It was a reasonably quiet night at the ‘Knight’s Inn’ in
Fresno, even though the motel, like so many, was close to a major highway. Our
balcony, however, looked out over a cemetery, much quieter than the highway, of
course, although it sounded as if it was being used for a playground for a
while at dusk, and we saw police lights flashing.
The ‘continental breakfast’ didn’t mean there were chairs or
a table to eat at leisure in the small lobby, but it was warm enough to sit
outside by the (still hibernating) pool. The sun was still shining when we left
Fresno, but soon it clouded over. We had decided to pay a short visit to Giant
Sequoia National Monument, hoping this would give us opportunity to do our
daily walk – an absolute must when you’re sitting in the car for a few hours
day after day.
On the way, we drove through miles and miles of citrus
groves – oranges, lemons, grapefruits, all planted in neat rows. We wondered at
the amount of fruit on the ground: when was the right time for harvest? Was
it an ongoing process, or did the picking happen when most of the fruit was
at some stage of ripening? And what happened with all the fallen fruit? Were
they going to be picked up still, or would they be turned into compost
eventually? For a group of farmers like ours these questions were of interest,
but there was no one around we could have asked.
We stopped briefly in a small
town named Centerville – ('the true center of California') in hopes of finding
some reasonably priced oranges, encountering instead the highest prices we had
seen anywhere. Signs advertised ‘heirloom varieties’, which might have been
part of the reason, but nevertheless we decided it wasn't worth paying more than double the
price we would pay at home at the supermarket just to find out if there was a
difference in taste.
We continued on Hwy. 180, climbing higher and higher into
the green hills. Views into the valley to our right were spectacular and would
have been even more so under a blue sky. Still the clouds didn’t release the
moisture they so obviously contained.
We stopped for a look back at the
entrance to Giant Sequoia Natural Monument, enjoying the scenery. Nearby in
some trees a group of ten or more vultures had taken residence, a few of them
holding still long enough for us to take a photo.
Unfortunately it started to drizzle just when we entered
King’s Canyon/Giant Sequoia at the Big Stump entrance, and by the time we
reached the visitor centre only a few miles down the road the rain was mixed
with snow, probably not surprising at an altitude of almost 2,000 m. What is
true for most other places we have visited on our travels does not apply here:
the higher we got the bigger were the trees. Even in this inclement weather it
was an incredible experience to be among these ancient giants. We took a quick
look at the trees in Grant’s Grove, sad that our planned little hike there was not
going to take place.
Instead, we spent a bit of time at the visitor centre. Here, several different cones were on display, among other things. I was surprised to find out that those of the giant sequoias are relatively small, while the biggest ones belonged to the tallest of the pines, the sugar cone pine, which commonly grows to 40 to 60 m. The cones usually range between 25 and 50 cm in length, but in rare cases can get even longer!
A fifteen minute video informed about three different areas of the park: giant sequoia groves,
the canyon and the high sierras. What an amazing, diverse landscape! We will
have to come back some time at a different time of year and explore the back
country hiking trails.
We chose a different road down into the valley again,
narrower and very curvy, through meadows full of oaks, dotted with cabins.
Slushy snow soon turned to sleet, then to rain, finally to drizzle. Still it
was rather unpleasant to be outside. It was about three o’clock when we left
the great Chinese restaurant in Visalia where we had lunch, still enough time
to visit the Kaweah Oak Preserve I had read about in the Lonely Planet. I had
fallen in love with the beautiful Californian oaks right from the start, and
this place promised to grant an opportunity for a hike in their natural habitat.
It was still drizzling when we arrived at the modest sign showing we had
reached our destination, about seven miles east of Visalia. Not all members of
our group were in favour of taking a walk under those conditions, but since we
had missed out on our daily walk up in the mountains we finally managed to
persuade the more reluctant ones of the benefit of stretching our legs, aided
by a break in the clouds.
The Kaweah Oak Preserve protects one of the last valley oak riparian
forests in the San Joaquin valley. More than 300 acres in size, it was taken
under protection by a group of local citizens concerned with the conservation
of what little was left of the once extensive valley oak forest in this area, with
the help of the Nature Conservancy. Now it is managed by a local conservation
organization, the Four Creeks Land Trust. Several walking trails are accessible
from the trailhead, and, with an eye on the sky, we decided to take the one
closest by. The trail, at times barely visible in the long grass, gave us an
impression of what it must have been like here before major settlement commenced
about a hundred years ago.
Only a little more than an hour's drive remained until we reached Bakersfield, our destination for the night. The last half hour or so led us through country densely populated by oil pumps - not the most inspiring view, admittedly, with more oil pumps than some of the OPEC countries.
In spite of the adverse weather conditions it had turned out to be another wonderful day.
