Chapter 1
Somewhere in the High Sierra Mountains of California, a combination of snow melt, natural springs and convergent small creeks unify to form the headwaters of the Tuolumne River as it cascades down ancient rock formations on its eventual journey through the San Joaquin Valley and on to the sea.
The river can become a torrent in the spring, crashing down from the high elevations with the fury of a wild river that floods the lowlands every twenty years or so. The construction of dams has limited the flooding, but every now and then the river eludes the containments imposed by man and his attempts to corral nature. As the Tuolumne reaches the foothills of the Sierras, it passes by the countless ghosts and past encampments of the miners who worked this river during California’s historic Gold Rush. Little evidence remains of this bygone era which the forest and river have reclaimed, keeping its secrets and untold stories.
The foothills, not nearly as steep as the higher elevations, do their part to slow the river and make it more habitable for old gold mining towns, some of which are still active in the gold business to this very day. The foothills also mark the divide between the pine forests and the start of the luscious grasslands which make a perfect pastoral setting for cattle and horse ranches that dominate this region.
Leaving the foothills, the river is further tamed by the more level floor of the San Joaquin Valley. In years of heavy runoff, the Tuolumne River can run fast and wide even at these low elevations, although the dams that have been built for water storage and flood control make this a rare event. It is now winter in the valley and the river is low and docile. The snow is still falling at the higher elevations of the Sierra Nevada Mountains and it is too cold to produce any significant runoff. Spring will tell a different story.
As for now, the river seems content to slowly meander its way across the valley floor and bear witness to the agricultural bounty that is part of California’s Great Central Valley—one of the most productive and diverse agricultural areas in the world. The Tuolumne streams past huge dairy farms that all seem to grow acres upon acres of corn that will be turned into cattle feed and large chicken and egg ranches that require feed that is brought in by specialized trains and transferred into enormous feed silos. Winter has stripped the leaves from the vast orchards of peach, walnut, apricot and almond trees. The huge acreage of vineyards attests to the fact that the grape vines have also lost their leaves and await spring’s rebirth.
It is not unusual, during the winter and late autumn months, for the valley to be shrouded in a dense fog that clings to the ground especially near the rivers, creeks and other low lying areas. It’s known locally as Tule Fog throughout the Great Central Valley. These are the foggy conditions we encounter as the Tuolumne flows gently toward the largest city it will pass—the City of Modesto.
Modesto, California is a city of more than two hundred thousand inhabitants who endure hot summers and chilly snowless winters. The seasons are more distinct than the coastal climates of the San Francisco Bay Area less than one hundred miles to the west. Most would say that spring and autumn are the most beautiful and bearable seasons in the valley while others might say boastfully that they love the heat of summer.
Modesto is the County Seat of Stanislaus County which has a population well over a half a million people and a land area larger than the State of Delaware. The city is located very near the geographical center of California, making it a hub of transportation and distribution.
The river is now flowing into the City of Modesto from the east and heading in a westerly direction. On the outskirts of town there are a few scattered orchards, dairies and vineyards, but as the river nears the city limits, it comes into view of more industrial and commercial establishments. The Tuolumne is now in eyeshot of several large fruit processing and canning plants that are owned by Fortune Five Hundred companies. A little further down river is one of the largest wineries in the world.
This winery has its own glass factory to make its own wine bottles. It owns other wineries and large vineyards throughout the State. Chances are, if you buy a bottle of wine, turn the bottle around and read the back label, it was bottled in Modesto, California. Still other large companies, in view of the river, make the aluminum cans for the canneries or supply the trucks and gondola carrying trailers necessary to bring in the vast harvest of fruit and vegetables. There is one similarity that these enormous processing plants have in common. The huge tarmac like parking lots of these mammoth enterprises seem empty of cars, save for a few here and there. The answer is a simple one. Agriculture is a seasonal event and the low lying fog should be a reminder to us that it is winter. The only ones working are the few year round employees, security and management personnel needed to keep these facilities in good order anticipating a well -rehearsed ramp up to harvest.
A return to the fog bound river now takes us nearer to the center of the city. The sun would normally be shining at this hour of the morning but the density of the fog might mean that the fog may not burn off until the early or middle afternoon. Some of the old-timers recall the days when the sun was obscured by fog for weeks at a time. This, thankfully, hasn’t been seen for several years. The Tuolumne slowly streams past older homes built on rises to protect them from twenty or fifty year floods. Around the next bend a fog blanketed park gradually comes into view. Trees, picnic tables and a children’s playground are eventually recognized through the fog. One picnic table, very near the river, seems to have a grey outline on the table as though someone has possibly placed a trash can on the table top. It’s really too foggy to tell. A closer and clearer inspection slowly reveals that a man is sitting on the table top with his feet on the bench seating area. Who would be sitting in a park at this time of the morning on such a cold and foggy day? Is it a homeless person?
The answer becomes shockingly apparent. It is a man who is holding a pistol to the right temple of his head while mumbling in a low non-discernible voice. He points the gun away from his head for a few minutes and then cocks his arm while pointing the weapon back to his head. This process repeats itself again and again. Unfortunately for this troubled soul, there isn’t a single person present in the park who can confront, console or contact someone to help. It doesn’t require the diagnosis of a psychologist to see that this man is contemplating suicide in this now desolate setting.
There is some information about the man that can provide some clues to whom he might be. Studying the man’s face and the graying hair near the upper sideburns of his otherwise full black head of hair, he is most likely around fifty years of age. His blue eyes are made more distinct by his light skin tone and he looks like he is in fairly good physical condition save the fact that he needs to lose ten to fifteen pounds of middle aged sprawl. You would neither call him handsome nor would you call him unattractive. Distinguished would be the proper word to describe his appearance. His attire can also aid us in our observations. He is wearing a fairly pricey outdoor jacket most likely purchased at a sporting goods store, a pair of denim jeans in mint condition and name brand hiking shoes that seemed recently purchased. A look at his left wrist shows that he is wearing a rather nice Swiss watch on a leather band which is classic looking without being glitzy. An even closer inspection reveals that he had a recent haircut, shave and his nails were clean and trimmed at home, in other words, not professionally trimmed. We can conclude that this is no homeless person but most likely a man of some means who, until this very moment, seemed to have taken fairly good care of himself. The physical clues can only give us limited insight into this man’s core being. In order understand what got him here we must go back two and a half years earlier.
