by Ian Vorster (words and photography)
"Americans use the word ‘awesome’ too loosely. I mean, how can a hairdo be awesome? If you won the lottery…twice…now that would qualify as 'awesome.'"
Three guys touring Death Valley National Park pitched their tents nearby. When I saw their bikes, I realized they must be experts on “awesome.” One of them was a Harley Davidson-like frame, that straddled a 357 cubic inch V8 Chevy motor.
Beginning down south in Los Angeles, my quest to see some big sky, to gaze up in wonder through the canopy of a giant tree—and perhaps find a little bit of awesome that took my breath away—took me as far north as the Canadian border. From the lowest point in the western hemisphere in Death Valley, I would travel through the highest, the driest and the wettest points in the lower 48 contiguous states of the U.S.
Death Valley, as with most deserts, is made beautiful by light and extremes. With a low point of 86 meters (232 ft.) below sea level and a high of 4,400 meters (14,435 ft.) above sea level, one could photograph snow on the peaks while enduring a ground temperature of 43 degrees C (110 F). At the opposite end of the country, the Olympic National Park, which butts up against the Canadian border, is the last remaining temperate rainforest in the world. With close to 4,000 mm (157”) of rain per year, tree trunks have been known to break from the sheer weight of moss that grows on them.
The Northwest Peninsula has around 100 km (60 m) of shoreline which is also protected by national park status. Fishing is banned and you can only explore on foot. The Wilderness Coastal Trail is 118 km (73 m) long.
Whilst riding the Pacific Coast Bicycle Trail which extends from Canada to Mexico, I stopped in at the Wilderness Coast Trailhead for a night. Located at Rialto Beach, I stumbled wooden-leggedly through the sand, and upon arriving at the beach, realized I had arrived at “awesome.”
Giants of the forest—hemlock and fir—grow to the very edge of the sand. When storms fell the lumber, rivers carry the logs down to the ocean, before a rambunctious Pacific Ocean then tosses them ashore. It’s a phenomenal sight—lying up to 2 meters (6’) high, and often 20 meters (60’) deep, it was as if the breaker mist hung as a veil that covered the sacred union between bride and groom—land and the sea.
Colossal Icons
The Columbia River marks the border between Oregon and Washington States. Up to seven kilometers (4.5 miles) wide, its mouth is littered with shipwrecks. The Oregon coast is like an old woodcutter’s face—wrinkled and scarred, it carries the marks with pride. Sea stacks and coves abound.
As I pedaled my way southward, just across the Astoria-Megler bridge which crosses the Columbia River, I came across the restored Fort Clatsop—the winter residence of the famed Lewis and Clark Expedition. Their trek from the Missouri River in Illinois in 1805 opened the primary route to the West.
Further south, having spent a night in a tent beneath a beautiful old Redwood, I came upon the only manmade structure I have ever felt compelled to call beautiful—the Golden Gate Bridge. Mantled in the glory of a west coast sunset, it took my breath away.
Having skirted around San Francisco and into Yosemite National Park, I was introduced to what would become my home away from home—the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Many people—including the legendary writer and environmentalist, John Muir—consider it to be the greatest wonder of the West.
Still somewhat wet behind the ears in all things ursus, whilst securing a backpacking permit at the front desk of Yosemite, I asked the young ranger if there were any bears in the area I had planned to hike. “Well, yes,” he replied in a remarkably bored manner. And then he slowly traced the trail on a topo map, as he spoke. “You’ll probably find one here, one or two here, and possibly over here as well.”
Without hesitation, I drove straight out of the main valley and far away from all those bears, all the way out the eastern gate at the top of Tioga Pass, parked the car, and hitched my pack onto my shoulder. I had heard that several of Yosemite’s bears migrated their way down into the valley every fall, to avoid the harsher winters at high elevations. They liked to avail themselves of some late autumn snacks as they shored up their winter subcutaneous stores.
I hiked up to Mono Pass for a night, and pitched my tent just below trail crest, not far from an old log cabin. I would have slept in the cabin, but I wasn’t sure that it was allowed.
For the first time I witnessed the phenomena that has prompted the Sierra Nevadas to be called the “Range of Light.” An inexplicably beautiful tinge of pink seemed to fill the air—not unlike the errant spray from a can of paint. From a few yards in front of me to the distant peaks, everything was painted with a roseate glow. Alpenglow is a phenomenon caused by the arc of the sun’s rays as they bend. All of the colors of then rainbow bar red are filtered out all. Red being the longest, it gets the last laugh of the day.
Moving southward, a couple of weeks later, I met Nick at Mt. Whitney, the highest peak in the lower 48 states, and the second highest in the U.S. Denali in Alaska is the highest. We were both going to climb it the next morning.
“Your first time,” he asked? “It is,” I replied, “How about you?” “My twelfth,” he said, “But I have to do it in a day otherwise I get altitude sickness.”
Lanky, outdoorsy and nervous, I wondered if he might be suffering from a mid-life crisis. Who would want to climb the same mountain 12 times, I wondered to myself. I suppose knowing that you’re about to embark on a strenuous 35 km (22 m) climb with an altitude gain and loss of 3650 m (11,975 ‘) in a day would explain the nerves. The climb equates to climatic changes experienced over a drive from the deserts of southern California to artic-like Alaska. I was doing it over three days, because I was relatively sure I could handle the altitude… relatively sure.
I celebrated my fortieth atop Mt. Whitney. With Mount Muir to the south, Kings Canyon National Park to the west and Death Valley National Park far below to the east, every vestige of cynicism at any ‘big-sky’ talk I had encountered, vanished. Simply put, it was awesome.
Several parks and forests along the Sierra spine protect the giant Sequoia trees. Sequoias can reach 3,200 years in age, with a basal diameter of up to 10 meters (30 ft.) and a height of 90. Their bark is close to a half a meter thick. One of these fallen monarchs, still visible in Kings Canyon National Park once stabled forty horses. Scientists have calculated that we are now only viewing the third generation ever of the species.
An Awesome Pang
“Tell us about South Africa,” said Dan, a fellow bikepacker who was touring with his buddy, Ky. A few of us were seated around a fire in a campground speckled with Monterey cypress trees just north of Santa Barbara. Dan and Ky were on a credit card tour — mostly staying in motels and almost always eating at take-aways or restaurants.
I began to talk about things that were in some way related to South Africa. The Monterey cypress tree is an endangered species, not found anywhere else except for Robbin Island. And Alcatraz and Robbin Island were two of only three island penitentiaries in the world. This part of the coast is one of only five regions in the world that enjoy a Mediterranean climate, the southwestern Cape being another. Then we have the Cape of Storms, and have you heard of the Big Seven?
As the idle chatter drifted with the smoke through the leaves above us, I realized how much we all like to list the biggest and the best — that which is awesome. Just then, with the nearby surf pounding Point Conception, also known as the Cape Horn of the West Coast, I heard the Fairest Cape call my name. And I felt an awesome pang…
Lessons learned: The rock-climbing dirtbags who camped out at the base of El Capitan for three weeks (the limit of a stay) would then head up to Tuolumne Meadows campground for the next three, before repeating the cycle once more. They earned their “dirtbag” title for a reason. Singularly focused on climbing big walls, they lived on the proverbial “smell of an oil rag.” It was sustainability incarnate.
A worthy cause: The Sierra Club was founded by the 19th Century environmentalist, John Muir and partners with organizations to lobby for the protection of wild areas in California. Conservation Northwest works to protect wild lands, connect habitats and monitor species. Adventure Cycling maps and maintains routes across the USA. 3 Most valuable items: Camera, sea kayak, road atlas. Most useless item: A cheap, wobbly tripod.
