Being the story of the Bear and the Backpack...
From my woodcarving autobiography,
Pursuing Art in American Woodcarving:
Back in June of 1975, my thumb and I were heading north from Los Angeles, California, with the idea of going to San Francisco. After several rides of short duration, a small violet Toyota eased to a stop just past me. I trotted to the passenger door while removing my backpack and congratulating my thumb, for I knew this was a long ride. The car was packed literally to the roof. I thanked the driver for stopping and told him, My name is Jud
My name is Jeff, he replied.
We shook hands and settled into conversation and the ride. He told me he was going to San Francisco.
I responded that Frisco was also my destination.
Nah, don't call it Frisco, the natives hate that: it's The City.
Ya, I'm going to The City, I quickly corrected myself, somewhat abashed that my knowledge didn't include that tidbit
so much for fourth grade geography.
The ride went on, and so did the beers we downed. We got talking about places we'd been and discovered neither of us had been to Yosemite. Feeling a bit free-er with the beer in us, all of a sudden, we changed course and headed for Yosemite National Park.
Several hundred miles later we were traveling through fast, steep mountain roads, cutting their path through packed forests. Walls of green and brown and red guided the black tar trail to the entry gate of Yosemite. From there, a few more narrow twisting miles, and we were at the valley- that small area most consider the park, although Yosemite Park, proper, extends for many miles in every direction.
The valley was white with tents. The available space was covered with canvas- it was unbelievable. Where 10 minutes ago we had seemed lost from civilization, alone in a green world of tree and rock and animal, now we were among members of an overcrowded city with screaming children who'd rather watch TV, fathers who'd rather their wives were cooking with gas, and dogs who'd rather they were back in the city with room to run!
Jeff and I agreed this was not quite what he had in mind and went tromping off to find something better. Ah! Our spirits lifted. There! In the clearing
What? Nothing, just a clearing!
We crossed the Merced River, I, dipping my walking stick into the racing waters. (This is a 6- foot hickory staff, two sections, into which I carve a symbol representing the places I visit. ... It is topped with a foursided head in Birdseye Maple. I also dip it ceremoniously into various rivers, thus
)
A third member, Mike, had joined our party, and we found a suitable space, ate supper, talked and prepared for sleep. This included tying our packs up in a tree. This is to prevent the bears from not so neatly opening the packs and eating what's inside.
We slept the sleep of the weary, to coin a phrase (here's your change). There's nothing quite like Mother Nature's bedroom- the mattress, firm rolling ground, would you like your feet up?; the walls, beautiful tall trees swaying in the refreshing breeze off the river; the ceiling, a black sky alive with shimmering diamonds of light
and the Moon! The rush of the river soon lulled us to sleep.
Klang! Bang! Kling! Rattle, rattle
what's going on? I awoke to find my partners up and banging away on the pots and pans.
Are you guys nuts? It's 3 a.m.
Then I followed their eyes
Directly over us, hanging in the tree, playing badminton with our packs, was a huge black mass of fur, otherwise known as a bear! Quickly I pulled out my flashlight and threateningly aimed it at the creature and turned it on. Unfortunately, it didn't appear as threatening to him as I thought it would. But it had become bored with the packs and backed down the tree. On the ground the visitor began circling us, possibly trying to decide which of us was fit to eat.
Apparently we didn't look or smell too good and the bear turned and moseyed off. The rest of the night was uneventful.
When daylight came we climbed among the rocks, and there's some big rocks- two of them stick up for a mile above the trees! We toured the valley in the shuttle bus (double-decker) and saw El Capitan and Half Dome; saw them again reflected in Mirror Lake framed by red barked pines; saw a waterfall that was just a tiny white line way up there on the side of that cliff, and saw Yosemite Falls which was more like a wide river running up and down. The spray from it could soak a bystander 50 feet away. Incredible!
Jud
