PINNACLES NATIONAL PARK: Primo Hiking Along the West Fork of Chalone Creek Among Towering Rock Formations Inspires Awe and Reverence
Feathery blue late winter days
– or is it early spring? – cry out for an exotic setting. How about tropical
lassitude on the Big Island or a quick Baja excursion to the Sea of Cortez.
Failing that, could you believe an unexpected Southwest style adventure! Yes, a
desert-like environs awaits not far from the raw Bay Area – just head inland,
south, less than two and a half hours driving distance. Beyond do you know the
way to San Jose. Past Morgan Hill and the unseen rugged hills of Henry Coe
State Park to the east. Zipping by the quaint historic California biker town of
San Juan Bautista. Blowing past garlicky Gilroy. Barely a nod to the famous
Steinbeckian town of Salinas. Farther south than you ever remembered down a
nasty stretch of Highway 101. Finally, at the stalwart town of Soledad, you
pull off the freakin’ freeway, tense and with a bladder about to burst.
Soledad California,
population 26,200, 190 feet abo
ve sea level in Monterey County; claim to shame:
two notorious prisons and the 13th of Alta California Missions - Mission
Nuestra Señora de la Soledad. (Although it’s doubtful city leaders consider
either institution anything to be ashamed of.) Soledad CTF (Correctional
Training Facility) is one of California’s original 12 prisons, built in 1946,
and has housed an array of infamous cons over the years, notably Soul on Ice author
and Black Panther leader Eldridge Cleaver, and serial killer Juan Corona. The
other – Salinas Valley State Prison – has been in the business of stockpiling criminals
since 1996. As for the Mission and Padre What’s-his-name. . .well, the inspired mission of California’s Missions
is a well-documented history of complete subjugation and abnegation. Soledad
Mission, founded in 1791 at the site of an Esselen Indian village on the
Salinas river, brought resident Indians into the fold with a firebrand quality of
religious zealotry. Translation: the padres were engaged in the insidious
business of genocide, whether they saw it t
hat way or not. If, say, you
happened to be a member of the venerable Chalone clan, and heaven forbid were
corralled, coerced or cajoled into giving up your “old ways” in order to be baptized
in a “civilized” lifestyle in the Mission, you were a casualty of that
genocide. Make no mistake, it was a concerted effort at the highest levels of
the ruling theocracy to destroy Native American culture. Combined with
horrendous decimation caused by lethal Euro-diseases like smallpox and
influenza, native peoples (not just in the Gabilan Range and California and all
of the United States, but of 
the entire Western Hemisphere) were robbed of their
heritage in a Manifest Destiny campaign of cultural destruction, enslavement
and death. For the area’s once strong numbered and proud Costanoan tribes, who
lived in the Salinas River Valley and along the rivers and creeks for thousands
of years, it was an almost overnight eradication of an entire lifeway - and
this at just one of California’s 21 Missions stretching across two-thirds of the
state.
ve sea level in Monterey County; claim to shame:
two notorious prisons and the 13th of Alta California Missions - Mission
Nuestra Señora de la Soledad. (Although it’s doubtful city leaders consider
either institution anything to be ashamed of.) Soledad CTF (Correctional
Training Facility) is one of California’s original 12 prisons, built in 1946,
and has housed an array of infamous cons over the years, notably Soul on Ice author
and Black Panther leader Eldridge Cleaver, and serial killer Juan Corona. The
other – Salinas Valley State Prison – has been in the business of stockpiling criminals
since 1996. As for the Mission and Padre What’s-his-name. . .well, the inspired mission of California’s Missions
is a well-documented history of complete subjugation and abnegation. Soledad
Mission, founded in 1791 at the site of an Esselen Indian village on the
Salinas river, brought resident Indians into the fold with a firebrand quality of
religious zealotry. Translation: the padres were engaged in the insidious
business of genocide, whether they saw it t
hat way or not. If, say, you
happened to be a member of the venerable Chalone clan, and heaven forbid were
corralled, coerced or cajoled into giving up your “old ways” in order to be baptized
in a “civilized” lifestyle in the Mission, you were a casualty of that
genocide. Make no mistake, it was a concerted effort at the highest levels of
the ruling theocracy to destroy Native American culture. Combined with
horrendous decimation caused by lethal Euro-diseases like smallpox and
influenza, native peoples (not just in the Gabilan Range and California and all
of the United States, but of 
the entire Western Hemisphere) were robbed of their
heritage in a Manifest Destiny campaign of cultural destruction, enslavement
and death. For the area’s once strong numbered and proud Costanoan tribes, who
lived in the Salinas River Valley and along the rivers and creeks for thousands
of years, it was an almost overnight eradication of an entire lifeway - and
this at just one of California’s 21 Missions stretching across two-thirds of the
state.
As for Soledad, marred by
agricultural stench but sandwiched between the very pretty Santa Lucia
Mountains to the west and the Gabilan Range inland – lo, the Pinnacles – well,
the fortunes of this down on its heels town may have taken a turn for the better
recently. In celebration of what Mayor Fred Ledesma has called “a once in a
generation opportunity,” Soledad is now officially the “Gateway to the
Pinnacles” – a city resolution passed in response to the Monument being named
the nation’s 59th national park. A city on the verge of greatness, poised to
lift itself up by its bootstraps and remake itself into bona fi
de tourist
destination. Translation: big changes afoot. “The potential boom to our local tourism
industry,” Ledesma gushed in a press release on February 13, “holds the
potential of fueling Soledad's continued growth well into the future. As city leaders, we must do everything we can
to seize upon this historic opportunity to maximize the benefits to our local
businesses and our many residents." Translation: big footprint. Wasting
little time, civic leaders have already begun carpe dieming to capitalize on
the frenzy of new wealth and tourist dollars expected to flow into this long
depressed part of otherwise tony Monterey Co
unty. To accommodate so many new
visitors – mostly global tourists who now think the place is worth seeing
because of its enhanced status as a National Park – the giddy municipality is planning
major infrastructural projects, such as installing route-finding signs,
building a by-pass, and embarking on a social media blitz to trumpet its
“Gateway” signature and proximity to award-winning wine areas. Translation: the
business community and local economies – small and large alike - are all for
it, understandably. But the threat of a Yosemite like crush o
f human traffic
looms. With the coming economic developments and infrastructural enhancements
befitting access to a new National Park, things are about to change in a big
way in these parts as the National Park Service and community politicians and businesses
gear up for the avalanches and crushes and jams of humans flocking to behold
the unique rock formations. Hopefully, the sensitive ecology of the Pinnacles –
and its n
ewly designated Hain Wilderness - will ensure extra special measures
and cautions to protect this most sacred of places. In February, Ledesma, outgoing
Secretary of the Interior Ken Salazar and US Senators Barbara Boxer and Dianne
Feinstein feted a delegation of elected officials in a christening ceremony,
vowing to preserve and protect it for all time. Finally, politicos doing
something good!
de tourist
destination. Translation: big changes afoot. “The potential boom to our local tourism
industry,” Ledesma gushed in a press release on February 13, “holds the
potential of fueling Soledad's continued growth well into the future. As city leaders, we must do everything we can
to seize upon this historic opportunity to maximize the benefits to our local
businesses and our many residents." Translation: big footprint. Wasting
little time, civic leaders have already begun carpe dieming to capitalize on
the frenzy of new wealth and tourist dollars expected to flow into this long
depressed part of otherwise tony Monterey Co
unty. To accommodate so many new
visitors – mostly global tourists who now think the place is worth seeing
because of its enhanced status as a National Park – the giddy municipality is planning
major infrastructural projects, such as installing route-finding signs,
building a by-pass, and embarking on a social media blitz to trumpet its
“Gateway” signature and proximity to award-winning wine areas. Translation: the
business community and local economies – small and large alike - are all for
it, understandably. But the threat of a Yosemite like crush o
f human traffic
looms. With the coming economic developments and infrastructural enhancements
befitting access to a new National Park, things are about to change in a big
way in these parts as the National Park Service and community politicians and businesses
gear up for the avalanches and crushes and jams of humans flocking to behold
the unique rock formations. Hopefully, the sensitive ecology of the Pinnacles –
and its n
ewly designated Hain Wilderness - will ensure extra special measures
and cautions to protect this most sacred of places. In February, Ledesma, outgoing
Secretary of the Interior Ken Salazar and US Senators Barbara Boxer and Dianne
Feinstein feted a delegation of elected officials in a christening ceremony,
vowing to preserve and protect it for all time. Finally, politicos doing
something good!
For now, things are still relatively
unhurried. At the trailhead parking lot at 10 am, though - ready for a big dose
of solitude in the countryside - you’re mildly dismayed at the number of cars alrea
dy
parked. In fact, the lot is full, crazy busy at mid-morning with hiking parties
scurrying around their vehicles, organizing daypacks, etc. Okay, it is a Saturday, but still. Translation:
just wait for the not-so-distant morrow when another couple of acres of
paradise will be paved over to accommodate two football field sized parking
lots for all the cars, RVs and tourist buses rolling in. It’s a-comin’, folks.
. .enjoy it while you can!
dy
parked. In fact, the lot is full, crazy busy at mid-morning with hiking parties
scurrying around their vehicles, organizing daypacks, etc. Okay, it is a Saturday, but still. Translation:
just wait for the not-so-distant morrow when another couple of acres of
paradise will be paved over to accommodate two football field sized parking
lots for all the cars, RVs and tourist buses rolling in. It’s a-comin’, folks.
. .enjoy it while you can!
On this picture perfect day, the
West Entrance entrances. In your mind, this side’s always been the lesser
visited. Certainly, the East Entrance boasts a bigger Visitor’s Center and –
big draw! – the only campground in the vicinity. And aren’t there more trail
options into more spectacular landscapes – otherworldly rock gardens of spires,
hoodoos and fins jutting skyward, attracting climbers from around the world.
Plus, it seems like the East Entrance is a nicer drive and 45 minutes closer to
boot. Still, the West Entrance en
trances. . .
trances. . .
There’s plenty of parking in
the overflow lot, which isn’t so bad, since a connector trail runs a quarter
mile through a sweet meadow you’d otherwise not take in, through a blessed
sanctuary of chaparral and rock where Western Bluebirds seem happy as can be
flitting from bush to bush. Resurrection Wall, a little old 2000 footer,
situated in this dry, rocky, rolling chaparral country, imbues a special
wilderness allure to the West Entrance approach. You can’t put your finger on
it; maybe it’s the enticing trail name
s: Juniper Canyon, High Peaks, Balconies;
maybe it’s the Southwest style look and feel of things – the park brochure
proclaims it to be a land of “massive monoliths, sheer-walled canyons, and
boulder-covered caves.” If that ain’t Southwest, nothing is. In the case of the
Pinnacles, such descriptive language is not farfetched. The Pinnacles, as
everyone might not know, painstakingly migrated up along the San Andreas Fault
from the deserts of Southern California over the agonizingly slow course of some
twenty million years. A third of it – the Neenach Formation – stayed behind 195
miles southeast, while the bulk of the volcano was carried – pushed – to its
present location, but not before having sank beneath the surface and then
exposed to the world by wind, rain and ice action which sculpted the rock
formations we see today. What a spectacle Neenach must have been at 15 miles
wide and 8,000 feet tall, before being split apart by the
Pacific plate and
conveyor belted to its present location. (In several millions more years, it
will be up near Seattle.)
s: Juniper Canyon, High Peaks, Balconies;
maybe it’s the Southwest style look and feel of things – the park brochure
proclaims it to be a land of “massive monoliths, sheer-walled canyons, and
boulder-covered caves.” If that ain’t Southwest, nothing is. In the case of the
Pinnacles, such descriptive language is not farfetched. The Pinnacles, as
everyone might not know, painstakingly migrated up along the San Andreas Fault
from the deserts of Southern California over the agonizingly slow course of some
twenty million years. A third of it – the Neenach Formation – stayed behind 195
miles southeast, while the bulk of the volcano was carried – pushed – to its
present location, but not before having sank beneath the surface and then
exposed to the world by wind, rain and ice action which sculpted the rock
formations we see today. What a spectacle Neenach must have been at 15 miles
wide and 8,000 feet tall, before being split apart by the
Pacific plate and
conveyor belted to its present location. (In several millions more years, it
will be up near Seattle.)
Reinforcing the Southwest analogy,
or perhaps belaboring it, the landscape and topography defy conceptions and
challenge expectations of Central Pacific Coast Range Californian scenery, in
this case the seemingly pedestrian Gabilan Range. What marvels could this 805
square mile enclosure hold, apart from the oddly out of place Pinnacles? With
several peaks registering 3000 ft.-plus elevations, the Gabilan is no slouch of
a range; it is constantly being shaped and reformed by tectonic plate action
from the San Andreas Fault where it straddles two competing crustal plates
bumpin’ ‘n grindin’ up against one another in a death squeeze. The Gabilan
Range has been exposed to the same severe erosive forces which created the
Pinnacles itself, so no dissing this little Range which, like Cache Creek,
Sutter Buttes, the Macayamas or some other unsuspecting string of mountains,
surprise and entice with their rugged ridges,
high peaks, valleys, forests and creeks. Anytime you get 3000 ft. elevations,
it’s big-time country, no matter the altitude, which, in the Pi
nnacles ranges
from 824 ft. to North Chalone Peak rising to heights of 3,304 lonely feet in a little
visited area. Yessiree, the Gabilan Range holds such marvels and secrets as to
be worthy of comparison to a veritable desert Southwest ecosystem, a place
where north meets south, west meets east, where floral and faunal communities
from each zone intermingle and survive endemically. And where seasonal water and
springs hold the key to life.
nnacles ranges
from 824 ft. to North Chalone Peak rising to heights of 3,304 lonely feet in a little
visited area. Yessiree, the Gabilan Range holds such marvels and secrets as to
be worthy of comparison to a veritable desert Southwest ecosystem, a place
where north meets south, west meets east, where floral and faunal communities
from each zone intermingle and survive endemically. And where seasonal water and
springs hold the key to life.
Once on the trail, with the
various hiking parties having dispersed, you relish the relative solitude. It’s
perfect mid-February 65 degree weather – early s
pring for sure! You couldn’t
ask for a better day – one of those “will it rain or won’t it” kind of days
that turns into a splendid summery sensation of mild temperatures and warm
sunlight coaxing shy poppies and springy paintbrush out of the ground. Ten in
the morning is a heavenly suspension of time in the fantastical fairy landscape.
The pretty meadow fronting the Grand Spectacle of the Pinnacles (you can see
them rising castle-like) is aflutter with birds taking advantage of the gentle
conditions. Momentarily, you’re mesmerized by a merry melody of unrecognized
songs chirping out from the brush. Before you’ve gone a fifth of a mile, you detect
evidence of the makings of a piss-ass creek. You suspect seasonally it must
turn into a raging California gusher but for now a piss-ass creek will have to
do, and besides, you LOVE piss-ass creeks like nobody else. You veer off the
trail avoiding a well-outfitted group of Japanese tourists marching by, one of
them curiously glancing back to see what it is you’re investi
gating down among the
tangles of brush and willows. Nothing much, just a dried out algid ribbon of
the West Fork Chalone Creek. Nothing could be more – exciting! Flowing through
this meadowy area, the West Fork Chalone Creek could easily be mistaken for,
ignored and overlooked as a piss-ass little nothing creek barely worthy of a
passing glance. Stagnant puddles, barely flowing water, what’s the big deal?
Several groups pass by, absorbed in their chattering and eyes glued to the
chaotic jumbles of boulders and rock formations jutting up and all around. The piss-ass
nothing little creek is a mere backdrop, an afterthought, invisible, actually.
A foot bridge farther up presents a perfect opportunity to just stop and take
in the scene, but no one stops or pays one iota of attention to this subtle
riparian ecosystem, this elusively apprehended water element manifesting in a Mediterranean
climate disguised as a Southwest paradise. No one is paying one iota of
attention to the West Fork Chalone Creek! And why would they – it’s just, as
you have said, a piss-ass little creek. And yet, no matter where manifested or
how powerfully, the allure of sacred water draws you to explore and plumb its
magical mysteries. As it hasn’t rained in a while, long
narrow stretches of the
West Fork have dried out into splotches of puddles in a rocky bed strewn with boas
of festooning moss, with dribs and drabs of water pooling modestly at the base
of colorful lichen-encrusted rocks. Notwithstanding its declared piss-ass
nothing status, this creek holds many charms and mysteries, some seen, others
intuited – but mostly the West Fork Chalone Creek is a precious refuge for the
vital ecological role it plays in supporting endangered habitat for 149 species
of birds, 49 mammals, 23 reptiles, 6 amphibia
ns, 68 butterflies, 40 dragonflies
and damselflies, nearly 400 bees, and many thousands of other invertebrates. Long
may you flow, Chalone Creek!
pring for sure! You couldn’t
ask for a better day – one of those “will it rain or won’t it” kind of days
that turns into a splendid summery sensation of mild temperatures and warm
sunlight coaxing shy poppies and springy paintbrush out of the ground. Ten in
the morning is a heavenly suspension of time in the fantastical fairy landscape.
The pretty meadow fronting the Grand Spectacle of the Pinnacles (you can see
them rising castle-like) is aflutter with birds taking advantage of the gentle
conditions. Momentarily, you’re mesmerized by a merry melody of unrecognized
songs chirping out from the brush. Before you’ve gone a fifth of a mile, you detect
evidence of the makings of a piss-ass creek. You suspect seasonally it must
turn into a raging California gusher but for now a piss-ass creek will have to
do, and besides, you LOVE piss-ass creeks like nobody else. You veer off the
trail avoiding a well-outfitted group of Japanese tourists marching by, one of
them curiously glancing back to see what it is you’re investi
gating down among the
tangles of brush and willows. Nothing much, just a dried out algid ribbon of
the West Fork Chalone Creek. Nothing could be more – exciting! Flowing through
this meadowy area, the West Fork Chalone Creek could easily be mistaken for,
ignored and overlooked as a piss-ass little nothing creek barely worthy of a
passing glance. Stagnant puddles, barely flowing water, what’s the big deal?
Several groups pass by, absorbed in their chattering and eyes glued to the
chaotic jumbles of boulders and rock formations jutting up and all around. The piss-ass
nothing little creek is a mere backdrop, an afterthought, invisible, actually.
A foot bridge farther up presents a perfect opportunity to just stop and take
in the scene, but no one stops or pays one iota of attention to this subtle
riparian ecosystem, this elusively apprehended water element manifesting in a Mediterranean
climate disguised as a Southwest paradise. No one is paying one iota of
attention to the West Fork Chalone Creek! And why would they – it’s just, as
you have said, a piss-ass little creek. And yet, no matter where manifested or
how powerfully, the allure of sacred water draws you to explore and plumb its
magical mysteries. As it hasn’t rained in a while, long
narrow stretches of the
West Fork have dried out into splotches of puddles in a rocky bed strewn with boas
of festooning moss, with dribs and drabs of water pooling modestly at the base
of colorful lichen-encrusted rocks. Notwithstanding its declared piss-ass
nothing status, this creek holds many charms and mysteries, some seen, others
intuited – but mostly the West Fork Chalone Creek is a precious refuge for the
vital ecological role it plays in supporting endangered habitat for 149 species
of birds, 49 mammals, 23 reptiles, 6 amphibia
ns, 68 butterflies, 40 dragonflies
and damselflies, nearly 400 bees, and many thousands of other invertebrates. Long
may you flow, Chalone Creek!
After a good deal of such dilatory
wanderings, barely covering any ground - which is the true definition of
“making good time” (and “making time good”) – you pick up the pace a bit, following
Balconies Trail as it winds in and out of sight beneath the towering ramparts
of Machete Ridge and the surreal Balconies Cliffs – a monstrous Canyonlands-like
f
ormation whose contours shift and rock your world at every turn in the trail.
It feels SO DAMN GOOD to be out moving in the chipper air, breathing gobfuls of
fresh O2, and enjoying a spectacular hike in a world-class place, you just want
to scream and shout! So you do! (AIIIIIIIIIAAAEEEEEYYAAAEE, while Gambolin’ Gal
looks at you crazy.)
ormation whose contours shift and rock your world at every turn in the trail.
It feels SO DAMN GOOD to be out moving in the chipper air, breathing gobfuls of
fresh O2, and enjoying a spectacular hike in a world-class place, you just want
to scream and shout! So you do! (AIIIIIIIIIAAAEEEEEYYAAAEE, while Gambolin’ Gal
looks at you crazy.)
The loop is more of a lasso –
a five miler and not very strenuous but still mildly punishing, owing to your
beat-up feet. Flushed with adrenaline, you don’t even feel it til back at the
car. Out on the trail, you’re lit up like your thirties. What a beautiful
place! A sumptuous day of changing scenery, mind-blowing topography, unexpected
microclimates, diverse vegetation, and intergraded ecosystems of woodland,
riparian, chaparral, and grassland. But, as you say about every pl
ace, it can’t
get any better than this. Not even smack dab in the middle of Canyonlands!
(Yeah, right!)
ace, it can’t
get any better than this. Not even smack dab in the middle of Canyonlands!
(Yeah, right!)
You take a breather in a
copse of stunted black oak to admire a balancing rock sculpture – a huge pink
egg resting on an even bigger pink egg. The configuration doesn’t photograph
well, but you obsess anyway over getting a good shot. Then you happen to look
up and spot a couple of black specks circling distant minarets – could they be
California Condors? Despite the distance, you’re pretty certain judging from
the nearly ten foot wingspan. This magnificent and magnificently ugly bird, nearly
driven to extinction, and still threatened today, is on the rebound thanks to
park wildlife management officials and other agencies and parties who have
ralli
ed to save it from the brink. This ancient creature, once common as a
turkey vulture across a vast domain, is now trumpeted as a signature recovery
species in its endemic soaring and roosting territory – the American Southwest,
and, yes – the Pinnacles. Through your fancy new binoculars, you’re able to
catch a white triangular patch under a wing, the identifying mark of the rare Gymnogyps californianus. Thrilled at
the remote encounter, you can barely put the binos away to continue on. At a
bend in the trail, you stop for another five minutes to admire a rock wall bathed
in radiant pastels of chrome, chartreuse, and mandarin colored lichen – a
polychromatic sampling of just a few of the nearly 250 distinct kinds of lichen
that paint the Pinnacles’ weather-beaten rocks.
ed to save it from the brink. This ancient creature, once common as a
turkey vulture across a vast domain, is now trumpeted as a signature recovery
species in its endemic soaring and roosting territory – the American Southwest,
and, yes – the Pinnacles. Through your fancy new binoculars, you’re able to
catch a white triangular patch under a wing, the identifying mark of the rare Gymnogyps californianus. Thrilled at
the remote encounter, you can barely put the binos away to continue on. At a
bend in the trail, you stop for another five minutes to admire a rock wall bathed
in radiant pastels of chrome, chartreuse, and mandarin colored lichen – a
polychromatic sampling of just a few of the nearly 250 distinct kinds of lichen
that paint the Pinnacles’ weather-beaten rocks.
You’ve now come to the loop
portion of the amazing trail system. At this juncture, you’re a mere six-tenths
of a mile in, but it’s been 3492 feet of trail packed with head-shakin
g marvels
and jaw-dropping distractions. A loop option takes you up and around on
Balconies Cliffs Trail, or down in and under along Balconies Cave Trail, where
Chalone Creek slashes through the entombed chasm – cave-like conditions created
when overhead boulders the size of freight cars loosened in earthquakes and
erosive forces and came crashing down to block sunlight from ever again
reaching the narrow gorge. The talus caves are open most of the year,
flashlights required, and respect commanded for the primary residents –
thousands of bats from 14 different species. Currently, the Western Mastiff bat
is occupying the cave, but that doesn’t let it stop you from scrunching your
way through constricting walls and low overhangs, then slithering down the cold
smooth lap of rock into the bowels of the cave for a moment or two alone in the
dark, dank tunnel wondering if a bat is going to swoop out or if you’d lose
your footing and go sliding down your rump 20 ft. for a nice souvenir or two. The
reverie is short-lived as a party of three kids and a Hijab-wearing woman come
shambling b
y, followed by people shining bright lights all over the place,
their amplifications ruining the dark sanctity of the underworld mystery cavern.
And then loud chatter, giggling, oohs and aahs from several more parties coming
through.
g marvels
and jaw-dropping distractions. A loop option takes you up and around on
Balconies Cliffs Trail, or down in and under along Balconies Cave Trail, where
Chalone Creek slashes through the entombed chasm – cave-like conditions created
when overhead boulders the size of freight cars loosened in earthquakes and
erosive forces and came crashing down to block sunlight from ever again
reaching the narrow gorge. The talus caves are open most of the year,
flashlights required, and respect commanded for the primary residents –
thousands of bats from 14 different species. Currently, the Western Mastiff bat
is occupying the cave, but that doesn’t let it stop you from scrunching your
way through constricting walls and low overhangs, then slithering down the cold
smooth lap of rock into the bowels of the cave for a moment or two alone in the
dark, dank tunnel wondering if a bat is going to swoop out or if you’d lose
your footing and go sliding down your rump 20 ft. for a nice souvenir or two. The
reverie is short-lived as a party of three kids and a Hijab-wearing woman come
shambling b
y, followed by people shining bright lights all over the place,
their amplifications ruining the dark sanctity of the underworld mystery cavern.
And then loud chatter, giggling, oohs and aahs from several more parties coming
through.
Gambolin’ Gal’s waiting
patiently for you in the shade near a Gaudiesque configuration of piled up
rocks. Emerging from the shadowy world of the talus caves, it is so bright you
need to put on your shades. Onward you go, hand in hand now, through a sparse
forest of California buckeye, dogwood, and other near-to-bloom trees framing
picturesque views of stark crags and ridge lines, contou
rs highlighted by the
changing light conditions. The creek bed is now a fossil of itself, with
occasional hints of the precious stuff shining up from neglected nooks of the
creek like broken pieces of mirror. You linger to admire the mis-en-scene, agog
at the simple beauty of things, the solitude and quiescence, even with “all the
people” around.
rs highlighted by the
changing light conditions. The creek bed is now a fossil of itself, with
occasional hints of the precious stuff shining up from neglected nooks of the
creek like broken pieces of mirror. You linger to admire the mis-en-scene, agog
at the simple beauty of things, the solitude and quiescence, even with “all the
people” around.
Up on Balconies Cliffs trail,
you’re in Hiker Heaven, a splendid area with big views of craggy spires and
funky fins, of love-it-to-your-bones big rolling rugged chaparral hill country.
Much of the Pinnacles, you’ll have us know it, is just that. Trails leading
along the various forks of Chalone Creek -
North and South Wilderness Trails – lead into this big back country of
the Gabilan Range, into an untouched world, remote enough, ironically,
surrounded as it is by Monterey County and San Benito County development money.
It warms your heart to think that this land of the piss-ass nothing little creek
will forev
er provide refuge, shelter, and life-sustaining gifts for its
inhabitants. Long may they roam, crawl, slither and fly!
er provide refuge, shelter, and life-sustaining gifts for its
inhabitants. Long may they roam, crawl, slither and fly!
As the trail wends down, one
fork leads to the exit of the talus caves, which you explore later, and one
forks to the Old Pinnacles Trail which traverses three miles along the West
Fork Chalone Creek all the way to the East Entrance. The level path makes for
some mighty easy, leisurely strolling through an enchanting bay / oak / madrone
/ poison oak / dogwood arboretum. Lethargic water funnels in the creek along
whose banks and flood plain you’re hoping for a bonanza of birds. You meet a
pair of birders who rattle off a number of cool sightings, but you, you have to
content yourself with the juncos and scrub jays. With your feet starting to
burn, you put ‘er in low slow gear, relishing in the “sainthood” of your
saunter – a slow purposeful, meditative walk, in stillness and in silence,
appreciating the very tiny miracles found along the creek as it meanders
through a Diablo Range like landscape reminiscent of the remote Orestimba
Wilderness in Henry Coe State Park. You see frog eggs; deer tracks; a single
ladyb
ug; hairy coyote scat; a cilia of a worm on a nano-thin strand of web. The
creek opens up, a dry rocky stretch, barely flowing, but still endlessly
fascinating – this piss-ass nothing little dried up creek criss-crossing
through the land. You can’t explain your attraction, but it’s clearly evident
by the dozens of bad photos you take trying to capture the creek’s ineffable
beauty and magnetism.
ug; hairy coyote scat; a cilia of a worm on a nano-thin strand of web. The
creek opens up, a dry rocky stretch, barely flowing, but still endlessly
fascinating – this piss-ass nothing little dried up creek criss-crossing
through the land. You can’t explain your attraction, but it’s clearly evident
by the dozens of bad photos you take trying to capture the creek’s ineffable
beauty and magnetism.
Sun sunk low behind Machete
Ridge, time to head back. No more dilly-dallying, lingering, and hanging out;
no more protracting every possible moment into something grander. After quickly
checking out the talus cave exit, you return via the high loop trail, which
isn’t so bad, really. For with out ‘n backs, what you see coming back is completely
different from what you see on the way in. Scanning the rock wall what seems
500 ft. high, you spot four climbers plotting their next move, and watch until
one of them scales th
e tippy-toe high point of the knife ridge, now bathed in luminous
rays of light with the silhouette of the victorious climber etched against a
brilliant blue and gold backdrop. Like the condors, they are just specks in the
sky.
e tippy-toe high point of the knife ridge, now bathed in luminous
rays of light with the silhouette of the victorious climber etched against a
brilliant blue and gold backdrop. Like the condors, they are just specks in the
sky.
Late afternoon – or is it early
evening? - lighting creates an alpenglow sensation on high rock walls, defining
sharp contrasts to oddly shaped rocks. It takes forever to make it back, but
finally you do, after one more extended session in the can’t pull yourself away
from beautiful meadow. You salute Resurrection Wall. Lengthening shadows reach to the edge of
the sun-struck façad
e of Machete Ridge. You can’t take your eyes off it, so you
walk backwards part of the way, slowly, multi-tasking by watching for birds and
taking in the grandeur of it all. Only now, sitting on the edge of the car
trunk, shoes flung aside, do you feel the pain and ache in feet, ankles, shins,
knees and hips from all the walking, bushwhacking and climbing. Recovery time: a
couple of days, small price to pay. Got to do it again soon, because the secret’s
out - this place ROCKS!
e of Machete Ridge. You can’t take your eyes off it, so you
walk backwards part of the way, slowly, multi-tasking by watching for birds and
taking in the grandeur of it all. Only now, sitting on the edge of the car
trunk, shoes flung aside, do you feel the pain and ache in feet, ankles, shins,
knees and hips from all the walking, bushwhacking and climbing. Recovery time: a
couple of days, small price to pay. Got to do it again soon, because the secret’s
out - this place ROCKS!Read about Gambolin' Man's first visit ever to the Pinnacles @ http://gambolinman.blogspot.com/2006/11/pinnacles-national-monument-endless.html
Informative website: http://www.ohranger.com/pinnacles/natural-world
posted by Gambolin' Man at Tuesday, March 12, 2013
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