A Morning Walk, Tomato Soup, Fish, and the Burning Sun at Lake Cachuma

It was the sun that woke me in the morning. The heat rained on my face and it was early - about six. I woke up in a fog as a result of the late night fire activities. It was quiet but I could hear birds chirping, I think a blue jay, and the sound of light breeze through the leaves on the Cyprus trees. I was the first to wake, and I unzipped the tent and heard Brandon roll over probably half awake or in a dream. I stood outside the tent for a minute and looked around. There was not a cloud in the sky, and a few flies were already buzzing around our camp. I looked at the still smoldering coals in the fire and the empty beer cans in a pile next to the fire pit. I smiled. I was in my underwear but there was nobody around so I slipped on my sandals and took a walk to the water. It was seventy degrees early in the morning and the sun had that strength promising of a hot day. The water was calm near the shore and a few light ripples sparkled like snow near the center. The land around the lake was a dry brown and green trees were littered on the hills. I heard something splash and saw the residual ripples from a jumping fish head towards the shore losing speed like tick, tock.

I dipped my feet in the water and it was cool. It felt nice in the early hours of waking like the last moments of a dream before the sun forces consciousness upon you like a wave crashing on the beach. I walked back towards the camp and saw Domenic standing confused scanning the tent for clues of the night. I laughed at him and he saw me and smiled with his hair matted against his face like he hadn't moved all night. It was going to be a good day. I could feel it in my nerves.

After we were all up we cooked some hash and added some hot sauce we had taken from a diner in South Dakota. It wasn't very good but it was better than a granola bar. We packed up our hiking packs and broke down our fishing rods and strapped them to our bags. It was about ten o'clock when we were ready to go, and the heat was overbearing. I wrapped my shirt around my head and we started walking around the lake with no real direction. We had packed the Jetboil, some cans of tomato soup, saltine crackers, powerbait, nightcrawlers, water, a flask of whiskey, marijuana, and cigarettes.

"I am casting a line right here."

We had walked about two hundred yards and come upon a cove. I could see the shadows of small mouth bass moving slowly in the depths of the cove. The bank was eroded so there was a place to sit. We all in silence began unstrapping our rods and baiting our lines. Brandon cast first. There was a tug on his line almost immediately. Domenic packed a pipe and we all puffed on it slowly. The heat felt cyclical like the hands on a clock. It was turning slowly and pressed reality on us slowly and powerfully. There wasn't escaping the moment.

"Do you have one?'

"Yup." Brandon was in a small battle with a fish that leapt from the water and twisted awkwardly in the air. Brandon's rod was bent to almost ninety degrees. As he was reeling Domenic began a fight of his own. I could see the sweat on his brow as he struggled to keep the fish on his line. It was like a game of chess. Brandon and Domenic paced down the bank trying to land their fish. It was very peaceful. A fly buzzed in my ear.

"Got 'em." I grabbed the net and waded to my ankles. I scooped the fish and held him out of the water. It was a small mouth bass about three lbs. I smiled and Brandon wiped the sweat from his brow. Domenic had lost his fish. It was probably a pickerel. His line was cut clean.

"Glad I didn't catch that. Can't stand those Goddamn teeth."

"This is a beauty." Brandon held up the fish as he tried to unhook it. It had swallowed his line almost to its stomach. He finally was able to free the fish and we admired it in the sun for a minute. With out warning he dipped it in the water and helped the water run over its gills. He released it and the fish remained still for a minute. Suddenly it flicked its body and with a splash took off back to the deep, where it belonged. We smiled and packed up our rods and continued to hike around the lake.

As we walked we could see how dry the lake was. The old shore line was cut into the land and small trees and shrubbery had began growing in the muck. In the shade it was nice, and the sun fell through the branches like broken glass. In a few areas the cliff was steep and we were struggling in the loose rock and dirt, hoping someone would slip and fall in, praying it wasn't you. We moved inland on the west side of the lake. It was too rocky on the shore. Brandon stepped on a bees nest and we all ran away from the angry swarm. We heard the rattle of a snake and saw one slipping through the dead leaves and grass. We finally found a path down to the lake on the opposite side of our camp. There was some kind of structure that was abandoned and looked like a cement dome. Confused at what it was and needing a break we walked towards it and began to break out our rods again. It was about noon so Domenic set up the jetboil and Brandon began heating our soup. The waves lapped against the rocks and the flies were buzzing around our heads. There was nobody anywhere that we could see. We were isolated and content with each others company. Domenic caught a fish and he released it and I sat in the shade and let my eyes close and suddenly I was being shaken awake and handed a bowl of soup. I broke up the crackers and enjoyed the meal under the umbrella of shade. I had forgotten who I was.

The day waned and we kept fishing. The walk was slow but we weren't in a rush. We caught a few fish but didn't keep any. There wasn't any need. The battle on the shore was enough.

That night we relaxed by the fire. The stars were out in full force. After Brandon and Domenic went to bed I just sat by the fire with a headlamp and my journal. I was writing well. It felt right. I heard something move in a tree by my camp and looked. There were a family of raccoons peering inquisitively into the light. Their eyes flashed like lightning. I smiled and gathered up the chair and doused the fire. I unzipped the tent and climbed in my sleeping bag. Brandon was snoring. I smiled and elbowed him and the side. He rolled over but didn't wake. The snoring stopped. I fell asleep to nothing and felt nothing until the morning.

Cloud Road to Cachuma.

It was still raining in the morning. I was disappointed. The mist from passing tires sprayed in the air and everything was wet. Puddles were unavoidable and we gathered our things and trekked across the lawn to check out of the hotel. It wasn't raining hard but it seemed like whatever water was in the air couldn't find a place to land so it just hung there, grabbing onto whatever was near like a spider's web. By the time we reached the lobby water was running down my face to my neck. The air was muggy and I was sweating in my jeans already. I headed towards the bathroom to change. My raincoat was too hot but I couldn't take it off. Dreary, dismal, dead. I walked into the lobby and Domenic was checking out. Brandon was trying to look up the weather on his laptop sitting on a vinyl couch that was squeaking when he took a breath. I walked to the coffee machine and put a cup under the brew. It spit out discolored water and some loose coffee grinds and then it was finished. Disappointed I sipped what had leaked into my cup and my face twisted at the tartness but it was a little caffeine so I forced it down my throat.

"It is going to rain all day here but just to the north it is already clear I think. Right around Lake Cachuma. Didn't Hanna tell us about that area?"

"Yeas. She did. I think we should camp there if it isn't raining."

"At least stop and check it out. I'm not ready to finish this road trip. Let's make Cali last like two weeks."

"I'm fine with that."

We stopped at a Starbucks on the drive out of L.A. There were thirty or forty men sitting around the parking lot waiting to be picked up by whoever needed some day labor and they were soaking wet but looked content. A few of them approached my car when I pulled in but I looked at them and shrugged my shoulders and they knew I was as employed as they were. The line for Starbucks was long and the rainy weather made a heavy fog inside and it was uncomfortable. We bought our coffees and left Los Angeles as quickly as we could.

On the highway we took a wrong turn and found ourselves somewhere near Beverly Hills. It was too foggy to see the Hollywood sign and the only relatively amusing moment was when Domenic stopped short as a man smoking a joint cut him off on a bicycle. I do not miss Los Angeles.

Finally we escaped the grip of the city and were driving through the California hills. It was still cloudy and although it wasn't raining the visibility was low and we were straining to catch a glimpse of something grand.

The ocean was crashing against the beach and my window was open and the salt air flooded the car and sparked something simple inside me which brought a smile to my face - to all of our faces. It was intimidating driving along the highway because we could see in some areas where the rain had eroded some of the cliff and I could visualize our car being crushed turning around a corner by falling rock. I tried not to think about it.

It was cloudy the entire drive that day. Domenic saw a sign for Cachuma at the last minute and took a right turn inland and up a mountain road. The fog settled as a heavy white. It wasn't fog anymore. It was more like a cumulus nimbus. Domenic was following closely the tail lights of a van which was driving under twenty miles an hour. Frustrated with the speed Domenic passed the van and nearly immediately jolted his brakes and pulled off the side of the road. It was impossible to see anything except the tail lights of the van. When we reached the crest the clouds were thick like cream. We were all pressed forward staring into the white as if our eyes would eventually adjust like they can in the dark. It was too heavy. Rather than an absence it was more like an explosion. In the dark the nothing creeps on you like emptiness. Everything is there but vanishing. As you sit patiently what little light penetrates begins to slip and spring around the dark. As if a lack of light is intimidating - as if a lack of anything is. In this cloud we were overwhelmed - flooded with a rush of something that matters until we couldn't comprehend it or see anything at all regardless of how hard we strained. It was as if we were staring at the sea to find out what was hiding in the deep. It felt as if it would never clear until suddenly blue skies fell down upon us. We were a few thousand feet above the lake and it was beautiful and eighty degrees. I realized my heart had been pounding against my ribs and as we descended it relaxed until the sweat felt cold on my face and I wiped it with my shirt. We pulled up to the kiosk and payed a small fee to get into the park and when we stopped we knew we were in the right place and thankful to be out of the dampness of the storm. Brandon parked and we all laughed for a while in the sun and above the weight of our worries. The driving was done for a while. We set up camp but the day was not done, not even close.

We had parked on a small cliff above the lake. We set up our tent and built a fire pit with some rocks we saw laying around. We had a few bundles of wood in the car but it wouldn't be enough to last the evening. We wandered off to the trees to find some dead wood and we found some, actually an endless amount, and we were happy. After we had settled we doused ourselves in bug spray and found a path down the cliff to the lake. We brought a few beers and our fishing rods and cast out into the lake for a few hours until the sun was gone and the temperature had dropped dramatically. It was quiet by the lake, a peaceful weight to the air and we watched the light fade into brilliant colors and then dark. We didn't catch anything that first night because we were using sinkers which were getting caught on the very rocky bottom of the lake. It was perfect, though.

We sparked a fire back near the tent and cooked some chili over the flame. Fish would have been nice. We laughed and joked in the silence and we could hear crickets and critters stirring in the woods all around us. We played guitar and planned out the next day and figured we would take a hike around the lake with our fishing rods. I fell asleep in the night under an umbrella of burning stars.

The Salt Coast

I feel like I have been here before. Not in any specific terms, but it all feels so familiar. It didn't take long to feel comfortable. I miss my family but sense them here. Summer was suddenly thrust upon us and that could have been why. It had felt done but now it seems it never left. There is something lacking, though. I know it is probably something lacking in me.

We stayed on couches for a few days. A storm had terrorized the California coast but we were just below it in the sunshine in San Diego. It was the first real rain of the season and the mudslides were a concern because of all the fires California was dealing with during the dry months. Plus, we had a certain idea of what the drive up the coast would be like and drowning in rain and mud was not a part of it.

The sun fought strong in San Diego. We spent most of our day moping around town and walking along the pier. I was writing a lot there. It felt right and nearly effortless. I smiled at the sun and the calm waves crashing on the beach. Again I had a strong sense of home but then I would wonder what home really is and I became frustrated. The most I could gather was I enjoyed it when I felt it and sometimes it makes me want to cry. I have a few times in my life.

We played disc golf which was the most fun I have ever had with Frisbees. We drove around the city and the wind was warm and didn't provide relief. I could feel my pulse slow and didn't feel a need for anything. We had fish tacos at a shanty shack and it tasted authentic though I don't really know what authentic fish tacos should taste like. They were delicious all the same.

It has been close to a month since we left. We have driven almost six thousand miles. Time feels like nothing except still frames of images piled as if in a landfill and it is far too difficult and rancid to organize. I can revisit some moments whenever I want and sometimes I think I have actually traveled in time when in reality I have because I have gone from that second to this one like tick, tock. We are all traveling in time but maybe not moving anywhere except around and around and I wonder how I change so much that I cannot recognize myself in my thoughts. This trip is almost over and it no longer will define me but I know at some point I will revisit it and realize how much it has changed me. But for now I feel the same as I did yesterday.

I snapped too when a gust of wind flipped the pages of my journal like a deck of cards. I looked out over the water. I was sitting at a table on the pier which shot out to the ocean. There was surf below me and the water had a suspicious red clay color to it. I was staring south at Tijuana trying to imagine what it was like there because as far as I can tell from the stories I have heard it may be the most volatile place on the planet. I've never been, though.

Brandon had taken a walk and he was now standing at the very end of the pier staring out on the water. I saw Domenic laying in the sand on the beach. I took a sip of coffee. We were all lost in thought and spread apart from each other. I am pretty sure we are sharing something we won't ever lose. In the water there was a restlessness that seemed to be taunting. The storm to the north was churning the seas and although it was a beautiful day there was a looming suspicion that things were off kilter. I closed my journal and looped the elastic around the cover to keep it closed. I finished my coffee with a gulp and stood to stretch. I want to stay here, though I know I am the only one. I could get a job and live in the summer for a while and that would make me happy. I don't know why we have to leave. We do, though.

It hasn't been enough to justify anything. That sentence is vague because the notion is vague. I don't know if it is expectations or if I am just waiting for something or if it is just a human thing to never remain satisfied but I am not. It isn't a sadness or a tragedy simply a feeling that no matter where I am it isn't enough. It is only enough when it is gone and I don't have it anymore. That there in lies the tragedy.

We heard the storm was finishing that evening and decided we had already overstayed our welcome. We were right, as no one argued with our decision to head north. We figured we could spend the night in Los Angeles at a cheap motel and leave in the morning and in the sunshine. We started driving and within twenty minutes the wind had picked up and the clouds stopped the light and it was a heavy grey. We were in good spirits but they were definitely affected by the storm like August is affected by the anticipation of fall. We didn't say much but listened to music and studied the coast line when we could until we hit the traffic of L.A. It was stopped dead and raining now so we couldn't open our windows and the air conditioner didn't work. I was so hot I took off my pants in the backseat but that didn't help and it felt weird but I left them off because I couldn't stand the feeling of wet denim on my legs. There wasn't much more to that night. The next day was the start of the best part of the trip.

Someone I Met Once.

"This country man, it ain't right. Thea ain't much that is. I worked my whole life, that damn govment been takin' my money till it left me on the streets. My whole life been like that, now I'm he'a on the streets with nothin but shit grins from people who think it was drugs or sex brought me to it.

"I ain't nevah asked for nuttin but what is fair. Now they keep me on the line for hours just to get a bit of cash that they gonna take away when they damn well please. Where you boys from?"

"Boston."

"Boston. Shit! Good place you got thea. Them Kennedy's was the best thing to ever happen to this country. They knew you can't screw the people cuz that is what we is. People, country, all of it. We's just people, all of us. Fuck man I gotta sleep on the pavement and I'm gettin damn sick and tired for it. If them Kennedy's didn't all croak too soon we'd be's in a better place, and I don't like to think about if they hadn't been around at all. Or if they's was like every other politician, God, makes me shudda."

The man was staring through me. His eyes were glossed over like they had seen too much and didn't feel like looking anymore. His hands were rough and when I shook it felt like cold concrete. He was wearing a tattered plaid shirt and black jeans, a baseball cap and old Reebok's tearing in the toes. When we walked by him I thought about what put him there. What decisions or events had dominoed to this moment, this fifty year old tired shell of a human has awakened each day before this. Every line in his face and rip in his clothes a story - or too many smiles or nights on the ground. It might have been drugs.

It wasn't that he had an audience to complain. It wasn't that he thought we could do something for him. He didn't speak pationately about anything. You could hear it in his voice. It was a concession and just another moment - a conversation to pass the time. He wasn't mad in his demeanor. I suppose he was convinced it is the way it is like a fish believes the sun is on the surface of the water. It doesn't have to be like anything, I thought. It can be like anything, I thought.

I looked at Brandon and reached in my pocket. I don't always give money to people but sometimes I do. I don't know if he died that night of a heroine overdose and I never will. I never caught his name, and his face I couldn't pick from a crowd. It was more a recognition of something and it may have been inside me. Time is cruel how it goes but right now I am not on the ground because of the bad decisions I have made. That is enough for now.