On the way up White Mountain I stopped to camp at the Bristlecone Pine CG, an expansive lower elevation site in the juniper/pinon pine zone. Charged $3, I was on a pecuniary roll. As I was making camp, who drove by, recognized me and stopped to say hello but Mark the author. He and his wife and a friend were up camping in the same campground, and Mark invited me over to visit their site. I went over after dark and chatted for a while. Mark had talked to John since I had, as the first person John called for a briefing on events was Mark's wife, John’s publisher. They were all very nice. Their friend was in from Santa Barbara and if I was following the cast of characters right he was the financial backer of the press. He was pretty goofy but I liked him. In fact I was having a good time and had to force myself to leave as obviously these folks had come up here to have some time together, not host a veritable stranger.
The next day I hiked the Methusela Trail again, going counterclockwise this time so I could concentrate on the two miles I had skimmed the first time. The Methusela tree was in there somewhere, unidentified, leaving hikers with the fun of guessing which one it might be. Guessing was certainly all I was able to do; it wasn't that important to me. Once again, two miles of this trail wore me out. Back to the campground, I found a table in the shade to eat/nap/read. Sun was too hot, shade was too cool, dappled shade with a touch of sun was just right. A little woodpecker flew under my legs, twice!
In the late afternoon I headed up the road to the Patriarch Grove. The drive was beautiful but the road a lot rockier than I'd expected. The guidebook said it was a 45-minute drive but it took me an hour and a half, so when I got there I had to abandon my plan for a relaxing dinner and raced off to tour the grove before the sun disappeared behind the mountain. The Patriarch Grove is at 11,000'. It was already windy and promised to get cold quick once I lost the sun. While trees here are not as old as along the Methuselah Trail, they look more baroque, as windblown ice and sand carve the wood into beautiful textures and shapes. Sweeping elegance of dead trunks/grotesque chaos of the living. Science fiction battle scenes. The wind was blowing hard and once the sun dropped behind the hill it got cold quickly. The trees got even spookier in the fading light. A fierce wind drove me back to my car, while the trees standing here for thousands of years spoke to me eloquently: “You don’t know nuttin".
Long slow ride back down in the twilight was sublime. The sun had set on the peak, but was still setting behind the Sierra wall across the way. Lovely light angles. The Palisades glaciers were quite distinct in this light, and seemingly bigger from this distance. Finally silouette at aspenglow. Sticky Fingers. Moonlight Mile.
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