Amen
May 6 Mon.
Man I'm zonked. Just returned from Yosemite. We, Shirelle and I, left here on Friday around 6:30 pm after fighting over Shirelle not having her rent money. We sipped beer and chewed jerky and the radio tuned in appropriate Arlo Guthrie tunes up Highway 395. The Sierra glowed peacefully under the full moon. I turned off up at Pleasant Valley Ridge Dam Reservoir Campground at midnight. I thought it was too late to pitch the tent, so we moved our gear into the cab of the truck and slept in the back. Shell was none too subtle about her discomfort, and she shivered as if she were naked in the Antarctic winter. It was neither serene nor idyllic. Some drunk rednecks talked loudly all night about their escapades in outwitting cops. I was up before the sun, tried nightcrawlers in a couple of Owens tributaries. It was pretty chilly. I didn't feel like I was gonna get anything, so after about an hour we loaded up and headed to Big Meadow along Rock Creek. I hiked down along the cold creek; in the shade of the canyon the sun had still not risen. I tried a salmon egg and Zeke's Floating Bait sandwich. No luck. After only about twenty minutes or so, we headed down to Tom's Place and had some bacon and eggs. Tom's is kind of a rural outpost general store/bar/diner with deer and elk heads and taxidermic fish mounted on the walls. On Saturday nights it can turn into a bit of a hootenanny with people coming from all over the mountains to to party down.
After breakfast we drove back up the mountain to Rock Creek Lake. It was still frozen over. I trudged through the snow to a place where the ice had thawed, and I worked it with lures and eggs and Power Bait. No luck. I hit the creek just below the lake. My feet crashed thought the snow. Didn't catch anything. Then we tried Convict Lake, but it was too windy to even bother casting. We were going to try Devil's Postpile, but the road was closed because of snow. So we thought we would just head into Yosemite to meet my mom and John and Karen, but the Tioga Pass was still snowed in. A guy at the 76 station said we needed to drive up to Minden and could get over on 88 and then go back down 120 and head in from the west. Five and half more hours of driving, over Monitor Pass, into the barren high country, over wide green valleys, I threw my line in the Carson River. No luck. Marklesville, Woodsford, past the Cutthroat Saloon, to 88, past Kirkwood, streams of melted snow meandering through alpine meadows, on to Jackson, and then down the 49 through Calaveras County, gold country, past Sutter's Mill, through Angel's Camp, where they hang the laundry across Main Street, past Mark Twain's cabin, over rollling green hills: I wanted to embrace it, to roll naked over every inch of it; over the wide Stanislaus river, the wide Toulemne, Shirelle blew me, the orgasm was incredible, it went with the landscape, driving right along side the game warden trying to concentrate on the pleasure and the curves in the road, to the 120 emerging from the tunnel, the holy spectacle of Yosemite Valley, the falls, the half dome, it busts the eyes, down into the valley. We got a place at Housekeeping Village, grilled shrimp over the open fire, I strummed some guitar, smoked, tripped on the bark of the lodgepole pines, saw faces in the trunks of the trees, tripped on the flames in Shrell's eyes. We boned, we fucked, we made love, we held each other tightly, and ground into each other, no pounding, the orgasm lasted a long time. Woke up around 7:30, had some cereal, read and wrote. Felt great. Struck camp. Headed to a reservation booth, got a site at Lower Pines, on the Merced. Met Mom, John, and Karen at the Ahwanee. Had a bloody mary on the redwood deck, dogwoods flowering all around, water pouring down the the steep granite walls from thousands of feet above us. We went back to the Merced and set up our camp, drank beer, ate sandwiches. I tried a wooly, barbless lure in in the Merced. Didn't catch shit. Took a deep nap. Met the folks that evening for pizza at Camp Curry, back to camp after, set a fire, strummed some, read some, passed out. Woke up this morning, tried my luck along the river at Upper Pines, did a tightrope walk across the river on a fallen tree to an island in the stream. Still no luck Went with the family to lower Yosemite Falls, took some pictures, had lunch at the Yosemite Lodge. Drove home. Just got here. Amen.
Man I'm zonked. Just returned from Yosemite. We, Shirelle and I, left here on Friday around 6:30 pm after fighting over Shirelle not having her rent money. We sipped beer and chewed jerky and the radio tuned in appropriate Arlo Guthrie tunes up Highway 395. The Sierra glowed peacefully under the full moon. I turned off up at Pleasant Valley Ridge Dam Reservoir Campground at midnight. I thought it was too late to pitch the tent, so we moved our gear into the cab of the truck and slept in the back. Shell was none too subtle about her discomfort, and she shivered as if she were naked in the Antarctic winter. It was neither serene nor idyllic. Some drunk rednecks talked loudly all night about their escapades in outwitting cops. I was up before the sun, tried nightcrawlers in a couple of Owens tributaries. It was pretty chilly. I didn't feel like I was gonna get anything, so after about an hour we loaded up and headed to Big Meadow along Rock Creek. I hiked down along the cold creek; in the shade of the canyon the sun had still not risen. I tried a salmon egg and Zeke's Floating Bait sandwich. No luck. After only about twenty minutes or so, we headed down to Tom's Place and had some bacon and eggs. Tom's is kind of a rural outpost general store/bar/diner with deer and elk heads and taxidermic fish mounted on the walls. On Saturday nights it can turn into a bit of a hootenanny with people coming from all over the mountains to to party down.
After breakfast we drove back up the mountain to Rock Creek Lake. It was still frozen over. I trudged through the snow to a place where the ice had thawed, and I worked it with lures and eggs and Power Bait. No luck. I hit the creek just below the lake. My feet crashed thought the snow. Didn't catch anything. Then we tried Convict Lake, but it was too windy to even bother casting. We were going to try Devil's Postpile, but the road was closed because of snow. So we thought we would just head into Yosemite to meet my mom and John and Karen, but the Tioga Pass was still snowed in. A guy at the 76 station said we needed to drive up to Minden and could get over on 88 and then go back down 120 and head in from the west. Five and half more hours of driving, over Monitor Pass, into the barren high country, over wide green valleys, I threw my line in the Carson River. No luck. Marklesville, Woodsford, past the Cutthroat Saloon, to 88, past Kirkwood, streams of melted snow meandering through alpine meadows, on to Jackson, and then down the 49 through Calaveras County, gold country, past Sutter's Mill, through Angel's Camp, where they hang the laundry across Main Street, past Mark Twain's cabin, over rollling green hills: I wanted to embrace it, to roll naked over every inch of it; over the wide Stanislaus river, the wide Toulemne, Shirelle blew me, the orgasm was incredible, it went with the landscape, driving right along side the game warden trying to concentrate on the pleasure and the curves in the road, to the 120 emerging from the tunnel, the holy spectacle of Yosemite Valley, the falls, the half dome, it busts the eyes, down into the valley. We got a place at Housekeeping Village, grilled shrimp over the open fire, I strummed some guitar, smoked, tripped on the bark of the lodgepole pines, saw faces in the trunks of the trees, tripped on the flames in Shrell's eyes. We boned, we fucked, we made love, we held each other tightly, and ground into each other, no pounding, the orgasm lasted a long time. Woke up around 7:30, had some cereal, read and wrote. Felt great. Struck camp. Headed to a reservation booth, got a site at Lower Pines, on the Merced. Met Mom, John, and Karen at the Ahwanee. Had a bloody mary on the redwood deck, dogwoods flowering all around, water pouring down the the steep granite walls from thousands of feet above us. We went back to the Merced and set up our camp, drank beer, ate sandwiches. I tried a wooly, barbless lure in in the Merced. Didn't catch shit. Took a deep nap. Met the folks that evening for pizza at Camp Curry, back to camp after, set a fire, strummed some, read some, passed out. Woke up this morning, tried my luck along the river at Upper Pines, did a tightrope walk across the river on a fallen tree to an island in the stream. Still no luck Went with the family to lower Yosemite Falls, took some pictures, had lunch at the Yosemite Lodge. Drove home. Just got here. Amen.
posted by johnz at 1:45 PM
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