Raccoon and Lobster

Stacy came up to Los Angeles to visit for a few days, so we went to look at some mammoths and mastodons today.

A reconstruction of a mammoth.

A mother mastodon and her baby.

Bison. Not a buffalo.

It is a law that saber-toothed tiger cat skeletons be displayed with the mouth open.

See?

There is a wall of  404 dire wolf skulls excavated from the tar pits. Over 1600 dire wolf remains have been uncovered in the tar pits so far.

And here is a dire wolf leaping gracefully after some prey.

Unfortunately, we were not able to see any work at the excavation site, but there were several volunteers working inside the museum.

Even the tiniest pieces of bone are carefully cleaned and sorted.

Down to the teeniest little mouse toe bone.

Apparently the museum will train volunteers to sort and clean fossil bones, and you can eventually assist in the summer dig as well. Next year, everyone will be getting Ice Age mouse toe bones on Boxing Day.

You can see all of the pictures in slideshow form in large size here.

When last we left the story, your intrepid blogger was engaged in a literal race against the sun. For elevating a quest to truly epic, legendary status, there is really nothing like declaring war upon the celestial giant at the very center of the Solar System. Do you read a lot of ancient myths? This kind of thing never ends well. The best I could hope for was that Phaëton would be at the reins for the day and his amateur attempts to steer would buy me the time to reach my destination before he set the Earth ablaze.

Sorry. I was momentarily carried away by the immense grandeur of my rivalry. Besides, everyone knows the sun is rolled across the sky by a giant scarab beetle.

Beetle or chariot, that luminous bastard could really move, and as the sky brightened, the needle on the speedometer climbed to new heights of insanity. Finally, a large lake appeared to my right on the highway, which I believed to be Mono Lake, but my attempts to locate a path to the waterfront were in vain. Minutes later, I saw the road signs for Lee Vining, the town located at the edge of Mono Lake. Fortunately, a population of just under 400 people  did not appear to be sufficient to field a traffic authority to patrol the highway for reckless speeders like myself. A few miles later, I turned onto the road that led me to the completely deserted Mono Lake Visitor’s Center. I grabbed my camera and ran out of the car. It was 6:25. From the parking lot, I could see the tufa towers clustered in the water at a point not too far down the grassy slope. All I had to do was navigate down to the water. A few minutes, no more.

I located the beginning of the trail that was pointed towards the water and began to jog. The path was covered in snow and dotted with animal tracks. A few feet down the hill, I spotted the fluffy white tail of a bunny scamper away underneath some bushes. As I ran, the trail narrowed, and soon I was dodging brambles left and right. Many minutes later, covered in a light layer of sweat despite the below-freezing temperatures, I realized that I was only halfway to the shore. What had appeared from the top of the rise to be just a short jog was now looking more like a mile of uneven snow-covered terrain. My trail had almost disappeared and I was now darting between the clumps of bushes. I took a few quick snapshots and thanked the Fates for the foresight to do the Couch to 5k program. I gripped my camera tightly and began to run, my breath fogging up the air.

Soon, the ground leveled out and the bushes turned to tall grass, and I found a new trail. With the sun still stuck behind the hills I had just descended, I made it to the tufa structures, feeling like a hero.

When the last of the vegetation disappeared and was replaced by mineral deposits, frost, and frozen ground, it truly began to feel like an alien moonscape.

This strange beauty was what I had come for, and as I took my pictures, I gradually moved further and further out onto the frozen banks.

As the sun finally made its way over the rim of the valley, I switched my focus to the scenery nearby.

Oh, how gross! Some of the ground had thawed as the sun came up and and a misstep left me with a hiking boot caked with mud. I resolved to be more careful with my steps.

Occasional inconvenient mud puddle aside, I was surrounded by beauty.

The water was incredibly still, and there was no noise except the wind and the sound of my own breathing.

After an hour of photos, I figured that it was time to head back. After all, it was starting to get warm and more and more patches of ice were beginning to thaw. Staying any longer might be inviting trouble.

Oh. Shit. When I lost my left leg up to the shin, I knew I had overstayed my welcome. My mind was filled with images of me holding my camera desperately above my head as I slowly sank into the mud. The Sun God would get his revenge for my insolence as the thawing mud puddles consumed me and my pesky camera. Part of me was tempted to document the process of extricating myself, but having already won a narrow victory, I was not in the mood to tempt fate. I shoved my camera safely into my bag and tried to plan my escape.

The only way out of the puddle and onto safe ground was two large steps in the direction I was facing. I planted my right leg on the most stable patch of ice I could find and stepped. A moment later, my right leg was buried up to the knee. There is actually a mild relief that happens when you realize things can’t get too much worse. Once you pass a certain threshold of being covered in foul smelling lake mud, a few more inches or feet of coverage are no longer as big of a deal. As long as I could keep my head and my camera bag above the mud, it mattered very little how much dirtier I got. Resigning myself to my fate, I forged through the mud, taking several more steps before I was finally on dry ground and able to take a picture for you to enjoy.

Plodding along with my boots squishy with mud, I made my way back through the grass, and up into the bushes.

The outstretched branches of the bushes managed to clean a large amount of the mud off of my legs, but I still reeked of lake muck.

It was at the start of the trail, near where I saw the cottontail rabbit on my way in, that I spied the tracks. Enormous tracks of a giant beast, much larger than any I had seen so far. Each step was spaced far away from the others and the tracks were nearly of a size to my own. While the other rabbit tracks were about 2 inches in length, these tracks were the size of entire rabbits. What sort of monster lagomorph was this? These tracks could come from no ordinary hare. Surely, I was in the presence of the Omega Rabbit, destroyer of worlds. I peered about cautiously, looking for more signs of him, but he eluded me at every turn. Thoroughly spooked, I hastily made my way to the parking lot, where the open space would allow me to see a man-sized demon bunny approaching.

Safely away from demon rabbit stomping grounds, I ate the most delicious half-frozen apple of my life and savored the joy of a successful morning. Sacrificing a jacket as a makeshift seat cover and floor mat, I carefully moved my mud-covered body into Alan’s (clean! well-cared for! expensive!) car and headed back south on the freeway towards Mammoth Lakes and my mule ride.

A few minutes later, I saw a sign pointing to the South Tufa of Mono Lake. South Tufa was the area that I had been planning to go to, the area with the largest tufa structures, which I thought was near the Mono Lake Visitor’s Center. In my haste to beat the sun, I had misinterpreted the sign and missed the turn off. I took the road and went to see what I had missed. Oh, cruel fate! The path to the shore at South Tufa was wide and covered in wooden planks. The water’s edge was 30 seconds away from the parking lot, and the shore was firm and stable, with not a single mud puddle for someone to fall into. Had I realized my mistake, I could have been at the lakeside minutes earlier, saved myself the long run through the brush, dodged almost drowning in treacherous mud puddles, and avoided incurring the wrath of the Omega Rabbit. Come to think of it, je ne regrette rien!

As I finished up round two of my alien moonscape photos and walked out into the parking lot, I saw a familiar red car pull up, carrying my rock climbing buddies. We greeted each other warmly and I briefly filled them in on my exploits before abandoning them yet again to do my own thing. I had an appointment with a mule, and no fortuitous chance encounter was going to distract me from it.

Unfortunately, Mammoth Lakes is populated by wimpy, frost-averse mules, and it turned out that despite a lack of warnings on the brochure or the website, the pack rides were shut down in their entirety for the winter. Bereft, I decided to see the Devil’s Postpile as a consolation, which mgp had recommended as another local geological oddity. Again, I was foiled by the seasons.

I continued following the only road into town and eventually came across the Mammoth Lakes Visitors Center, where a kindly gentlemen directed me to a highly recommended hike to Crystal Lake. He handed me a map and sent me on my way. The road I was on soon narrowed and began to wind upwards into the mountains, and in short order, I began to cross over small patches of packed snow. Soon, the road was completely snowed over, and while the SUVs and trucks cheerfully forged on, I began to lose my confidence. When the road ended in a parking lot leading to a different trail, I settled for seeing whatever mundane sights it had to offer instead of trying to locate Crystal Lake.

The gentleman at the visitor’s center had said there might be a little snow, but there was more snow here than I had seen in years. It helped remove some of the lingering mud.

And while I did not find Crystal Lake, I guess the tranquil mountain vista that greeted me was not so shabby after all.

Not too shabby at all.

I mean, it would have been better on mule-back, but then, what experiences in life wouldn’t be?

After getting my fill of the crisp, clean mountain air and beautiful scenery, I declared the official end of my photographic adventure and drove down the snowy mountainside and back to Bishop to reconvene with my friends. Alan asked me to drive for part of the way back to Los Angeles as he had broken his glasses while climbing. When we arrived, he commented offhandedly that I had been driving too cautiously, like an old lady. I hid my smirk. Don’t tell him the truth.

The break in the endless baking of cakes and washing of cake pans and measuring cups and cake stands and bowls and whisks and spatulas has allowed me to finally get back to the write up of my trip last weekend. Fair warning: this sucker is long.

So, anyways, back to the story! Giant rabbits! Mules! Alien moonscapes! Err…actually, let’s backtrack a little bit first.

Exactly one month ago, on October 22, my internet browsing brought to my attention a list, created by WebEcoist.com, of the world’s ten most amazing lakes. When I realized that the most hauntingly beautiful entry on the list, Mono Lake, was right here in California, I realized I had to visit. And soon.

Fortunately for me, right around that time a group of friends were planning a rock climbing trip up to Bishop, CA, conveniently located about an hour away 60 miles away from Mono Lake. It was the perfect opportunity for me to hitch a ride and play photographer for the day. Communication difficulties meant that I shoehorned myself in to the trip at the very last minute and forced the use of two cars and two hotel rooms. Later, I would end up commandeering one of each for my personal use. It turns out that my social graces go right out the window when alien moonscapes are involved.

Time warp to Saturday evening, talking in the hotel after dinner. The itinerary for the next day mostly involved more rock climbing for everyone else, and they wanted to know how I planned on spending my time. When it became clear that I was determined to see Mono Lake before we headed back home, they volunteered to take a detour in the morning for me to take a few snapshots. It was a lovely thing to offer, but I not-so-secretly longed for more time, and specifically, time during twilight, when the alien beauty of the tufa would be at its peak. Asking four tired climbers to get up before sunrise was simply too much to ask, and it was similarly obnoxious to ask everyone to stop climbing early in order to drive me there for sunset and wait around, bored out of their minds, while I took pictures.

In a fit of generosity that I absolutely did not deserve, Alan volunteered his (clean! well-cared for! expensive!) car for me to use. I would make my way to Mono Lake in the morning and follow up the afternoon with a guided trail ride on mule-back to Panorama Dome, which I hoped would offer me even more photographic opportunities. I had found the brochure on a rack at the pizza parlor where we had our dinner and decided that the opportunity to ride a mule was not to be passed up. Horseback rides are everywhere. But a mule! The Boyfriend tried to dissuade me when I told him of my plans, describing riding a mule as sitting on a slow-moving, stubborn, couch. I’m not sure he realized how utterly delightful he was making it all sound. I was now thoroughly convinced. This was going to be awesome. I willed myself asleep at 9:30, eager for the day ahead.

My sleep was plagued with nightmares of oversleeping and missing the sunrise, so it came as no surprise that I woke up at 4:45, a good 45 minutes before my alarm was set to go off. Groggy and cold, I ate my breakfast and dressed for the below-freezing weather outside. After waking up the poor woman who worked the reception desk, I checked out of the hotel and was on the road to Mono Lake by 5:15. Sunrise was at 6:30, and I was 65 miles away.

My delight at being ahead of schedule soon turned to alarm when the sky became to lighten not ten minutes after I was on the road. I realized I had made a grievous error. At night, twilight lasts for about an hour after the sun sets, but in the morning, twilight is not the hour after the sun comes up, but the hour before. I was late. Getting there at 6:30 would mean arriving just in time to see the gorgeous red and orange hues that were appearing in my rear view mirror disappear.

———ALAN, DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER!———

I cursed my stupidity and floored the gas. What else could I do? At this point, so much time and energy had been dedicated to making it to Mono Lake that I was willing to swallow the inevitable speeding ticket just to reach my goal. Seriously Alan, do not read this segment. Please. Stop reading. Thank you. So, on a winding 2 lane road, in below freezing weather, in someone else’s (clean! well-cared for! expensive!) car, with deer crossing signs just about everywhere, I began to drive well over the speed limit. Past the cut-off for a reckless driving ticket. Well past. Even though the roads were completely clear, and the curves were well marked, and there was plenty of light thanks to the impending dawn, I realized there were so many ways this could have gone horribly, horribly wrong. I prayed that the local four-legged fauna were all supporters of the arts and kept driving…

Last Thursday afternoon, I managed to weasel my way into a road trip organized by a group of friends who wanted to go rock climbing. My own interests in rock climbing peaked briefly sometime last year and then fizzled out when it turned out that my fear of heights combined with an absolute lack of aptitude for the sport combined to make me the opposite of a natural. Nonetheless, I was set on taking advantage of their friendship to bum a ride up to Bishop, CA so that I could then ditch my companions and have my own adventures.

It became clear very early on that this would be a weekend to remember. In a fit of pure genius, I created a batch of trail mix using white chocolate, which is so obviously superior to its more mundane milk chocolate laden cousin that the world of calorie-dense outdoorsman snack treats may never be the same. And yet, this revelation was only the beginning.

When we arrived in Bishop in the early afternoon, my compatriots set out to do their dirty business upon the boulders of the area. With my pack weighed down with pure white chocolate pleasure, I began my hike.

My path gradually climbed until I arrived at a large open plateau. The sides of the plain fell away to cliffs in the distance, and as the sun was beginning to set, I decided to not attempt anything reckless. The only signs of civilization was one perfect little house, built at the edge of a gorge with an amazing view.

As the sun set behind the mountains, I wandered the area and took my golden hour photos.

.

The ground below was covered in frost mere minutes after the sun went down, and I layered on all of my gear as protection against the increasing wind and made my way back to the group.

The next day: Giant rabbits! Alien moonscapes! Mules??? Snow! To be continued…

My Sigma 30mm has been at warranty repair for 2 weeks to fix a mild focusing issue. I wasn’t expecting it back for another three weeks, but it showed up today and now I can go for my c25k Couch to 5k run with my (im)patient friend.

My weekend was stolen from me by a friend’s long distance birthday party that I was obliged to attend (in person, no less). To rub it in further, she forced all party attendees to ingest a ridiculous lemon meringue cake. A devious plan. While I have no content of my own thanks to my party attendance, she has milked her stupid beautiful cake for 3 blog posts and 6 pictures from various angles. Ingenious and hateful. She wins this round, but I will be back. Oh yes.

One more photo from the fair. It’s black and white, so it’s classy despite the title. Ansel Adams said so.

This Sunday, instead of staying in and playing video games, we went to the LA County Fair. In the interest of complete disclosure, the pictures that follow are not an accurate representation of the fair. The fairs I have been to in the past were all in more rural areas, and I was expecting a lot more in the way of heifer judging and giant vegetable contests. Even though Southern California has a lot of agriculture, the fair itself  consisted mostly of fried foods and rides and games. Even so, there was plenty for me to take pictures of. Here are some of the better ones.

This guy looks like he’s been stuffed.

From the garden display

At the Fairview Racetrack

Guys with stogies! At the track!

At the farm where you can see and pet a variety of barnyard animals. Sponsored by McDonald’s. That’s not creepy at all!

This guy, I love.

Petting zoo pictures