Last Friday my son and I camped at a place called Hurkey Creek. It sits in a pine forest about 4,500 feet up the side of Mount San Jacinto, on the opposite side of the mountain from Palm Springs. We were there for a “Father and Sons Outing” sponsored by our church. But that’s not the story.
About 9:30 or so, I decided to call my wife and say “goodnight.” That far from the city, cell towers are few and far between. And my phone was showing no bars at all.
A friend mentioned that his phone had shown a bar or two out near the Ranger’s station at the entrance to the campground. So I committed my son to the care of some friends and set off on foot.
At the Ranger’s station, I still had no bars at all. Undeterred, I set off up Highway 74 toward Idyllwild in search of a signal.
The longer I walked, the more frustrated I became. Trudging up a nearly deserted stretch of highway in the dark holding up my cell phone periodically in a vain search for a signal wasn’t what I had planned.
After a couple of miles, I gave up. I figured I better get back to the campground before the Rangers locked it up for the night. So I stuffed my useless cell phone into my pocket and turned around.
And in that moment everything changed.
I found myself face-to-face with a full moon. Not just any full moon, but a full moon with the clarity and size you only see when you get away from the city with all its light pollution. It was a massive, cream-colored disk, and looking for all the world like it had snagged on one of the dark, silhouetted pine trees. A warm breeze blew up from the desert valleys, bringing with it the scents of pine and sage. And quiet; I could actually hear the people at the campground miles away.
I grew up in mountains much like these. And in the crush and confusion of life, I suppose I’d forgotten. I’d forgotten hundred-foot pine trees and the feel of a forest floor carpeted in pine needles. I’d forgotten what it’s like to actually be able to see a million stars instead of just those bright enough to be visible above the glare of the suburbs.
I switched off my flashlight, smiled, and started walking.
Roger's View 
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