My Mountain Trail

No. 10

One of the places we camped during our recent vacation is a state beach campground on the Novarro River. It’s one of those sort-of-unknown places along the California coastline that is passed without a thought by hundreds of thousands of tourists every year. I took some pictures, but they haven’t been developed yet.

Turns out, it’s a pretty cold, breezy, foggy place to spend the night too, so maybe those unsuspecting tourists haven’t missed anything. And, at $25/night with no real amenities, it’s no surprise that the campground didn’t fill up.

Anyway, we did our best to enjoy the cold fog, crashing waves, low-tide caves, and swimming in the river. The river was cold too, let me tell you. Full-on wetsuit w/ thermal hoods. Oh yeah, and there was No. 10 (Number Ten).

Lori mentioned No. 10 to me this evening. I had sort of forgotten about him, but her reminder prompted this post.

No. 10 was our first brush with the Northwest this trip, and with the Northern Californian world. Sure, we started in the top half of the state, but there is something about the North Northern part of the state that is different. More redwoods, more inland baked and truly alpine mountains, more people that are really local to their areas, and more people that don’t want to be local to anywhere. People that just want to be themselves and not necessarily part of your world or mine.

For example, a few days after meeting No. 10 we spent a couple of nights at Ruth Lake. From there, I rode my bike 7-8 miles past Hayfork, CA (55 miles total) — Lori drove to the end-point and rode back to meet me. While riding through that rugged, hot, dry country I probably saw about 100 trucks. Every one of them had at least one 50-gallon water barrel in the back and most had hundreds of gallons of water storage capacity in their beds. Why? Well, because it’s dry. And these folks don’t seem to live with wells. They live off the grid, off the land, and they go out for water and supplies.

I saw two old beater trucks sitting by the side of the road. One had a hose running from a pipe snaking down the 45 degree slope into his truck. He had about five barrels in his bed. The truck behind him had about the same number, and they were just waiting to tie into the spring. Those folks have different priorities than most of us.

Yeah, so back to No 10. No. 10 didn’t really have those water issues because he was doing his best to avoid the “HOT” as he called it. As in stay w/in five miles of the coast and avoid the 90-100 degree temps. Revel in the feeling of 52 degrees and fog. No. 10 was watching birds. No. 10 was off the grid too. No 10 was in our world, and we were in his, but we were just barely in different dimensions.

No. 10 is about 60. Maybe 65. Lean. Weathered… He dresses warmly (think 52 and fog warm), gets his hair cut every year or two, shaves… well no, he doesn’t shave, and hasn’t for many years. In fact, he looks like Coastal Fog himself. But don’t underestimate him; No. 10 is way more interesting than his foggy-good-looks.

I asked No. 10 if I could take his photo. “No, boxes make me uncomfortable”, he said. I even offered up a 55-year-old camera kit to do the job. This brought some pause because he could see that our dimensions almost coincided, but not quite. And he said “No, it’s still a man-made box.”

No. 10’s name, of course, is not really No. 10. But I don’t know his real name because he when he approached us he was staking out his campsite and asked something like “No. 8, are you all staying another day? No. 10 is going to be watching birds down on the river for most of the rest of the day, would you mind keeping an eye on his campsite?” Of course we were in campsite number 8, but we were moving on so we couldn’t help.

Let’s face it though, when someone walks up to you and calls you by a very logical name, “No. 8”, and refers to themselves as an equally logical “No. 10” (his campsite number) it makes an eyebrow perk up. I couldn’t help No. 10, but I couldn’t let him just walk away either. We ended up talking about humans and straight lines, oxygen, body-water content percentages, and what makes a good place to camp. We agreed on almost everything – except the risks of being trapped in a box like an old camera. A guy throws out 10 things you agree with and then one you don’t; you just can’t ignore that. So, you don’t get to see the real No. 10. But trust me here, just think Coastal Fog. Coastal Fog that has not been captured in a man-made box.

What was so interesting about No. 10 was that he is very mathematical. Just about every comment he made was logical and had a mathematical basis. Yet, he also criticized the humanity of order – straight lines, defined boundaries, boxes. No. 10 is an enigma. And that made perfect sense to me. I am so glad to have met him, and I hope I never forget about him.

And so, I wrote this down, eh? Which reminds me of this Canadian we met… oh just kidding… But I really did enjoy meeting No. 10.