Passing
the Fox Mill Spring, I decided to fill my water bottles here. The spring
was off the trail a bit, so I unloaded my pack, collected my water bottles and
scurried down the side trail to the small, gurgling stream flowing from
underneath a pile of willow and sagebrush debris. This water I treated
with bleach. The spring lay adjacent to the ruins of a barite mill, and
according to the Southern California PCT guidebook, barite is used in drilling
mud and was mined and processed here until the early 1950s.
Drilling mud
is an essential element in well drilling. It helps to cool the drill bits
and removes cuttings from the borehole by suspending the sand and rock
particles, then floating them to the surface. At the surface, the
cuttings are separated from the drilling mud and the mud is returned to the mud
pit to be recycled.
Not far
from the Fox Mill Spring, I came across a low-volume stream meandering through
the grass and bushes beside the trail. Actually, the trail crossed over
it, and in one stride I could step across it. However, before crossing
it, I stopped to look at the flowing water. There is something about
water that fascinates me, and for some reason, I enjoy observing it.
Maybe it’s because it’s so vital out here in the wilderness; it’s just
not something to be taken for granted. Unlike at home, where a turn of
the faucet will get you all the water you need, here I’m reliant on ponds,
lakes, springs, and streams to meet my daily needs, and even then, I have to
carry enough with me to get me the next source.
And so I
watched the water for a few moments. Presently, I heard a rustling in a
tree a few yards from the stream; I turned my gaze from the water to the tree
to see if I could locate the source of the disturbance. To my delight and
amusement, I saw a small bear cub sitting in the crouch of the tree, peering
around a large limb watching me. I called out to him/her,
“Hello,
big buddy; how’s it going up there?”
The cub
just continued to watch me. I pulled my camera out of my pocket and
clicked off a few shots. I then began to think, where there was a bear
cub, there was likely to be a mama bear around also. I pocketed my
camera, said “Good-bye” to my little friend and headed on up the trail.
Hikers who caught up with me later on said they also encountered the
little cub, which by now had come down out of the tree and was walking on the
trail. They, too, were concerned about a mama bear, but said they didn’t
see one.
I had
walked through a number of burn areas, but the one I was entering now had to be
one of the most devastating and destructive fires Southern California had seen.
It was called the Manter fire, and it destroyed upwards of sixty-seven
thousand acres of brush and timberland. At this point on the trail, I was
about fourteen miles from Kennedy Meadows, and the burn area extended from here
to there.
It was started in 2000 in an area called Manter Meadows, a
popular camping area for hikers and backpackers. It consumed much of the
timber in the Domeland Wilderness off to the west of the trail, and advanced
far enough north to threaten the structures of Kennedy Meadows. Eight
buildings were lost to the fire and the residents of Kennedy Meadows had to
evacuate the area.
The fire
was so hot that it baked the soil, making it virtually impossible for anything
to grow, except invasive weeds. It will take many, many years for this
land to recover. I also passed by another burn area called the Woodpecker
Meadow fire that burned in 1947. Since that time, trees have been unable to
replace themselves and the land has been taken over by sagebrush and other
shrubs.
Little bear cub in the tree. Where's there's a little one, there's usually a Mama bear around. I didn't stick around to find out.
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