Hot Dam!

We loaded our tents, backpacks, sleeping bags, whiskey, boats, guns, mess kits and a mess of other gear into the back of the trucks. Passing Monterey where the desert meets the ocean and I can’t help but wonder if Nature is just toying with me, laughing at the conundrum I laid my eyes upon. But California often does that- that is, it blows your mind with its geologic scenery [if you haven’t been to Yosemite I strongly suggest you at least drive through it. Or Tahoe. Or drive down highway one and stop along any number of beautiful beaches. Or a million places Just go to Cali!]. I wondered what lay in store at Los Padres Dam (northeast of Big Sur).

We arrived and parked, stepping out into a dry dusty lot somewhere in the mountains. The hike lagged as we dragged the boat-loads (literally) up and down the hills of the acrid trail. Just when I began to feel impatient climbing the last hill, a large dam appeared before me. Hot Dam! Swimming was in order. I love that feeling- it’s one of my all-time favorites- of jumping into cool water after physical work- it’s so dam satisfying! After chillen for a minute it was time to pack the boats and start rowing. The gear boat broke, along with 2 of the oars so getting across a couple of miles of water was quite an ordeal. Luckily I was on the first shipment and escaped any extra duty. The open water led to a valley-like setting, with rock mountain on both sides up a meandering path of shallow water. I was dropped off inland on a small patch of sand. While waiting for everyone to gather, a group of tattooed Mexican ex-gangsters from Salinas paddled up in kayaks (mind you we are miles in). At first I felt a bit alarmed, especially when one of them whipped out a shot gun (that definitely didn’t feel right). But they ended up being alright- fairly polite, just wanting a place to drink beers and get away from their wives, all happy as a clam. Of coarse Sandra chimes in with some 2PAC “Shit, tired of gettin shot at Tired of gettin chased by the police and arrested Niggaz need a spot where WE can kick it A spot where WE belong, that's just for us” [ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kExHaBkEYi8 ]. They loved it. We’re all laughin and smoking pot together by the end.

The journey inward was a combination of passing through flowing streams and hiking along the mountain ridges that seemed to endlessly ascend. Backpacking is really a love-hate relationship at this point, because although the view is breath-taking, it’s literally taking your breath away and you really don’t want to keep moving, tapping into your reserves with every step. Then you reach camp and realize you have conquered the world. We set up camp, sipped on whiskey, snuggled with Whiskey Dog, and passed the fuck out.

Day 2 was the mutha-fuckn shizzznit- hiking around with no packs, just a bathing suit and some water-shoes. It was more like frolicking, really. It was time to whip out the big guns- my bicepts of course. Just kidding, but we did have a few guns and a bow-and-arrow, along with a few other toys. Lucky for me both the rocks and the trees were inviting for amateur climbers, so I had at it (even though normally I barely make it up the stairs hah). We spent a solid hour throwing stones at a rotting log. It was so good. While we swam in the stream the boys caught a crayfish and cooked it. Mr Crawdad’s flavor was like gamey lobster crossed with shrimp. The mini-adventure tasted delicious. At night we huddled around the camp fire and had a feast (in attempt to get rid of as much food as possible so we wouldn’t have to hike it back). Once again I kept myself warm with the Whiskeys- sippin and snugglin, sippin and snugglin, wishin we had more time. I think that night I must have dreamt of that day, a sweet escape from reality.

The next day was all business- pack up and let’s get the fuck outta dodge. The back-track always has a weird feeling, re-crossing a path that was such a mystery the day before, headed back to civilization. It is bitter-sweet, until you finally make it outta there and hit up the first burger or pizza joint you see, then it’s just greasy goodness. It’s funny how that works- getting away is great, but it makes coming home to a comfy bed and computer all the more endearing.


Mood: JJ Grey and Mofro- "Lazy Fo Acre" -but unfortunately i can't find a link for that.
i guess this fits- The Band "Up On Cripple Creek" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EisXJSsULGM