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.
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