Bishops Peak

Every time I’m here I feel like I’m ascending to the center what has been my world for last four years. Bishops Peak rises like a spire, thrusting out of the landscape, and supporting a pile of enormous boulders at its summit. The peak’s size is deceiving. At some angles it appears as a large mass, dominating the landscape. From other vantage points, and especially up close, it looks deceptively small.

There comes a time, about half way up, when I remember how striking and extensive the views are. The sun beats down, warming my skin. The clean, dry air fills my lungs as they breathe faster. My feet kick up dust from the packed dirt of the trail. Trees have been left behind, and the slopes are a maze up shrubs and boulders until the summit, where trees once again take hold. The path winds in a series of long switchbacks. This last stretch up the exposed mountain side always seems to take the longest, because the distance seem shorter than they really are. I think it’s the absence of any sense of scale that causes the effect. There are no buildings or other manmade structures for a concrete perspective.

The summit is teeming with boulders, some help precariously at the edge of a steep slope. I like to imagine pushing with enough force to dislodge one of the behemoths. It would begin slowly, the boulder reluctant to abandon its towering presence, and then it reaches the point of no return. Gaining speed, ground shaking, obliterating obstacles, the piece of mountain cannot be halted.

Every part of my life is spread out below my view from atop the highest boulder. Cal Poly, to the east, is nestled in the corner of the valley with Poly Mountain as a backdrop. Downtown San Luis Obispo is further south, and even at this height I can identify landmarks. On the other side, next to Laguna Lake lies my neighborhood and house. Beyond all of this—the ocean.