La Vereda del Monte – I hadn’t seen a car in two hours either way and stopped in the middle of the road, jumped the fence and waited for the light. Listening to the creek roll over the rocks as if time had left no trace, it must have been much the same in Murrieta’s day. The ridge where I’m headed is in the distance and the turnoff only a few miles up, but it was slow going, for I could not pass through such beauty without giving pause

I was looking for the turnoff to Clear Creek which enters BLM land but kept getting distracted by what was out the car window. I had passed through to some other paradigm, you could sense it, the immense power of the earth in all its terrible beauty, in the oaks, in the clouds, in the way colors pierced your eyes. The turn off had to be around the next bend, I was sure of it. I wonder if I had known what it was I was in for if I would have continued, but I didn’t. so I did. I was on the Vereda del Monte, Murrieta’s trail, and there was no turning back.