Thursday, March 28, 2024

Ascending Mount Langley: Reflections from the High Sierra - Part Four

Showy Sky Pilot, Mount Langley, Cottonwood Lakes, Horseshoe Meadows, CA photo by Armando Ortiz

Ascending Mount Langley: Reflections from the High Sierra - Part Four

By Armando Ortiz

Challenges Faced:

The descent was faster, but my body was also spent. The trail goes down the valley and meets a trail that takes you up to the pass. Earlier, I’d followed the ridge along the pass towards Old Army Pass. I’d be reaching the bottom and from that section gradually climb up to New Army Pass. It looked easier, which was more appealing by now, but it felt long. Watching my steps closely I noticed a small patch of green with tiny bursts of purple flowers which are known as showy sky pilots. There were still a few hours of light ahead of me. 

As I followed the trail I’d occasionally be greeted by the heads of sleek marmots, who’d just as quickly go back into their burrows. Reaching the intersection it signaled to make a left, and from there it began to gain elevation once again. This would be the last time it’d be going up. I’d just started the ascent and quickly stepped over sun bleached bones, most likely marmot. 

Keeping a timely pace, rocks started to get my attention. Some were a slightly pale green and gray or others were white like quarts. My gnarled hands reached for a small rock. Scanning my surroundings, I thought of the energy there. Dropping it back, and continuing my walk I resumed my rhythm pretending to be a drummer. The trekking poles made a steading tick tock sound helping me keep pace. 

Occasionally my body turned to see the progress being made. The pass kept getting closer with every step. A couple passed bye. We greeted each other. They were carrying twice as much gear, a sign of a multi day trip. One of them had a pair of dusty blue crocs dangling from their bag. We were all focused on our destinations.

As I continued climbing in elevation I began to think of the age of these mountains, and the rocks on my hands. I thought of life. Was it the mountain’s energy that gave me the courage to continue. Was it receiving the same from us? The forest and its ecosystems exist independent of us. Like the patch of flowers I’d come across that somehow thrives in high elevations. My eyes squinting from the glare of the sun, my face smiled at the thought that the earth has a frequency similar to the last syllable of the Buddhist chant, Om mani padme hum. The wind started to pick up, the pass just a few meters away. Reaching it, the air was dry, consistent, and refreshing. From now on it would all be downward to the car.

Marmot bones, Mount Langley, Cottonwood Lakes, Horseshoe Meadows, CA photo by Armando Ortiz


Saturday, March 16, 2024

Ascending Mount Langley: Reflections from the High Sierra - Part Three

Mount Langley, Cottonwood Lakes, Horseshoe Meadows, CA photo by Armando Ortiz

Ascending Mount Langley: Reflections from the High Sierra - Part Three

By Armando Ortiz


Summit Experience:

Light began to break through the dark sky, and the glow of sunlight spread across the horizon. I sat up and prepared for the day ahead. Outside the chill of the air quickly entered the lungs, and the warmth of the sun touched my face. I made breakfast, and did some minor things for the day’s long hike. 

I packed the essentials into my lightweight backpack. I filled up two bottles using a filter to clean water from the lake a few feet away. Checking the tent- the stakes seemed secure. The doors were left open, the main backpack, the sleeping bag and other items were left inside thinking that would be enough to keep it stable. 

After checking my gear, I set off on the trail. The climb from camp officially began around 7:45 AM, the sun casted its morning light on the rugged landscape. After 30 minutes of hiking, I glanced back to see the orange tent, now resembling a small baseball cap against the vast landscape. The pace was slow and rhythmic. 

Rising in elevation I hardly felt how high the canyon walls really were, flowers became much smaller or turned into tiny patches of color. The motivation and anticipation of reaching the summit made the steps feel light.

The switchbacks gradually got me nearer to the ridge. At the pass a sign greeted me, New Army Pass. Across this high altitude valley, Mt Langley was somewhere on the other side, silent. 

This part of the journey was the easiest: the way was clear and the ground firm. There wasn’t a path cut on the side of the mountain. The path went down on a slight dip. The sun was strong and bright, the arid air was fresh. The terrain in this section was rocky with many meandering paths that led to a junction. 

Continuing along the ridge, I navigated the terrain, until reaching the Old Army Pass sign, which marked the intersection of the Old Army Pass and New Army Pass trails. Here a familiar sign welcomed me to Sequoia National Park, a reminder of the diverse landscape and hikes that awaited exploration. 

Mount Langley, Cottonwood Lakes, Horseshoe Meadows, CA photo by Armando Ortiz

It was satisfying that I’d made it up to this point. The wind was slightly stronger than at the pass. Pausing for a moment to take in the landscape, I found myself reflecting on what lay on the horizon, mirror like lakes and granite ridges. At a distance, three lakes came into view, each at slightly different elevations. The walls of the mountain appeared like giant Inca boulder stacks. In the midst of this breathtaking view, I found myself reflecting on nature’s force.

After a few minutes, I reached the sign where the strenuous section began with a sign that read, “Cairns are rock piles carefully placed by trail crews to guide hikers. Removing or adding cairns can confuse hikers, causing additional trails.” As the elevation increased the trail seemed to blend more and more with the terrain. The path was slightly darker than the terrain and resembled a faint bicycle dirt path.

The next thousand feet would be the steepest. My eyes began searching for man made rock stacks, and spotted the first one. Each step was slow and the pace consistent. At times the stone stacks felt like lighthouses in an ocean of tan colors. Pushing forward also became a mental struggle. Although not as strong, the wind blew sideways now. 

The maze-like climb began to reach its climax. There was an invisible spectator that pushed you forward or resisted your moving body. With every step that I took there was a steady crushing sound. Fine rock particles slowly grind and weather into material that one day will make it down the mountain. How long has it taken for nature to create this complex ecosystem?

The first couple of cairns were easy to find, but reaching them was tough. Trying to figure out the way felt like being a hamster in a maze. Even though disoriented at times my eyes patiently scanned the terrain and searched for the next rock post. At one point I was on all four limbs. The ground was cool to the touch, but not as fine as sand. The light was as intense as the air was refreshing. 

I was in a vertical maze of boulders where the trail got blown out by the wind. Navigating the labyrinth of rocks, I encountered a section that seemed like a dead end. Taking a deep breath, I surveyed my surroundings and spotted a familiar sight- a guiding marker, beckoning me to rest and regroup. In a way those were like anchors and gave a sense of security.

Although the sun washed over everything, the environment was much cooler. I was determined to reach the top, and couldn't let my mind wander into indecision. 

I kept scrambling upward, and the top was near. Although I began to have thoughts of altitude sickness, I kept pushing forward, and reached a stone pile, a beacon of progress. My lungs kept taking deeper breaths, a perfect time to pause, and to get my bearings. The shadow of the rudimentary pillar was like a safety zone. 

Sitting under the shade, another post could be seen at a distance. The sun rays felt like a bright projector light. The boulders, rocks and the ground seemed to become one with blue as the background. The intensity of the activity matched the environment. 

I reached the other trail marker and took a break. My hands were begging to feel swollen. Was this a possible sign of altitude sickness? Was my body processing enough oxygen? Was I acclimating to this environment fast enough? As I sat there, leaning against the rock formation, the shade and the views were comforting. I was nearing the top. I wasn’t planning on having lunch there, so the descent would ease my worries of AMS. After a sip of water, and eating a handful of spicy peanuts the scramble resumed. 

I was filled with wonder, and kept trudging on. The scramble continued, until finally reaching a point where my two feet were walking on slabs of rock.

My body kept taking deep heavy breaths while moving southwest, thinking that was where the summit was, but soon discovered that was the wrong way. I was aware of where I was and where I was headed. The summit was towards my right. 

I was nearing the peak, all my acclimation concerns disappeared. I’d be there for half an hour, at most, after that the elevation would be decreasing with the air gradually getting heavier. I headed to the very top and finally saw the ammunition boxes containing notebooks. I signed my name and wrote down some words of encouragement, and briefly thought of the world. There was an aluminum sign on the ground that someone had made. I tried to take a few pictures of myself. 

My attempts at selfies were haphazard. The angle looked like I was on top of a boulder. The cool selfie picture would have to wait for another time. Standing atop of a slab of rock, I tried to take in the panoramic view, looking in different directions. I also reflected on how views like these might be once in a lifetime experiences. What impact does the vastness of nature have on the human spirit? 

Standing there, I marveled at the expansive view and hardly considered what it took to get there, a culmination of months and preparations and determination. As I contemplated the triumph of summiting Mount Langley, my thoughts soon turned to the journey downward, where new obstacles awaited. I had to be mindful of time, in a few hours the sun would be setting. The journey was not over, I had 11 more miles to go.. 

 As I began my descent down the trail, I could see all cardinal directions, each direction nameless to me. On this next phase of the hike, I had to stay focused, hiking down can be as exhausting and grueling as the ascent.

 As I finally embarked on the descent, the landscape would transform gradually. However, from where I was besides the granite mountains, all I saw was a wilderness, and the ever present topaz colors above. If every nook and cranny of wilderness could talk, what would it tell us? 

Again, I paused under the shade of a boulder. My sun tanned hands opened a packet of electrolytes, and poured it into the water bottle. The drink was refreshing- lemon ginger flavor. The scene was like a barren desert mountain. My eyes tried to capture everything, the green valleys dotted with foxtail and lodgepole pines. The lakes looked so small, reflecting the sun and the clouds. The different peaks and passes looked like silent gray giants. I took another sip of water and resumed.

Descending from Mt. Langley, I marveled at the evolving scenery, a testament to the diverse beauty of the High Sierra wilderness. I’d soon discover the delicate balance of the beauty and decay of nature, as well as the serenity and potential dangers that it brings.

Mount Langley, Cottonwood Lakes, Horseshoe Meadows, CA photo by Armando Ortiz


Wednesday, February 21, 2024

Ascending Mount Langley: Reflections from the High Sierra - Part Two

Mount Langley, Cottonwood Lakes, Horseshoe Meadows, CA photo by Armando Ortiz

Ascending Mount Langley: Reflections from the High Sierra - Part Two

By Armando Ortiz

Journey Outward:

With the goal of reaching High Lake, the final destination on the New Army Pass trail I set out from Los Angeles around 10AM. However, picking up the permit from the East Sierra Center, and buying lunch from a roadside lunch truck chipped away at the time.

The drive to the trailhead proved slow, trying to navigate the winding road while feeling the heat of the valley thermals ring up against the mountain faces. Finally, the steep cliffs gave way to a small green valley, Horseshoe Meadow. Parking near the trailhead’s overnight section, I shut off the car, ready to start my journey. However, an unexpected challenge awaited. 

Suddenly, violent gurgling emanated from the car’s hood, signaling an unforeseen complication that would challenge my journey ahead.  Pink coolant was streaming from under the car. I opened the hood and saw that the coolant reservoir was overflowing. Undeterred, I shifted my focus to preparing for the hike ahead. The car was an afterthought.

The slow drive and car inspection chipped away at the time I had for hiking under the sun. Taking my time, yet feeling slightly rushed, I savored my burrito, conscious of the ticking clock and miles ahead. Packing couldn’t be rushed; forgetting something essential would have probably cut the trip short. Once done packing the pack, and locking the car, I placed the key inside the bag. I made sure the pack was sturdy. The trekking poles were adjusted. The process felt meditative. With preparations complete, I commenced the trek at 4:30PM, the sky was clear and the weather welcoming. Observing the few white clouds in the sky I pondered the serenity of the landscape.

Approaching the trailhead, a rush of determination and excitement surged through my body, propelling me into the wilderness. The altocumulus seemed unusually close and scattered like pulled-apart white cotton candy. This would be my first 21-mile expedition, complete with an overnight stay and summiting a mountain peak. The weather felt dreamlike and resembled a late summer afternoon in Los Angeles, and the trail was tranquil. The first two miles felt awkward underfoot as the ground was soft, with tiny granite bits of sand causing my feet to sink with every step. 

At the John Muir junction, the trail became firmer, and shadows increased while the air grew cooler. Studying the topographic map helped anticipate areas that would be flat, but having to walk through a lush green section was a surprising relief. The shade provided a pleasant feeling from the sun’s intensity. Approaching the solitary junction, I noticed some buildings towards the east. The coolness of the vegetation refreshed my skin as the humid air was soothed with its heavy presence.

At this point it was late afternoon. Darkness was yet to begin its descent, but the shadows were lengthening. I kept my pace until reaching Cottonwood Lakes. That section was a relief, since it felt that it was mostly flat though you continue gaining elevation. This forested section made me reflect on the wilderness and its inhabitants.

As I approached Cottonwood Lake Number One the glowing yellow rays of the sun were touching the edge behind the mountain ridge. Mt. Langley seemed to have a yellow aura at its peak. High Lake was my determined destination, unwilling to compromise. It was quiet along the trail which traces the water's edge. It hadn’t been a snowy winter so the lakes seemed half full. There were plenty of flat spaces to set up camp all along this area. Across the lake was a delicate green canopy of varying foxtail pines.

Contemplating the proximity of water, my mind wrestled with unease about potential bear encounters, heightening my awareness of the surrounding wilderness. I remained determined to reach my predetermined camp spot. While finding a sheltered location away from the wind was a priority. 

Continuing along the trail, the thought of my food canister and its potential to attract animals also loomed with every step, intensifying my vigilance as darkness descended. The moon-like landscape in this section nonetheless made me quickly forget those wandering thoughts. As darkness fell, Long Lake came into view after another thirty to forty-five minutes of climbing. The sight of Long Lake could have been an ideal spot for an overnight stay, offering designated campsites and flat terrain amidst the encouraging shadow.

Nevertheless, I felt compelled to continue further up the trail. Reaching High Lake, stars were beginning to appear, and darkness enveloped the landscape. This was the designated area that had been chosen days before. This was the last lake along the trail before the harder ascents began. I encountered rocky terrain and found a sizable boulder that could serve as a potential windbreak. The proximity to the lake provided easy access to water. Hastily, I set up camp and retired for the night.

Although the trek had been tough and adrenaline kept pushing me forward, I found solace in knowing that I had prepared well for this expedition. Even though there were better areas to stay the night, this was good enough. There was a sense of ease knocking that I’d made it to my destination. At this point, the summit, not my car, occupied my thoughts. Anticipation and excitement had been replaced by determination and focus. I slept under the presence of cathedral-like peaks. I probably woke up once or twice in the night, but overall this expedition had earned me a well deserved rest.

Mount Langley, Cottonwood Lakes, Horseshoe Meadows, CA photo by Armando Ortiz


Ascending Mount Langley: Reflections from the High Sierra - Part One


Thursday, February 15, 2024

Ascending Mount Langley: Reflections from the High Sierra - Part One

Mount Langley, Cottonwood Lakes, Horseshoe Meadows, CA photo by Armando Ortiz

Ascending Mount Langley: Reflections from the High Sierra - Part One

By Armando Ortiz

Introduction:

At the beginning of 2022 I decided to enter the Mount Whitney lottery once again to try to hike it up during the summer. By late Spring those plans changed since I had been unable to secure a permit. The popularity of summiting Mount Whitney, combined with the lottery system, poses challenges in obtaining a permit. This fact led me to consider hiking other fourteeners instead. Mount Whitney would continue to be there and as time passes opportunities would come their way. Moverover, as I reflected on the challenges of securing a permit for Mount Whitney, my attention turned towards exploring alternative hiking options. In light of these considerations, the allure of Mount Langley’s accessibility and challenge began to grow.

Mount Langley is in the Sierra Nevada. To the west is the Kern River Valley and to the east is the Owens Valley. It is the southernmost fourteener in the United States. To its north lies Mount Whitney which is the highest mountain in the contiguous U.S. Getting there from Los Angeles is an easy drive. 

Hiking Mt. Langley had been one of my goals for a few years. I’d read about the hike and its connection to Mt Whitney. It seemed like a trip to be tackled as an overnight trip, and at the time I was more interested in day hikes. Overtime though I’ve taken a couple of backpacking trips, but still consider myself a novice. After choosing to embark on this journey, I recalled my former professor and his reasoning behind backpacking into the wilderness. 

During my Chicano Studies course at East Los Angeles Community College, my professor shared personal anecdotes and described his unique backpacking experiences. Hearing him describe the solitude left an impression on my mind and for many years I remembered that instance. This trip would be in part due to him talking about why he enjoyed the outdoors. Moreover, it marked another step in my gradual progression into backpacking.

The decision to embark on the Mt Langley expedition was the culmination of experiences and preparations. I began backpacking by taking short trips that were two miles at most from my car. My small day pack was bursting at the seams, and my hands were holding a sleeping bag and a bag of food. The tent that was used the first couple of times was a backpacking tent which was purchased about ten years ago to be used for car camping. Over time, I continued hiking, a passion I’ve pursued for many years.

As time passed, I began taking overnight backpacking trips spanning up to ten miles round trip. One of the first major trips at that time was to Henninger Flats in the San Gabriel Mountains, that night it was cold and rainy. In the middle of the night a rivulet passed through the middle of the tent. Later I took several trips to Kearsarge Pass in the John Muir Wilderness. Everytime the weather was slightly different, with mosquitos being abundant one of the times. I also recall the water being much colder plunging into Gilbert Lake.

I’ve experienced backpacking in rainy weather, and in almost perfect conditions. This short expedition would be the longest, which would include summiting Mount Langley. Choosing this expedition only came after years of hiking local mountains, and several backpacking trips. This backpacking trip would be my toughest and longest one yet.

Furthermore, my journey towards Mt Langley was not just about reaching the summit; it was months of physical and mental preparation. I’d attempted the lottery system to hike Mt Whitney several times and was unable to get a permit. So, after trying for three years straight, I decided that it was time to start exploring and summiting other mountains that were just as challenging, but less trafficked. Before this hike I had summitted White Mountain Peak in the White Mountains of Mono County. Having completed White Mountain Peak as a day hike, I felt physically prepared for Mt Langley. It would be more easy going, accessible, but just as challenging as any fourteener. That was my best choice.

This hike would be both a summit and my first solo backpacking trip that would be longer than 12 miles. There was excitement and anticipation. I’d spent the early part of the year doing many hikes around Los Angeles, along with daily walks and working out twice a week. Despite still being a novice in backpacking this trip taught me many valuable lessons that should not be taken lightly. Additionally, I purchased a topographic map, read various blog posts, and revisited several books.

As I delved deeper into the logistics of the Mt Langley trail and its alternatives , the significance of proper preparation became increasingly evident. Mount Langley serves as a preparatory hike for many aspiring Whitney hikers. Also, for backpackers this is a popular multi-day expedition that starts at Horseshoe Meadows, and ends at Whitney Portal. This means that trekkers are able to summit both peaks if they wanted, and because of the distance permits are easier to get.

In January I began taking monthly hikes that were longer than usual. Hiking almost every weekend about 4-5 miles was my routine for the last few years. Once a month I'd go on a hike that was longer and more challenging. As summer approached, I increased the weight in my backpack. I also tackled shorter, but steep and arduous trails to build strength and stamina. That year, I hiked Mt. Wilson, but mainly focused on maintaining a monthly challenging hike outside my weekly routine. This along with consistently hiking with about 12-15 pounds of equipment on my back helped tremendously in my preparation for the upcoming long Summer hikes.

However, beyond recounting my journey, this essay aims to prompt reflection on the significance of proper and meticulous preparation and its role in averting unforeseen challenges during outdoor expeditions. Although my overall performance in driving there, packing, food preparation, clothing and understanding the terrain could be graded as a “C” this experience made me a better hiker and backpacker. Respect for the wilderness is paramount, emphasizing the importance of thorough preparation. I hope this essay inspires readers to explore the outdoors and understand that great journeys begin with a first step.

Eastern Sierras Visitor Center, Lone Pine, CA photo by Armando Ortiz


Sunday, January 14, 2024

Carrizo Plain National Monument: Road Trips from Los Angeles

Photo of Carrizo Plain National Monument, San Luis Obispo, CA by Armando Ortiz

Carrizo Plain National Monument: Road Trips from Los Angeles

By Armando Ortiz

Decision and intro do the trip:

I had had Carrizo Plain National Monument on my to do bucket list for a while. The number one reason to visit this place was to visit painted rock, which is an outcropping of rock with pictographs on the side walls of the inner sanctum. It is believed that different groups of Californian tribes came to this site and painted images inside the inner rock walls - Chumash, Salinan and Yokut. The ancient pre-Columbian pictographs on the inner rock walls make this location a sacred place. Wildflowers decorating the mountains, hills and floor of this place is also what brings many visitors every year. Being that it was spring and this year’s winter rains started early and ended late meant that there would be opportunities to see an abundance of wildflowers. Aside from that there are many opportunities to explore the surrounding canyons and ridges that ring around the plain. 

Photo of Carrizo Plain National Monument, San Luis Obispo, CA by Armando Ortiz


Background of Carrizo Plain and area:

Carrizo Plain was historically an area that Native American tribes visited. It is believed that the Chumash people would visit this area. Salinan and Yokut people also frequented the area. There isn’t much known about what they did there, but mortar sites and pictographs have been found. Painted Rock is the main place where remnants of a continuous human presence has been found. However, the flowers that bloom in the plain might contain some evidence. In spring many different types of flowers bloom, some being wild onions and tubers that could have been harvested. 

In addition, some of the plants that sprout might have medicinal properties. After Americans arrived the lands in the Carrizo plain were used for ranching and raising livestock, all of which are now just remnants of a not so distant past. As you drive through you see unkempt buildings that seem to be frozen in a time when industrial agriculture was being introduced into the region. Dried out wooden posts once jammed into the earth seem to hang on wires more than create a barrier to intruders. Now people mostly spend an afternoon visiting the sites that open up to vistas.

Photo of Carrizo Plain National Monument, San Luis Obispo, CA by Armando OrtizYet, despite the changing demographics of the surrounding areas, the wildflower blooms, and wildlife have persisted. The dry lake bed comes alive after a season of heavy rains. Some of the flowers that cover this area are different types of clover, lupines, gilia, linanthus, ephedra, buckwheat, fiddleneck, thistle, lasthenia, popcorn flowers, desert dandelion, spineflower, and many more. Depending on what route you take, evidence of the different enduring geographical features can be appreciated on the way there. The north and south entrances connect you to winding ridge roads. The eastward road winds out of the mountains and onto the easterly slopes that slowly and gradually take you down to Interstate 5.



Route taken and what we saw:

            Carrizo Plain is about 130 miles away from Los Angeles. We took the route that starts off Interstate 5 around the Fort Tejon area which takes you to Mt. Pinos. You exit Frazier Park and head west. At first the way is straight with a steady climb that goes into a barren valley where people probably grow hay. Along the way you drive through a town called Pine Mountain Club, which seems like a mix between a resort and private cabins community. This road winds its ways through the mountains and areas that have signs informing everyone that you are passing through private land. There are various off roading opportunities along this highway and camp sites if that is what you are looking for. The road changes several times, but as long as your destination is Carrizo Plain you’ll be able to navigate your way there without a problem. 

Driving there the chaparral landscape and open valleys become lush pine forests and transition into more barren ridges that open up to views of the San Joaquin Valley. We drove through this area in the Spring and at times the sides of the mountains were covered with different layers of colors, which at times it felt like we were looking at giant slices of cake that had tangy orange icing, and mellow purple ume layers. Driving through this section felt like driving on a plateau and yet the road winds like a moving snake. Roads like these are perfect for those that have sporty cars and like taking weekend drives in the mountains.

Photo of Carrizo Plain National Monument, San Luis Obispo, CA by Armando Ortiz


Carrizo plain and activities:

There are two main reasons for visiting this unique geographic/geologic site. The wildflowers that bloom during spring, and sites of Native American life. Another reason for visiting is to do some off-road driving along the dirt roads that go up ridges and take you to sites that sedans and low clearance vehicles aren’t able to go to. 

Our visit was during Spring Break, and the place was busy with nature lovers, flower enthusiasts, mountain bikers, hikers, and people that simply want to go see once carpets of pastel colors covering vast stretches of land. In specific areas, where the blooms were lush and vibrant, cars would park on the side of the road. You’d see people balancing a camera on a tripod to get the perfect close up picture of a delicate blazingstar or gilia. Many visitors wore shades and wide brimmed hats because the elevation makes the sunshine strong. All of us seemed to enjoy the brilliance of the yellows and delicate whites that seemed to be tiny sun bursts.

I was able to see painted rock from a distance, but would have liked access to the site. It’s a dream of mine to one day go there and see the site for myself and wander inside letting my mind wonder what took place there. To many tribes this was their frontier. It was a place of encounter, but also a place where you could reflect on the finiteness of life and the enduring might of nature. Yet, in those instances of thought you might glimpse the images etched by people hundreds if not thousands of years ago. Further east is the San Joaquin Valley and the Sierra Mountains. From that side of the ranges, stones for making tools were traded, and brought to these places, and used to make arrows and spears. One could only imagine what else could have taken place here.

We drove into one of the unknown roads and headed towards SUVs that could be seen at a distance. The truck was set to four-low and drove it up to a steady speed. It felt magical. The gravel being pulverized by the all terrain tires, and the cloud of dust it made was at times amusing. Wildflowers were on all sides, and at one point I could see a small valley that was covered in varying shades of purple and dark blues, and different hues of yellow and orange. I stopped the truck on one of the roadside stops to take photos. There were moments of silence where all you could hear was the sounds of music emanating from the truck. At other times you could hear the light chirps of the birds that crossed our sights which only made the drive ever more pleasant. 

Photo of Carrizo Plain National Monument, San Luis Obispo, CA by Armando Ortiz


Ending and review:

The drive to Carrizo Plain National Monument varies from whichever side you decide to enter from. The drive will have varied terrain and will showcase a wild landscape that at one point was tamed with the arrival of Europeans. The views of this not so distant past are found across the land which now contains only barbed wire and farm houses that seem on the verge of collapsing. On the other hand an industrial landscape where pumps suck the hidden black gold that is found within the deep layers of rock. On top of all that the plain itself is a wonder of the life that it has sustained, and becomes vibrant every spring. Viewing wild flowers is one good reason to take the drive here, and another is to enjoy a drive through Frazier Park and its different winding roads that quickly make you feel like you are driving on top of the world. You will definitely see a couple of sports cars zoom bye if you take this route. Exploring California is always an adventure.

Photo of Carrizo Plain National Monument, San Luis Obispo, CA by Armando Ortiz



Wednesday, January 3, 2024

Northern Sky: Free-Verse

Racetrack Playa, Death Valley, CA photo by Armando Ortiz

Northern Sky: Free-Verse

By Armando Ortiz


I was conceived in the heart of a growing city

where youth overflowed and were pushed north,


I was born under the northern sky

towards the west where Aries floats near Perseus.


I gave my first cry to the angels of that place,

while they were busy chasing stars.


I was followed by its galactic embrace,

inside planes and mountain trails.


It’s been a silent shelter,

a deep blue safety blanket. 


It’s protected my journeys,

together we traced the contours of China.


It’s kept me warm under the splendor of night 

and bathed me with the cover of midday light.


Its midwest sun passed me by

as I raced towards the western mesas.


In the endless hours through unknown places,

the suspended constellations were my anchor.


Even as I sailed deeper into the ocean of life’s experiences,

the daily burst of stars became the coast of my youth.


Where the waves of time crash with the moment,

and the sound of the turning universe births each second.


Wherever I was, there it was

a different hue of blue but always true.

Mongolian countryside, photo by Armando Ortiz



Friday, December 29, 2023

City River: Free-Verse

City River: Free-Verse

By Armando Ortiz


All the rain of a wet season,

wouldn’t clean this river.


The egret stands atop a grocery cart,

like a homicide detective wondering,

when the streets will be cleared of its filth.


A billion summer tsunamis,

could not purify the water.


The egret contemplates its murky reflection,

like a mysterious figure wearing a peacoat,

the school of fish looks suspect from the outside.


Melting snow from the  Tujunga mountains,

is unable to change the course of the city.


The egret lazily raises a foot,

rusty flakes falling into the current,

it watches a rainbow of plastics float bye.


A never ending mega drought,

wouldn't stop this arroyo from resurrecting.


The egret slowly dips its claws in the stream,

ancient dancer lifting its gray hakana,

despite all the distraction the cycle persists.


Rush hour traffic and midnight flows,

can’t silence the trickling sounds of water.


The egret reenacts its movements,

shoots its beak through the waters edge,

a small frog is trapped as the sky darkens.


Suburban medication  and the urban chaos,

couldn’t stop the river reaching its destination.


The egret glides through the crying willows,

rises up the stream that’s eternally etched,

follows the contours that lead to the ocean of time.