Booking lodging after dark may not seem terribly smart, but it does lead to a magical morning. Awakening in a place you’ve never seen is like opening a present on Christmas morning.
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I had closed all the blinds but the one I was assured no one could see me sleeping from, which was the window near the end of the bed. I couldn’t see out it, but Tucker could. And waking up to him standing up and doing a double-take when he looked out the window was all I needed to know I was kicking off my 47th spin around the sun in the perfect place.

Outside our window was a forest. And when we stepped out the front door, we saw the lake and steep mountain on the other side.

The road to the cabin ended just a few yards away at the closed entrance to the campground. A walking path was clearly marked and although Tucker and I usually do only a short morning walk before breakfast, I knew we both were up for a little longer adventure.

The paved path led around the lake and we were drawn toward the sound of rushing water. As we came to the crossroads, we spied the waterfall.

Taking a walk between the lakes, we got a different perspective with some fall gold.

It was late morning already, and while I wished to have walked around the lake in its entirety, we had to check out and get to the hike I had chosen for the day: Little Lakes Valley to Gem Lake.
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So we bid farewell to our little cabin, keeping with us the memories of kindness and generosity.

We headed south to Tom’s Place, to the hike my friend’s father had told me of long ago. 

​“Take the road at the Tom’s Place exit and go till it ends. It’ll be one of the most beautiful hikes of your life.”

He wasn’t wrong.
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Just the parking lot of Mosquito Flat Campground, the starting point for Little Lakes Valley to Gem Lake trail, was stunning.

AllTrails listed it as a 7.1 mile hike, taking 3 hours and 8 minutes. The elevation feature wasn’t working on the app (I fixed it two days later by downloading an update; wish I had figured that out earlier), so I suspected it to be relatively flat for such a short mount time for so many miles. Tuck and I can do 2-3 miles an hour when it’s flat, but give us steep grades and it drags out the time. It seems like a canyon hike between alpine lakes, so we went for it.

SPOILER ALERT: If you want to go on this hike and be surprised by the beauty, don’t scroll any further. If you don’t think you’ll ever make it here or want to see ahead of time, keep going. No camera phone could do this place justice, but I’ve tried my best.

Despite the serenity of the campground area that we could have enjoyed for hours, Tuck was ready to get moving once he saw the trailhead.

When the gravel dirt became a rocky stairway, we came across thin sheets of ice in the mud.

Taking a step off the trail to let a couple of exuberent large dogs and their person pass, we found a stunning view.

Back on the trail, the path lost much of its rocks as it hit the valley floor.

It felt like we were walking in a painting.

​The first lake, bordered by the craggy mountains in the distance was breathtaking.

Turning around was nothing to scoff at either.

More lakes followed, as did trail. It was only a few miles to our expected ending spot, and should have only been an hour and a half, but unless you raced through, there is no way this hike could be done in that time.

When I hike, I don’t do it for the satisfaction of completion (although that is a perk); I do it for the journey. And I was walking through one of the most magnificent art galleries I had ever seen of Mother Nature’s. I wouldn’t rush through the Louvre just to say I’d been there. I’d take my time and let the images and energy soak in. So that’s what I did in this gallery. No words could capture this place.

So here are the photos, lake after lake after stream after valley after lake… the art transforming with every change of the light as the sun slipped behind a cloud, dipped below the mountain peaks, or stood front and center in the blue sky above like a spotlight.

We reached Gem Lake at the three hour mark. Upon first glance, I was surprised to not see snow monkeys and steam rising from the water.

I decided to sit for a spell, having reached our destination an hour after I expected to. Even Tucker lied down—something he never does.

I was annoyed, and I was annoyed that I was annoyed. I had become reliant on AllTrails to give me accurate information and when it failed, I got cranky. I sat and centered myself, letting it go.

If I had done this hike ten years ago, I would have had a paper map, all sweat-laden and crumpled in my back pocket. I wouldn’t know how many miles I had left to go, how many feet I had climbed, or how many calories I had burned.

I used to hike like walking into a museum not knowing the closing time or what the exhibitions were. Now I hike like I’ve researched the museum, reviewed the art, and know where I’ll be every minute.

This entire trip, unplanned in details, is how I need to hike. This walkabout was magnificent and magical. I was only cranky due to the expectation of time. We humans have a rather finicky relationship with time. We claim it goes slow, goes fast, sometimes we make good time, sometimes it goes by too quickly. But time never changes; our perception does. So I changed my perception, and focused on the incredible beauty before me. I wouldn't have changed a single step of the journey. Even the time of day and the minute we passed by a certain vision would have been different if we had been there a moment earlier; a cloud, a shadow, the breeze lifting a leaf--the moment mattered.
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So after taking in the moments here, the air, the energy, the delight of every vision, we stood up and made our way back. I wanted to make it back by dark, not just for safety, but to see the entire trail's beauty around me before the light of day faded entirely.

Again, no words suffice, and even these photos do not live up the reality. With the changing light and the new perspective, we experienced even more, different beauty.

We got back to our trusty steed as the sun was deep below the mountain peaks. It was four hours back to the City of Angeles, and a part of me wanted to go back to the cabin, stay another day, and do another hike tomorrow.
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But this was already perfect. I didn’t need to indulge. Day one of the my 47th year was pretty spectacular. There are many more days to come, and many more adventures for Tucker and me.

So as twilight fell, we headed south back to our basecamp in the San Fernando Valley. Along the way, as traffic slowed in the Antelope Valley, we watched a shooting star dive across the sky, and fizzle out high above civilization's lights.

Had I kept to my expected schedule, I would not have been right there, right then, to wish upon a star.

You need not plan every moment of your life. Just pick a few must-have's, a few plot points you want your story to have. Then allow the story to unfold. The more space you give it, the more elaborate, magnificent, and amazingly beautiful it becomes. 

Despite being an avid planner for much of my life, I never outline when writing. I just need a moment, preferably in the beginning and then I’m off. On occasion, it’ll be a moment somewhere near the end. Either way, I have a destination from which to leave from or end up. How I get there or where go from there is the joy of writing.

So for my birthday this year, I wanted to live like I write: not planning every moment or even having much of a blueprint; just one or two moments and preparations for what if’s. So I packed clothes, food and supplies for Tucker and me for four days even though I assumed we’d only be gone a night, hopped into our trusty steed, and away we went with one moment locked in: Convict Lake just south of Mammoth Lakes. 

For those who of us who sprang to life in New England when the treetops were dressed in their finest golds and reds, and were shedding their visage leaf by leaf on the cool breeze, no matter where we are in the world when the temperature begins to drop and the days become shorter, our heart feels the burning desire to experience Nature’s most spectacular transition.

But nothing can ever compare to a New England Autumn.

I’ve been lucky to spend a few Fall days in Asheville, North Carolina which mirrors the other end of the Appalachian Trail from where I was born, and Portland, Oregon had some pretty beautiful sights as well. I was not near either place this year, and with gas prices in Southern California skyrocketing close to $7/gallon and this being “2023: The Year Hollywood Imploded”, I was a little low on funds for the venture. We needed to stick close to the home, but Southern California is nowhere near being satisfactory for Autumn.

My Liquid Amber Tree dresses up come mid-winter when frost finally hits Los Angeles, and I love this tree, but it’s like having a Dixie Cup of water when you need a gallon to quench your thirst.
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Many people in Los Angeles speak highly of the Eastern Sierras for its golden Aspens in Autumn. Route 395 which runs up the eastern side of Yosemite toward Lake Tahoe is touted as being an autumnal getaway. With my new England standards, I didn’t have very high expectations, but I was willing to give it a go as it fit within my budget.
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So on the morn of my 46th birthday, Tucker and I headed north for our Autumn Adventure. It also marks out 10th birthday together, so I wanted it to be something special. Tucker was thrilled to be on the road and going somewhere he’d never been before. 

Route 395 was more desert than I had expected.

Then, much to my surprise, out from from the flat deserts basin flanked by mountains full of rocky character, a golden aspen grove sprouted.

We made it to Convict Lake by mid-afternoon. The three mile hike around the lake was a warm-up to get us used to the elevation and as a sort of appetizer for the main dish of nature the next day.
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It was busy, but not crowded. There was plenty of space to be alone on the trail,

And lots of places to meander down to the shoreline.

We had arrived “past peak”, meaning the week before the Aspens were fully dressed in all their glory, but over the past week, the winds undressed many of the trees, their golden leaves scattered across the trail and beneath the groves.

But “past peak” doesn’t mean “past beauty”.

There is beauty in every stage of Autumn, in every season, and every age. I suppose Tucker and I are both “past peak”; but I wouldn’t say we are past beauty. It all depends on your view, the lighting, and what you bring to it.

Above half way around the lake, there was a trail that led upwards into the mountains. There wasn’t time before dark to do the full hike to the next alpine lake over the crest, but I wanted to climb a little higher and take a look at the lake from a new perspective.

I was still surprised to see desert floor. Shrubs and dirt, all flora a little defensive in one way or another.

But still beautiful.

I hadn’t taken into account “sundown” time based on the sun dipping below the high mountain tops, but the new lighting brought new beauty.

Every time I was ready to turn back, Tucker asked to continue on, and so we kept going, and each time he took me to yet another beautiful vista.

Everywhere I turned was beauty.

My iphone was doing some strange fish-eyed lens action and not picking up the colors in their intensity, so while I would need to edit or not be able to share some of the photos, I was grateful to see them with my own eyes.

When we hit what appeared to be a large dry streambed with rocks that looked dangerous for paws, I decided to call it the end. Tucker will continue until the end no matter what (which is why I prefer loop trails), so there needs to be pretty solid evidence of the “end” for him to turn around.

Turning around garnered even more stunning beauty.

The lake in shadow was just as beautiful as the lake in full sun. It wasn’t “past beauty”; just different beauty.

And as we walked along the northside of the lake, the beauty was different than the southside, but still there. I turned and found even in shadow, it was alight with color and character.

By the time we reached the parking lot, our trusty steed was only one of three cars remaining.

Which meant Tuck could get a picture with no one around on the boat landing before heading out to the next point in our adventure, a point as of yet to be determined.

Mammoth Lakes was only a short drive away, and with it only being 6pm, I wanted get set up at with lodging and figure out food afterwards. We drove around the little ski town, and I could imagine what it was like in deep snow. I parked in an empty parking lot and started calling around for lodging. It was Sunday night, so I was expecting cheap, open rooms somewhere. 

​But alas, expectations is what cause disappointment. Being a ski town, everything had a “resort fee” of $25 and then a pet fee of another $35 or $50. And then there was the actual cost of the room, nothing under $200, and tax on top. I weighed my options of settling on a motel room and outdoor dining experience or a fancier in-room experience and ordering in. The temperature was dropping and the wind was picking up, so outdoor dining with Tucker was looking like a rather unpleasant option.

So I called back a place that told me they waived the resort fee if I didn’t eat breakfast (in no world would I ever consume a $28 breakfast), and a studio cabin (a cabin! Not a room but four walls not adjacent to anyone!) was $185. I said I’d come by and check it out.

Ten minutes later, I found myself half way up the mountain in the dark parking lot in front of a lodge, the Tamarack Lodge (which incidentally is nowhere near Tamarack Lake).

Since I was no longer going to be eating out, I wanted to get a a bigger space in which to spend the evening. So for only $30 more, I upgraded to a “historic” one bedroom cabin (making sure “historic” still meant “with running water”). The staff was extraordinarily helpful, and since it was taking time to get set up—this is a “resort” not a motel—I got to bring Tucker inside to meet the staff.

I was warned about aggressive bears breaking into cars, told about the wood stove and that they would be happy to get it started for me, and even given recommendations for dinner.

Any time I'm handed a key for the door to my lodging instead of a keycard, I know I'm in the right place.

​This is where I spent my birthday night.

With elephant towels, and a cozy bed in a wood-paneled bedroom,

And Tucker napping on the couch while I made food acquisition inquires,

It couldn’t be more perfect.

​I ordered up a pizza from the recommended pizza parlor with the idea to go pick it up and then stop by the grocery store for a bottle of wine, sit by the fire, read my Mountain Gazette (a long-form print magazine I gifted myself this year), and enjoy the evening with my best buddy.

I got to the pizza parlor ten minutes before they closed to discover I had forgotten my wallet, and it would be a twenty minute round trip to return with it. One of the workers kindly allowed me to Venmo her the money and she paid in cash. I couldn’t believe the kindness! (I also took it as a sign that I shouldn’t buy a bottle of wine as I had planned.)

Returning to the cabin, I couldn’t find matches or paper for the wood stove, so Bruce, the staff member who had lined up the cabin for me, came by to get it started. He told me the history of the Lodge and talked about what it was like working there. He asked if I wanted any DVD’s or blankets or anything. I declined. I just wanted my little fire, a meal, and time with Tucker. Then he asked the million dollar question:  “Do you want a bottle of wine?”

I recounted my pizza run issue, and he said, “I’ll be right back." Moments later, he returned with a complimentary bottle of wine!

Not having a plan can be stressful, as it was sitting in the parking lot wondering which path to take. But when I open myself up to possibilities and let myself be swept away on the tide rather than trying to fight it, I end up on some pretty amazing shores.

It’s a lesson I took some sixteen years ago when I drove cross-country transporting dogs, and a philosophy I follow when writing. It may take a little longer, but it’s a helluva lot more fun than having everything planned. You just have to have faith you’re always right where you need to be.

And I was definitely right where I needed to be: on my tenth birthday with my best boy, walking through Mother Nature’s art galleries and spending the evening beside a fire, reading stories of the mountains with a slice of pizza and a glass of wine.

There was still adventure to be had, but that for the morning. For now, I would enjoy this day, this moment in my story, this warm, wonderful closing paragraph to Chapter 46, Past Peak But Not Past Beauty.