#98 - An Unexpectedly Long Hike
Suddenly, on this narrow trail, I came upon a Blue Bug!
Hello, my friends,
Nice to see you after a couple of weeks. Life continues, rushing past like an unstoppable wave. What are our choices? To get flung around, jump through it, or surf. At the moment, I feel like I’m doing the latter.
Not too long ago we went on a family camping trip. Upon our return I started writing the original #98, but it dipped into politics so I decided to scrap it for now. There’s enough of that sort of discussion elsewhere for those interested.
Our summer life has begun. Michael is in a day camp at a nearby park with a well-apportioned community center. We’re lucky to live in a city that offers this service, providing outdoor play, art, and other fun stuff to local youth during the summer months. The only problem is the location’s parking lot — it seems to completely evaporate people’s driving skills. Every day I pull in and find drivers jamming their cars into odd places, making 7-point turns where three would do, and otherwise behaving as if they’ve lost their minds. If it were truly a tiny lot, I’d understand, but there is room for multiple cars to find their way. It’s exasperating.
Unrelated but worth mentioning: The next sumo tournament is in mid-July, but I’m ready for it now. I’ll have to be patient.
In the meantime, though wildly tangential, I’m back to reading modern Japanese literature. I was on a bit of kick between March and July last year, reading Mishima, Dasai, Kawabata, an Anthology of Modern Japanese Poetry, as well as some more contemporary works (Yukiko Motoya’s short story collection, The Lonesome Bodybuilder and Yuko Tsushima’s novel, Territory of Light). Yesterday, I finished an excellent audiobook of Kawabata’s 1950–1951 novel, The Rainbow, performed by Ami Okumura Jones. Now, I’ve started on The Dancing Girl of Izu and Other Stories (translated by J. Martin Holman). I own a copy of Palm-In-Hand Stories, so that will likely be next. Read along with me if you like, I’d be happy to discuss any of the above.
The Expanding Hike
Last Sunday I went on a 2-hour, 2-4 mile hike that turned into a, by my estimate, 10-15 miles 5-6 hour ramble that seemed to go uphill both ways. I’m in decent shape so was able to walk it with little wear beyond fatigue and I was never lost or in danger, but it did teach me not to trust Google Maps to label trails correctly.
Really, it was my fault for ignoring a sign that very clearly stated that I had already walked my target trail. Google, however, said it was ahead. The tech giant was incorrect.
I’m not an experienced hiker so I couldn’t tell how long the makeshift loop on my phone map would take me and I was still fresh after the 2.2 miles of the Le Mesnager Loop and Rim of the Valley Trails. Several times the ground turned from your average desert dirt to a pebble crunch to fine shore sand. At points, the buzzing of flies harmonized into a slightly menacing ambiance. A fair amount of the walk by that point looked like a thousand variations of this:
It was a typical Southern California landscape. Regularly, I came to clearings where I could look over the Crescenta Valley, with the 210 freeway gracefully splitting it down the middle. In the moment, the views were all gently unique due to each successive one captured at a higher elevation, but reviewing my sparse photos shows a whole bunch of the repetitive photos. The angle notwithstanding, if my vision wasn’t so human, I’d be able to see my house from here:
There was a variety of insects as I strolled towards the Haines Canyon Trailhead (it was still a stroll at that point). Flies, bees, spider webs but no spiders, one marvelous moth that I was too transfixed by to photograph (small, with black wings dotted in many dark-hued but vibrant colors), and this bright red three-bubble-job:
At a divide in the trail that seemed to have no name, I saw two mountain bikers. One was coming down from a nearby trail high speed and took an impressive jump over a little clearing and another was riding up what Google called the “Azteca Spur”, which is where I turned onto from the Haines Canyon Fire Road (here’s some interesting historical info about that area. Apparently their used to be a small settlement somewhere up there about a hundred years ago called Azteca Park). Roughly halfway up on the Azteca Spur I saw what looked like an old water tank beside the trail:
I should mention that my curiosity about features of the built environment was counterbalanced by fear that I would get demolished by a mountain biker racing downhill. The trails here and along the Sister Elsie Trail which the Azteca Spur dropped me at were narrow, steep, and marked by multiple tire tracks. An online search reveals that the Sister Elsie Trail is indeed a mountain biking trail and here is a video of someone riding it. However, I saw no signs indicating this and since my hike there was unplanned, I simply trudged along with my ears open for bike sounds and consistently scouting for ways to dodge oncoming traffic. It was nerve-wracking and I was starting to feel tired from all of the climbing. That said, it was impossible to miss this oddity:
How did this FULL CAR get to this mountain trail? I’m sure there’s a story behind it, but I prefer that it remains a puzzler. Here’s a short video of hiking guide, Mr. Hall, taking this trail, including some mountain bikers making a jump exactly where I saw one do it and with a cameo from the Bug. He went on to Mt. Lukens (the highest point in Los Angeles), where I will likely go in the future. But last Sunday, I just wanted the my walk to start downhill!
Not too far past that I was in major need of a break so I found a flat rock in a reasonably shady place and sat down to enjoy some poetry from SHIRIM’s 40th anniversary issue, which I carried with me in lieu of water. I read a few of Rachel Korn’s poems translated from Yiddish by Seymour Mayne and Rivka Augenfeld. This is “The First Line of a Poem”:
I fear the first line of a poem, the sharp slash that decapitates dreams and opens veins to a flood of blood. Yet that line can bring me to the fields moving in the wind to white, rose, and yellow and the house under the tall pines where no one waits for me any more. It can take me to that hour when memory is a dark knot and on my hair I can still feel the caress of hands that are no longer there.
Sweaty, tired, in that unfamiliar, but safe, cradle of nature — with the sounds of bird song, bugs, rustling leaves, and the passing water of slow-moving creek — reading poetry aloud was the perfect activity. Feeling rejuvenated after a quarter of an hour of slow breathing and literature, I continued up the path. Finally, I came to what I think is called the Lukens Spur, which brought me back onto the Haines Canyon Mountainway looping down to that sign I ignored (pictured above), back down along the Rim of the Valley and Le Mesnager trails and out of the Deukmajian Wilderness Park.
Was I happy to get back to my car and sit down? I was. It’s true, I could have gone home and settled into the bath right then, but I didn’t. No, instead I drove right to Thee Elbow Room, a very local pub, and refreshed myself with a delicious (and large) pretzel, a mediocre Bahn Mi sandwich, several pints of ice water, and a satisfying Brewery X Banana Hammock Wheat Beer. Then, I went home and sank my weary bones into a hot bath in anticipation of my family’s return from a journey of their own.
