| Carol Ann (Gratsos) Howell... page 10 |
| VACATION #8 PINE TREES, GOLD FLAKES AND PEACE Do you want to go to a place where there aren't a lot of people?" your friend asks. "Sure. Where.?" "It's a surprise." he says. It's summer. You pack up your fried chicken and a bottle of water, your hats and sunblock -- "Don't forget your hiking shoes," he tells you. It takes you about an hour from Los Angeles to drive up Highway 18 around the south side of Lake Arrowhead going east. The lake is so much larger than you expected, but you don't stop. You turn onto Hook Creek Road to the village of Cedar Glen. It's a charming little mountain town with a grocery store, gas station, neighborhood stores, and a restaurant -- the Hook Creek Inn with lace curtains and a country atmosphere. You expect the grim tourist-trap behavior that waitresses in such locales are wont to demonstrate, but no, she is as sweet as pie -- and the pie, lemon meringue, oh is it delicious! Then you expect a fat price for such loveliness -- no, the prices are lower than they are in the San Fernando Valley. It's easy to forget the city even in Cedar Glen, you are surrounded by the thick pine forest. After your pie and coffee, you set out for what they call Crab Flats, continuing on Hook Creek Road for about three miles on a winding dirt road, but it seems like six miles. The road is full of holes and rocks, but it's passable without a four-wheel drive vehicle if you're careful. Then the creek becomes evident on your left. You drive until the road disappears into the water. You have come to a natural bathing pool surrounded by large slippery rocks and a small beach -- but there are people there. You want solitude. You follow the creek back to where you parked the car, grab up your gear and hike down the mountain to the stream secreted in the San Bernardino Mountains. The only sounds you hear are your footsteps, the birds announcing your arrival, the quiet tremolo of the water traveling over the rocks. Your nostrils are filled with the aroma of pine and the damp smell of mud and moss. Water striders skim the clear water and you can see the bottom easily. You walk out to investigate, step into the cool water to test it for swimming, but it is too shallow, and the silty bottom is easily stirred. You look down to watch the little clear fish, almost invisible in the pool, then you see it ... Gold! You and your friend spend all day like upsidedown Ls with bottle in hand collecting layered golden mica bits. You reach in slowly, carefully, to keep from disturbing the bottom. Sometimes you reach down for the gold flakes, but the water distorts your perception and your fingers come up empty. Fun. Your minds are so occupied with the capturing of the gold bits that you forget what it is that you have come up here to forget. It's a similar experience to that of collecting sea shells at the ocean, they are treasures when you find them, but when you get them home, no one seems to understand their value and you can never explain. When your stomachs growl you stop for lunch. Seated on warm rocks, you remove your hats to feel the breeze that occasionally crosses your brows. A topknotted bird comes by to see what you're having for lunch. You share your biscuits with him. "Do you hear that?" your friend asks. You stop chewing for a moment. "I don't hear anything." "Exactly," he says. The creek travels down to Lake Arrowhead where there are about a dozen wading pools, waterfalls, and a natural rock slide. In winter the pool at the end of the road is crowded with trout, a fisherman's paradise. Gorge yourself, but don't take more than the limit, the forest rangers are ever-present. In spring the wildflowers change the landscape into a watercolor painting. Farther up the creek there are camping facilities at a place called Fisherman's Camp. But where you are there is no overnight camping allowed, no drinking water, no toilet facilities, and no people -- which is precisely why you are here. After driving all that way, there really isn't much to do, but dream meditate, unwind those knots you've been accumulating. Then the sound of the wind in the trees and the need to put on a jacket tells you it's time to go home. You pack up the car, murmur a private good by to the creek, and wind down the road to Cedar Glen where you have to stop once again at the Hook Creek Inn for coffee and a snack and a friendly, "Come back soon, Folks!" ***** |