The Road to Tassajara Isn't Paved (Part 1)

You'd think a day's hike up 2000 feet and about 2.5 miles to Snively's Ridge to an enormous view that took in Carmel Valley's tawny hills and Monterey Bay and the Pacific coast and Garland State Park would have been enough. I was secretly hoping for a mountain lion or at least a couple of dusty rattlers, and the chance to suck venom from Wayne's leg, but all I got was one lone hummingbird with a scarlet chest and forest green markings. Then, as I poised to click my Canon, Wayne coughed or sneezed or choked and the little fucker flickered off. Yes, there was (yawn) magic among the oaks with gnarly burls and mossy trunks up muscle churning switchbacks, chomping clementine cuties and trail mix and guzzling water and exclaiming every ten paces over views and scarlet holly berries and leaves the size of a man's head. There was the old corral evoking horses long gone, and a literal X drawn in the dirt marking the summit, and a fire tower like Rapunzel's castle separated from us by a chasm, Wayne's 'gravity run' back down, and we'd been hiking in the sun for hours, yet there was the allure of fabled Tassajara Zen Monastery just a bit farther down the highway into the valley, and we were here after all, and we weren't sure where Tassajara was, which made looking for it slightly mysterious, so off we went, exhausted and sweaty and looking for enlightenment.