Three Rivers: Sequoias and Drama in a Laundromat
Greatness is a very American thing. When their president piles on the superlatives, he is only following the true American spirit.
Take sequoias, for example. Ancient trees which have been around for millennia. I think President Trump would describe them as “big; very big; the biggest; so huge it’s incredible”. And he wouldn’t be far off the mark.
Sequoias can live for up to three thousand years. The most famous of these trees, a giant called General Sherman, is the largest living thing on Earth. It weighs more than 1.2 million kilograms — as much as 100 double-decker buses. It is only a few meters shorter than a standard football pitch.
But it is a lot, a lot smaller than Wales.
We wanted to see this tree. Granted, it would have been another tick in the touristy box. But some boxes need to be ticked.
But the higher we climbed, the more unwell my wife felt. Sea-sick from all the switchbacks on the narrow mountain road, she threw in the towel at about five thousand feet, just below the sequoia zone.
It was really cold at this height. And quite lonely, too. At the little passing place in the road, where I jumped out of the car in a T-shirt to take a picture, it felt like walking into a freezer.
These were the lowest reaches of the sequoia park. Not far from that passing place two huge trees stood guard either side of the road. They were babies compared to the sequoias we would have seen higher up the mountain.
But they were impressive enough. Looking up at one of them, I could just about work out where its lower branches were — somewhere close to near-Earth orbit. Its trunk was so wide you could have a Hobbit family living in it.
A woodpecker scurried down the tree. It looked like a mosquito crawling down the leg of an elephant.
The whole scene felt like I was entering the forests of Pandora, from “Avatar”. Up the sequoia, a different world thrived. I could not see it, but its inhabitants — the mammals, insects and birds which live off the giant — certainly knew I was there. But they did not care, — their tree was so big there was no way our paths could ever cross.
As I contemplated biodiversity, tourists who were luckier than us began to return from their trips to the mountains. We joined the queue of traffic and headed downhill, back to more oxygen and higher temperatures.
Next to Kaweah river, just left of a well-maintained waterfall, stands Hospital Rock. A boulder the size of an HGV, it is cleanly split in half, — it’s almost like someone took a cleaver to it.
The two parts form a near-perfect V.
This place is sacred for local Native Americans. Centuries ago, they left petroglyphs — symbolic images in ochre — on this rock. If you squint and use some imagination, you can work out birds, hunting scenes, human figures, and, yes, very tall trees.
Under the rock, in its shadow, lie the debris of tourism. Cans, plastic bottles, tissues. I had to clear things up a bit to take this photograph.
A litter bin stands about 20 meters away from Hospital Rock.
The village where we stayed, close to Sequoia Park, offers food, lodging, and, a few miles away, a quintessentially American experience: a visit to a laundromat.
While we waited for our clothes to go through the cycle, we saw a slice of American life which is not usually open to tourists.
A huge television on the wall was tuned to Fox News. A stand with religious brochures was underneath the TV. A vending machine full of cheap sweets, crisps and other junk food completed the scene in this right-wing corner.
I took one of the brochures from the stand. It spoke about barbers, beards and the Bible. It explained that good barbers are the ones who understand what the Scripture says about facial hair, and who will never cut your beard. A beard, according to the brochure, is often a sign of a good person; somebody who knows what Christian traditions require of him. Lack of a beard in a neighbour, or in a business partner, should be a concern.
“A naked chin, — said the brochure, — can reflect many flaws”.
The brochure was not published in Saudi Arabia. No, it was a good, solid, 100% American product from Kansas.
A large pick-up truck pulled up outside the laundromat. A well-fed man stepped out and leant against the doorframe. He was wearing dirty, baggy jeans, a black T-shirt, and a green bandana.
“I’m just waiting for my other half”, he explained and froze in place, looking at nothing in particular. It was like he had been put on pause.
About 50 cents’ worth of laundromat time later, a beaten-up Chrysler Neon pulled up.
A thin, long-faced woman in a tracksuit opened the boot and started offloading huge bags of clothes. She took the first one inside and, as she passed the man from the pick-up truck, she ordered him: “Hey — help”.
They unloaded the Chrysler in silence. The woman slammed her car door and left, without saying anything else to her husband.
The man inserted a few quarters into the machine, got into his pick-up, and drove 50 meters across the road, to a liquor store.
He parked nose-out. His headlights remained on as he shopped, — one of the few pools of light in a dimly lit street. The other light — such as there was — came from the liquor shop; the laundromat; and a Mexican restaurant.
The pick-up man came back soon enough, with a case of beer. He sat down in front of the television, the stand with religious brochures to his left, the vending machine to his right; Fox News above him; beer in hand to pacify him.
His family life may have been Shakespearean. His life — and its paraphernalia, at that moment, in that laundromat, — seemed almost Steinbeckian.
Practical Advice: Sequoia Park
Money
Like in most other parks, you have to pay a vehicle fee to enter. It is $20 and remains valid for a week.
Lodging
We stayed at a place called Lazy J Ranch. It advertises itself as “America’s best value inn”. I don’t know whether it’s true or not, — I haven’t been to all American inns. But it was good enough, if a bit out of the way: you have to drive to the nearest restaurant. Breakfast, — although, allegedly, included in the price of your stay, — is virtually non-existent. You’re much better off eating elsewhere.
Turkeys roam the grounds of the inn. They are big but fairly friendly.
Driving
As in Yosemite, you may be required to have snow chains. There are plenty of places from which you can hire them locally.
Eating
The only restaurant we visited was called Sequoia Cider Mill. It was good, but not extraordinary. Big portions, though, and quite decent breakfast. Dinner for two $38 — again, we shared one main and one starter.
Sights which have nothing to do with trees
Follow North Fork Road in Three Rivers for a few miles, and, just before tarmac ends, you’ll come to the one of the world’s smallest post offices. It is basically a shed at a bus stop.
A sign next to it explains that this shed is almost all that remains from the Kaweah Cooperative Colony, a utopian socialist community which started in 1886. The idea was to share proceeds of logging among all residents. Each villager, in return, contributed labour or cash. The community was killed off by the creation of the national park: logging in the area became illegal, and the colony became bankrupt.
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