I’ve been reminded over the past few weeks of days I spent in California while attending college and graduate school.

While I loved those years that I lived out there, there certainly were times when the sprawling city and its noise and people, people, people became too much for me.

On those occasions, there were countless natural destinations to seek out in the mountains, forests, deserts and beaches surrounding Los Angeles – most of which were located within an hour’s drive.

I used to spend a lot of time hiking and birdwatching with a friend I’d met and work. He and I walked countless miles of trails up and down and through parts of the San Gabrial Mountains.

Two hikes that have been stuck in my mind recently are our trips to a place called Smith’s Saddle and another to an oddity called the Bridge to Nowhere.

The hike to Smith’s saddle was a loop hike that totaled about 11 miles.

We’d park one of our vehicles at a parking lot along the West Fork of the San Gabriel River and then drive the second car a few miles farther up into the mountains along Highway 39.

We’d then park and begin our ascent to Smith’s Saddle via a switch-backed trail that climbed toward the open blue skies. When we’d reach the saddle, we’d stop to rest and enjoy the views.

I remember standing up there and looking all around. There was no part of the big city in sight. It could easily have been a thousand miles away.

We were up in the mountains high enough to have gotten above the smog layer trapped in the basin below.

This was a great place to just sit and wait, decompress and soak in all the sensations of nature.

When we were ready, attracted by the ice-cold flows and rippling rapids of Bear Creek far below us, we’d walk down the other side of the saddle into a part of the countryside where the trail was far less defined.

At the base of the saddle’s opposite slope, we’d begin to follow the creek downstream for several miles to where it met the West Fork of the San Gabriel River.

From that confluence, we were treated to a mile or so of walking on closed blacktop road to reach our parked vehicle.

Bear Creek and the San Gabriel River both held rainbow trout. The banks of these two streams were home to western diamondback rattlesnakes, agaves and other arid environment plants and creatures, including many birds.

Taking this hike made me feel like we were Lewis and Clark or some other early explorers traversing these mountains and valleys for the first time.

We’d rarely see another person, if ever, until we got to the last mile or so of our journey. Then we would encounter many people fishing, swimming or picnicking along the river. We once even came upon a mariachi band playing and singing.

The hike we did to see the Bridge to Nowhere we only did once, but I still remember a lot about it, even though it occurred sometime back in the 1980s.

In relative terms, the bridge was not far from the Smith’s Saddle hiking area, but the bridge itself was in a remote area now said to attract bungee jumpers. The bridge is a concrete arch structure meant for highway travel into the mountains.

The bridge was abandoned after great flooding occurred in 1938.

Rock overhangs and high waters can still prevent or limit hikers from reaching the bridge during some parts of the year. In the dry season, the river beneath is merely water-smoothed boulders, cobbles and dust.

Being at the bridge was strange. I could really get the feeling of abandonment walking on the broken and cracked remnants of blacktop leading up to the concrete bridge.

There was also a statement floating on the winds out there about human folly.

Not far away, there is a stretch of Highway 39 that connected to another highway leading into the mountains, saving travelers a great deal of windshield time.

But, like the Bridge to Nowhere, that section of highway has been closed for decades after being damaged severely by falling rocks.

Looking around at the world lately, it isn’t hard to see human folly at work.

It appears that we are bent on destroying ourselves one way or another. It is so sad and depressing. The value of truth has diminished astonishingly, while the forces of tyranny and authoritarianism seem to freely be moving their chess pieces.

Those seeking to plant, germinate and cultivate chaos, division and destruction are having their day – seemingly everywhere, all at once.

I keep thinking about those freeing feelings I felt at the top of Smith Saddle and how I really wish I could hike up there again today, and tomorrow and the next day.

Instead, I’ll seek out some respite here, closer to home.

There are places I know where I can go where I will be spared contact and communication with others, and the blaring sounds of news reports that stun my consciousness and make my mind and body go numb.

At this time of year, I can be blessed in the woods by the sounds of creeks moving their lifegiving water supply downstream, a few blue jays, chickadees and straggling robins calling out to each other and the occasional sound of a grouse fluttering off into the brush.

The cold temperatures and soaking raindrops represent truth, purity and revival to me. I need to sense that restoration alive within my heart and soul to remain engaged and intact, day-to-day.

I am trying to take in the depressing scenes of our world in small doses, hoping to preserve my own sanity and what remaining sense of solace I’ve carved out for myself here in the north woods.

I’d like to take about a year off to go to live in the forests away from all the turmoil, becoming focused solely on simple truths and the wisdom the woods and the waters within nature’s realm teach and provide.

No phone. No lights. No motorcar. Not a single luxury. Like Robinson Crusoe, it’s primitive as can be.

In seeking this disconnection, I would hope to restore my strength, faith and belief in humanity. But I am not so sure it would work.

Maybe we are never ever getting back together.

I’ve spent a great part of my life never thinking that kind of division and ruin might even be possible. There were always troubles in the world, but it seemed like truth, goodness and honesty were in control overall, eventually gaining traction.

There could always be hope available to find for myself, my wife, my family, my children and grandchildren. Instead, I spend a lot of time these days worrying about our collective future and theirs, in particular.

So today, I’ll be walking in the wet leaves moving my bootheels toward a silent lakeshore where I can soak up some heaven on earth. The only sounds I will hear will be those of nature.

I will open my heart and soul to the great mystery around me and take in the cure only nature can provide. My batteries are running low, and I need a greater and greater charge all the time to start and run my engine.

In my mind, I can see Smith’s Saddle and the tops of the tree beneath me. I can feel the warm California wind on my face. The reverie can almost make me float inside.

I need to keep those kinds of positive thoughts sparking in my mind.

I need to remember things that make me laugh.

Lately, it has felt so awkward to even smile.

I do find peace in knowing that in nature I can find relief for these pains.

If I go there and don’t feel any improvement, I know I need to stay longer or go back out there again, and maybe even again.

The truth I am seeking is in the proof of nature.

Meanwhile, the sands of time keep tumbling through the narrow part of the hourglass, faster all the time.

What’ll you do now, my blue-eyed son? And what’ll you do now, my darling young one? I’m-a going back out ‘fore the rains starts to fallin’.

Outdoors North is a weekly column produced by the Michigan Department of Natural Resources on a wide range of topics important to those who enjoy and appreciate Michigan’s world-class natural resources of the Upper Peninsula.