On a recent trip to The Yo-SEM-ea-tea Mountains Chick-on's furry down outerskin
was getting irritated. He decided that he really needed a soaking of another sorts.
After sqwauking for what seemed like days about wanting to take a dip
(I thought I heard "TM High... Sierra Camp" in there too though) we finally decided
to heed his call. The reeever, however, was a flowing a way too fast for chick-on to
safely get his feet wet.
Luckily a shaman happened across the road. Chick-on gently flew onto the shaman's
shoulder and inquired about any local swimming holes. After a lesson in the
history of the hole and warning us to keep the area clean he gave us directions.
There were no paved paths, marked roads, or chicken scratchings to lead the way.
Only faint goat tracks kept us on course thru the dense underbrush and over
the perilous rocks. Tree branches seemed to come out from nowhere attempting
to halt us from our chosen path. Poison oak, nearly as dense as in the vaunted
Hetch Goat Gulch venue, required constant diligence to avoid.
The long and tedious hike stopped a few old and tired souls from reaching the
destination, however, chick-on would not be dissuaded. He flapped his wings
with added vigor as the agua parted and the hole was now in sight.
Chick-on spent the better part of an hour swimming and diving and sliding into
his "private" oasis.
