Unknown to me, I am about to embark on the beginning of perhaps my most memorable days in the Sierra. What I have been seeking, working for, anticipating, it is just down the trail. Like an innocent entering unknown territory perhaps I unconsciously sense something, but I have no memory of anything specific, my notes are non-existent. But my reason for coming to the Sierra, the JMT, the lessons, the conversations, the healing, will reach their peak in the coming hours and days.
I leave Muir Trail Ranch in the early morning and climb back up to the JMT, the light filters through the trees, a peacefulness envelopes me as my boots begin to find their pace on the narrow dirt trace. But in the background there is a growing, almost insistent sound of water as I make my way through the woods.
It is impossible to go the Sierra and not be conscious of water, but it will prove to be especially true today. Water, the presence and the sound of it, the emotional response water evokes in all of us, this will be the one constant on this day.
At the most basic level a backpacker is always conscious of where the next water is, how much you need to carry, the imperative to hydrate adequately as you labor under your burden.
But water also can present a physical challenge. Where is the next crossing you may have to navigate? How swift will the water be? How deep? And quietly you hope for rocks to hop on, or a fallen log, an easy crossing. After all, this whole business is tough enough without having to wade thigh high through moving water with a heavy pack.
Such are the practical concerns.
But the story of water in the Sierra is more than bubbling streams, flowing rivers and patches of snow on high peaks. To even the casual observer the landscape shows the effect of water in all forms. In eons past it shaped granite when water flowed as solid sheets of glacial ice covering all but the highest peaks, creating striations across the granite like coarse sandpaper over soft wood, clearly visible to this day to even a casual observer. Today, water in liquid form is doing a final polish on many of those same surfaces, Nature buffing up some of Her finest work. In the ebb and flow of winter, water flows into cracks, freezes and expands, Nature’s chisel breaking apart seemingly impenetrable blocks with no effort. The evolution of the landscape continues without end, almost imperceptibly, as the flicker of my lifetime passes like the blink of an eye. If you want to feel small and inconsequential go to the Sierra, stop, listen, feel the power of Nature, it is always present, forever changing, never ending.
Nature seems to elevate the senses, when we wander in the Sierra it returns us to the sensory level of our early ancestors. When I backpack I become more observant, conscious of my surroundings, my senses seem to kick up a notch. I see more deeply, hear sounds dismissed or ignored in the city, smell aromas more intensely. This is the reason I come to the Sierra. To observe, sense, smell, experience, alone, without distractions. To have conversations with something I cannot explain.
Today is to be all about water, although I do not realize it as I begin up the trail, the noise of the south fork of the San Joaquin River beginning to enter my consciousness. The sound of rushing water builds as I climb through the trees, the trail is gentle, but rising, until the trees largely disappear and I come to a bridge crossing the river. It is a long bridge and it also marks a junction, the trail from Paiute Canyon meeting the JMT. There are numerous backpackers below the bridge filling water bottles, drinking water, recharging. Some have slipped off their boots and are wading at the edge of the river, cooling off their feet in preparation for the coming hot miles. Others are just sitting on rocks, observing, listening. My kind of people.
Science tells us we came from water, emerged from the ooze, crawled or wiggled up onto some ancient shore. The human body is approximately 70% water, an echo of our origins. We evolved, became incredibly complex organisms, but the need for water is always present, and for more than physiological reasons. Which restaurants are the most popular? The ones on the water, be it a lake, river or ocean. And of course, we want the table by the window. Why do we build hotels and houses next to rivers, lakes and the seashore? And there is almost always a deck, or at least a place to view, hear, smell the water.
Why?
To experience it. With all of our senses, our being, our soul.
We are drawn to water, it is a primal need, a spiritual need. Many religions focus on the power of water for rebirth, baptism into a faith. Besides filling water bottles my trail companions are filling their psychological, deep seated, often unacknowledged need to be near water. They are baptizing themselves in the waters of the Sierra, Nature is blessing their journey. It is not spoken, but at some level, perhaps unconsciously, this is true.
But now all of my energy and attention must be focused on the trail. This is tough, it is becoming increasingly steep, the switchbacks are coming fast and furious, my pace slows as I gear down and try to find a rhythm I can sustain. I am surrounded by high rocks, steep rock faces and trees growing in seemingly impossible places. And it seems endless, I look up, but see only more mountain, no sky, so on I plod, step by step, concentrating on pace, breathing, consistency is the goal. Back and forth, switchback after switchback, onward, upward. Then the trail turns left and continues across the side of the mountain. I can see some sky above, perhaps I am running out of mountain? There is an opening through the trees to my left and I look down on the ground I have covered today, the view is impressive. I stop to admire the distant landscape and my progress and then suddenly I become conscious of a sound.
Water, faint, but steady. Evolution Creek.
I have heard stories of Evolution Creek. The power. The beauty. More raging river than creek. I feel the magic of water Loren Eiseley wrote about, and although he never saw this place, he would have understood. We came from water, we long to return.
To JMT travelers this is a special place, it takes effort to reach it, and relatively speaking, very few people ever experience Evolution Creek. I am tired from the climb, but fatigue is overwhelmed by excitement, I want to see the water, experience it, feel it. That primal force runs deep, my step quickens.
The trail across the mountain seems endless, the sound of the water is constant, but it does not seem to grow appreciably. I grow impatient, how much longer can this take?
And then seemingly out of nowhere, like a simple door opening into a magnificent room, there it is, a rush to the senses. Loud. Powerful. A wide roaring torrent falling off the side of the mountain. I stop and stare. This is a creek? I put Rosie on the ground, sit on a rock and immerse myself in the experience, this is an extraordinary place, the stories are true.
From the north, Evolution Creek is the gateway to Evolution Valley, named for the science of evolution by Theodore Solomons, the first white man to visit this place, but more about him later. I sit on my perch and watch the ever changing flow and fall of the white tinged water, the unharnessed power, mist in the air, as it cascades down to meet the San Joaquin far below. Time seems to stand still as I meditate on the place, my senses on high alert, listening, looking, smelling, feeling. I have worked hard and sacrificed for moments like this.