从旧金山湾区去奥勒冈溶洞（Oregon Caves）单程四百英哩，部分路段弯曲狭窄，这一路开去需要八小时左右，当然包括中间加油，休息，吃饭。到那儿去搭帐篷只住一晚，听起来就有些头脑发热之嫌，两天开个来回可真是够累的。可还是去了，因为此行原本有约。去年夏天我带儿子远足奥勒冈和华盛顿两州交界的哥伦比亚大河谷（Columbia River Gorge），连续开车三天，长途劳顿，归途已是人困马乏，只剩下玩性不减。路过奥勒冈的格染茨山口镇（Grants Pass）看了一下地图决定改变路线，抛开宽阔的五号州际高速公路，转走通往加州弯月市（Crescent City）199公路，那是迷人风景专线呢。快开出奥勒冈州时看到临洞镇（Cave Junction），路边树立一标牌，上书奥勒冈溶洞国家保护遗迹（Oregon Caves National Monument）。儿子那年十一岁，见到标牌欢呼跳跃，摩拳擦掌要去一探梦幻般的地貌。只是当时已经是下午两点，离家还有大约四百英哩的路程。作为折衷之法，约定日后专程来游。
奥勒冈溶洞地处思思客游国家森林（Siskiyou National Forest）深处，幽幽古林覆盖奥勒冈和加州交界几千倾土地。尽管溶洞是这次郊游的目的地，过去的一年里时常听到的是来自那无边无际的红杉树林，众多的大河小溪，崇山峻岭，还有大海和许多沙滩与礁石的呼唤。这中间有丁点儿处世哲学也说不定。那年去加州北部的蕩寺米尔（Dunsmuir）就有过一些错鄂的情节。地处思思客游国家森林的东南部，那儿风景秀丽比起奥勒冈溶洞这边还略胜一筹。有海拔12000英呎的珊思塔火山（Mount Shasta），顶天立地；飘逸的三可门图河（Sacramento River）发源于那里众多的山谷溪流；山山叠嶂，瀑布跌迭，谷谷叠翠，令人流连忘返。只是当地居民对门口的景色早已视而不见了，我们听到的是他们滔滔不绝地回忆去巴黎或CANCUN 的旅行轶事，有人对我们的居住区旧金山也露出羡慕之情。是啊，对自家的前门后院熟视无睹也属人之常情。只是我不能理解为什么人们愿意长途跋涉到外地去走马观花，却对眼前的胜景眼皮一翻不屑一顾呢？我不曾去过欧洲，但我不相信那里的任何一个小国会拥有比地大物博的加里福尼亚州更多更美的景观。也许这一切是人的属性，移民他乡不分肤色，白也罢，黑也罢，黄也是，棕也好，都时刻怀念甚或崇拜故土的山山水水，从而很少自我反省罢了。只是我深信爱我脚踏的土地本该是人的一种崇高品质。唉，也可能我这人太吝啬，不愿花大钱出远门游玩呢；可每当我只身涉足人迹罕见的地域，感觉比挤身游人如潮的名胜要舒心达意许多。如此情怀是否可称为中国特色？我想不会吧。大自然恢宏壮丽不容亵渎，如此感受可能仅属个人的情怀。
纬力兹（Willits）是一座中小型镇子，著名的木材集散地。一大横幅高悬高速公路之上，上书“红杉林之门”，自傲之情溢于言表。高大伟岸的红杉树真可谓树中王者，是地球上现存的最古老的生物，两千年的大树依然洒洒脱脱，枝繁叶茂。成年树高350英呎（百米）开外，可谓至高无上。听上去象神话，红杉树只生长在北加州海岸线边一块狭长地带，别处绝无仅有，比生长在加州内陆更为粗壮庞大的水杉（Sequoia）树还要挺拔伟岸。这里的狭长地带不能从字面上理解。一旦驾车驶入“北加州国州合营红杉林公园”（the National and State Redwood Parks in Northern California），那车甚或百余车厢的载重火车也会一下子变成小鱼儿一条在林海里任君畅游。遮天蔽地的大森林啊，不仅使人和车变得微不足道，连一座座山也变矮了。矗天的大树个个端庄优雅，给这里的红土裸石海雾凉风凭添了无限的温文尔雅和勃勃生机。一个人如果对这些巨大的生命敞开心怀，就会体验到这里的庄严肃穆，才能体会真正意义上的心旷神怡。太平洋常年送来凉爽的风，植物因此生长缓慢，那红杉树便从容不迫，慢条斯理地用千年的时间来完成宇间的佳作。多少年了，眼看着王朝一个个走向灭亡，不可一世的发现者船来船往，原住部落被逐个屠城洗劫，哭喊呻吟已暂时沉默，有些动物灭绝了，有人发明了塑料，一代文明也蜕化成肥胖和慵懒…唉，千年一叹，几声叹息里，大树依然高矗，优雅安娴，任阳光时强时弱，迎偶尔风雷闪电，在时间的长廊里信步，默默无语却又气定神闲。双道高速横插而过，昔日的单道公路如今被改成风景专线，取名巨人大道（Avenue of the Giants），令人如双雷灌耳。在我眼里，那风景专线是一座大教堂，是崇拜者的长廊。假如允许的话，我选择崇拜优雅，镇静，谦逊，当然还有爱。只有爱才能使生命感受真正意义上的自由自在。这当然不包括猎奇者的占有欲。在这里爱比想象中更是触手可摸，那些参天大树就是这样告诉游客的。要感觉这些，一个人必须到那里并向巨人们敞开心怀。
商业化的世界在这美丽无边的森林里也使人十分无奈。印地安人的树雕艺术在这里有批量生产，各式的熊，巨脚野人，松鼠，林间生物，用珍贵的红衫木雕成，标价令人咂舌。快到半月城的公路边上有一家旅游点，起名“神秘的树”，专门兜售伐木巨人保罗·班扬之荒诞不经的故事和其它民间传说。勿需烦恼，红衫林的优美将所有一切都掩饰了抚平了。即使在这家思路欠深邃的企业，那缆车也会将一个真情的游人带到一个崭新的高度，放眼百万公傾客来漫思国营森林（Klamath National Forest）那片山林合一的罕世景观。大自然的抚慰功能来自其内在的美和爱。
头天游过了溶洞，第二天的日程表就好排多了。一路走去有充裕的时间观赏任何一个景点，在所有宽阔的海滩撒欢。航泊特海岸（Humbolt Coast）梦境般浪漫朦胧，海充满了神奇，美景令人流连忘返。没有了时间的压力，我们仔细游览了一番令人神往的巨人大道（Avenue of the Giants），林荫道顺河，河中有一深水洼，淌水而入，河水清凉，洗去长途跋涉的尘土，暮气和疲倦。路边广告说有一红杉树，硕大无比，依地锯开空隙，任车穿行，依然生长得枝繁叶茂，车穿巨树便是今天最后一景了。一天在欢乐里度过，又开了400英哩的车，八点半左右到家，天还未黑净。人是乏了，但这一程足够回味一辈子两辈子的了。
An overnight camping trip to Oregon Caves was a crazy idea. Driving over 400 miles each day on consecutive days was nutty simply because the drive would consume almost eight hours as parts of the freeway were narrow and winding. However, the trip was promised last summer. When my son and I came back from our even more grueling trip to Columbia River Gorge, we took the side way from Grants Pass, Oregon, to Crescent City, California, via the fantastic scenic drive, Route 199. Midway to Crescent City we passed by Cave Junction. That was where we noticed the preeminent sign of Oregon Caves National Monument. Being an 11 year old my son jumped at the idea of going underground of fantastic forms and shapes. As a matter of fact, he wanted to go right away. Only it was late in the afternoon and a long drive of over 400 miles was still ahead of us. As a compromise we promised ourselves to come back later.
Oregon Caves nestles in the Siskiyou National Forest that covers a large territory across the border of Oregon and California. The Caves may have been the main attraction of this year's trip; in the past year I have been fielding the call from the magnificent country of the expansive redwood forests, numerous rivers and creeks, mountains big and small, the ocean and its many beaches and rocks. Maybe there was also a philosophical angle here. I once felt bamboozled when I visited Dunsmuir, California. Also part of the Siskiyou National Forest, the scenery there was even more extravagant than that around the Oregon Caves area as Mount Shasta a volcano rose more than 12,000 feet above the sea. The fulsome Sacramento River came into form from many of its forks there amidst myriad waterfalls, and spectacular mountain peaks and wooded gorges. Yet, folks at Dunsmair seemed to have grown blind to wondrous sights around them. When we were there, they couldn't stop marveling about their trips to Paris and Cancun, and even San Francisco where we came from. I understood that one's backyard can become old and lose its charm over time. But why do folks go such a length to just skim through some overly hyped places afar while equally, if not more so, tantalizing spots nearby are grossly ignored or even looked down upon? I don't know for sure but I doubted that a small country in Europe had more spectacular scenic spots than the fabulous State of California. Maybe it's damn genetic that immigrants all alike, white, black, yellow, or brown, fantasize and secretly worship their ancestral land. It's not in our habit to take inventory of our own genetic codes. Only I am convinced that somewhere love for the land one lives on now has to be an immense virtue. Perhaps I am cheap, a low budget traveler; but, I seem to get more joy trekking in the less traveled areas than the typical touristy spots. I wonder if it's too far-fetched to call such mentality an idiosyncrasy with Chinese characteristics. Of course not, I can only speak for myself that nature is too grand to be disrespected in whatever way.
Anyway, it was late in August. The fog along the coast in this particular Friday morning was heavy and all-enshrouding. It was actually a blessing in the disguise because too much sunlight could make driving and riding a bit strenuous. We had too long to go. After fighting through some urban traffic congestions, the US101 took us out of the San Francisco Bay Area, all the while the coastal fog didn't yield an inch to robust August sunshine until somewhere past Ukiah, the northern tip of the Bay Area. All of a sudden, brilliant sunlight highlighted the dry grasses of rolling hills, farm land and cows and towns of less known names, typical of California landscape in the summer.
Willits, a mid-sized lumber town, came into view hanging a huge sign over the freeway claiming itself as the Gateway to the Redwoods with audacious pride. Redwoods the magnificent trees are the royalty among trees, the oldest living things on earth as they say, simply because some 2000 years old trees keep going with grace. Those are the tallest trees on the surface of the earth, reaching over 350 feet. It is magical that the redwoods only thrive on a narrow strip along the coast of Northern California. Redwoods are more graceful in my eyes than the massive but slightly shorter and stouter sequoias in the inland of California. Do not take narrow strip literally here. Once you drive into the National and State Redwood Parks in Northern California, the car or even a freight train becomes a miniature fish swimming in a vast sea of redwood forests. The ever-expansive forest dwarfs people, automobiles and even mountains. Yet, the giant trees of wonderful balance and posture exhibit a grace of gentleness to the land of rock, red earth, fog and sea breezes. The sight can be both solemn and exhilarating if one could make the connection with such a great life. The cool temperature along the Pacific slows the down the growth of the giants so the trees could build itself up deliberately and masterfully on a solid foundation through the millennia. Dynasties may have fallen; pompous discoverers may have come and gone; native tribes may have been slaughtered; human cries and moans may have been temporarily silenced nearby; species may have become extinct; plastic may have been invented; civilization may have deteriorated into obesity and laziness ... but through them all the graceful giants stand its ground to greet the daily dim or fierce sunlight, occasional thunder and lightning, and marching through the long corridor of time with calm and confidence. Yes, they call the long stretches of the old single lane highway or the scenic bypass the Avenue of the Giants. To me this avenue was a cathedral, the corridor of worship. If I am allowed my choices, I choose to worship grace, calm, humility, and of course love. Only love can put a living thing at ease. I don't mean false love for things grotesque. Love is more palpable than one thinks it's possible, a reminder by the gigantic and also silent redwoods, if one cares to travel there and opens one's heart to those trees.
It was so awesome that the redwood forest was endless; for before our notice the freeway veered toward the sea and led us to the splendid Humboldt Coast. After Eureka, US 101 traced the edge of the Pacific, as mammoth black sand beaches simmered in the fog to greet waves crashing onshore from the Ocean. Seagulls, pelicans, and other exotic birds dove into the water and walked ashore in their awkward and graceful ways. By the freeway we spot a sizeable horde of giant elks resting and chewing away in the coolness of the misty sunlight as if to savor the spirit of the ocean. The world there was a spectacular oil painting. Our car became a dot or a grain of sand in the large scheme of landscape. But I felt great and willing to be blended in and become lost into the wholeness of such extravaganza in absolute silence. Life, indeed, has its moments of glory.
The gas price was horrendous. When we left the Bay Area, the lowest grade of gas cost $2.98 per gallon. Up north some stations had $3.75 over their pumps. We gassed up at Eureka for a measly $3.21 and actually felt good. It was silly because we felt depressed a year ago when the gas price reached $1.65 per gallon.
The commercialization of the world was definitely an eyesore in the beautiful expansion of the woods. Indian folk art of tree carving had been taken into mass production as bears, big-foot, small squirrels, and other things were carved from precious redwood for ridiculous amounts. Just before Crescent City, there was this ghastly joint, the Trees of Mystery, an establishment that paddles the tall tales of Paul Bunyan and other folklores. Still, the beauty of the redwoods irons them all out. I was absolutely convinced that the skytrail at this semi-serious commercial adventure could take a person with true heart to a magnificent height to overlook the sweeping view of the out-of-this-worldly Klamath National Forest and its million acres of giant redwoods. Nature heals because of its innate love and grace. Time was short; we had to move on without too much a bother with the superficial.
When the road wound around the mountains, it was often the rivers that paved the way. So many rivers helped the US 101 cut through the mountains of giant redwoods. We tangled a little while with the Russian River around Ukiah; soon the Eel River came up from nowhere to crisscross the freeway for many miles. The Klamath River and many other little creeks and streams rush towards the Pacific under the freeway. Water contains the highest virtue in the world. Those thousand years old wisdom remains true today. Water has all of us, people, trees, plants and flowers, and animals, made. It's water that brings this planet endless supply of beauty and grace.
A couple of miles north of Crescent City, we switched to Route 199 the scenic drive that made the heart pump with joy for the past year. The scenery remained similar to that of US 101 as both are dubbed as Redwood Highways with almost identical scales and surroundings. Slowly the coolness of the Pacific Coast was losing its gentle grasp, though the tall redwoods still provided soothing shades in late summer. Soon after the Smith River and its many valleys, peaks and rocks burst into the scene, the hot inland temperature started to flood in and envelope everything and everyone in, to remind us that summer was still sizzling in our world. It was past 4 in the afternoon. We were in a hurry to make it to the Oregon Caves Visitor's Center at Cave Junction before the center was closed for Friday thus left quite a few vista points and beaches and lagoons for the day after. We made it in time, arriving at the Visitor's Center at 4:15. We were told that both the Visitor's Center and the Caves all opened until 7 in the afternoon. There were plenty of camping sites available, too, at a couple of campgrounds run by the Oregon Caves Outfitters. Grayback and Cave Creek were both gorgeous campgrounds with flush toilets and tall pine trees and a river-like creek. But until then we had no idea of such a favorable situation because both campgrounds don't take reservations and run on first come and first serve basis. Maybe I have the inclination to take risks sometimes.
Another 11 miles of narrow roads which they call the Caves Highway, we arrived at the Grayback Campground. Because there were so many sites available, we could afford the luxury to choose one by the creek, not too far or too close to the restrooms, either. In many other campgrounds we had no choice but to take what was left. We paid and filled up the form to mark our territory. Unpacking had to wait as there was still a little bit over one hour and a half to take a tour of the Caves.
Another 8 miles of winding around the hills, we were up in the depth of the Siskiyou National Forest where the Oregon Caves resided. The first impression was the massiveness of the rocks. Rocks made mountains tall and gorges deep. The six story Oregon Caves Chateau in this deep gorge only had its roof shown to visitors from the roadside. The Cave Creek Gorge was so deep and the trees so tall that it appeared bottomless in the tired eyes of a traveler. A little stream trickling out of the Caves simply disappeared into the gorge to grow into a full-blown creek in the size of a healthy river.
The office was a little above the Chateau on the other side of the driveway. This place was declared a National Monument by the Taft Administration in the late 1800s. The State of Oregon and the federal government had put in a lot of effort and money through the years as the place appeared well built and maintained in an American way, sturdy and a little extravagant but not overly decorative, in comparison to those Buddhist or Taoist establishments in China and Japan.
The crowd of the visitors was just beginning to thin out at this hour. Yet we didn't catch the 6 o'clock guided tour because it was booked out as each tour could only take 12 visitors. They put us on the 6:30 group, the last guided tour of the day before the 7 o'clock candlelight exploration for the brave and adventurous.
I decided not to go into the caves. I have been to caves and caverns in other parts of the world. There was nothing that interested me, except exposing the mild claustrophobia in me. Underground caves make me feel uneasy thus flatten the sense of excitement. I didn't welcome the news that some stretches of the caves here required visitors to bend their backs 45 degrees forward in order to climb up and down.
Left alone, I started to follow the trails uphill above the caves. It was a superlative self-guided tour because of my passion for tall trees and bulky mountains. The evening light penetrating through leaves and forest brought out exceptional colors and delight. A sea of mountain peaks expanded the view from green into blue towards the horizon. The trail was paved with asphalt for quite some distance. A neatly constructed log railing made the trail very pleasant to look at and walk on. So, I danced on and clicked away with my camera here and there. When the trail zigzagged its way out of the Caves area, the asphalt ended and dirt and rocks made it rougher. But it was more real this way. A trail thus became a trail. I had noticed massive rocks in pure white when we first parked the car. But the rocks though protuberant were not prominent at the gorge area because large patches of moss, in their golden color, covered most of the rock surfaces. The trail led up to more and more of the marvelous whiteness and purity of the rocks that was the unique feature of this particular mountain. At one point a huge wall of large chunks of pure white marble stood in front of me as if to make a loud pronouncement. With the reflection of the evening sunlight, the rock made its case of preciousness. I was alone and the entire world was in awe. There I was penetrated by a resounding voice. A presence it was, rather, so special. Sometimes a presence doesn't have to be a person. The marble here is alive. In such a presence, living things can be so ordinary.
It was said that the plate of the ocean (the Pacific Plate) and the plate of land clashed with each other eons ago. Humanly inconceivable pressure and heat melted and purified the rocks beneath. The rising of lava and molten rocks together with water had created a few chunks of marble, diamond-like rocks different from their previous state of existence, ordinary limestone. Chunks of marble in the sizes of mountains rose up in the process of mountain making. Then rotten woods and plants released carbon dioxide. CO2 and water created acidified solutions that dissolved some of the rocks and other less steady materials. Thus the caves were created and later discovered by people for recreational values. Thus we came, to camp here, to visit and to marvel.
Marble making is an awe-inspiring process. It reminds me of all the rare elements and possibly life itself on Earth were all cooked up in the phantasmagorical celestial explosion called supernova. Colossal events in our universe smash everything and itself (in the size of a few millions of Planet Earth) apart and blow many things into smoke, into oblivion; in the process it also meshed certain things into mind-boggling forms and shapes. At the end the world gained extra dimensions and complex species were made. Such evolution is still unfolding in front of our eyes and will go on beyond our own existence. Life is an accident in this universe and yet we have the ability to perceive.
Marble is rare. Chunks of marble stand out amidst many other types of rock after millions of years. They bear nature's demarcation. I suppose only true substance with excellence could become great marvel, naturally so. Everything else fell apart, cracked, darkened, blown up, evaporated, trembling and crying. After all, the heat was too cruel and the water was too deep. Survival was impossible as only transformation was allowed. Metamorphosis was imposed, not chosen. Only a few are allowed to come through, in more solid form than before. The rest is eliminated and discarded. There is definitely a human parallel of such process. A watershed event, be it a damn revolution, a stupid political movement, a natural disaster, or even a parental divorce, had sisters and brothers scattered to all directions. At the end, not only Buddhas and Bodhisattvas were made but monsters of society were also born out of hate and revenge ...
The Caves visitors came out happy and excited. But I doubted they reached the height I just did above a mountain of marbles.
Anyway, it was late. The tent was pitched by the Creek. The grill was going, food tasted delicious. We splashed up a few ripples in the creek water to wash off some of the dust and heat. It was too dark to swim in the waterhole upstream. That would be heaven on earth. But sleeping by the gurgling creek was definitely soothing to the body as no audio tapes of recorded natural sounds were needed for this particular night.
Since the tour of the Caves was out of our way, the next day was much easier in terms of scheduling. There was time to stop at any vista point we liked along the way. We could run any beach that was appealing. One could only find the Humboldt Coast in one's dreams, so romantic and so misty. The ocean was magic. We even had time to take a grand tour of the Avenues of the Giants and stopped by a water hole to soak in and wash off the heat and dust gathered along the incredibly long drive. Driving through a tree, a redwood tree of course, was the last highlight of the day. Through all the fun, another 400 plus miles, we still got back home around 8:30, before the total nightfall. The body may be fatigued but the memory was worth a life time or two.
lived on in me; so, I had to write to unwind, so to speak. Writing is a form of therapy in its true sense in this case. I always remember all the places, names, yes. If not, I also have maps and brochures collected along the way. Hah.
This joint could do without my writing, but not your sweet presence.
Yeah, you are right; marble is precious everywhere. Who knows what would happen to this marble mountain had the Federal Government not set up a national park to protect the trees, the water and the rocks? Preservation is so important in this sense.
Thank you for the lovely flowers. I am happy to share such a marvelous experience with those who also appreciate the grandeur of Mother Nature. Gratitude should be an essential element of life.
哈哈哈哈 O(∩_∩)O哈哈~ 好久不来了，不小心看了一眼自己主页，发现自动关联了自己以往发过的帖，点进这个看了一眼，笑个半死。。。敢情我当初还发过这么搞笑的东西啊，我自己完全不记得了 
雷达卡
发表于 2008-9-20 08:02:26
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千斤顶
发表于 2008-9-20 08:11:02
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这块大理石长对了地方，要走俺们中国，早被搬去造大礼堂了 
