"Peak Experience" Four

These "Peak Experience" posts have been about a recent little road trip.


I the "Peak Experience" post just before this one I had parted from my niece and was, more or less, headed toward California Hot Springs.


Sulfur pond and pool near Atascatero is one of thousands of place we have to get into hot water at the favor of the oil industry. Members of our greatest industry go options for exploratory drilling all over California, The United States, North America and the world. Many of these exploratory drillings struck no oil, but did hit hot water. Now, many of those drilling sites are providing hot water bathing. Some of them have become comfortable spas.


California Hot Springs is not one of these 'gifts' from the oil industry. It is a natural hot water spring in the higher foothills of the Sierra. California Hot Springs is somewhat unusual as a hot springs. Most hot springs are more highly mineralized than cold springs. The water of California Hot Springs, however, seems to spring form the granite distilled or purer than high mountain snow melt.My problem was that I had forgotten just where in the foothills the Springs were located. I fact, I could not even see the foothills.


The word I did not remember was Sequoia. At one time I had confused Sequoia with Yosemite as I had Confused N.Y. with California. I did believe that the Springs were between Bakersfield and the entrance to Yosemite.


For perhaps four or five hours I crisscrossed back and forth, up and down in the smog of the Valley without catching a glimpse of the Great Sierra Nevada mountain range or the considerable Coastal Range. I time I came to a sign with an arrow pointing toward Yosemite. We must live in gratitude. I drove in the direction that arrow pointed and in time came within sight of what proved to be the lower reaches of the Sierra.


I had stopped to ask for directions to ask for California Hot Springs. Many seem to recall hearing the name, but did not recall its place. I had received conflicting directions. I stopped to ask again. It was a lonesome gas station within sight of the hills. Everyone there spoke Spanish as a first language except for the station manager, who spoke no known language.