Mon 12 Apr 2010
Robert drove us up Carmel Valley Road in the greenlyness of it all spring and dripping with spanish moss up to Pine Ridge Trailhead at China Camp where we parked and started walking the ridge trail in the wind and mist whipping snow-cold up the south flank of the hill.
We were headed to South Ventana Cone but the weather changed our minds as we stood on the Church Creek Divide watershed a sweet saddle where the rain chooses its route to the sea either winding Pine Valley Way northwest toward the Carmel River or easterly into Church Creek which joins Tassajara Creek to Arroyo Seco and the wide (for California) Salinas River.
Taking the trail less traveled we wandered south dropping into the soft green bouquet of Church Creek drainage,
with its uplifted rock formations reminding us that faults can be beautiful,
through fire damaged forest and its resurgent undergrowth, wildflowers - banks of them - everywhere.
lunched on a log after hopping over Church Creek,
and sat surrounded by lupin on top of the world watching the clouds come our way








April 12th, 2010 at 3:40 pm
Such gorgeous poems in prose and photos! I love it! Especially “uplifted rock formations reminding us that faults can be beautiful.”
April 12th, 2010 at 11:26 pm
You lucky girl. I love the flowers in the fog!
April 13th, 2010 at 5:35 pm
Hey it was nice to meet you. Sorry to hear you didn’t make the south cone goal, but the hike didn’t disappoint. The flowers *were* beautiful!
April 19th, 2010 at 2:29 pm
Hi Kirsten! What quote were you looking for on my blog? Maybe I can point you to it … and sure, take it (whatever it is). Glad to find yours, I’ll be stalking you! Cheers, Hashi
April 19th, 2010 at 4:24 pm
Hashi - This quote
how to climb a mountain
Make no mistake. This will be an exercise in staying vertical.
Yes, there will be a view, later, a wide swath of open sky,
but in the meantime: tree and stone. If you’re lucky, a hawk will
coast overhead, scanning the forest floor. If you’re lucky,
a set of wildflowers will keep you cheerful. Mostly, though,
a steady sweat, your heart fluttering indelicately, a solid ache
perforating your calves. This is called work, what you will come to know,
eventually and simply, as movement, as all the evidence you need to make
your way. Forget where you were. That story is no longer true.
Level your gaze to the trail you’re on, and even the dark won’t stop you.
– by Maya Stein