At the bend in the trail, just before the rise up to the meadow, Kevin stopped as his eye caught movement in the alders across the river.
The vague and shadowy shape flowed closer to the edge of the trees, becoming more distinct. A chocolate colored neck and ears slipped out into the open, a large tan body following behind.
The cow elk stepped to the edge of the river and looked back into the trees it had emerged from.
Two calf elk came stuttering out into the open, joining their mother. The cow elk looked in Kevin’s direction and watched him for several moments, nostrils flaring to catch his scent. The calves nuzzled each other and stamped at the river gravel, oblivious to his presence.
After the mother was satisfied he posed no threat, the trio moved along down river, probably headed for the shallow crossing around the next bend that elk in the area had grown fond of. Kevin remained still, watching them disappear into a clump of willows, and then continued on up the steady rise in front of him.
He entered the meadow underneath the expansive shade of ancient maple trees and into the glare of mid-day sun. A quick scan revealed that he had the clearing to himself.
He had figured that he would, considering nobody was supposed to be there. Following the well-worn path toward the camps at the far end, fluffy seed pods floated through the air on the breeze, and the waist high summer grass brushed his forearms.
He took a right branching path down to a camp secluded amongst a stand of young firs.
Dropping his pack next to a fire-ring of blackened river stones, he walked down to the river, below a slight embankment beyond the edge of camp.
The Elwha flowed slow and deep at this point, turning to faster ripples fifty yards down where it rounded a bend and encircled the meadow in a loose “U” shape. He dunked his head in the water to swirl it around and rinse the hiking sweat away.
Refreshed, he returned to his pack and fished around for a sack of almonds. He ate a handful while poking around the camp and stretching a little.
It was a favorable campsite, wide and level, but he’d be moving on. His intention was to camp far from the main trail.
He figured it would be prudent to camp away from well-used sites. Olympic National Park was officially closed, compliments of an inept government. But Despite their ineptitude, Kevin was still technically breaking their law.
He had heard of the park closure the evening before, and come dawn the next day his gear was in his pack and he was headed for the backcountry.
He had set out on foot because leaving a vehicle at the trailhead would be conspicuous, and he lived only two miles from the park boundary anyway.
Cutting through low forest lands, he crossed into the park, climbed up and over a ridge and into the Elwha River Valley three miles above the trailhead.
The route was steep and brushy, but he saw it as worth the effort. From there, he continued up the main trail without encountering anybody until reaching Elkhorn Meadow.
Finished with his rest stop, he re-shouldered his pack and set out into the meadow again. He soon stopped, spotting a man coming up the trail at the far side.
At first Kevin was concerned about the man’s presence, but as he watched him approach something about his demeanor caused the concern to melt away.
The man’s clothing strongly suggested he was not a park ranger, for starters. The attire had an antiquated, vintage look.
His hat was wide brimmed and looked of the sort you might water proof by rubbing a generous coat of paraffin wax on it.
Kevin could see that he also carried an old-fashioned external frame pack. It looked like an old Trapper Nelson. He’d never actually seen one in real life, only in the old black and white glossies of mountaineering history long since passed.
The man raised a hand and Kevin raised one in return, dropping his pack again and sitting on it.
As the man reached him, Kevin asked, “Committing a little civil disobedience as well?” “Always,” the man replied, dropping his pack and sitting down in the grass on the opposite side of the trail.
2
“This government shutdown is more than it seems to be,” the man said. “How do you mean?” Kevin asked. The man looked at the ground for a moment, then at the sky. At last he looked at Kevin. It was impossible to tell his age.
He could have been fifty five; he might have been seventy five. His gaze was direct and piercing, but at the same time made Kevin feel calm.
“Not so long ago,” he said, “there was balance here. On Earth, I mean. The planet was covered in ancient mature forests, grasslands, deserts and other natural, untrammeled states of beauty.
Wilderness was the rule, rather than exception. These ancient and beautiful wonders radiated incredible amounts of pure life energy.
The entire planet was, as I said before, balanced, in a cyclic existence, not linear, as we have come to perceive our lives.” He paused for a moment, his gaze never leaving Kevin’s face. Kevin nodded for him to continue.
“This energy that radiated from the ancient forests,” he said, “was not lost on the native peoples who lived among them for thousands of years, resonating with that energy and having their way of life shaped by it.
But since the dawn of industrial society, humans have been engaged in the subconscious act of conquering and eradicating these natural places under the guise of creating an economy.
Many would insist that an economy is essential to our survival and wellbeing, but this is a grand illusion.” He appeared charged to speak, so Kevin remained silent and let him roll on.
“It is not essential in the slightest to the survival of a human, but to the human ego, which has grown to parasitic proportions. The main threat to the human ego is the evolution of human consciousness.
The most direct and natural way for the human consciousness to evolve is to align with the energy that resonates everywhere in the natural world. This makes nature the arch enemy of the ego.
The ego is a kind of paradigm, which cleverly works in tandem with our analytical-tending minds and conspires to destroy nature. Ultimately, this is a futile task on the grand scale, but to a continued human presence on earth, it’s very destructive.”
He paused again, and looked back at the sky for a moment. As a breeze stirred up, the tops of the summer grass around them bent to the south.
They both watched the gust flow across the meadow and into the trees in one fluid motion.
When the breeze tapered off, the grass rebounded slowly skyward. Still looking away, the old man continued speaking. “Large numbers of people have been waking up to what is happening for a while now, but slower than anticipated.”
“Anticipated by whom?” Kevin asked.
The man only smiled slightly, then said, “These days, the ancient mature forests I spoke of are the exception rather than the rule, and the most direct doorway for a human to feel connected to cosmic order is hard to find.” It has been replaced everywhere with preoccupations, distractions, and other anxiety inducing, surface experiences.
The miniscule areas where a true wilderness still exists are found in the national parks. These places serve as a beacon to those who feel the cosmic connection. By going there, one can raise their energy vibration with little effort. It’s a natural result, often.”
“Now,” he said. “Back to this government shutdown. The government is not a government at all, but a collective ego.
A very destructive one, which has the collective ego of the PEOPLE to empower it. This shutdown they are threatening is not a shutdown for them, but a shut down for us, and our underlying humanity.
Facets of government that provide service to people are being shut down. By that action, the facets of government that exert control, you better believe they aren’t shutting those down, become much stronger.
One of the things being shut down is our national parks. The beacons I was speaking of. The only places left a person can escape the constant assault of programing to consume.”
“It’s not the government as individuals doing this, of course, but the government’s collective ego, aligned with the collective ego of the people, who have been trained to be anxious about their futures. Now you might say that this is a good thing that the government is no longer interfering with these natural, beautiful places and that we can at last enjoy them free of rule and regulation, and connect to nature all the more.
But that’s another illusion. The government isn’t giving them up at all, but keeping enough people around to keep the gates shut and properly police the area to prevent visitation, all under the guise of government shutdown.
No longer can these people, frequency holders you might call them, visit the natural energy centers of the earth and keep themselves aligned. The ability for humans to readily feel an earthly and cosmic connection becomes lost completely.”
“A silver lining for the industrial ego machine is that by making these lands inaccessible to the public; they have created room for the argument that the land should therefore be developed and its resources exploited.
The snakes slither and speak and the laws change.
A domino effect begins. If it said in the average person’s newspaper as he sat down to breakfast that the wilderness near his home was becoming lost to corporate interest he’d say ah gee that’s too bad, and then he’d move right along to the sports page.
A general apathy will prevail, and accompany us right over the brink.” He became silent.
“I think I’ve found a new backpacking companion,” Kevin said.
3
The old man walked up the trail and Kevin followed. It was a trail he had hiked many times. The turns, dips, inclines, rocks and roots… all as familiar to him as an old coat. He could have shut his eyes while walking and faired almost as well.
His new companion also seemed to have a fondness of the trail as well. His sandaled feet (somehow perfectly appropriate with his vintage attire) carried him forward at brisk pace, without hesitation.
It occurred to Kevin as they walked along that he had come to think of the man as old simply because of the air of wisdom he carried. His features didn’t immediately conjure the word old.
They moved steadily south as the river rushed past on their right, and the day progressed into late afternoon. Kevin’s body fell into the familiar fluid-like rhythm that accompanies long range hiking.
His pack settled into its just- right- niche on his back, the majority of its dead weight forgotten. He was slipping further with each step into an easy state of mind and being.
Suddenly and without pause, the old man turned toward the river and left the trail. Kevin followed along behind him and found himself on a well-used elk path that led down to the river’s edge.
The water was shallow here, and braided into channels. Kevin stopped walking and watched the old man cross the river with the same swift and effortless grace that he moved along the trail with.
He continued up the steep bank on the far side without looking back. Kevin pulled off his boots and socks, tied the boots together by the laces and slung them over the back of his neck.
Stuffing the socks in his pocket, he started barefoot into the current and followed along, wobbling and shifting on the rounded stones of the river bottom, arms outstretched for balance.
The surge barely rose above his knees, but was swift and strong. With relief, he reached the bottom of the steep bank on the river’s opposite side and sat down to put on his boots. He glanced over his shoulder to see the old man disappearing into the timber beyond the top of the slope.
Standing, Kevin walked back to the edge of the river and splashed some water on his face and hair, then turned and climbed up the bank.
He entered the trees at the top of the slope and into one of his favorite scenes, the primeval old growth evergreen forest. It was shadowy and cool and earthen-smelling.
The old man was leaning against an enormous Cedar tree twenty paces ahead with his eyes closed and head bent slightly forward, as if napping.
On Kevin’s approach, his eyes opened and he looked toward the forest canopy for a moment, then to Kevin.
Without a word, he turned and was off again, following the continuing elk path through the ferns. Kevin fell in behind him.
They walked on across a level forested bench with the sound of the river fading behind them and the late day sun slanting through the trees.
The ambience it created was a particular quality and tone of light that is only experienced in the forest at that time of day, when the afternoon bleeds into evening.
The world becomes indefinable and indistinct, made of elusive shapes cast in hazy shades of greenish-gold light that seems to change to almost purple as it reaches your feet on the forest floor. It’s something that evoked reverence in Kevin..
The level bench gave way to a steep slope, quite abruptly, where it abutted a ridge and the elk trail left the level bottom lands and climbed up the hillside.
The route wasted little time becoming steep, and they were soon finding it necessary to grab hold of trees to help propel themselves up.
The elk trail grew faint, and then disappeared completely without a trace, as they often do, leaving them to pick the route for ourselves.
They continued straight up, heading due west into the setting sun, which had dropped behind the ridge top above them. The forest was all in shadow now, the Douglas Firs and Cedars changing to Hemlock and Silver Fir as they climbed higher.
They traversed through thickets of Salal and Oregon Grape, then Blue Huckleberry and Mountain Azalea, slipping and sliding, grabbing onto stems, branches and roots to assist in the climb upwards.
The vegetation was cloying and slippery, but climbing would have been more difficult without it. The ground grew ever steeper, gaining tread more difficult. The trees became smaller, more stunted.
Then different trees began to appear, Mountain Hemlocks and Yellow Cedars, bunched together in little groups and fringed with heather, little glades opening up between, signaling their arrival into the sub-alpine.
As they continued up, the glades became small meadows, and then larger, open air meadows punctuated here and there with clumps of Mountain Hemlock and Sub-alpine Fir and everywhere pink flowering Heather.
Boulders large and small dotted the scene. Several snow patches occupied depressions in the landscape.
Late season Lupine and Indian Paintbrush lent a splash of brilliant color. True, the old growth forest below was one of Kevin’s favorite scenes, but the sub alpine meadows of the Olympics were his very favorite.
The way the life that existed in these meadows, its growing season so brief, yet so vibrant. The sub-alpine summers had a tangible energy in the air that was unlike other climate zones. No other place he visited had as charming or an alluring effect on him.
The ridge top was only a couple hundred vertical feet above them, silhouetted in a band of orange light. The old man climbed towards it with a measured and even pace, while Kevin huffed and puffed along behind.
They broke out onto the ridge top just as the sun was sinking below the western horizon.
The old man’s pace slowed considerably, and then he stopped next to a small snowmelt tarn and sat down. Kevin joined him a few feet away.
Their perch was a tiny meadow indented into the ridge top that dropped away steeply to the west into the isolated canyon of the Goldie River.
The ridge to the south climbed sharply toward the impressive bulk of Mt. Dana, blocking their view in that direction.
Aside from that obstruction, there was a near perfect panorama all around them. A few clumps of juniper and mountain hemlock, hunched and gnarled from exposure surrounded them, and then beyond; timbered and rocky topped ridges spiraling out and around, cast in the dusky hues of the coming twilight.
The canyon bottoms below were lost in the shading of the landscape, only the remote hiss of the rivers and creeks that flowed within them being heard.
The world was being bled of its color before their eyes, through the sky and horizon, as night crept in from the east.
To the north, over the spiraling ridges, the deep cobalt void that was the Strait of Juan de Fuca could be seen, and beyond that, the darker land mass of Canada.
Visible along the Canadian coastline were faint glimmers and pin points of light. The larger, twinkling smudge of Victoria B.C., showed up transient and specter-like in the distance.
They positioned themselves to face west, sitting cross legged in the little tufts of oat grass and sedge, looking towards the formidable and snowcapped bulk of the Bailey range and beyond that; the summit of Mt. Olympus, its jutting spires alight with the alpenglow of the fading sunset.
After several minutes of silent observation, the old man spoke for the first time since setting out.
“By sitting right here in this spot quietly for an evening”, he said, “You have more opportunity to gain insights and understandings through your own natural intuition than you ever could studying a life time in a classroom, library, or laboratory.
Of course, it would be detrimental to amassing material wealth, and contribute nothing to the growth of the economy.”
He looked at Kevin; eyebrows raised expectantly, a little bemused half-smile on his face. Kevin considered for a moment. “Maybe that’s why it’s essential,” he said.
The old man leaned back on his elbows, nodding and looked off into the horizon. Kevin reached into his pack for a small sack and emptied the contents of into his lap. Slowly, he began rolling a smoke.
The old man began speaking again.
“I spoke to you before about the loss of connection between humans and the Earth. This is a somewhat recent development, or maybe the word I should use is disease, as we have come to feel dis-ease towards natural states of being.
The notion that stillness is unproductive, that leaving a functioning eco system alone is a waste of “resources” and so on.
The perceived conflicts in the world are all results of that disconnect, and the direct culprit responsible for that disconnect is the burgeoning human ego, of which I mentioned before.
The ego is not who we are, but a level of awareness that individually and as a group we have come to live through. A level of awareness that we are trapped in. Consider it as the outer layer of your being, but making most of the decisions and doing most of the thinking.
Most of the average person’s thinking is no more than repetitive patterns, a loop track that rolls in their heads continuously.
Missing is a holistic awareness; awareness that most humans, except for brief moments, are without because it is obscured by thinking. Humans have become lost in thinking…egocentric thinking,”
“When the Europeans arrived in North America, instead of creating a new world, they created another Europe. They had a wonderful opportunity to take cue from the Natives and live a life in balance with the earth, but failed to see it. Instead, they killed off the Natives and began to systematically eradicate nature in whatever form she took.
People were taught the Puritan view, that wilderness was where the beasts of the dark one lurked, roaming alongside the bloodthirsty, godless savages, reveling in their heathenism.
The Puritan settlers saw the vast, unbroken forests of the new world as a realm of evil. They felt a driving need to clear it from the map, to lay claim and “civilize” it. It became something of a spiritual matter to them, holding an important religious imperative- doing “God’s work”.
You of course see the irony; carrying out Gods work by destroying God’s creation. “For God” turned into “for country”, “for patriotism”, “for the economy” and so on.
Down through the generations across the west and across time to today. It’s all the ego. It’s all imbalance. It’s all insanity.”
He fell silent. Night had bloomed over the mountains and the stars above them were striking and brilliant. Fishing his camp stove out of his pack, Kevin lit it and emptied his water bottle into a small pot and began to boil water for tea.
A chill had descended on their little perch, so he shrugged into his wool jacket. While the flame from the stove hissed and steam began to rise from the pot, he rolled another smoke.
A few feet away, light snores rose from the old man’s bedroll.
4
“There is a little more to tell, and something for you to see,” The old man said. They had left their previous perch and resumed their trek, dropping into the Goldie River drainage and crossing to the slope of the Bailey Range.
Gaining the lofty heights of the range had taken most of the day.
Kevin was wet and tired; an intermittent rain had been falling off and on all day since setting out, but now the clouds were lifting and the landscape was being revealed as the great gray blanket of weather broke and dissipated.
The Hoh River Valley opened up below them to the west, a mile deep and twice as wide.
Along the bottom, the river could be glimpsed in many places as it snaked its silver course toward the Pacific. Flanking the river on each side was a cloak of ancient forest; timbered slopes rising in an unbroken sea of green into the far distance. Kevin watched as the clouds rose away from the opposite side of the valley, a curtain slowly lifting.
Mt. Olympus came into view, looking as it always did to him; somehow ethereal and imposing at the same time. They sat atop a knoll near one of the many lakes in Ferry basin, one of the most remote spots in the Olympics where no trails led. The spectacular surroundings were soon overshadowing Kevin’s fatigue.
“On the matter of our origin,” the old man began, “We have been herded into two camps of thinking; the theory of evolution and the theory of creation.
This could be accurately described as a debate between science and religion. Each side focused solely conjuring up evidence to support and proliferate their view.”
“What they are missing, something completely overlooked, is that they are one in the same. Evolution is a thing of creation.
This is a simple truth that the earth practically sings out all around us every day. We’ve just lost the ability to listen.
A process set into motion tens of billions of year ago to create life without interference, a “hands off” experiment. Life unfolding out of a frequency, a frequency resonating out of everything.
Cymatics has shown us that a sound wave affects the molecular structure of a physical form.
Everything in the universe resonates with a frequency- a combination of both light and sound waves.
It’s how the process of creation and evolution work directly. It’s simultaneously ever-present and continuously changing from moment to moment. You are connected to everything in this way.
“You and a blade of grass are equals in the sense that ultimately, you share the same fate.
The natural world is not compiled of resources for exploitation and profit. It is compiled of, in a matter of speaking, your family. And your teachers.”
“Throughout the universe life exists in many forms in relative abundance. All of it at some point finds itself at a particular juncture.
A time for their self-awareness to evolve into cosmic awareness. This stage is never happening in many places at once, not because it is rare for it to happen, but because it is always so brief.
Life at this juncture either quickly evolves or quickly destroys itself. It’s entirely a self-choice. Nothing will interfere.
This is the same critical juncture humanity finds itself at now. We are reaching critical mass. It’s a very exciting opportunity to be a part of, but no guarantees exist.
If we destroy ourselves, then ultimately nothing on a grand scale is lost; our energy will simply pass on to the next life form. But to advance to the next stage of our evolution would be such a rewarding and wonderful chance to enjoy our existence beyond our ability to firmly grasp.”
Most of the cloud cover had blown away to the east and the moisture was evaporating in wisps of steam off of rocks and trees. It was late in the day, but the temperature had noticeably climbed a bit.
A few small clouds of mosquitos had ventured out and floated around over the lake’s surface.
“Off-shore from here,” the old man continued, “there is a plate digging underneath the continent, pushing up these mountains in the process,” he said gesturing with a sweep of his hand.
“The subduction zone,” Kevin said. “The Juan de Fuca plate digging beneath the continental plate.”
“Correct,” the old man said. “You could call it geological evolution. These areas where the landscape changes rapidly tend to emit a higher frequency. Often, they end up being a kind of beacon.
The area usually becomes a unique bio region with a multitude of diverse life, as the Olympic Peninsula has become.
There is good reason this area has been determined an international biosphere and a world heritage site.
There is just enough understanding floating in the human awareness to protect such a place, but it still remains under constant threat. With the right amount of influence, it could just as easily move in the other direction.”
”Now, what I wanted to show you; look to the northwest.
You can see the distinct beginning of a prominent chain of peaks and ridges that eventually wrap around, encircling us in a horseshoe shape.”
“The rift zone,” Kevin said. “The rock that encircles the outside edge of the mountains that was pushed up from the deepest depth. It’s the rock that has been pushed on the longest”
“Correct again,” the old man replied. “But what you don’t know is that the rift zone actually serves a purpose.
Because the chains of peaks in the rift zone originate from underneath the sedimentary rock of the inner mountains, they are denser. As you know well, these mountains are not laid out like a typical range, but set in a spiral pattern. It’s been called an Island of Rivers, and that’s apt.
A spiral of river valleys divided by rocky ridges set in a particular pattern. That spiral pattern acts as a grid. A grid that transmits energy from a point in the earth. Just like a harmonic focal point on a guitar string or in your body.
It resonates out of the lighter rock in the center and bounces off the outer rift ring of basalt rock, which sends it back to the center, and amplifies it further. That’s why this place is so unique.
That is why you are drawn here. And remember, the offshore plate is continuously digging, making the mountains taller and more resonate, pushing them further inland.”
“Ah, but they will erode away long before they ever become part of the continental landmass,” Kevin said. “True,” the old man replied. “But that is what makes them so special.
The frailty of the rock is what makes it resonate stronger. There are few places like this on earth.” Kevin slowly turned in a 360, taking in the panorama.
The spiraling ridges to all points of the compass glimmering in the late day sun. Not only could he see it all; he could feel it all, and now he better understood why.
“We must move to another location,” the old man said. “Something big is going to happen”
Replies