This past weekend, Eli and I went to Hayes Meadows in the Marble Mountains. Eli has returned every year, but this was his first overnight stay since his father passed away at this sacred place. It was the weekend of his father Kevin Rickey's birthday, October 25, about a month before the ten-year anniversary of his leaving Earth. I joined Eli as his friend, to support him, to appreciate the wonder of these wild lands, and to remind myself we can do difficult things. This was a small way to honor Kevin, to celebrate him, and now to share the experience with you.
Remembering Kevin
Kevin passed away in these mountains the day after Thanksgiving, nearly ten years ago. He had gone out for a day hike when a snowstorm moved in. He left behind his wife Susan, his daughter Jenny and his son Eli, amongst other extended family who loved him immensely.
Kevin was never just one thing. He had many jobs over the years, including working on a fishing boat in Alaska, and he was a man of faith who loved his family, the outdoors and his community. He was always helping out, and he loved life.
I first met Kevin as a kid, by chance. I was going door to door mowing lawns, and he happened to be working at one of the houses. He was a good role model: he was working, he was respectful, and he set a good example for a kid. He was also a rare example of someone kind and smart who made people feel safe. The people who knew him best will tell you more than I can. He has been missed by so many people since.
Why we went
Eli has come back to this place every year, but never overnight. For years he had carried a quiet wish to spend a night here, over his father's birthday, and to feel close to him there. We went in by the Kidder Creek trailhead, about two and a half to three miles to Hayes Meadows. Not far, as hikes go, but we weren't going for the distance.
Being asked to be there for a friend in a place like that was an honor, and I was happy to accept the invitation, even knowing it wouldn’t be an easy journey.
Getting ready
It started the way these trips always start, with everything spread across the floor: sleeping bags, pads, two big backpacks, and the slow work of deciding what earns a place on your back. Whatever you pack, you carry.
The way in
The road to the trailhead runs through forest that has burned. Black trunks, bare silver snags, and the sky showing through where the canopy used to be. It's also already coming back, with green brush pushing up between the dead trees. I couldn't think of a more honest place to start a walk like this.
The welcome board at the Kidder Trailhead says it plainly: You are entering a special place. Congress set the Marble Mountain Wilderness aside in 1964. It covers more than 240,000 acres and holds 89 lakes. The same board reminds you that you're in bear country, that cell service is spotty or gone, and that you need a permit for a campfire or even a camp stove.
The trail asks for your full attention. Every step takes balance and focus, and with packs on our backs and a heavy reason for being there, Eli and I looked out for each other more than once. Somewhere along the way the noise of ordinary life fell off. There wasn't room to carry it.
Further in, the burn gives way to old, living forest. We stopped at a giant that had been pulled right out of the ground, roots and all, the root ball taller than either of us, sitting in a bed of ferns gone copper for the fall. Even lying down, it was still holding the earth together.
Two nights at Hayes Meadows
At camp, beside a ring of stones and a small cairn, a weathered wooden sign carved with hearts reads Poetry of Kevin Rickey. We set up right next to it.
We stayed two nights. In October, the meadow is all native grasses gone gold, moss, aspen and fall color, with almost no flowers left. A stream runs nearby, and in places it slips underground and comes back up a little further on. We filtered our drinking water straight from it. Chipmunks ran the logs around camp, birds called from every direction, and the clouds moved fast over the peaks, like the sky was in a hurry and we weren't.
We kept a fire going the whole time, for warmth and for Kevin. Dinner wasn't fancy. One night it was an orange and a bag of pistachios, eaten by the fire. Smoked salmon with seaweed paper. Just what we could carry.
Kevin loved life, so we spent some of the dark celebrating it. We hiked out to the meadow at night and called out into the open air. We made up our own songs and played catch with little glowing lights spinning against the black. We laughed, we cried, and we had each other's backs.
The second night, the weather turned. Rain came first, then a little snow. It was cold and wet, and I kept thinking about the storm that caught Kevin in these same mountains. It was intense, but we could feel Kevin there with us, protecting us, and we were strong for each other. I also want to tell you about the sound of that rain. It was peaceful and powerful at the same time. The air smelled crisp and clean, the trees smelled clean, and the rain smelled like heaven.
What I keep coming back to is Eli. He went back to the place where he lost his father, and he faced it with an open heart. I don't know if I could have done that so bravely. I'm proud to call him my friend, and grateful I got to walk it with him.
Moss and lichen cover the stones around camp. Above it stood an old pine with a twisted, moss-hung crown and a shelf fungus growing right out of its trunk. Things grow on what's been there a long time. That felt like the point.
I've thought a lot since then about how a place that holds so much loss for a family can also hold so much love. I don't have a neat answer. To me, for those two nights, Hayes Meadows felt less like a place of loss and more like a place of memory, and of healing.
What the mountains teach
The hardest part of the trip was simple: the cold, the wet and the weight on our backs. Whenever it got to me, I reminded myself that we were choosing to be there, and that we chose to be strong for Kevin and for each other.
This trip was also about friendship, and about what it means to be a man. To me that means showing up for the people you care about, carrying weight beside them without making it about yourself, and letting yourself feel what's there. Eli did all of that, and he made it easier for me to do the same.
The wilderness teaches what I believe we could all live by: take only what you need, look after the people next to you, and treat the land and each other with respect. These trips are how I keep that close.
For Kevin
We went to Hayes Meadows to honor Kevin Rickey: his life, his kindness, his faith, his humor and sense of adventure, his birthday, and everything he left in the people who loved him.
Happy birthday, Kevin. Your poetry is still up there, in the wind and the rain and the pines, and in the hearts of everyone who carries you. To Susan, Jenny and Eli, and to everyone who loves Kevin, thank you for trusting me to share this.
If you go
If you'd like to visit the Marble Mountain Wilderness, start with the Forest Service's Marble Mountain Wilderness page for trail and fire conditions, and get your free California campfire permit online. It's bear country, so store your food the way the Forest Service asks, carry a map and a first-aid kit, check the weather before you head in, and pack out everything you bring. I recommend waiting for late spring as the hiking season is coming to a close. Thank you to everyone who makes the voyage to the mountains, to reconnect with nature, and live life with kindness.
Thank you for reading. I hope you find your own way outside soon.
Follow along on Instagram at @blossomsanctuary.