My White Feather

Almost every year, I head out in June or July, to the land of my birth. I’m a Left Coaster. But I’m not an Angeleno, nor a child of “Frisco”. I’m from the desert, but the part that leans up against some of the most beautiful scenery in the world: the Sierra Nevada. Those mountains, rising abruptly out of the arid sands of the Mojave, are engrained on my brain; they are my cradle. And each summer, they call me home.

There are many areas of the Eastern Sierra that are the focus of tourists. Each upland valley that issues its stream down to the thirsty desert floor has things to see and do. Residents from San Diego to San Francisco each have their own “fav” spot to visit. And each such person will argue the merits of their choice unto their dying breath.

For me, there is only one spot that is truly the best: the Mammoth Lakes Basin. This heavenly spot has everything one could want. It has wonderful fishing, with lakes and streams worth days and days of casting. It has great hiking trails, whether you want a simple out-and-back morning hike, or a lengthy, energetic climb up a mountain pass. It has lovely campgrounds, always by either a lovely lake or a babbling brook. And it has numerous resorts, each with plenty of cabins in which to laze away your summer days.

Like any truly great place to visit, Mammoth isn’t easy to get to. Located just off US 395 (which is marketed as El Camino Sierra by residents), it’s not close to much of anything. From Los Angeles, it is a 5 hour trek; from San Francisco, it’s more like 6 hours. Reno is a healthy 3 hour drive north; Las Vegas 5 hours east. It takes EFFORT to get there; you don’t just look at your watch in the late morning and suddenly decide to hop on over. But, once you are there, everything is just fine.

I’ve been going to Mammoth since I was 3. There’s a great picture I have of my parents, myself, and my then toddler little sister, hanging out on the porch of one of the lovely cabins that front the misnamed “Twin Lakes” (there’s actually a chain of three connected open areas of water). It is to this same resort that I return every time: Tamarack Lodge. The resort offers roughly 40 cabins, from studio to 3 BR, as well as a few rooms in the lodge itself. Some of the cabins are modernized inside, but I prefer the old “rustic” cabins. They feel very much like I remember as a child.

My family had many great memories of our summer visits. There is the year my sister caught a trout, and I did not; Mother promised me she would have to share her cooked fish. Sadly, my sister was not in a sharing mood; before my mother could make it back out of the kitchen with the rest of dinner, my sister had wolfed down the entire trout! Then, there was the year my younger brother, at about age 3, caught a trout while sitting in the end of a rowboat drawn up on shore, with a kid’s toy fishing pole that was hanging into about 10″ of water. Mind you, no one else caught anything that entire trip! These old chestnuts, along with others, were trotted out at the family dinner table for decades. They were reminders of a series of great summer vacations.

Part of what makes Mammoth so great is that it’s unlike any other part of the Eastern Sierra. That mountain range mostly fronts the desert valleys to the east with sheer heights. But 750,000 years ago, a huge volcano blew its top just east of the mountains, and took out a chunk of the ridgeline with it. The result is a cozy bowl of lakes, nestled in little scooped-out hollows left by glaciers, surrounded by granite ridges that don’t get above 11,000′ (most of the Sierra crest exceeds 12,500′). The lakes are fed by abundant snow, which funnels through the gap left by the creation of the caldera. Water, that most scarce of resources in the arid West, is not lacking in this little slice of Eden.

Indeed, it’s the snow that causes most people to go to Mammoth. During the winter, a volcano that formed about 75,000 years ago and is now mostly dormant, offers one of the West’s premier skiing destinations. But in the winter, the things to do there are ski, and après ski. The whole lakes basin is closed off, buried under feet of snow. It isn’t until May that the lakes are ready to be visited, the snow having receded, the lodges and campgrounds readied, and the roads cleared. Then the real fun begins.

Nor is the traveler there forced to stay in the basin for fun. There are so many day-trip possibilities that one could spend an entire summer there, doing one each day, and never repeating a trip. Old mining sites from the Gold Rush, volcanic remnants of obsidian and fumarole, meadows and wetlands and hot creeks, historic ghost towns, historic not ghost towns; all are within an easy two hours of the lake basin. And there are wonderful restaurants, great little ice cream stands, and cute places for noshing found in the surrounding towns.

And, yet, in the end, there is the peaceful experience of just sitting on a front porch, as my parents did, and letting the day slip slowly by, listening to the sounds of nature: the chirping birds, the chattering squirrels, and the endless roaring of the falls. Go there, lean back, put a hat over your eyes, and just enjoy Heaven. If anyone asks, tell them I sent you.