The Last Hike

The Last Hike

It must have been about one in the morning when the tree exploded during the storm. Raining branches and chunks of wood from the old redwood that neighbored my old and beaten Winnebago motor home. About four in the morning the wind stopped howling and the rain lightened up. Looking outside the stars soon appeared, and that is when I decided we were going out for a trip if the weather was nice. Being cooped up in this twenty-eight foot bus for seven weeks was enough.

The morning light was a wondrous sight, warm and inviting, a perfect winter day for the beach. So I set about packing up my backpack: food for the dogs; a dry salami and cheese for me; my camera, a wonderful canon F-1 high speed edition, with the best of my lenses, a 2.8 300mm telephoto, as well as my macro and wide angle. I had been trying to capture the golden eagles for three years now. They had proved elusive but were gradually accepting my presence at the lagoon along the estuary Americana. I figured I would be gone two days, three if the weather held. I packed accordingly--a whole brick of film, fifty rolls, plus spare batteries, my trusted and worn field notebook and the ever present Munz, my field guide to the flora in the region. Nowhere else have I ever found the diversity in plant life than along the nine roads that led out of my hilltop Occidental location. Today it was to be that elusive eagle and whatever else I could find along the way.

Off we went down Joy Road, saying good morning to Ron my neighbor and when he was going to bring some more lambs home to raise, He said he “was just going to pick them up, that the breaking weather finally allowed him to get some of his chores done.” He asked about the tree. I said “ya it scared the hell out of me when it shattered but I would have a lot of firewood for my little wood stove.”

My puppies were not your everyday field dogs. They were Lhasa Apso’s; I had given up on their long and luxurious golden coats when I moved into the redwoods, opting for a shag cut that reminded me of little wooly sheep. They were troopers and loved to go on these long walks and have the chance to meet people along the way. They had a natural judgment about people, too, always alerting when someone was drunk or had the least of good intentions, while completely ignoring the daily routine interruptions. They wouldn’t back down until I called them off. I remember one day they were barking for quite a while and when I finally made it to them they had a black bear up a tree. So they made good camp companions.

It wasn’t long before we had made it to the township of Bodega. We set about our work of photographing the town-- typical stuff, the church and the fire trucks; I had made a habit of using my girls in my photos and the old fire truck was a good shot. I had tucked their leashes out of sight behind them and when I was done and called them to me, one of the leashes caught on the cabinet door pulling it open. Off goes the air horn--it was a homemade alarm and boy was it loud. The old man who had been watching me started to laugh, for there was nothing I could do to shut it off, but wait for the air to run out of the tank. We had a good laugh about it and he petted my girls, I took some time to show him my portfolio and what I was working on this trip. It was about noon now so we went over to the Casino for lunch. On the weekends they cook up tri-tip and have a wonderful sandwich. In the summer roasted oysters, but not this time of year. They had some bones for the girls.

After lunch our trip continued and we spent some time at the old graveyard at the west end of town. It was like looking back in time. These old family plots where scattered all over the west county. They made for interesting photos in the afternoon light among the smell of pine needle and eucalyptus. There was a slight sweetness to the air as well from all the mushrooms that where making their way up out of the ground. There were these beautiful reddish orange ones growing out of an old moss-covered tree stump that were really quite lovely. Soon it was getting dark so we made our way to the old eucalyptus grove to camp out for the night. I liked this spot; it was secluded, and if we were lucky we might wake up to some birds roosting in the grove.

The morning did indeed find us surrounded by roosting birds-- turkey vultures sunning themselves in the rising sun. They always make for some good shots, with their naked blood colored heads, black bodies and light grey trimmed wings, spread wide to allow the sun to warm their bodies, in preparation for the coming breezes that would loft them into the sky.

Across the road was a much prettier site--a couple quarter horses atop the hill among the hoarfrost and rising mist of the morning. A young foal was in the group as well; it made for quite the shot nestled in among the trees. I can still picture the image in my mind quite clearly. We were not far from the beach from here. So we broke camp on our way to the estuary.

Again, as I am prone to do, we stopped in another grove of trees. The sun this time of year is very low and makes for some unique lighting. The entire estuary could be seen from here and the sky was reflected far in the distance. A large Brahma Bull moved closer to us, standing silhouetted against the sun. His large frame rippled with muscle and a wonderful tawny color. In the background there were the cows, Herefords, this was definitely beef production, for the crosses all went to the feedlots.

Down the road was the Hereford bull. He wasn’t going to be used this year it looked like. The herd was pretty big and it did not look like they would be needing any more cows. Finally we had made it to the gate and down past the mower barn we went. There were not very many people on the golf course. Probably closed due to all the rain we had had. It almost blended into the surrounding hills, if it wasn’t for the yellowing greens and flags dotted around the landscape.

The beach was covered in driftwood. I took the leashes off the dogs and let them run as we made our way along the white sand beaches. The cliff grew taller and taller as we went south toward the estuary. The beach grew wider as well. The sand built up as dunes against the cliff. The birds where everywhere. I had never seen so many surf scooters, with their black bodies and colorful facemasks. Cormorants too, mostly sunning themselves perched upon branches of the scrub oak growing out of the cliff.

I saw the shadow first. Then as I swung my camera around I found my prey a large golden eagle was going for some ducks in the estuary. I focused and fired away as he swooped in and the ducks exploded into flight in a mass panic to escape. The roll was gone in seconds. As I hurried to change rolls I watched it climb the sky and head for a grove of Bay trees on the far side of the lagoon where they grew sheltered from the prevailing winds by the mountain.

We found many other animals to photograph; many harbor seals, a fox that wandered across our path. And as the sun dropped lower in the late afternoon sun, the boats working their crabbing pots, just offshore with the spit of Point Reyes in the background, we shot a couple more rolls of film. The clouds where building on the horizon and the fog was beginning to form so we started our trip back home. We stopped at the base of the trail that led off the beach to catch the sunset. And then headed up the trail.

At the restrooms, I stopped to feed the dogs and to let them rest. It was a couple miles to our campsite in the trees. So I let them rest. Me too. And I fell asleep with them.

I was startled awake by Two Socks barking, soon joined by the other two, Bear and Bakti. Some guy in a white truck was asking me to come out and talk to him. I mumbled just a minute then a little louder. As I hushed the dogs and began to gather myself two Sonoma county squad cars pulled up shining their light on me. Drawing their guns they ordered me to tie my dogs to the tree. A bush was closer so I tied them to that. It had begun to drizzle and I remember being quite not awake yet. As I approached them they grabbed me and handcuffed me. The older officer said there are good days and bad days and this was going to be a bad day for me. He then quoted some appellate court ruling to me and threw me face down in the street. You’ve been told to stay out of neighborhoods you don’t belong in he shouted. As he stood on my face and neck his partner took out a knife and proceeded to cut my pants. First one leg and then the other. After that they proceeded to cut my jacket, two hundred dollars I had paid for that parker, down through my vest they cut, feathers flying everywhere now, coming to my FFA and the large patch on the back. I asked, “What the hell are you guys doing? I have had that jacket since high school.” The response was to stomp on my head; soon I could feel the warm and metallic taste of my shattered teeth and the sense of despair set in. Finally they picked me up to put me in the squad car. That is when I heard the most unbelievable thing of all, was that what he would like to do is take me down a backcountry road and kill me. They didn’t. But I was given a high-speed ride to the Guerneville substation. We flew around those turns at over a hundred fifty miles and hour. There was nothing to hold me in place and I slid around the back of that car like a sack of potatoes. After a few minutes we arrived, where I was chained to the floor by an ankle bracelet and told to strip. They then changed the anklet to the other leg and took my clothes. They gave me back a t-shirt that had somehow made it unscathed as well as my thermal pants bottoms and allowed me to dress in them. Gone were my shoes, and then they took my backpack and placed it in a black trash bag of theirs and my clothes in another. Never to be seen again. They spent the next half hour vacuuming the feathers up from my winter gear.

Off to jail I went. I was pretty distressed at this point and not fairing too well. I was amazed how such a beautiful day could end so badly. At the jail things did not get any better. I asked why you guys are doing this and the reply was that “I did not help them.” I was then grabbed by several officers and stripped of my clothes and placed into a cell with a padded blanket, like the ones you rent from Uhaul when you move. I thought I could maybe get some sleep, however, every few minutes someone would come by and open the little viewing port and slam it close again. Startling me awake, hour after hour this went on. One time I told them I was very thirsty, so they gave me this little two-ounce paper cup and back in the cell I went as everyone else had their breakfast.

Finally the shift changed and the black Sergeant came on duty. He had me given some new clothes and placed in a regular holding cell.

The booking was the strangest thing of all. Sure they photographed me and finger printed me but the paper work was blank. I asked, “Why don’t you have this filled out? After all you have all my identification.” I was told if I ever wanted to get out just to sign. So I did.

It was a little while later I got something to eat and drink. The sergeant came by to ask why I was still here, and asked if I wanted protective custody. I said no. So he said “get him out of here”. I was given a pair of slip on county shoes and some cloths new to me and showed the door. I was asked to sign the ticket and it was made out to my late brothers name. I asked what this and was told just sign it.

I asked about my clothes and backpack. Finally an officer came out with my
t-shirt and thermals. What a backwater county this is.

The irony of all this is I have a mental Illness that is kept under control with medication. They took that; they also aggravated the situation by not feeding me and more importantly not providing me with access to water, allowing me to become quite dehydrated. And they took all my identification, leaving me unable to conduct the normal aspects of everyday life, like writing a check or getting money from an atm. Mostly I was quite psychotic, and promptly wandered over to the waiting area and frightened a young lady waiting for somebody else. I had mistaken her car for a friend’s. In short I was in no condition to be out on my own without my medications.

I then wandered over to the new bank building for a while, until asked to leave. I then wandered around for a while until I ended up by the American Cancer Society Office waiting for daylight so I could catch a bus home. It was here that I was confronted by Santa Rosa Police officers. All I had on me was this ticket, and it wasn’t even in my name. They told me not to loiter in front of the store and that I was to walk to the southwest. Like I was ever going back there anytime soon. So I took off to find some shelter in the old Executive Lodge. It was cold but at least out of the rain. I couldn’t make sense of any of this.

Then it came to me: MY DOGS. Off I went to animal control. When I got there I was told there were no animals of that kind. I asked if I could go look just to make sure, and was yelled at that they were closed and the dogs were not there.

So I wandered back into town. I tried the shelter off of Guerneville road. No Luck. Then out highway twelve to the humane society. No luck again. Traveling to Rohnert Park animal shelter, where the volunteers were cooking an emu, and again, no luck. Finally to Petaluma, to have no luck there as well. I stopped by my Sister’s house and left a note telling her what happened. Then I got on the bus to Novato, perhaps since I was at the county line they ended up in Marin I thought to myself. It was after closing when I got there. So I waited through the night, and when they opened I asked and was allowed to look through the kennels. In a state of udder despair I left.

I ended up spending the day & night wandering the business park. I had become lost and couldn’t find my way out. Finally a Marin County sheriff officer found me. I had a hard time speaking. Another officer showed up who took me to the hospital, where I was promptly admitted. Staying under a Doyle grant in the mental ward. They kept me for the longest time. Weeks it took me to recover.

My dogs, they were at animal control, the first place I looked. But for the reason they came in with the sheriffs, they kept my dogs by themselves, for the reason they had come in a different way.

When I was discharged from the hospital, I was placed in a group home/shelter called opportunity house. I went up to collect my dogs, by this time the bill was several hundred dollars for their stay. Pay the money or they would be put down was what the paper work they gave me said.

I relapsed over this and ended up in the hospital again.

I never was able to get them back. And everything else I owned in the world disappeared as well during the time they moved me from hospital to hospital. I had gone from honor student at the junior college, to homeless mental patient.


The road back to the classroom is a different story, hopefully with a much happier ending.