Kenwood man thankful to be alive
Every morning, Steve Cavellini looks out his kitchen window at the stunning, craggy profile of Hood Mountain rising 2,000 feet above his Kenwood home, and sees the spot where he nearly died.
For Cavellini, his view from the valley kindles memories of invigorating hikes in the quiet solitude of the mountain’s wooded slopes. But no amount of gazing manages to spark even the slightest recollection by Cavellini of his hike on Thanksgiving Day 2012, which ended with a 15-foot fall onto his head that almost ended his life.
That he is still alive - let alone that he has regained his speech and motor functions - is nothing short of amazing.
The actions of some quick-thinking hikers, a deft helicopter rescue team and a skilled neurosurgeon kept him alive. Then came multiple brain surgeries and months of physical therapy to painstakingly relearn even the simplest of tasks. The therapy was exceedingly frustrating for Cavellini, 70, an accomplished lawyer and renaissance man used to mastering most anything he tries.
It’s been a long, two-year road back from the literal precipice for Cavellini, but it’s a trek that loved ones say he has tackled with typical gusto. Now, two years after the fall, he plans to be surrounded by family this Thanksgiving, a holiday gathering he hopes will be memorable.
“I don’t remember going up there that day,” he said. “The only reason I’m here today is because of a whole pile of coincidences. I don’t necessarily believe in any divine power, but I certainly feel lucky.”
Cavellini has hiked the trail dozens of times to the summit of Hood Mountain, including the spur trail that branches off near the peak and leads to Gunsight Rock, a rugged outcrop of volcanic tuff that affords unparalleled views down the Sonoma Valley to the Bay. On a clear day, hikers can see the San Francisco skyline.
Thanksgiving 2012 was one of those clear, cloudless days, and the summit ridge that Cavellini can see from his breakfast table beckoned.
Though he had always been an avid outdoorsman, Cavellini’s passion for hiking the Sonoma hills would come much later in life. Some of the San Francisco native’s best early memories are of his father, a firefighter, taking him hiking and fishing on the Klamath, McCloud, American and other Northern California rivers.
While pursuing a zoology degree at UC Berkeley, Cavellini worked as a commercial fisherman, parlaying salmon and tuna into textbooks and tuition money. It was at Berkeley where Cavellini met Gail, his future wife, with whom he has two children, Julie, 38, of Dallas and Lee, 26, of Arizona.
He stayed at Cal to earn a law degree and still supports the Golden Bears. During a recent interview at his Lawndale Road house, where his family has lived for more than three decades, a navy and gold Cal hat concealed his bald head and faint scars, the lasting evidence of the surgery to remove part of his skull and save his life.
It was at his home on 5 acres between Oakmont and Kenwood that Cavellini honed a diverse slate of skills. He fixed up old cars and planted sauvignon blanc grapes on the property, and he did much of the plumbing and electrical work on his family’s remodeled ranch-style house.
“Steve is a very driven personality, type A, I would say,” Gail Cavellini said. “One thing about Steve, if he wants to do something, he’ll find out how to do it and that’s it.”
On that Thanksgiving Day in 2012, Cavellini and his wife recently had separated, and he was planning on having Thanksgiving dinner later with friends. He has no recollection of the day, or even the following two months, but he has pieced together events based on what people have told him.
“Apparently, I walked up there and, for whatever reason, I have no idea why, where the trail splits, I decided to go out to Gunsight Rock as opposed to walking to the top of the mountain,” Cavellini said.
It’s not as if he is a novice hiker.
About five years ago, a doctor told Cavellini, near the end of his law career and approaching the backside of his 60s with looming health issues, that he needed to find a more active hobby.
“He said ‘you have to get into shape or you’re going to be a diabetic,’?” he recalled. “He said ‘I can give you pills or you can start walking.’?”
So Cavellini started walking. Fortuitously, his house sits amid some of the best hiking locales in Northern California. Annadel State Park is just up the road, and he hiked its trails three days a week.
Eventually, when Annadel became too easy, he turned his attention north to the hulking ridge of Sugarloaf and Hood Mountain that dominate the skyline above his house.
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