Kings Canyon National Park is considerably overshadowed by its neighbor, Sequoia National Park. It stands for good reason; the towering, enormous tree groves with the world’s largest tree as the tourist attraction certainly makes it the “the place to be,” as proven with parking spots scarce and people abundant. Fighting our way into Sequoia, we knew what to expect: big tree groves, stunning landscapes with mountains, canyons, and meadows—for those who don’t know, my husband and I do not look into National Parks until we have driven in, and have seen the extraordinary landscapes for ourselves. We believe no expectations fosters a curious spirit and allows us to be free of preconceived notions (both good and bad)—so, as we drove into Kings Canyon National Park, we knew nothing of it. By happenstance, we lugged our travel trailer through a narrow, rough, muddy road (hopping out occasionally to walk the path, ensuring we could muster our way out if need be). We found a little spot nestled in that cozy forest.

A quaint stream was in our backyard where morning birds splashed about. A big bear stopped by during pastel skies to graze on glacier lily bulbs in the meadow nearby. And the sun in the trees, it was a sight to see, what the Japanese mean when they say ‘komorebi.’ And this is just where we slept for the week in Kings Canyon. 

Somewhere in the middle of the week, when the sun illuminated clouds orange, we got up and drove into the main section of the park, not asking where the path may lead. Our truck chugged up a mountainside where the land opened up, where the canyon demanded us to get out of the car and marvel—imposing views of ragged cliffs, greenery, and a hint of a river you understood (somehow) to be sweeping if along its shore. And once we lingered not long enough—but enough—we made our way to Boyden Cavern. But before I begin to tell you of that, in the waiting hour before, we saw the shore of Kings River. That hint-of-a-river, from our previous view, turned into a crashing, boisterous turquoise flow, leading the eye to cascades and pines overhanging. Forced to leave this moment too soon, we were lead into the Cavern. This one was dark, narrow, and low and we decided to take the “wild tour” out. Simply put, no ranger led us out and we were forced in ice cold, knee deep water following a stream until we saw the sun again. With slopping wet boots hanging from our packs and feet to the earth, we went yet into another mini cave, (a secret one our ranger encouraged us to explore). And in this cave a sound so quiet and the earth so still, a moment so rare. And with naked feet we continued to Grizzly Falls. On the path, peering through pines and shrubbery, enormous amounts of water hit boulder after boulder, in the most exquisite fashion, until it lay in the river. Truly, one of the most beautiful waterfalls I have ever seen. Ah, but on the way out—another beautiful waterfall, one that trickled down from what seemed to be the heavens, reaching its hand down to the earth. 

As for me, ephemeral moments, but it’s lovely to now know what the heavens look like reaching, whether I’m there to meet it or not.

You see, sometimes it’s best not to ask where the path leads, but if you must, let the unknown be the answer, and be captivated by the subtleties in the world around you. Living is not about where the path leads, but to simply be on the footpath.