---

Doc Hale was one of the best friends and teachers that I will ever have. Let’s be honest here, he was like Gandalf, or Merlin, somebody with seemingly infinite knowledge about the world around him and the ability to elucidate and illustrate that it an almost psychedelic manner to the beholder.

When I would go out on hikes with him, I was in wonder and awe of the realm he seemed to be living in. It did not seem to be the same dimension that I was in, as far as cognition of the situation we were experiencing was concerned.

He had the ability to understand plants, mammals, birds, insects, wildflowers, fungi, and local Native American archaeological information in such a way that he seemed to understand it all as infinite parts of the whole, and as an individual, simultaneously.

I would leave these adventures utterly exhausted by the amount of incoming informational input, as I did my best to absorb any and every word, or experience we shared together.

I would often wonder to myself, what the area looked like to him, what was he seeing when we were together out there, what did it look like, because to me, I knew we were not at all in the same dimension of understanding, as we stood together in the same “place and time.”

His most powerful gift, however, was his ability to share this information with others. His relaxed, calm, and assertive disposition was extremely unique, and his ability to inspire people with his knowledge and self-confidence was impeccable.

Over the years, Doc gave many presentations to the community at large. He came and talked for Save Mount Diablo staff outings, and participated in many Bioblitzes.

He was an amazing storyteller who had the ability to share his experiences with mind-boggling lucidity, combined with the perfect touch of humor included. Humor really can be the best teacher.

I remember going to one of my first talks of his at the Ygnacio Valley Library in Walnut Creek. I was a few minutes late as I had just gotten off work.

I strolled into the talk, and everyone was so magnetically locked onto him, I almost left without walking in, so as not to break everyone’s eagle-like focused concentration. I sat down in the corner and began my own downloading instead. I’m glad I did.

Over the years, we (my wife, Frenchy, and I) spent countless days in the hills with him. These hikes were clearly premeditated teachings on his part, Frenchy and I were the students absorbing to our full capacity and then passing out when we got home.

We would meet again the following week and continue the lesson, and so on. His knowledge of the Mount Diablo hills, and the greater California ecological and archaeological environments was peerless, and we mere hobbits were fortunate to glean a fraction of it from him.

He would share books with me, essentially giving me homework for the coming week’s adventure, to prepare for what we were going to experience together. I would pore over the information provided, which helped provide a lens to a similar perception to what he was experiencing.

It got me through the door, but it certainly was a long hallway filled with countless doors of information that only he and time held the keys to. Kind of like the locksmith in the Matrix or the Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland.

I wish I had more time with him to walk in the beautiful hills together and listen to him share his knowledge.

This is a funny story and how I will close this particular piece: One day we were with numerous other students of his, and we were walking through a recently burned area in the Morgan Territory hills.

Decades before he had noted some overgrown archaeological sites in the area, but the impenetrable fortress of chaparral stymied his progress to such a degree that he could not examine the area further.

Post fire, the area was clear for the time being, and he, remembering the location, created our outdoor lesson for the week, which was to examine the area. We hiked through the oak woodland and into the burn zone, over small hills, and fire lines.

We noted vaporized tree trunks, and scorched boulders and streambeds. We walked further into the hills, until we came to a broad terrace, which was completely clear of vegetation save for the perimeter trees, providing canopy shade.

Looking up through the tree canopy we noted further terracing ascending the hillside. As we worked up these terraces, we began to see countless boulders with bedrock mortars, some with frizzled moss from the fire, some totally barren.

We noted circles of rocks, potential house pits, perhaps. As we ascended the hills, we saw replicated patterns of similar layout, each terrace holding a Volvon village site high up on the steep slope.

After a while, Doc grew tired and decided to sit on a log, telling us to go ahead, and share our findings. We all tripped off in the expanse of an area that had been hiding in plain sight, seeing different things, finding each other again and exploring together, and then tripping off on something else again.

Eventually we made our way back to Doc, who was sitting on the same log, walking stick in hand. His green hiking vest on, wearing his sunglasses and mountain lion hat, sitting quiet and peacefully staring into the trees, listening to the birds which had surrounded him as he sat in his mediation.

We approached him, the birds fluttered off, and he looked over and greeted us. “What did you guys find?” he asked. “Villages upon villages going up these terraces,” we told him. “Amazing, isn’t it,” he replied.

“How’s it going here, Doc.” “Oh, it’s been great. I’ve been using my Merlin app, to call in these blue-grey gnatcatchers that are all around me,” he said.

“Yeah, I’ve been drawing them in, with the call feature on this app, and when they get comfortable and close . . . I switch to the red-tailed hawk cry, and they run like hell!”

We all laughed and howled until tears rolled down our faces. Only he would have had the ability to be so brilliantly mischievous. It was probably the best lesson of my life.

There is only one Doc, and I am forever grateful that he was mine.