Thomas Pynchon's Bleeding Edge: Book Review

 

Thomas Pynchon’s Bleeding Edge 

By Armando Ortiz

In Bleeding Edge, the author Thomas Pynchon tells the story of Maxine Tarnow who goes into an investigative journey to uncover the workings of events that were unfolding in New York during the first months of 2001. He creates a clear distinction between the techies that are becoming rich profiting from their creations, and those no longer rolling with dough anymore like Nicholas Windust. This review will mainly focus on the connections the book makes with Central America, the alternative online world that had been created called DeepArcher, and how ultimately we all experience new beginnings which in some ways are also a return. 

Nicholas is a person who has accumulated an empire through shady government dealings and has the power to run countries, and yet he can't. He is quickly becoming irrelevant and useless to the powers that be and the country is about to get closer to completely becoming digital. As a result his collaborations, while being an operative of the state, will compromise his identity. Windust, a secret agent, spent most of his time in Central America in the 80’s. His ex-wife, Xiomara describes to Maxine his obsession with the idea of Xibalba after getting stationed in Guatemala in the early 80s, “in Huehuetenango, where Windust and I met, it was less that a day’s journey to a system of caves everyone there believed was the approach to Xibalba.” She kept explaining that “the early Christian missionaries thought tales of hell would frighten us, but we already had Xibalba, literally, the place of fear.” Hence real life characters that once walked this earth, like Rios Montt, weren’t something new, but an expression or an incarnation of what came out from the caves and cenotes connected to the Mayan underworld.

In the novel “frontier” is found on the internet and more specifically in the program site that Maxine’s friend’s had created - DeepArcher. People log into the site and can leave the “meat” world, and exist in the virtual serendipity of digital existence, but at the ending of the novel even this has been closed. Along the same lines Windust had experienced an alternative world via the Mayan folktales that he’d heard in the Guatemalan towns he visited- a world where violence didn’t play out on television screens or in the virtual world of the infant internet but came creeping out of caves. It wasn’t he that used a cattle prod, but his alternate self from the underworld that did the dirty deeds.

Aside from reminding us how the U.S. entered the 21st century, Pynchon looks back at our government’s involvement in Central America. The book keeps reminding the reader that there was a dubious American presence in Central America in the late-70s all the way to the 90s. The 21st century for Windust was his departure, he had done the dirty work. Windust, a U.S. citizen, led a secret life abroad, returning to the world of Xibalba- a foreign world. Abroad, he would merge with the crowds, but remained an outsider, and back in New York he became part of the outside class. His obsession with the Mayan underworld is similar to the world that characters living in New York have digitally.

Pynchon’s characters escape from the hell-like conditions that begin to grow and spread in Central America. They also escape the “meat” world of New York as they embark into a digital space where random meetings take place, like a new frontier. For those in the South the frontier is dangerous, teeming with injustice and the only frontier to flee to is the north. DeepArcher keeps getting more and more popular, similar to how many social media companies came to be. Pynchon gives readers a glimpse into life in the U.S. months before the attack on the Twin Towers, describing the realities middle to upper middle class society were experiencing- a time when new technologies were beginning to be used and if you had the money for these new toys then you’d get them. The internet was just beginning to blow up and people were adapting to all the new changes that were happening.

Those living in New York came and went as they pleased, they left for California and returned with a tan, they traveled to a ranch in the Midwest and flew back scruffy and dirty to a spacious apartment or condo. In 2001, I too left my family and went to study in South Korea. I had only been there a few weeks when 9/11 burst into our psyche. I was in my own alternate reality trying to make it, attempting to adapt, and once I could navigate through East Asian cities and countries I returned home. The novel ultimately is about our return and remembering those things that keep us grounded, like family but also dreams and acceptance that over time things get better. Despite the tragedies that people faced at all levels of reality, there was a return and a settling, and one can breathe with a sense of ease as things get back to a new normal.

A New Conquest

 A New Conquest

By Armando Ortiz

Imagine drones rising above clouds

measuring the heights of the Andes

going a thousand meters above valleys,

imagine online pages tipping the balance of choice

causing chaos in those rural mountains

an uproar alights the high altitude villages,

close your eyes and see cathedrals falling

as unseen lenses hone in on its towers

everything now exposed for the world to see,

dreams of being watched 

and movements monitored

become a ticking reality. 

Our brave new world is here

the future happens now 

our faces recorded for eternity,

a new cavalry of empire builders

fly over the world making decisions

droning over who gets what,

remember the last Inca emperor, Atahualpa

and the overwhelming support of his people

scattering at the lightning crack of a canon,

recall Cuahtemoc who welcomed strange visitors

to his shimmering palace of quetzal feathers

only to be tied and executed for being of the devil,

musket fire and thundering sound

making SoCal natives shutter

running to the mountains and waiting.

An old world had landed on this world 

forever transformed the evolution 

man continuing recklessly as before,

this new world has returned

an order forcing change

turning of the corner for humanity,

this is the future

a new conquest

the way that will be,

creeping demons emerge from Xibala

that stars cannot decipher

but all humanity must adapt to,

gods no longer communicate with stars

they transmit dictums through glowing screens

denatured and desensitized with unfamiliar sounds.

Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park: Road Trips from Los Angeles

Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park

By Armando Ortiz

This place is an emerald in the north of California. It is a beautiful spot that will make you return again and again for many years to come. If you decide to camp here make sure to stay at least four days, minimum because that is the time needed to really take in everything that there is in this area. You’ll see giant redwoods on your hikes, wild animals around, beaches that seem untouched by corporate development, and if you are respectful and keep your distance everything will be fine.

You will know that you are nearing this park because redwood trees will suddenly make their majestic presence known to you. You arrive at the park and take a lane that gives you a taste of the experience that you will be having. Entering Prairie Creek State Park there is a meadow that sorta makes one think of a giant footprint that was left there centuries ago. It might have very well been an old Grizzly from the Shasta region as he was laying out the trees and left the mark there, but that’s a totally different story. The likelihood of seeing elk is high since a group lives in the area.  

There are reservable campsites, some cabins, a small stream that runs through the park, and many hiking trails for all levels to explore. If considering a trip to the Northern Coast then this is a must for anyone. There is a prairie adjacent to the camp where Elk eat and lounge there during the day. Some of the trails are short and take you to the Old Tree, and Cathedral trees. There is a 16 mile round trip trail that takes you all the way to the beach and along the way you walk through the redwood. Leaving early you at times might feel that you are alone and the only one on the trail. Driving north 30 minutes from the park you reach Crescent City which is a few miles away from Jedediah State Park, another treasure trove of redwoods in California, which at the edge of the park is the Smith River, an excellent place to spend some time swimming and lounging.

Come prepared to stay here a few days and take into account the distance that you will be traveling. It took us about 12 hours total driving from Los Angeles to the Redwoods. Make sure to stock up in Arcata where there are several markets where food, drinks and ice can be purchased. Also, in case you forgot an outfit then there is also a Walmart and a Costco nearby. Also, it would be good to fill up on gas once in Arcata, though there is a Native American reservation, the Yurok Nation, that has a gas station and their prices are much lesser than what is the norm in towns and cities across California. Enjoy your visit!

MacArthur Park: Santos Explores the Neighborhood

 MacArthur Park: Santos Explores the Neighborhood

By Armando Ortiz

Santos returned home in the evening and was unusually chatty. He kept talking about all sorts of things. Bella had already cooked for the three of them. It had been a long time since he’d had yucca frita with chicharon, fried cassava with fried pork, a common staple back in many Central American countries. This was a comforting reminder that now he was with family. He ate his dinner and kept talking about his adventure earlier that day. Bella ate her food and listened to everything he animatedly said. As she took a bite of the crispy end of the pork bit that she had in her hand, her eyes turned to Betsy, who sat listening to her uncle’s story. Santos just kept talking and talking about how good the food was, savoring every bit of curtido and pork. Only once did mention getting his papers. 

“This is the best chicharon I’ve had since I left home, you really nailed the flavors of mom! Mmm, mmm, so good,” he said with a satisfied face.

“Y la mica?,”she finally interjected. 

He paused for a moment, licked his fingers, reached for the paper roll, tore a paper towel and wiped his hands. He dug into his right pocket and pulled out his green card. He was no longer Santos, instead he was Raymundo Toledo. 

Every morning everyone seemed to wake up after Bella took a shower, soon afterward Betsy would go into the bath, where mom would scrub her down. Then it was Santos, who would wake up last. He seemed to relish the extra hour from when Bella awoke. He knew he’d have to cook his own breakfast. He’d been in LA two weeks and had yet to find a job. He’d tell Bella that he was going out and meeting with old friends who worked in factories, hotels and other odd places. Once he was outside, he’d just disappear and merge with the crowds of people and the midday traffic, everything being flooded by that bright Southern California light. He’d come back home late in the evenings around the time when the city noise toned down for a bit and you could hear the buses pull up and leave.

Santos couldn’t believe that he’d made it to LA. He’d gone back and met up with Jose a couple of times who took him to have a giant burger at a place that was on 3rd street near Union Ave. Jose loved many things. He loved smoking his money on weed. One of his other loves was eating burgers. He also loved watching the high school girls that streamed bye in the afternoon, trying to get their number. After eating and talking to some girls they’d just walk around and see the movement of people and cars. All the cars would just swish on by and he’d just stare and imagine himself driving down Alvarado Street. 

Back home inside the brick building his sister would ask him how his job searching was going and he’d say that it was a struggle finding a job. What he really was doing was hanging out with his friend. Jose worked on the streets trying to get passersby to buy miccas, social security, identification cards and weed. MacArthur Park was the mecca for such transactions and the demand was endless. Every day people from different parts of Latin America, Europe and Asia came to this area only to buy fake papers.Santos didn’t feel right about what was happening and although he liked watching the hustle and bustle he knew that he had to try to get something legitimate.

One day as he was walking along 9th street on his way home, when he saw a sign that read, se necesita ayuda, help wanted. There was someone across the street washing some barrels with a hose. The water drained onto the side of the street and slowly moved towards Bonnie Brae St. He entered the building and inquired about the sign posted outside. The woman behind the counter had permed hair with curls, she said that the site was a popsicle factory and that work started at 3am and ended by 12 noon or you went in at 1pm and clocked out at 10pm. The factory made popsicles at night, and by the time all the popsicles of the day were done and  gone, the factory had to be cleaned up. There were two positions available: mixer or cleaner. Mixer started at 3am, while the cleaning job started at 1PM and ended in the evening.

They engaged in small talk. She was from El Salvador and had been in LA for almost two years. She was taking classes at Evans Adult School, attending night school taking English courses to improve her English skills and also to hopefully get a GED.

 “Your chances of getting a better job improve if you have a little paper that says you completed this much education.” She used her hand as if she actually held the frame of the certificate in her palms and said, “with a certificate you can make more money, and with money life gets easier.” 

“I’ll think about which position best suits me. I’ll return tomorrow with an answer,” he told her as he looked around in the office. The office was decorated by different colorful posters advertising their popsicles that were either water or milk based. One of the posters had LA PRINCESA written across in cursive. For a moment he got lost in thought and remembered eating helados, popsicles, with his grandparents when they’d take a trip to the capital city to visit relatives or to take care of official business like requesting a birth certificate or identification..

 “Here, take a card,” she said as she handed him a business card with the factory’s phone number from the stack that was laid out on the counter of her desk. He returned to where he was, and responded, “I live around the corner not far from here, I think getting here is faster than trying to find change to make the call,” he said shyly with a smile. “I’ll take one, just in case,” as he took the card he saw La Princesa on the upper left hand corner of the card. It was a dark red logo.

She smiled and replied, “I know how it is, that was me not so long ago. Bueno, buena suerte con todo y lo miró pronto aquí.” 

“Thanks,” he said. 

He turned around, and stepped out of the office and on to the flood of light. A couple of cars hummed on bye. His eyes squinted on the way out, but the sun’s rays were quickly soothed by a cool breeze coming from the west. He walked towards Alvarado St, he turned to see the building and noticed the factory logo again, La Princesa, he kept his stride and once he got there turned north, and continued walking towards the park. Things were looking good.

Cormac McCarthy's The Crossing: Comparative Book Review

Cormac McCarthy’s The Crossing: Comparative Book Review

By Armando Ortiz

Wolves once roamed freely in all of North America, and by the early-20 century they had been exterminated in the U.S. The novel The Crossing by Cormac McCarthy is set in the early-20 century right before the start of World War Two and years after the last wolf was killed in the U.S. It tells the story of Billy Parham who ends up taking three trips into Mexico, which in a way become his rite of passage. This essay examines Parham’s journeys into Mexico and explores the similarities and differences between characters in Cervantes’ Don Quixote de la Mancha and Rulfo’s Pedro Paramo, as they embark on unexpected adventures in their quest for answers in various landscapes. More specifically it will analyze the dialogue that occurs between characters and also the journey as a road where the story unfolds and parallels each other.

Parham initiates his journeys with the search of a wolf that’s been causing havoc throughout the community’s countryside which is located near the Animas Mountains in the Southwest corner of New Mexico. He catches the she wolf, and instead of exterminating it decides to repatriate the canine back into Mexico. It is believed that that is where she came from, and therefore belongs there. He ends up going into the Northern Mexico state of Sonora. His second and third trips are journeys into Mexico again. On his second time he goes with his brother in search of some stolen goods, but then he gets abandoned by his younger brother.

A unique aspect of McCarthy’s book is its similarities to Cervantes’ Don Quixote. It is as if McCarthy in some way taps into Cervantes’ energy in his descriptions of the rural landscapes, like the vistas or highpoints of mountain ranges. The landscapes that their characters see and the people they meet randomly while on their journeys are very similar. Both writers have characters that travel the countryside that seem to have been abandoned. In addition to their shared journeys through the countryside, both works portray characters facing significant migrations for different reasons.

In Cervantes’ world people have departed to other places, to colonize the Americas, joined the Spanish armadas, or gone into the church ministries. In McCarthy’s world, people are migrating north due to natural disasters like drought and earthquakes, as well as invasions by Americans and Apaches, which have ravaged Northern Mexico and its  towns. The steady stream of people that are emptying out the countryside end up in the U.S. In both narratives people have abandoned their place of origin to strike their luck in new lands. Nevertheless, the main characters’ journey begins in the places that people have abandoned.

Those that have stayed in the northern Mexican countryside are gypsies, communes where people share and work for the benefit of the community- ejidos, other people just stayed behind for various personal reasons, like mormons or native communities that resisted the Spanish, Americans and now Mexicans. In McCarthy’s novel the characters living in Mexico seem to be relics of a life that no longer existed in the US, a certain generosity that is open to any possibility that might arise.

In the U.S. Parham continuously comes across barbed wire fences, and homes have dogs that monitor all the activities, and Native Americans, like the wolves of the American Southwest, seem to be more a myth than a reality but still very much alive. In Mexico the land is there to explore and people seem more generous and willing to help- its a common characteristic. There are many meetings in Parham’s travels where people share their food with him.

In contrast to the sparse dialogues in McCarthy’s narrative, Cervantes masterfully depicts extensive dialogues between his characters. Similar to Cervantes, he describes what was and how people interacted with each other while on the road- offering and sharing with each other whatever they had to passerby in need of help. Yet in McCarthy’s world the danger and likelihood of being robbed or killed is there, like a shadow in the background. He paints images that were unique to the Southwest US and Northern Mexico in the mid-20th century along the same lines as Cervantes does when describing the Spanish countryside. 

In The Crossing characters rarely engage in lengthy dialogues, possibly because Parham travels alone most of the time. The experience of a poverty stricken solo traveler differs significantly from that of a pair of gregarious and loquacious friends like Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. Parham’s companions are his family, people who already know him well. Their brief discussions convey a sense of familiarity, often implying more than what is explicitly said. The dialogues that do take place are with people like the native shaman or the lone ex-Mormon living a hermit’s life from the perspective of the people that are talking to him. Not so much discussions as monologues to the various reasons we exist in this world. Yet his wanderings and his dialogues with people after a while begin to take the shape of a world that is devoid of conversation. Parham’s quest for his brother parallels the search portrayed in Juan Rulfo’s novel Pedro Paramo.

This sparse use of dialogues and the eerie atmosphere further echo the haunting journey experienced in Rulfo’s novel. As the narrative unfolds, a sense of familiarity begins to emerge. It's as if Parham, like Juan Preciado in Pedro Paramo, were traveling through a land created by Juan Rulfo. At some point you begin to wonder if Parham is a wandering soul in search for his relative, trying to find his way, in lands where he once called home, like Preciado experiences. As in Rulfo’s narrative, roads at times are empty, dangers exist, and you really don’t know who runs the places that Parham treads on. When a mozo brings him his horse the servant calls out for “el joven Parramo.” It is as if Cormac were making allusions between his characters and those that exist in Rulfo’s narrative.

McCarthy’s descriptions of Northern Mexico and Southern New Mexico follow Cervantes’ descriptions of the Spanish countryside. Lunch and breaks are taken along passes with vistas that one can almost see or along rivers where poplars border the water's edge and wave at you as you follow the flow of the story. In both there is kindness sharing, and there is compassion expressed by people willing to help Parham both in the U.S. and in Mexico. Even though, both Parham and Don Quixote have different personalities, their experiences and lessons learned are through their travels and interactions with other people. Just like Parham searches for places and relatives, so does Preciado, and both seem to explore lands that are dangerous, desolate, and ghostly. McCarthy skillfully fits his novel right amidst works celebrated for compelling characters, picturesque landscapes, and engaging dialogues. Furthermore, the story exemplifies the human instinct to search for answers even in seemingly barren places, leading to profound and distinctive experiences.

In conclusion, The Crossing by McCarthy, with its evocative portrayal of journeys, resonates with Cervantes’ Don Quixote and Juan Rulfo’s Pedro Paramo. Parham’s quest into Mexico reflects the human desire for meaning and connection in vast landscapes. The ghostly atmosphere, sparse dialogues, and eerie towns in The Crossing parallel the mysterious journey in Pedro Paramo, evoking a sense of familiarity across time and cultures.

While Parham and Don Quixote differ in their personalities and companions, they share the essence of travel as a transformative experience. Parham’s family provides comfort and connection, while Don Quixote’s companions offer contrasting perspectives.

The Crossing, Don Quixote, and Pedro Paramo stand as literary masterpieces that transcend time and cultural boundaries. Their exploration of human nature and the indomitable spirit of adventure provide enduring reflections on the human condition. As we follow the paths of Billy Parham, Don Quixote and Juan Preciado, we are reminded of the interconnectedness of all journeys, both physical and metaphysical, and the profound impact they have on shaping our lives. 

Ultimately, these works exemplify the human instincts to search for answers, even in seemingly desolate places, leading to unique and profound experiences. They remind us of the significance of human connections and the transformative power of our quests for meaning and understanding.

Breaking Boundaries

 Breaking Boundaries

By Armando Ortiz

-Mountains

These words flow

like the water that cuts through 

the Manzanar detention center,

exiting rusted barb wire fences

hiking up the alpine trails

dreaming of swimming icy waters,

dead wind passing between bones

brittle and cold, a makeshift cry

a cairn shrine with jagged horizons.

-Deserts

These words wander

like sweaty bronzed bodies walking north

that are captured and caged,

brushing against the golden ocotillo

traversing strange desert canyons

digging for water to soak the mouth,

midnight howls between rock and femur

stinging nights, pounding afternoons

baked boulders glowing at night. 

-Seas

These words wash up on the coast

swollen bodies float ashore 

the last breath of hope is spoken,

determined they boarded

sailing north, crossing the gulf

anxious to step on land,

waves drown out wails

tempestuous night crashing balsas

paper boats drifting like torn flags. 

-Highways

These words hum

wails drowned out by endless rolling

exhausted, the car is spewing black clouds,

crammed like sardines 

every breath is a last stand

seeking air as tolerances squeeze,

each exhale closer to that edge of delirium

holding back tears, but other’s cries pass

bodily fluids mix and the journey is at the brink.

-Skies

If words were ants they’d fly on drones

hover over the border and celebrate 

a grand entrance from sky to the floor,

like tiny spiders we’d float in the air past the walls

climb up to the highest tree on a windy day

and weave a string that would take us away,

if we had money we’d buy a new identity

then go to an embassy and apply for a visa

better yet, we’d enter as tourist and never return,

clouds are puffy with no worries to ponder

too old and wasted, but our children 

youth and energy can still make it.

-Perimeter patrols

These words are surrounded by mountains

barren land amongst tattered buildings 

barbed wire making cages,

breakthrough the boundaries

cancel the reservations

and escape from the ghetto,

boxes where we get encased

mind boundaries of color and identities

legal walls surround the body and mind,

take back what was lost

regain freedom and reconnect with earth

communities unite and break the gates.

Hiking White Mountain Peak Trail: Road Trips From Los Angeles

White Mountain Peak Trail, The White Mountain Wilderness of California

By Armando Ortiz

The White Mountain Wilderness hike is a visit that brought me great pleasure. Driving from Los Angeles, I took Interstate 5 north and continued on highway 14 until I eventually reached U.S. Highway 395. From there, I drove on the 395 until I reached Big Pine, CA, and soon afterward turned on highway 168, which heads east. After a few miles of climbing, I reached a slight plateau that led me to the intersection with White Mountain Road. This road takes you all the way to the White Mountain Peak Trailhead. 

It took me four hours to reach Grandview Campground, where I camped for the night. The Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest Visitor Center is about 15 minutes away from here, but this time does not include driving the final fifteen miles of gravel road, which can take up to an hour and a half.

One of the highlights of hiking this trail is the drive up to the trailhead, and how the terrain changes as you drive. Starting from the valley, I wound my way up to camp, driving through narrow canyons that took me through lime green pinyon groves. The road to this area is steep and winding, but the views are fantastic. Later, I learned that Native Americans seasonally lived in the pinyon sections of the mountains, harvesting the nuts inside pinecones and making homes from the bark of the tree. They also formed artificial ponds to have water accessible to them throughout the year. As you continue, pinyon trees get replaced by dark green junipers as big as oak trees, producing a purple berry that was also harvested and processed by the Paiute-Shoshone people. 

Additionally, this hike requires a car with good ground clearance to reach the trailhead. Although the dirt road to the trailhead is only 15 miles, the rocks and gravel  make it so that it takes more than an hour. So, as you plan this trip, take this into consideration. There is a camp 5 miles away from where the road turns into dirt - Grandview Campground. This place is an excellent spot for stargazing and a good rest stop.

The next morning, as I drove to the trailhead, I began to see fauna that you hardly see anywhere else in California, such as the ephedra plant, and mountain sagebrush. In addition, the juniper trees found at Grandview Campground were huge compared to other groves I saw in Utah on my visit to Zion National Park.  As these groves begin to thin out, ancient bristlecones begin to appear in small patches that top the slopes of the mountains. There is a grove of trees along this road called the Patriarch Grove that has a tree called Methuselah, and it is supposed to be 4,854 years old. You drive into an ecosystem that lives according to its own time, and its reality is far more enduring than all our lives.

Regarding the hike, make sure to pack snacks along with the 10 basic essentials for hiking. The fifteen-mile trail is a round trip hike with an elevation gain above 3,000 feet, so being well-prepared is of utmost importance. I remembered to put my phone on airplane mode to be accessible along the trail since the GPS continues to work even in airplane mode, making it convenient. Nevertheless, the trail is well defined, and seeing the directness of the path allowed me to focus on other matters.

As I started the hike, the trail’s grade was steep, but I paced myself, and all was fine. If you are unsure if you can make the hike to the top or because the fear of AMS is lingering on the back of your head, make the first section to the Research Center your goal. Then, try hiking about two more miles before you reach the high valley, where you will be granted a downward slope. 

Along this section of the trail, I occasionally spotted marmots watching my every move, and the clouds on both sides seemed out of this world. The ancient people would seasonally hike to these areas and hunt mountain sheep, processing the meat on top of the boulders laying across the ridge and valley. The brief descent was pleasant compared to the work ahead because once you hit the bottom, it will be all climbing, with the elevation increasing. Along the way, a runner passed me by, and a few minutes later a person who looked as if they had camped at the top of the mountain.

As I reached the high point at the other end of the valley, I began to see White Mountain Peak. Hiking this section feels like a dream because you feel like you’re walking on land floating in the clouds. The rocky trail that snakes itself to the top is also visible from here. Turning around, I could see the progress I’d made, enjoying views of the solitary valley that is peppered with boulders, wildflowers and unique wildlife. 

Next, I followed the trail down and soon found myself descending to the base of the ancient volcano, where I had to begin the climb once again. I ascended, and the air became crisp and thin, making breathing a conscious effort. At times I wondered if I was winded and needed to turn around, but my legs kept pushing forward. Upon reaching the point where there is an outcropping of black rock, the wind began to pick up, and I began second-guessing myself. The winds felt unusually strong, and looking around, I realized I was exposed to nature’s whims and desires. I paused for a moment, feeling the light drizzle, and could see the mountain ranges on the other side of the Owens Valley. 

I kept climbing, and the trail became rocky. The colors of the path seemed to change into darker and muted colors, black, rusty reds, and oxidized browns. I reached a point where there was a big snow patch blocking the trail, but the path took a sharp left turn, with small cairns serving as sign posts, reminding me that I was approaching a special place. The climb was steep, and at this point, I was taking breaks every couple of steps, but I knew that somehow I was nearing the top. 

Reaching the summit of White Mountain Peak, I was awestruck getting sight of melting ice forming trickling rivulets, splitting and flowing delicately towards the lower valleys thousands of feet below. This is where water originates, these mountains are sacred. But then again, our whole earth is just really a magical place. The views from here were incredible, with the Eastern Sierras in view, the southern mountain ranges I was hiking, and parts of Western Nevada. At the top. you look around and are in awe of everything. If you get near the edge, you’ll see drops that are hundreds of feet down- scary.

Driving to the trailhead takes you through many old trees, some of which look like they have been uprooted naturally, while others may have been affected by the road system that was recently built, according to human years, impacting these delicate groves. Driving through here is like a continuum into this other world, a vortex or earth ventricle of time and reality. You truly don't appreciate the sights until you drive through here and touch the trunks of these ancient ancestors. Later, as I was descending the trail, I suddenly heard the singing of a bird. As I searched for the origins of the sound, I saw a small bird with a yellow crest, and black horns. At this point, I felt like being at this high elevation was really having an effect on me. Later, I discovered that it was a horned lark greeting me along the trail. As I walked past the bird, I could see that I was actually walking on an Alpine saddle that was perfect for hunting.

Knowing that one can escape into such a different world that is actually tangible and yet so far from our daily lives makes hiking and the search for such adventures invaluable. It's one thing to visit temples and buildings that were built hundreds of years ago, but to drive through groves that are thousands of years old, to see rocks that had been in some way affected by humans that were in these areas hundreds if not thousands of years ago, made me reflect on how our interactions with nature are sacred and very special. On my return home, I did some research and found an online edition of the book Natural History of the White-Inyo Range: Eastern California published by the UC system, which provided me with valuable information in writing this piece.