THE NORTHERN TREK. The Northern Trek would be longer, more circuitous, and more physically demanding than the southern leg of my expedition. On this journey, father and son photographers, Mark and Nathan May, would accompany me.

Before throwing ourselves into our adventure, we allowed ourselves a few days of lazy R&R at the mountain home of Mark’s beautiful redheaded lady friend, Claudia. It’s odd to think that in the twenty-two years I spent as an Angeleno, I never once made it to Big Bear.

The place is really wonderful: tranquil, scenic, and populated by friendly folks. Sunrises and sunsets here are spectacular, and there’s a true family feel to the resort that is (unfortunately) very rare these days. We hiked the surrounding hills. We boated and swam in Big Bear Lake. We toured Claudia’s Fawnskin neighborhood, visiting local eateries and shops. All in all, it was a perfect remedy for the blast furnace I had just weathered – and a splendid prelude for the trek to come. 

Yosemite

It’s hard to imagine any other place that’s as satisfying on so many levels as Yosemite National Park. Its beauty can be downright breathtaking. Standing before its waterfalls and rock formations, hiking its trails and traversing its meadows, drinking from its natural springs, swimming and fishing in its waters – well, it’s darn near a mystical experience.

I was first introduced to Yosemite by photographer/naturalist Dave Wyman when I was a student at the University of Southern California. In the intervening decades, I’ve visited Yosemite five or six times, and I never cease to be amazed by the place. In any season, it’s at its best.

Of course, this makes it a natural magnet for tourists, and this year was no exception. In fact, I saw more vacationers than I had ever previously encountered in the Park. This made accommodations harder to come by – but I’d already figured on this. The sad fact is, weekly passes into our national parks are almost negligible in cost, but summer lodging within any reasonable distance of the most popular destinations is usually astronomical.

For this reason, I’d booked a room in February for three at the Yosemite Bug Rustic Mountain Resort (6979 Highway 140/PO Box 81, Midpines CA 95345. Phone 1-800-826-7108 (Toll Free) or 1-209-966-6666; bughost@yosemitebug.com) It’s located 25 miles from the west end of Yosemite Valley, and our room ran to about $111 a night (which is far cheaper than anything comparable tha’s situated closer.) The room had a queen-sized bed and two bunk beds and it was about the size of a postage stamp. We shared a bath with visitors from Belgium. But considering that we were rarely at home, this lodging suited us just fine.

The Bug Lodge is something of a mecca for backpackers, tree huggers, and retirees. It has a swimming hole, walking trails, and a health spa run by a beautiful blonde Australian named Kaye. Its café is top-notch, featuring enormous vegan-to-steak dinners, tap beer and wine.

After the five-hour drive from Los Angeles, after hiking and swimming for hours on end, we gladly spent $75 on a half-hour massage, a spot in the cedar hot rock sauna, an hour-long Epsom salt-and-herbal soak in the stainless steel hot tubs (I fell asleep; Mark and Nathan assured me that it was terrific) and a cool rain shower. I had earlier visited Soda Springs in Tuolumne Meadows, where naturally carbonated/reputedly medicinal waters bubble up from deep inside the earth’s interior. Even though these waters tasted something like a rusty nail, I imbibed freely, figuring that after the full spa treatment I’d be super-healthy.

We visited Yosemite Falls and Half-Dome and El Capitan. We saw Parson’s Lodge and Lake Tenaya. We admired the flora and fauna in Tuolumne, and we swam in the icy cold waters of the Cascades (which is my favorite part of Yosemite.) Later that night, we hung out at the Bug Café with an aspiring environmental lawyer named Adam. Mark, Nathan and Adam drank ice tea. I got smashed on Guinness and I slept like a baby.

When I awoke, it was time to move on.

Lassen Volcanic National Park

It’s a 304-mile drive from Yosemite to Lassen. We left at six AM, and it was noon when we arrived at the Saint Bernard Lodge. (44801 State Highway 36 E, Mill Creek, CA 96061. Phone: 1-530-258-3382) The Lodge is homey and inviting and very, very western – quite piney, like something out of an old Gary Cooper movie.

It has a tavern with a pool table. It has a dining room that serves gigantic breakfasts and wonderful suppers. It has friendly proprietors named Jim and Sharon. It has a hot tub in the back. It even has bald eagles that perch high in the trees over the fishpond and swoop down at regular intervals for a meal. Best of all, it is only 20 minutes from the Park’s south entrance. It cost $120 per night for all three of us and it was worth it.

Mount Lassen is the largest active lava dome volcano in the world. It last erupted in 1915 but recent volcanic activity is evident. The climb up Lassen Peak Trail is a five-mile (from the parking lot by road marker 22), 4.5 hour round-trip on a steady, steep (15%) grade that begins at 8500 feet. When we visited, however, only part of the trail was open, so we quickly settled on the Bumpass Hell Trail. This is a three-mile (from the parking area by road marker 17), 3-hour round-trip hike. I was fully prepared for a gradual 500 foot climb the first mile, followed by a 250 foot descent into “Hell’s Kitchen” – a large thermal area containing hot (and putrid smelling!) sulphur springs, steam vents, and boiling mud pots.

What I wasn’t prepared for was snow (uh…maybe because this was August!) Not even my dignity remained intact as I slid down the rocky Bump-ass (okay, now I get it!) Trail on my butt and landed in a (Damn! Yellow!!) snow bank. To add insult to injury, I got pelted in the back of the head with a snowball before I was able to limp on past verdant green oases to the long, long stairway that brings one face-to-face – and nose-to-nose - with the gag-inducing hot springs.

Yes, indeedy! They bubbled. They steamed. They gushed. And they smelled like a hippo’s diaper. (Seems I’d remembered to bring along everything but a gas mask.) After twenty or so minutes in the odiferous surroundings, I threw in the towel and headed back to the pine-scented parking lot.

That night, I took a long bath in an ancient claw-foot tub, then tumbled into bed and dreamt of bubbling pools of air freshener. I awoke at 5:45 AM – just in time to shove off for our next port of call.

Lava Beds National Monument

From Mill Creek, CA to Lava Beds National Monument, it’s a 165.53 mile/3 hour-and-forty-six minute drive. (Lava Beds National Monument: 1 Indian Wells Hqtrs, Tulelake, CA 96134. Phone: 1-530-667-8100) This would be the shortest leg of our journey, but also the most dangerous. If you’ve never descended into a labyrinth of volcanic caves, you might try reading Jules Verne’s Journey to the Center of the Earth.

It gives a pretty fair description of the myriad joys to be found deep underground: the all-enveloping blackness that makes it impossible to tell from which direction one came or in which direction one is heading; the tunnels and sub-tunnels and sub-sub-tunnels that twist and turn and lead to a thousand alarming dead-ends; the holes in the stone floor that indicate precipitous, deadly drops; the lava boulders that rip through clothing and skin like jagged shards of glass; the choking dirt, the creepy crawlies. Spelunking is definitely not for the faint of heart.

   The Monument, of course, offers several options to accommodate all levels of caving experience. One can select a less challenging cave (e.g., Sentinel Cave: 3280 feet), a moderately challenging cave (e.g., Golden Dome Cave: 2,229 feet; or the combined Balcony Cave: 2903 feet/Boulevard Cave: 759 feet) or a truly challenging cave (Thunderbolt Cave: 2,561 feet. Helmets/kneepads/gloves required.)

We selected a moderately challenging cave that turned out to be a real bear. I left half my forehead on a hidden overhang, took a fall that sliced pretty holes in my belly, and exited the cave deeply grateful that all my fingers and toes were still intact.

     It was scary, it was painful, and it was very, very, very dark.
     …It was my favorite part of the trip.

An hour away from the lava tubes laid Klamath Falls, Oregon, our destination for the night. We stayed in a nice little motel (America’s Best Value Inn: 3939 Highway 92 North, Klamath Falls, OR 97601. Phone 1-541-882-8844) run by a great guy named Nick Patel. Lodging for all three of us cost only $62.99, which made me like the place even more. We ate fried chicken and steak at a little diner behind the motel, watched some TV, and then crashed.

Crater Lake National Park

40 miles north of the Inn lay the legendary Crater Lake. I’d certainly done my research on this place. I knew that it was the nation’s fifth oldest National Park (founded in 1902). I knew that the Lake was 1943 feet deep – the deepest lake in the United States! – that it was created when Mount Mazanu erupted 7,700 years ago, and that it was “a pure, pristine sapphire blue volcanic lake surrounded by sheer cliffs that rise to over 2000 feet.” I knew that fishing was permitted here, and that Kokanee salmon and rainbow trout were plentiful in the waters.

What I couldn’t appreciate until I actually saw Crater Lake was its heart-stopping beauty. Its blue is unearthly. Its reflective surface is like a celestial mirror. A two-hour, 33-mile drive around the Lake along Rim Drive offers countless opportunities to marvel over this natural wonder. As Mark and Nathan tackled the challenging Garfield Peak, I contented myself with sitting in the sun and feasting my eyes on majestic Crater. If my companions hadn’t returned two hours later, I’d likely be there still.

I feel compelled at this point to stop and pay a special tribute to my team photographers – Miles Bonner, Jr., Nathan May, and, particularly, Mark May. It would have been impossible to provide an accurate account of our journey without their considerable contributions. Mark, of course, is a long-standing nature photographer of no mean talent, and throughout our travels, he carefully documented the California wildflowers we encountered along the trails.

Miles and Nathan were both eager to go where I was reluctant to follow; without the generous sharing of these young men’s courage and talent, this expedition would have been so much the poorer. Grazie mille to them all!

Redwoods National Park

As we neared the end of our expedition, we found ourselves on the road once more – this time, heading west. It was a four hour drive from the Best Value Inn in Oregon to the Econo Lodge in Crescent City, CA (725 US Highway 101 North. Phone: 707-464-6106) The three-man room rate was reasonable ($86.00 per night), the Lodge was situated on the outskirts of the Park, and I was fully armed with an extremely detailed itinerary. We would hike the best North trails (Simpson-Reed Trail, Boy Scout Trail, Damnation Creek Trail) and a Coastal trail.

We’d explore Enders Beach and Crescent Beach Overlook. We’d search for Roosevelt elk on Davison Road, and then hike the beautiful Trillium Waterfalls Trail and Fern Canyon. We’d take a ranger-led nature walk out to the tidal pools. Then we’d watch Native American dance demonstrations by the Tolowa and Yurok tribes.

As it turned out, we did virtually none of these things. Maybe it was a general perversity in our natures. Or maybe it was just sheer exhaustion. Whatever the reason, we tossed out the itinerary; instead, we did whatever we darn well felt like doing. We goofed around in the forest, we climbed trees, we got lost, we searched for banana slugs, and we discovered a small waterfall with rocks as dark as ebony. We had an absolutely wonderful time doing none of the things we had planned!

Back in our motel room that evening, we were delighted to discover that we were only a five-minute walk from the 10th Annual Redwood Coast Rodeo. Naturally, we went to see all the cowboys (and cowgirls!) – and we downed corn dogs and funnel cakes and curly fries as we watched the calf roping and the bull riding and the steer wrestling and the bronco busting. The old-time County Fair feel of the event was a perfect balm for tired muscles and flagging energies.

Even later – as I drifted off into a well-deserved oblivion – I realized that tomorrow we would face a 17-hour drive back to Alhambra. There’d be luggage to pack and unpack, clothes to wash, e-mails to answer, bills to pay, bosses to placate, and a great big boring routine to sink back into.

But for this night, at least, our California Odyssey would resonate in both our dreams and our memories.

Which is, after all, where the best vacations are made!