The General 1

Nestled in the fertile loins of central California there stands a silent army - an ancient batallion far more daunting than any ever amassed by humankind. Some know them as the Sequoia, others as the Sierra Redwood, but no mere name, however majestic, can serve to capture the sheer magnitude and presence of these soldiers of old. For this, one must walk among them and stand before their great and noble leader, General Sherman, the largest individual organism on planet Earth. More voluminous than nine blue whales, the General looms some sixty stories into the sky above, holding fast - along with his faithful troop - to that same patch of ground they've held since the time of the ancient Greeks. It is among these incredible giants and their magnificent chief that one comes to realize that it is the plants, and not the animals - let alone human beings - who rule, and have long ruled this earth, and who will likely remain sovereign here long after we are gone.

After a few lovely days in Monterey, I dedcided to head South to L.A. to visit with the sister of a good friend of mine. Although I hadn't seen her in well over a year, she was generous enough to put me up in her modest apartment in West Hollywood for a couple of nights, where I had a great time! It was very nice to touch base with someone familiar after a few days of hanging out with strangers. It wasn't long however before I started thinking more seriously about a trip to see the General, but when I actually got down to the business of researching the logistics of making a trip to Sequoia National Park at this time of year, I was more than a little discouraged. Ever since I started planning my time in the U.S. some months ago, seeing the General had been one of the adventures I was most excited about, but at this point things didn't look good.

The shuttle bus which usually runs between Visalia and Sequoia National Park, I came to learn, is out of service from December to February. (Visalia is a five hour bus ride from L.A., and is the closest Greyhound runs to the park, but is still some 50 miles away.) Moreover, the public transit which runs between Visalia and Three Rivers is only operational on weekday mornings, and here we were Friday night. (Three Rivers is the last bit of civilization before the park, but is still some 23 miles away.) Suffice it to say, the odds didn't seem to be in my favor, but something in me wasn't about to let go of this dream - this veritable pilgrimage - to see the largest trees on earth. And so, despite my better judgment - and heavy eyelids - around midnight that evening, I packed up my few things, said my thankyous and goodbyes to my generous host, and made for the Los Angeles Greyhound station in the black of night, without the foggiest idea of how I would make it to the trees, let alone make it back down to San Diego before my Greyhound bus pass died in a few days. But I'll tell you one thing, I was smiling the whole way.