Trip Date: October 18, 2014
Find this SpotI had been on a real good run. Last month Bob, Tom, and I had done the river trip. October 3 was the wedding of my cousin’s daughter Sara and Tony in Santa Rosa. The next weekend was our annual trip to Yosemite. It was an awesome trip, as usual. But I had been looking forward to this trip out into Owens Valley pretty intensely. I am not sure why. It is spectacular country for sure. It was to be another in a series of trips into that country, which I love to do, the time of year was great, the hot springs, the connectivity to so many other trips; there was no shortage of aspects of the trip to look forward to which I suppose all added up to a great deal of anticipation and high expectations.
Not many of the boys could make the trip and a couple bailed as the trip approached, so it turned out to be just me and Tom. This worked out great because we could go in Tom’s rig without too much effort to compromise on what to bring, condense our gear into minimal containers, or pack things too tightly. He had to put a couple big soft bags up top on his rack, but he is good at tying stuff down up there, so it was no big deal. I had been a log on the couch all week and had justified it by convincing myself it would be silly to unpack from Yosemite and put it all away only to pack up again less than a week later.
Of course, unloading everything we take for 4 nights in the Valley disaggregating it into what I needed for 2 nights with Tom was a tad more complex than imagined. I had shit spread all over the driveway into piles of laundry, recycling, gear that wasn’t coming with me that needed to go downstairs, gear that wasn’t coming with me that was going upstairs, gear that might come with me depending on what Tom had, gear that I definitely needed but needed to be packed differently. It was exhausting. We needed a beverage to think clearly.
It wasn’t long though before we had a good handle on what was coming and what was going. Tom condensed the ice chests for food, and my absolute favorite thing – a separate ice chest for beverages. This was a fine treasure trove of beverages. Many varietals, shapes, sizes, colors, densities, aromas. This one piece of necessary equipment elevated my excitement to an even higher orbit. We had room for a garbage can of wood, the BBQ lid, and a few extras, and still had room to spare. Tom had wanted to get an early start so he was at my place at 7:30. It was 8:30 by the time we toasted to our trip and headed the rig East. We were feeling mighty fine.
We blasted up Highway 50, Mormon Emigrant, Highway 88, and up and over Monitor before we stopped for a beverage and to inspect the Southern horizon towards our destination. Of course, much of our horizon was obliterated by the Sweets which we had to get around via 395, but we were getting there. Dropping off the east side is always an exhilarating ride and you can easily get a sense of how the ravens, hawks, buzzards, vultures, and falcons float down the back side, floating along with the thermals, zigzagging in and out of the ravines and then up and over the ridges. Circling, gliding, floating, relaxed and fairly effortless, across the open fire charred landscape, through the canyon, and to the “T” with Highway 395. I love that right turn.
Topaz, Coleville, Walker. Past the turnoff to Risue. Through the narrow twisty-turny canyon along the West Walker River. Past Buckeye Hot Spring and up and over Devils Pate Pass (7519’) to drop into Bridgeport. I always think of my sister Wyn coming through Bridgeport as she used to bring her family to stay at the Walker River Lodge so the kids could fish and explore the eastern Sierra. Quickly out of town and past Travertine Hot Springs, up and over Conway Summit (8138’) to drop into Lee Vining. Now we were getting somewhere.
In my tiny mind, this trip with Tom was an extension of many trips: Ken, the Steve’s and I met in Benton, the first time we had been out in that country. With little discussion and vague directions, Gabe came to within 200 yards of us late at night, well after dark, to much rejoicing. I had camped along the North shore of Mono Lake the night before whilst Ken and the Steve’s were shacking up in a cozy Mammoth Lakes chateau. Gabe and I explored the area extensively on our motorcycles so I got a pretty good feel for that area. We had camped by the snag and by the Obsidian formation (Trip #s ?? and ???) South of Mono Lake and 120 a few years back. We had camped North of Mono Lake and 167 (Trip # ??) just last year when we took the epic drive. Gabe, Vinnie and Ken camped in the area when it snowed and they had to retire in Lee Vining and the lady died in their hotel. We had cocky copper give me a ticket driving through Lee Vining that I later fought and beat.
This time, no cocky copper in town and we had safe sailing. Tom wanted to take the June Lakes Loop, Highway 158, so before we had put Lee Vining in our rear view by too much, our high speed highway segment of the trip had come to an end. He turned right and we were instantly rewarded. The Fall color thus far had not been a disappointment. The upper elevations of Carson Pass and Monitor had mostly done their thing and the trees were largely leafless. Hope Valley however was screaming and very impressive, as was the area South of Conway Summit up towards Virginia Lakes. I was on this road once before, many years ago, in the winter. I remember the cabin was very cool and we could see a lake. I was very impressed but I don’t remember much more than that – other than this apparently was a haven for the rich and famous of Hollywood back in the day.
Right away, we knew this was a genius decision. Grant Lake extends for a good stretch right along the road. There were no homes or structures – much to my surprise. The Aspen, Cottonwood, and Poplars were showing off quite nicely. There was a diversity of color – from exceptional greens, through all the yellows and well into the oranges. In some spots, it even got into the reds – not the East mind you, but quite exceptional. We pulled off the road at one popular spot and walked about taking pictures and stretching our legs, backs, hips, and minds. The reflections were superb on Rush Creek and the dramatic peaks provided an exceptional contrast to the colors and the spectacular blue sky.
After an hour or so of eating and wandering and picture taking, we continued on and continued to be impressed. There started to be more development, but not obscene – not a Mammoth Lakes situation at all. A few simple, quaint resorts opposite Silver and Gull Lakes, and then it increased as you came into the town of June Lake. It was a sizable town and it was developed, but again, more like a cute small town than a resort town or a Tahoe or Mammoth. Some massive homes had gone up on the ridge, and I am sure to the old timers, it wasn’t like it used to be, but to us green horns, it was a great little town.
We had an awesome lunch in a café and felt prepared to leave society behind and disappear into the wide open spaces.
In just a few miles we were back on 395 and in just a few minutes we were turning left onto Owens River Road. As great as the trip had been so far, I was totally stoked to be heading out on this dirt road. Little did we know at the time, we were passing some of the hot springs that we would later search for, but for now, we enjoyed the sights and smells as we cruised along searching for the next road. Although I thought I had seen a map indicating the Owens Rivers flows from Mono Lake, I am fairly certain, this section of Owens Valley Road is set atop the northernmost boundary of Owens Valley proper, so it was exciting to think that we were on the very top section of it, having criss-crossed lower sections many times, but still feeling like I really didn’t have a sense of it at all. A great trip would be to come to Mammoth Lakes and stay a week and then stay two weeks maybe in Bishop. There is so much extraordinary beauty in this region; in the Valley itself, in the Eastern Sierra’s to the West, and the White Mountains to the East. There is also a tremendous amount of history, including the rape of the Valley by LA, but there is also lots of good history, arts, music, food, and entertainment. It is to be explored and enjoyed year round with winter beauty and sports and activities equaling the beauty and appeal of the Fall, and Spring.
There have been numerous books and guides written on this region and deservingly so, but the one I have, from my parents, is “California’s Eastern Sierra; A Visitor’s Guide” by Sue Irwin, published by Cachuma Press in 1991. It does a great job presenting both the scenic wonders, natural beauty and opportunities to explore the back country, while also providing a goodly amount of human history, culture, and tourist information. Of course, it is 23 years old by now, so more than a few things have changed.
As for the river, rather than coming out of Mono Lake, it could be that its headwaters are the Sierra’s and Deadman and Glass Creek, coming together out of Ansel Adams Wilderness. I felt great being at this apex of both Valley and the river. I love being at the top and/or the bottom, the edges so to speak, knowing that out before us in its entirety is whatever there is to see – the entire mountain range, the watershed, the valley, the desert, the Great Basin, the beginning of the Cascades and the terminus of the Sierra’s. The beginning and the end.
Our road turned south and we passed some impressive ranches as we left the scattered Jeffrey Pine forest and headed out into the beautiful Fall colors of the grasses, willows, and riparian vegetation along the river. The North end of the valley, is really a massive wetlands, almost a marsh in wet times, and great grass at worst, before the small streams and channels coagulate into a discernible riverbed. We knew we were getting close when we passed the one blemish in the entire country, one that would haunt us for the entire trip – the Benton Crossing Landfill.
We picked up the paved Benton Crossing Road for a mile or so, crossing over the bridge over the legitimate Owens River. There is a large private campground that was already closed for the season, a theme by now, having experienced most of the restaurants and some businesses already shuttered after the passing of the high season. But we were here, the weather was awesome, and it seemed there were plenty of other folks out and about. I was really surprised shops didn’t just stay open until the end of Fall or when winter really settles in. The Fall colors really bring out a whole new crew of photographers, artists, fishermen, hikers, wildlife enthusiasts and those that generally enjoy nature and natural beauty. It seems like they would put money in the business owners’ pockets.
And why pack up and split now and miss this epic season. The transition from summer to Fall is gorgeous. It is gentle, slightly cooling temperatures; slight breezes, gentle breezes still warm and comforting. The wildlife is on the move; heading out of the high country and back down to the valleys and winter ranges. They are busy collecting winter stores to get them through the times when food is scarce. They are building or fortifying their winter lodges to make sure they are safe and sound. They are busy fattening up and getting their winter coats on. It is an important time to get prepared for the cold, stormy, dangerous winters. But the colors steal the show and they earn the attention. The eastern Sierra is aglow with color. Ravines, canyons, small pockets of low ground where the moisture accumulates, the open valleys, and the edges of every river, creek and stream. Wherever the Aspens, Cottonwoods, Poplars, Willows, Oaks, Maples, Dogwood, and other deciduous trees, bushes, and shrubs change their pigmentation; losing the chlorophyll as the Anthocyanins, Carotenoids, and Tannins take over.
It is a transition that reminds us of the seasons, something that us “City Slickers”, low/flat landers, and cubicle dwellers are apt to forget. It is a shiny glittering reminder of the change that is in constant motion. Driving up the mountain pass at 80 miles per hour, it may be easy to notice the mountains are still here, the road is in the same place, the lakes and creeks are where they are supposed to be, the cabin or hotel is open and on we go. Massive fires, landslides, the impacts of drought, and floods, the big news that we get smashed with over and over until our senses are dull and frayed beyond repair, gives us a false sense of being connected. Seeing images from 30,000 feet and being told over and over what we are approved to hear does not qualify us as being a part of our surroundings.
It isn’t until we get out of the car, stop for a minute, and take stock in what is all around us. Notice a tree, a bush, a flower, an insect, a bird. Notice something has changed. I remember one forestry professor I had for my aerial photography class. We would spend our labs looking at all sorts of imagery and trying to “see” what the land was like, what was growing, where it was, where the features were. Then we would drive for hours out to that country and see it from the ground and experience it under foot and compare our interpretations, our inferences, our impressions from the imagery. On our bus trips, he would always say, “Notice something different every time you go out, every time you pass a place.” In this way you start to get to know a place; get a sense of place. In some cases, being out in the woods, having a sense of place could be very important. Mostly though, it was just a way to get and remain connected to your surroundings.
Fall gives us an excuse to get out and wander a trail, take a narrow path, sit along a narrow trickle of water and observe. Summer really is the time most of nature is least active. It is hot and sunny day after day. The plants and animals are basically soaking it up, staying cool, and relaxing. Spring and Fall are by far the most active times, and Fall is often overlooked as summer wraps up and people are tired from all their summer activities, school starts again, and all of a sudden the holidays are upon us.
I wished the landfill had taken time off for the holidays, but how could that be? What would happen to all the shit we had to throw away. For now, it was giant landmark for us to cross the bridge, turn left, and leave the pavement again. Thank god LADWP (did you click that link? Did you wonder how in the fuck Los Angeles Department of Water and Power could be linked to the Owens River Valley – one of the biggest crimes of our region) put up a million signs saying this was LADWP land with a million rules and restrictions, lest we not know all that shit. Thankfully, A) we didn’t give a damn; B) we weren’t doing anything they needed to be concerned about or that we needed to be concerned about them; and C) we were just passing through to get to the BLM land that comprised most of the valley, and then beyond that to the Inyo NF which, in typical fashion, managed the mountains and just about any land with trees on it. So it was, up the massive alluvial fans that aproned the valley in search of a perch with a view.
I had printed several screens from Googly maps that showed the maze of roads heading up into the canyons. Many, perhaps all of them, just stopped at a spring, a mine, an old cabin, a small patch of private property, whatever. I do not believe there was a single road that went up and over Bald Mountain to the West or Glass Mountain on the East, the bookends of this crescent mountain range topping off the North end of Mono Valley. It was steep, rough country up there. This we found to be true as we traversed one road to its end and then the next, and another, and another. There were many options, some reasonable possibilities, but nothing quite right.
In our usual approach to these trips, we explored and explored, we hadn’t found a real good spot yet so we just continued exploring. It was getting late and we were getting tired and we needed to find it pretty soon, but we persevered and we tried to stay hydrated and lubricated. Our criss-crossing roads brought us back and forth and we re-examined some possibilities and looked at others from new perspectives. It really is like buying a house – each time we go camping. At last, we approached a road higher up on the mountain side than we had expected being. It started to come into focus. There was a large Aspen grove flowing down the canyon, the views were outstanding. There was almost no flat ground and very little open ground, but the views, the solitude, the light, the shadows. This was a good place.
It had already been a long day, a great day, but a huge one. There was much to be done as we set about unloading Tom’s rig, putting containers and tables and chairs and wood and grill and shovels approximately where they will be used. It was cocktail hour and I wished I was kicking back, enjoying the light show, with cocktail in hand. But there was much to do. Set up the tent, get everything needed in there and somewhat arranged, leave our heavy/warm clothing within reach for the night, dig hole for the fire and find rocks for the grill, get fire going, set up table and kitchen and find food for dinner. Holy moly.
It is often a ritualistic renewal when the fire gets going. I often get the sense that everything will be OK. Fire is good. It is warmth, it is light, it is safety, it is reassuring, and it portends the coming of food. It often lifts my spirits, calms me with a reassurance, and lightens my step a tad as an indication everything is going to be alright. And certainly it was. We were losing light and it was later than I wished it were, but we were sitting in tall cotton, well pretty tall sage anyway.
Out came the Manhattan’s, on went the two slabs of Steelhead, the evening breeze was dying down, and we were feeling pretty darn good. After we ate, the night was completely still. It wasn’t nearly as cold as we expected it to be, but not bad at all. We let the fire burn down to coals pretty early because the fire danger was pretty extreme and the stars were coming out in a serious way. The Milky Way was pulsing above us; the lights of Mammoth, McGee Creek, Crowley, and perhaps the edge of Tom’s Place visible off in the distance. We were in a good place.
I slept very well, but arose to the sound of gun shots. This being October, I wasn’t that surprised as I suspected it was hunting season for something somewhere. But the shots became so frequent and at such regular intervals, I figured it must be a shooting range out in the valley somewhere. After a bit of coffee, Tom surmised it was an air cannon at the dump, presumably scaring off the seagulls and other scavengers. This certainly did deflate my Euell Gibbons moment, but it wasn’t a total buzz kill. We turned our attention to the day’s activities, which consisted of visiting a couple hot springs and doing some local exploring. Years ago, at Ken’s recommendation, I bought a book on Hot Springs of California and Nevada. I really hadn’t used it much because we usually had Ken along with us. After all it was Kenny who introduced us to Fales, Buckeye, and Travertine hot springs, and another one where my only recollection (perhaps prior to extensive psychotherapy) is Steve’s ass, so we typically relied on him for guidance and instruction. But this time we relied on the book and it truly paid dividends.
There are numerous hot springs in this area; the book describes 7, and we went to 3. Oh my god, this was awesome. Two miles of dirt back to Benton Crossing, and maybe a couple miles down Benton Crossing was our first stop. Less than a mile off the road is a parking lot that was empty. A long raised wooden walkway headed up and over a hill to a nice gravel walkway lined by larger stones. Scattered brush and alternating rocky and light colored powder soils made the landscape very open and bare. After walking a few minutes, we came to the pool, at the edge of the wetlands, with a couple clean strips of artificial turf on the edges to keep your feet and the pool clean. This place was off the charts. From this hill top, you could see 360 degrees completely unobstructed. The Whites, the backside of Yosemite, Mammoth Mountain, Bald Mountain, Glass Mountain and the southern Sierra’s wrapped all around us. We had this place to ourselves, total peace and quiet, total feeling of solitude. The water was super clean, the perfect temperature, and if it wasn’t, it could be moderated by a valve in the pipes that fed the concrete/stone pool. It was way beyond expectations.
It wasn’t too long before about 6 surfer/skateboarders joined us with their cooler of PBR. They were cool guys, real friendly with a quick and easy laugh. Not long after that, a lady came up with her little shit dog, nice enough and it didn’t bark or fuss, but it still would have made a fine meal for a hawk or coyote. She was alone, had her little chair, cooler, and bag of necessities, wiggled out of her top and shorts and slid right in with us 8 dudes. She apparently had done this before and was a natural at it. It was time for us to move on. I imagine those folks had a good ol’ time after we left and them youngsters learned some valuable lessons.
Our next spot was a mile or so further down the road and a mile or so off a rough dirt road. There was a large parking area and several cars. Another large elevated walkway led a few hundred yards to a cool rock formation and a couple pools. The main one was natural with a bit of a murky bottom, but quite large so that several groups of people could kind of have their own corner. One guy was sitting in his beach chair near a small water fall reading. A young family with two little Giant fans played in a corner and 3 guys and a girl were hanging in another area. We certainly could have joined them, but there was a smaller murkier pool across the path with no one in it. This was better for us. Great views and this cool rock formation looking out over expansive grasslands created a great setting for this tub.
More people were coming in so we decided to move on, to a pool the book said was one of the best soaks in the area. Just about another mile away and another mile of dirt led us to a small community of vehicles. Three or four groups were camping very near this tub which made it a little awkward at first, but then not at all. Everybody is doing the same thing, so it is a real relaxed and casual scene. Besides, we were just 2 more old guys hanging around hoping to see the maidens. Alas, only mules. This tub was pretty cool because it was built into a hillside. It was a rock/cement pool with 2 levels and the water made a bit of a waterfall as it trickled down the rocks from the spring on top of the hill. The pool was empty at first so we enjoyed both levels and the great view of the eastern Sierra’s. Then one of the guys joined us for a few minutes. He was the only naked person we saw the entire time. He was a cool guy traveling alone from Oregon checking out California and some hot springs. He was leaving that afternoon for Saline Valley and the hot spring in there. I imagined he and the lady at hill top hooking up and living in his Dodge camper exploring the country’s natural beauty and hot springs, and perhaps a nudist colony or 2. This tub was perhaps our least favorite, maybe not only because there were people kind of close around us, but also because the location of the spring in the hillside offered only the view West. As spectacular as it was, the other two being so wide open, made this feel kind of cramped and sheltered.
We were about as clean as we were going to get so we turned for our camp spot. After all was said and done, we couldn’t have been more than 5 miles from the bridge and our turnoff. It felt great to have had such a fantastic experience at the hot springs and to be returning to our camp in plenty of time, with plenty of daylight, and it being all set up. We definitely had plenty of time so we did a little exploring. We went as far North as the big round mound. We took every track we could find and access up into the canyons until they petered out. We criss-crossed other roads we had taken the day before as the roads were extensive in the area, making massive triangles and quadrilaterals on the dry sage covered apron between grassy valley floor and rocky mountain sides above. We saw some great spots, but nothing better than the one we had settled. It was most definitely cocktail hour and so we retired to our camp, greatly satisfied with the day’s events.
The fire relit, a fine beverage in hand, we settled in to watch the light show. We may not have had the best seats in the house, but we were most definitely in the theatre, and that was plenty good for us. Tom had marinated steaks and vege’s cooking in no time. The evening was just spectacular – so much to observe and absorb. The light in the Sierra’s, the shadows across the valley, the awesome sunset behind the Minarets’, the color in the Aspen, the gentle breeze rustling the leaves, the sweet scent of the sage, the cedar and oak in the fire, the fine whiskey, the flamed meat. Man this was nice.
The Milky Way came out again, perhaps a bit clearer and brighter tonight. Perhaps it was just me. As the faint lights flickered off in the distances, and the great bright lights shined from above, I was overcome with a sense of relief that I was able to experience this. I felt accomplished. I felt like I had done something – achieved something. It wasn’t exactly survivor man or rugged individualism, but it is an effort to get out; to get away. It isn’t nearly as comfortable, as controlled, as synthetically, electronically, automatically, artificially, prefabricated, man-made and then altered for ease and simplicity as say the mall, your cubicle, your home. It is sometimes difficult to give all that up. To not be on the warm comfy couch watching pretty much anything you want with the click of a button. Make fire with the click of a button. Make light, heat, cold with the click of a button. Everything imaginable and then some is a click of a button away. Not so much out here and that is simplistic and refreshing and comforting to us.
I slumbered away exceptionally well again. I certainly had my blankies, but my heavy duty bag was unzipped and laid across the top. I didn’t have any clothes or extra gear on and I was super comfortable, warm, and cozy. I got up once to pee, and lingered a bit to see the sliver of a moon and the stars and feel the air and the calm and the quiet. Morning came and so did the stupid air cannon. Not so much today, but maybe that was just me. I wanted to get back to my couch and watch the 49er game Sunday night, so we didn’t want to have a big breakfast or lounge too long before getting packed up and heading for home. However, even without a breakfast, time did pass quickly and it was later than we thought when we finally got loaded up. We had given some thought to heading East to Benton and back across 120 into Lee Vining, but time would not allow on this trip. Have to come back this way again some day.
Find this SpotHighway 395 Benton Crossing Photo Gallery
