The Pull of Water, Part 2

 As I mentioned in my post entitled "The Pull of Water, Part 1" we camped one night in a beautiful site that overlooked Lake Pillsbury, and the night before that we camped at a site on the lake. There, we talked briefly with a soft-spoken man who lovingly spoke of the lake's beauty. He encouraged us to go see the other side of the lake to see the elk. On our way out of the forest we did indeed stop at the other side and walked towards the lake.  In the distance we could see the elk gathering at the water's edge. We did not actually walk as far as the edge of the lake in order to avoid disturbing the delicate flora.   

During our journey to the forest, we periodically spotted signs that read, "Save Lake Pillsbury". When I got home, I read that Lake Pillsbury is controversial because it came into existence when the Scott Dam was built on the Eel River in the 20's. Indigenous people and those who are ecologically oriented contend that the dam should be removed so that the river can again flow freely, and the dam has been decommissioned.  Certainly if the salmon and other fish of the Eel could actually have a say, I am sure that they would vote for freeing the river as well.   

Yet, for those who frequent the lake and for those who make a living on the lake, the decision is not so straightforward. Recreation and the quest for solitude aside, another consideration is that Lake Pillsbury is the closest source of water when there is a forest fire.  Some concern has been expressed about the elk. Fortunately, I knew nothing about any of this while we were there, so I could just innocently savor the peace of the lake before the area's vacation season was underway.  I found Lake Pillsbury to be a place of healing, yes even with the wind, and the memory of the lake is staying with me, partly because we were able to talk briefly with someone who loves the lake and who quietly encouraged us to "go and see the other side". 

Ultimately, that is why we travel. We learn to not only look, but also to see.   

  

    

image:  "The Other Side of the Lake", May 2025

Wisdom from Kabir

                                                          

                                       I had to seek the Physician 

because of the pain this world 

caused me.  

  

I could not believe what happened when I got there -

I found my 

Teacher.   

   

Before I left, he said, 

"Up for a little homework, yet?"  

"Okay," I replied.  

      

"Well then, try thanking all the people 

who have caused 

you pain.    

   

They helped you 

come to me."   

   

Kabir (1440 - 1518)   

    

   

image:  Tilden Park, May 2025

The Pull of Water, Part 1

When we entered the Mendocino National Forest, we saw on the map that Lake Pillsbury has a resort, marina, and campground. We decided that might be a good option for our first stop in the forest. We were surprised to find only a locked gate; the season was not yet open. Fortunately, a friendly young couple was close by and they pointed the way to an open campground on the lake.   

After we settled in, we walked down to the beautiful and peaceful blue lake. There we met a soft spoken man whose car had a canoe strapped on top. We greeted one another, and I commented on the beauty of the lake. He replied, "Yes, I come here often. My wife no longer joins me, but I still come. You must go to the other side so you can see the elk." His quiet demeanor gave me a sense that the lake was a place of solace for him, and that sense of respect became ours as well.  

Yet as I mentioned in my previous post, our intention for the next day was to drive up and over Hull Mountain (elevation 6,878 feet) and camp on the other side, and that is the journey we undertook. While most of the way was dry, we ran into some snow very near the crest of where we were to cross. Tyler stopped to walk through this patch to get a sense of what was around the bend, and to see if we would have the clearance we needed. He had said all along that if we came across slushy snow we would turn around, but over the past few months, he had equipped the truck with recovery gear should we get stuck. Nonetheless, I was very insecure about the possibility of getting stranded in snow in such a remote area. I did not grow up in snow country, and I am not drawn to it. I was going to walk with Tyler, but my balance, which is a little unsteady now, is particularly poor in the snow. As I slipped, I figured my tumbling and sliding off this mountain road was not going to be helpful so I did not continue. The wind was formidable, and so was my fear. 

When he returned, he said that he believed we did have the clearance we needed, but the road was narrow so if we needed to turn around, we might find it difficult. I reminded him that there was a fine spot to turn around just a few feet behind us. We talked some more, and our decision was made. We turned around, and on the way down we found a beautiful spot to camp that overlooked Lake Pillsbury.     

Tyler and I have always travelled well together, mainly because we listen to each other. We have talked at length about our decision. Could we have made it to the other side of the mountain? The answer will always remain unknown, and for now, the quest remains in the future. I am fine with that, and even though Tyler believed we could have gone forward, he respected my fear. I am grateful.        

Writing this, I am reminded that I am not much of an adventurer, but I still contend I am an explorer. I love going out and viewing terrain. I recently started reading Belden Lane's The Solace of Fierce Landscapes. In his book Lane contends that in our encounters of wild and fierce landscapes, and I would place Hull Mountain in that category, we are faced with a reality that we cannot manipulate. These places teach us humility as we learn to rely solely on God (think of Elijah in the cave).  I think these landscapes can be found just about anywhere that gives us a sense we have no control: hospital emergency rooms, at the side of a loved one who is passing, or in a stack of bills that must go unpaid for another month. 

        

More on Lake Pillsbury to follow. We did make it to the other side of the lake, and found it beautiful. There is controversy concerning this lake, and I will go into that yet another side of the lake as well.     

         

        

"Plants and animals change as one goes up the mountain, and so apparently do people."

Diana Kappel-Smith, Desert Time: A Journey Through the American Southwest, 

from The Solace of Fierce Landscapes, Belden Lane   

      

        

 

   

Image was taken on the ascent of Hull Mountain. It was so windy that I actually received a message that no photo or video could be taken. Here I practiced standing firm. The wind was very much part of the spirit of place.        

Connecting

 As Tyler and I journeyed through a small part of the very large Mendocino National Forest, we often found ourselves in areas where many of the trees had been scarred, or even devestated by fire and bark beetles. However, our last night was spent on a cliff overlooking the beautiful Lake Pillsbury (where we stayed the night before) and the mountains and sky beyond. There, we were surrounded by trees that were mostly healthy, and the manzanita trees were blooming. Many bees were visiting the manzanitas, and that surprised me because we were descending from the high elevation of Hull Mountain, elevation 6,877 feet. However, I have learned that miner bees and eastern carpenter bees are indigenous to the area, and yes, are very attracted to manzanita. 

We were able to locate this beautiful camping spot because as we were descending, Tyler looked to the right and said, "This looks like a good spot for a picnic." The sun was warm, and while higher up on Hull Mountain a powerful and cold wind was gusting, this site was still, peaceful, and beautiful.  A ground squirrel, one dark grey lizard, a Western Tiger Swallowtail butterfly, a much smaller white butterfly, and the bees were our noticable companions. At one point, I looked to my right where the truck was parked, and there the squirrel was sitting still and upright beneath it. it appeared to be gazing off into the distance, giving the appearance of a small monk in contemplation.  

We ate our lunch, and decided to set up camp.  

The wind did eventually blow that night, and it blew hard. However, the camper and truck provided good protection. The night sky was clear and beautiful, but we found we could not linger outside long enough to fully take in and appreciate the view; the wind and chill were just too much for these travellers from sea level. However, that morning we woke to a bright sunrise taking place in that same clear sky. The lizard was out doing its morning pushups on a nearby log, and the bees were already buzzing about. We never did see coyotes, but we heard a few the evening before, yipping as they called their pack together. Yes, it is a strange, excitable cry, but it sounds so celebratory that always makes me smile. I believe they sing a song of anticipation, knowing that they belong together, and that it is time to gather and join in the hunt for sustance that will hopefully feed and sustain the pack. I have much respect for those creatures. We humans could learn much from them.  

In these next few unscheduled days, I have some more writing to do. For now, I am still savoring the times when we heard nothing but forest sounds and silence. I am also savoring that as we drove along those fairly isolated and rough roads, drivers of other vehicles would wave or nod. If we were stopped, people, including one sheriff, paused and asked if everything was ok.  Not one person drove by us without some signal of recognition. Yes, the interactions were reserved, but kind. We needed nothing more. I was reminded of my father. He would do much the same, by lifting one of his long and bony index fingers. I remember asking him once why he did that. He replied, "I would feel foolish waving my hand up and down." Somehow, then and even now, I learned to appreciate the small glances and gestures that connect us, reminding us that we are recognized.  

  

More later. I sense my garden is calling.   

  

Blesssings, 

Sue Ann    

         

image:  Overlooking Lake Pillsbury, Mendocino National Forest, May 2025