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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
It was busy, but not crowded. There was plenty of space to be alone on the trail,
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.
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 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!
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.
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.
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