| Rarified Air Pamela Biery Founded in 1969, The Squaw Valley Writer's Community is a juried annual event that attracts gifted, nationally recognized writers for retreat, conference and workshop days. Only the select few whose work has been submitted, accepted after critical review, and who have been able to sign the checks for their prized participation may attend. High Camp elevation above Squaw Valley nears 8,200 feet above sea level, but if you hike one mile to the Watson Monument on Emigrant Peak, the elevation rises to 8,700 feet. During summer and early fall, you can get to High Camp by hiking a couple miles or taking a gondola from the Valley floor. After the moisture and green recede from whatever this sub-Alpine granite rubble manages to grow, before the October- snow; there are a few short weeks when dry Mule's Ears leaves crackle in the late summer wind. Though not quite autumn, Sierra winds can howl just about any afternoon at this elevation. This August day, weather reports put gusts at 20-35 miles per hour. Leaves rattle wildly, a fierce farewell call to a passing season. Take a hike from High Camp, almost a mile straight up, to the Watson Monument. This historical marker rests just below Emigrant Peak. From here looking east, Lake Tahoe appears a turquoise gem surrounded by giant peaks. Just down from the Emigrant Trail, the cross ridge trail ascends to Squaw Peak, adding another mile or so to the hike and raising the elevation to 8,900. A lovely view lays out to the west: Roller Pass, Mount Judah-, named for the visionary engineer of the Transcontinental Railroad, Tinker Knob, and the Headwaters of the American River. On the way down the cross-ridge trail, I spot an Osprey hunting. His white-cap and underside give this large hawk away to an experienced eye. He's sighted one of the many marmots that have been whistling and scurrying around the mountain top all afternoon. He dips, dives and misses. The great, dark brown raptor swoops down the hillside and perches on a Red Fir lookout some 200 feet below his ill-fated strike. He preens and smoothes his wings. The marmot waits a few moments, peeks out and finds a post behind a mound with a clear view of the Osprey. I linger awhile longer, finish a sweet Gala apple and watch the story unfold a bit more, before brushing the dust off the seat of my pants and heading down to savor sunset at High Camp over Squaw Valley. Later, leaving the gondola transport from High Camp to the Valley floor, I notice a sign welcoming writers to the Squaw Valley Conference. I smile realizing I'd forgotten to apply this year. Glancing back up the mountain, I wonder if the atmosphere of those prized workshops could compare with a day in the rarified air at the top of Squaw Peak. Find an edge of sky Listening to nature's chorus In rarified air. Grandmothers: Spirit's Wish Pamela Biery I hike to a favorite point, where rivers converge. Today, after just a few storms, the water is deep and green. Bright orange leaves reflect in the water. I squint, trying to see the bottom, maybe four feet down. When I was here in late summer, river rock and white sand shallows bounced sunlight off a blue sky. Then, I waded in glimmering water, letting the river choose my path with shoes tied to my pack. Today, the water is deep and dark. I stand by the river’s edge and gaze absently, following its course down the canyon. The cool autumn breeze and rain-soaked soil, take me inward, to the Thirteen Grandmothers. In October 2004 the Thirteen Indigenous Grandmothers first came together in New York, gathering from the lands of the Iroquois Confederacy, Amazon rainforest, and Arctic Circle. They called on ancestors from the northwest’s great forest and vast plains of North America. They collected Grandmothers from the highlands of Central America, Oaxaca, mountainous Tibet and rainforests of Central Africa. Together, they sought to affirm their relations and common vision for global alliance, carrying their sacred wisdom to a new millennium. Last year, I heard their prayers, simulcast from their 4th Council in Dharamsala, India at the 2006 Bioneers Conference. Their voices are an inward call, tuned to this season, to the softer resonance of the Earth as a Mother, to the feminine force of healing prayer. It is just like Bioneers, a word coined by combining pioneers and biodiversity, to participate in a global spacebridge, connecting the earth through the Thirteen Indigenous Grandmothers. New technology and ancient wisdom: exploring and returning all at once. The footage filmed at this event on both sides of the world is being edited into a program for Link TV connecting the Grandmothers and Bioneers to a growing audience and broadcasting their shared prayers and intentions around the world. So, in a silk-draped conference room, grandmothers convene for change, defying the boundaries of geographic distance. “We are deeply concerned with the unprecedented destruction of our Mother Earth, the contamination of our air, waters and soil, the atrocities of war, the global scourge of poverty, the threat of nuclear weapons and waste, the prevailing culture of materialism, the epidemics which threaten the health of the Earth's peoples, the exploitation of indigenous medicines, and with the destruction of indigenous ways of life.” Another year is crawling to an end, like the bear seeking a dark cave to hibernate. I have walked this path in the tenderest beginnings of spring, wishing little sprouts and hints of the season into greenness. I have scouted, searching to tell the twisted branch from the slithering snake in summer’s glaring heat. Now, I kick my way through fallen leaves, watching for tracks and scat to see which animals are using this trail, living in the hills above and the wild beyond. I consider the Thirteen Indigenous Grandmothers, and in connecting with the earth, find them near. “We join with all those who honor the Creator, and to all who work and pray for our children, for world peace, and for the healing of our Mother Earth. For all our relations.” For details on Bioneers visit www.bioneers.org |