My Tabernacle

It’s been almost a year and a half since we’ve been in Palm Springs. Last Fall, Sharon’s health issues curtailed traveling and relegated us to a long cold winter in Minnesota. Now we hope to return this fall. One of the first things I want to do upon my return to the desert is climb a mountain.

It’s my ‘third place’ in the desert much like my mulch garden is back in Minnesota. Most of us have a third place. First is home, second is work and third is some gathering spot for collecting one’s thoughts and sharing human kind. For me, it’s strictly a place to reflect and meditate on life’s bountiful basket of hopes and dreams, stumbles and leaps forward.

As much as I relish my citrus grove, lake front and Mississippi River for though-gathering, the mountains are special. Not just any mountain but my favorite sanctuary of solitude and comfort in my backyard. It’s my granite tabernacle for reflection and contemplation. A slab of rock that warms my bottom as well as my soul. An escape for quiet soul-searching amid the shadows of Indian lore and homes of the rich and invisible.  

The Coachella Valley is shouldered by several mountain chains which have imbued this area with numerous opportunities to seek solace, quiet reflection, exercise, and release from the routine of our daily lives.

Something magical; no almost spiritual, can happen during a mountain hike. It’s a physical as well as mental challenge. At face value, it can be an afternoon of hiking, climbing or finger-probing the rough crags and fissures of the mountain face. On a more spiritual level, it’s an assent into the vaulted realm of oxygen deprivation, aching muscles, sweat-drenched clothing, and overall mental exhilaration…all to put your head in the right place.

There’s a culture here among a small group of old ‘desert rats’ who work and hike these mountains year-round.  They care for the trails as an elder does the tribe. They endure scorching summer heat and windy overcast winter days. Most are rail-thin. Their skin looks like weathered copper or dried up old parchment. Most of them are lithe as an antelope.

Following that elite group of desert denizens come another eccentric group of trail runners and new age meditators.  They frequent the mountains like others hang out at Starbucks. Finally come the tourists, snowbirds and occasional weekend explorer (many with families in tow.)

In the spring, the trail is accented with blooming yellow brittlebush and flowering cacti…and at times an abundance of rattlesnakes. These rattlesnakes are usually very difficult to see since their coloration blends in perfectly with the rocks and gravel on the trail. One bite and it’s off to the hospital for several vials of antivenin serum. It’s an expensive proposition at several thousand dollars per vial.   

           

There are picnic tables at the top which are perfect for casual reflection without worrying about some rattlesnake biting you on the butt. Scenic vistas go on forever in a field of quiet that is almost deafening. Along with dreams and meandering what-ifs, it’s a perfect place to escape within your head and do some exploring there. But it still doesn’t compare to my tabernacle.

I’ve tried yoga, marathons and long trail runs. Collectively they punish the body and sometimes sooth the soul. Oxygen deprivation and bodily stress can cause the mind to wander into some very strange places. My tabernacle can also take me there. It just takes a long climb to get there.

Up, Up and Away

The Coachella Valley is an arid rift valley in the Colorado Desert of Southern California. It is home to a number of wintertime resort cities and numerous winter events. The valley extends approximately forty five miles southeast from the San Gorgonio Pass in the west to the northern shore of the Salton Sea on the southeast. It’s approximately fifteen miles wide along most of its length. Surrounding the valley are the San Bernardino and Little San Bernardino Mountains on the northeast and the San Jacinto and Santa Rose Mountains on the southwest.

A couple of years ago for my birthday, the kids gave me an aerial tour of Palm Springs in a bi-plane. It was a wonderful way to see and photograph this fascinating place I call home half of the year. Palm Springs is located on the western most end of the Coachella Valley but its top-ography, geography and ambiance is representative of the entire Coachella Valley.

We started the tour by flying over downtown Palm Springs.

The downtown area is going through a metamorphosis with new hotels, retail establishments, art galleries and eateries. It’s become a mecca for our ever-growing tourist trade.

Then we swung south, skirting the San Jacinto Mountains where some of my favorite hiking trails are located.

To our left was the Indian Canyon neighborhood where Sharon and I have lived for over ten years.

Then it was down into the back canyons of the Indian lands.

These back canyons called Andreas, Murray and Palm Canyon, all had their climbing peaks and hidden oasis as a part of the San Jacinto Mountain chain.

Even on the ground, the country around here is a wonder to behold. Oswald Canyon offers winding hiking tours of the mountain base.

The Henderson and Garstin Trails offer up elevation for a different perspective of the surrounding terrain.

The wash at the base of the Henderson Trail offers up an entirely different perspective of desert life.

Beyond the borders of the Coachella Valley, the high desert offers up its own varied terrain and atmosphere.

Yucca Valley, the Morongo Valley, and Joshua Tree all offer up a cornucopia of visual experiences.

The Coachella Valley and its surrounding mountains offer up a fascinating variety of scenery all year round.

Another Name for Vision Quest

As I’ve written in past blogs, climbing mountains has become my version of a vision quest. I say that with a deep respect to Native American folklore. Down through the centuries, Indian culture has always held their mountains in great respect. The first ancients to walk this country left their mark around and on those granite sentinels.

In the Palm Springs area, the Cahilla Indians of the Coachella Valley have long spun folk tales centered on the San Jacinto and San Bernardino Mountain chains. Early settlers, explorers, hikers and long distance travelers have often reported feeling the presence of others while alone on the trail. There is a special reverence most of us desert rats feel on those mountain trails.

When I first started hiking in the Coachella Valley I found a trail close to home and a fun Saturday morning endeavor. It’s called the South Lykken Trail and is part of the North and South Lykken Trail that stretches for nine miles. It takes about five hours of moderate hiking to traverse the entire trial. The elevation gain is only about 800 feet and it’s considered a moderate hike by local standards.

Then last season, another trail caught and captured my attention. This one is called the Garstin Trail. That old goat path climbs up over two miles that switch back and forth and practically stumble over themselves in the process. Elevation rises from roughly 700 feet to 1500 feet up Smoke Tree Mountain. The trail rises to a plateau connecting up with the Shannon, Berns, Wild Horse and Eagle Canyon Trails. Even for the most ardent, experienced hiker it can be a gut-sucking, deep breathing endeavor.

Last winter on my last hike of the season, I came upon a granite plateau similar to the one I have often talked about on the Lykken Trail. This new tablet of stone offers up spectacular views up and down the broad expanse of Palm Springs. From this summit near the top of the Garstin Trail one gets a panoramic view of my neighborhood, Indian Canyon, the San Jacinto and Little San Bernardino Mountains, the depth of Palm Canyon and the broad expanse of the community of Palm Springs. To the east, one can see the entire eastern Coachella Valley.

Something magical, almost spiritual, can happen during a mountain hike. It’s a physical as well as a mental challenge. At face value, it can be a day of hiking, climbing or finger-probing the rough crags and fissures of the mountain face. On a more spiritual level, it’s an assent into the vaulted realm of oxygen deprivation, aching muscles, sweat-drenched clothing and overall mental exhilaration…all to put your head in the right place. Call it mindfulness, meditation; the moniker doesn’t matter, the results do.

Another challenging climb is called Murray Peak. Although it’s called a ‘hill’ at 2200 feet on most maps, Murray Peak is, in fact, the highest peak in the vicinity of Palm Springs. It’s been labeled a moderate to strenuous hike with a total distance of almost seven miles and a vertical gain of over 2200 feet. It takes an average of five hours for completion with only a few rest stops along the way. For the seasoned hiker it’s a refreshing walk up the mountain. For us less conditioned souls, it can be a gut-buster and taxiing on the lungs. In other words, a worthy challenge and goal for a seasonal visitor like myself.

The mother lode of all trails in the Valley is one called ‘The Skyline Trail’ or for those in the know ‘C2C’, which means Cactus to Clouds. It’s a ten hour (minimum) mountain climb that travels ten miles uphill for an elevation gain of over 8000 feet. It traverses three eco-zones and can be a killer for the uninitiated, especially in the summer months. Four hikers have died on the trail over the last dozen years from heat exhaustion. No wonder my kids just roll their eyes when I mention a desire to make that climb. ‘No way!’ is all my better half will say.

There’s a culture here among a small group of old goats who work and hike these mountains year round.  They care for the trails as an elder does the tribe. They endure scorching summer heat and windy overcast winter days. Most are rail-thin. Their skin looks like weathered copper or dried up old parchment. Most of them are lithe as an antelope. They’re the desert rats of the higher altitudes.

If I do Murray Peak this season, I intend to seek out yet another tabernacle. Not just any mountain plateau but another sanctuary of solitude and comfort similar to the one I found on the Lykken Trail years ago. It’ll be my granite respite for reflection and contemplation. A slab of rock that warms my bottom as well as my soul. An escape for quiet soul-searching amid the shadows of Indian lore and homes of the rich and invisible.

I’ve tried yoga, marathons, and long trail runs. Collectively they can punish the body all the while soothing the soul. My tabernacle is no different. It just takes a longer climb to get there.