The Sierras

When we finally scaled our first steep section into the Sierras we found ourselves in a totally different environment. I had only known these mountains through a week long stay in Yosemite, which is quite possibly the most pure and euphoric memory I have. A little different to the south, the landscape on the southern end was one of Joshua Trees scattered across bare rock mountains, smattered with sickly homesteads. I imagined them all to be spooky religious communes that fell apart when it was realized that they chose the least sustainable environment possible, one that was useful for nothing more than the isolation that would allow them to be as strange as they wanted. That, or the occasional income from renting their compound to a B grade massacre movie... I don't know. I was picturing the eyes of creepy little kids staring through the venetian blinds, their backs hunched over, knees resting on the foam now showing yellow through the worn brown couch. The most colorful part of their morning, watching our spandex wardrobes putt slowly across the dusty expanse. Yup, the South end of the Sierras much different from the flowing falls of Bridal Veil with ole' John Muir shining his majestic wand of comfort ore' your cozy campfire...

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