting at an inconspicuous table in the corner. The man was sipping pea soup and reading a newspaper. His hair was gentry white, and his face was nicely tanned like the people in People Magazine. He had really good posture.


"Hey!" I whispered to the kids, "Don't all stare at once, but look over in the corner. It's Steve Martin!" The kids immediately tossed their menus onto the table and whipped around to stare where I was pointing. They squinted hard.


"That's not Steve Martin!" Clare finally said. "That's just some guy eating split pea soup. He doesn't even look Steve Martin. No way! You're nuts. Sheesh!"


I looked again. "Well," I pointed out, "If you kind of push your fingers in your eyes and use your imagination, it could be Steve Martin."


Later our meal was served. The appetizer at Anderson's is always split pea soup. There are no salads or bread sticks; there is only split pea soup. You could order minestrone for your main dish, and they'll still serve you split pea soup as your appetizer. I watched the kids poke around in their soup with their spoons. They suspiciously eyed the little chunks of partially submerged ham floating around like flotsam. I wondered how the split pea soup and the burgers and fries would all mix in their stomachs. This was a combination of food that just shouldn't be served together, I thought, like jello and olives, or turkey sandwiches and chocolate shakes. It was just wrong.


Meanwhile, the white-haired fellow in the corner wiped his mouth with a napkin then added some sugar cubes to his coffee and began stirring his drink with a little spoon. He caught my gaze, and I quickly averted my eyes, embarrassed. "Would you leave it alone?" my wife implored. "It's not Steve Martin!"


When leaving the restaurant I took this picture with my cell phone:

To this day my family still insists it was not Steve Martin. I'll let you be the judge.

Cirque du Jerome

Something beautiful:

View into Brewer Basin from Sphinx Pass. Southguard Peak, Milestone Mountain and Table Mountain in the background. My brother, Joe, dubbed Brewer Basin "The Garden of Earthly Delights"

Something funny:

Yesterday, 11/09/09, Samuel gave me a "rough draft" of his Christmas list. He promised that the final copy would come later.

Something aggravating:

Tonight at 9:30 Max told us his explorer report project was due tomorrow. "Don't worry though," he said, "I've already done the rough draft. All I have to do is type it, make a posterboard with lots of maps and do the bibliography."

Wow, I learned tonight. That Hernando Cortes, what a dynamo!

Something harrowing:

Clare drove me home tonight on Hiway 580 during rush hour. She has her learner's permit. When I suggested she look in the rear view mirror occasionally, she seemed surprised. "What?" she said, "I'm supposed to look in the rear view mirror?"

Something curly:

Henry refuses to get a haircut.

Something wacky:

My sister, Kristin, EMailed me a picture of her cat looking at an internet webcam site showing my parent's cruise ship going through the Panama Canal in real time:

The Tree in the Sun

This tree on Lembert Dome is blooming where it was planted. Isolated from its brethren, it anchors itself to its granite perch with its tenacious roots. Improbably, it seems to be thriving. It has enjoyed this unfathomable view for decades, branches outstretched and embracing the sun as it courses through the sky each day.

I'm reminded of the scene from The Shawshank Redemption in which Andy, the prisoner who had been wrongfully incarcerated years before, locks himself in the warden's office. He puts on the recording of Mozart's heavenly Sull' aria from The Marriage of Figaro and uses a microphone to amplify the music over the prison loudspeakers. All the prisoners in the yard face the loudspeakers and stand in rapturous silence as the music envelops them:

Meanwhile, back in the warden's office, Andy leans back in his chair with his hands behind his head and simply smiles a far off smile. The warden is infuriated, because when the prisoners hear the music, they suddenly understand that no walls can restrain their hope. They are free.

"Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see a shadow"

Helen Keller