dearest buddy, the cosa nostra has really always been in effect. I saw your cuban cigar crisis sticker once up on page mill near alpine. Was that destiny? Was it the aliens? I’ve roamed all around the Spot, I’ve taken San Pedro and immersed myself in the spirit of the land, and it is so strong boy. Like a madman reading Hegel I walk around the hills thinking too many thoughts about history being a sediment and trying to grasp the geology that resulted in these ranges. I should have paid more attention to the energy but it’s all so conspiratorial. You and I had a good formula for riding the right frequency, because radio is definitely part of the cosa nostra. KFJC, KZSC, KDVS, 90.1, these are good bets, although it’s been a long time since a good Beatles Wednesday. Lots of things have happened up at that Alpine spot since then. It’s actually the low saddle point between all the local ranges, pretty wild. When I took SP I met a crazy couple right when it kicked in who told me about Pomponio. This leads me to believe that some spiritual force was in effect. I’ve spent a lot of time since then researching this dude and the remnants of the ohlone way of life here. Then, I made my way up to Freedom Mountain, an old commune that is still intentional living and beekeeping on page mill, a league or two from the Spot. There was a cutie there who knew all about plant medicine, but I was shy to tell her I was on some. Will I see her again? How will it end g? Then I hiked up to Alpine and thought deep and hard about my life’s purpose and the future. Next car that comes will either pick me up and I’ll go with the flow, or if it passes I’ll turn right into these woods and head down. Well while waiting for a car I felt like I was seeing a way forward, some writing of a book like, becoming all serious of an author you know. And it seemed like the universe was agreeing, like there was even a being nearby grooving on me finally recalling my purpose here on earth, and in fact there really WAS a being there, sitting wise and wavy right in the middle of the road. It was a tall looking fox behaving still like a statue, looking at me and me looking at it. This was really powerful, because I’d been pretty high. Finally a car was heard far off, but the creature didn’t budge until the last minute when it came into view, at which point it busted for the woods. Well, I needn’t tell you that I barely threw my thumb out for that guy because my heart was on following the old fox.

I aim to get to the bottom of this Devil’s Canyon Pomponio story. I’m following some energy out there. Sheriff’s are a strange force, I think they may need lsd. Some trespassing is called for under the circumstances, and lots of hand washing. Like Woody said, the other side of the sign don’t say nuthin, and that side was made for you and me G. It’s easy really. I just slide into the trail and I’m like a bug possessed, can hike for hours, know the plants and eat some miner’s lettuce when hungry. Peter’s Creek flows of a giant rock face down an epic waterfall, right into the pit of the canyon. Up above are rare caverns made of tefoni sandstone. Where Peter’s meets with Lambert’s, that what they call Devil’s Canyon. And old page mill on the other slope, runs down from skyline into the big dipper ranch, crosses some busted old fire roads into the dubious secretive neighborhoods on Long Ridge and Diablo, and proceeds along into Portola State park. There’s some rare pedicularis growing out there. You would of loved it.