Road Trip 395
Tufas, ancient trees, and ghost towns on the backside of the Eastern Sierra
Though I have long tried to convince others of the remarkable ancient bristlecone pine forest--
in the White Mountains at eastern fringe of California along the Nevada border-- I have never been able to
inspire anyone to go. Being the oldest organisms alive on the planet just doesn't appear
to be enough of a draw, at least among those I've tried to convince.
From the very frist moment I heard about them, and saw picture their twisted forms alone in desolate wilderness,
I felt an immediate kind of identity, and have always wanted to see them.
Now with some vacation time to burn I figured I would have to go this trip by myself.
I needed a little bit of time alone anyway, having finished the first draft of my book.
Many times for many reasons I've travelled along the 395 corridor, which from Los Angeles to Reno hugs the
precipitous backside of the Sierra Nevada range. It's dry here-- coastal moisture has long rained down before it gets this
far out, but the snowmelt keeps the pristine rivers flowing throughout the year, with a remarkable beauty
as they meander through the desert scrub. So I came out to explore it all a little more,
stopping for a quick night in Reno, before heading on south to Bishop.
Alright, if I must, as a general tie-in to mountain biking, all places I visited this trip were off-limits
to mountain bikes. Frankly, it's okay to go hiking every once in awhile, and I'm generally opposed to
cutting up designated wilderness areas just for bikes.
Photos
Click to expand
But no politics this trip.
Driving South on 395 from Reno to Bishop, the stop at Mono Lake came almost as an afterthought,
but given that the golden hour was nigh and there was nothing I'd planned in Bishop that evening, I just
couldn't resist. Here I am walking down the trail toward the south lake Tufas.
Tufas form by the upwelling of calcium-laded spring water into the alkali lake rich with carbonates.
The odd chemistry of Mono Lake itself I suspect comes from it's volcanic origins, although that I'm not sure.
Because of the upwelling natural ground water, the calcium and carbonates react to form these lime pillars, or "tufas."
All the tufas that you see here were exposed in the 1940s when the city of Los Angeles diverted the five streams
that feed Mono Lake for its own water needs, dropping the Lake level down 41 feet. Conservation efforts in the early 90's
led to an agreement to restore the lake level from 41 to 17 feet below the original level, sometime in the
next 20 years.
But at the time, all I could think was that Mono Lake during
the Golden Hour must be amateur photographers paradise. You can do no wrong.
Seriously, almost any angle it's all good. Anyway, the ecosystem is flourishing, but basic.
Alkali flies and brine ship feed on algea, and California gulls feed on the flies and shimp.
When seagulls aren't on piers eating your french fries, it appears the majority of them--80% according to the sign--
come to Mono Lake to roost.
Over the hour the light slowly faded to deep shadow.
For the next three days to follow, photography would not be so enjoyable anymore.
So after Mono Lake I arrived in Bishop, found accomodations, and woke up for cherry turnovers and coffee
at a nice little bakery down
the street. Lo and behold, it started raining! Just looking at the desert scrub that surrounds the city,
this cannot possibly happen very often. It was just a freak thunderstorm blowing up from the Gulf of California
that nobody had predicted. So I skipped the bristlecone
pines for that day, extended my motel reservation, and headed up instead to the eastern fringes of Kings Canyon
in the Sierra Nevada range.
This is Lake Sabrina, above Bishop, between showers. Most of the Sierra Nevada is evergreen, but here there are some
nice fall colors.
From this shot you can get a sense of the overall conditions today. It was pretty wet. I also, now, in retrospect,
remember reading something from my digital camera's manual about sudden elevation changes, and keeping it in a plastic
bag to prevent condensation. Something like that...
I don't know if it was the rain, the elevation change, or what... but this shot here is the last one I had with a functional
liquid crystal display. This is just below the Lake Sabrina dam. Looks like a nice place for some fishing, but everyone
there said things were going slow today.
So here's the deal. The LCD just fizzled out to black whenever I turned my digital camera on.
All the settings, options, and knowing the amount of memory I have left, all depend on the LCD.
Plus, you can compose shots better with the LCD than the optical viewfinder. So losing it was a big deal.
Now I know this isn't like an Airbus landing with its front wheel twisted around,
or weathering two major hurricanes back to back, but figuring out the camera without its LCD turned out to be my
little adventure for the trip. So I set everything to full automatic, figured out a way to be sure it is not in
micro mode, and after that, just hoped for the best, because I had no idea what if anything was being recorded
to memory.
Here is the day after, and the weather channel predicted clear skies, so I headed up to the White Mountains,
running parallel to the Sierra Nevada, separated by the Owen's Valley, and home to the Bristlecone Pine.
Again, this is at 10,000 feet, about at the same elevation as Lake Sabrina, but looks nothing alike.
Only on the white dolomite hillsides do you find the Bristlecones.
And here for a short time there was a mining operation with occasional cabins and mineshafts scattered about.
Though it never rained, the storm clouds had returned, obstructing optimal lighting.
Here we go, bristlecone pines... the oldest known living things on the planet, the oldest reaching nearly 5000 years.
Not just that, but they only grow in enviroments so hostile that essentially no other species can survive.
They are a robust species I hear, and seedling germinate readily. Wind, frigid winters, drought, alkali soils, and time
they can all handle. But competition from ordinary desert scrub they cannot.
They only grow where nothing else does, but to these conditions they seem perfectly adapted.
Here I'm walking through Methuselah's Grove, where the oldest of the Bristlecones grows.
It's like walking through a bleak alien landscape where all normal and ordinary laws of biology have been abandoned,
replaced by twisting vortices of frozen chaos.
The tree rings are microscopic layered together like thick
pages in a book. It is a very hard, resinous wood.
The Methuselah trail is the longest loop in the Schulman Grove at four miles, spanning 800 feet of elevation. But at
altitude, it felt like twice that. So I ended up having a pretty good hike.
Finally the sun started breaking through the storm clouds for a minute or so here and there. Basically, whenever it
did so I just had to break out the camera and grab a shot of whatever was there.
Funny enough, I almost like the haunting pall of the stormy overcast better.
The first shot is along the Methuselah trail, and the second is heading up the much shorter Discovery trail, where Schulman
was the first to find a living tree over 4000 years old.
This is near the summit of the Discovery Trail, a much shorter, about 1-mile loop, near the ranger station.
Nowhere do they identify any particular tree, or its age, but this guy here has to be pretty old.
That ended my day in the Bristlecone Forest, although I anticipate I'll be back, since there is still the Patriarch
Grove a few miles further up on the dirt road to see, and then the 7-mile trail to the summit of the White Mountain Range, just
200 feet shy of the Mount Whitney summit, looked like it was worth a go sometime. The next day
I visited Yosemite, though skipped the pictures, since we all know what Yosemite looks like, and photograpsh don't
truly capture it anyway. After hiking around for a bit in Tuolomne Meadows,
I headed back to the 395, just north of Lee Vining, to visit Bodie, California...
Now once in your life, everybody has got to visit a ghost town!!
Here's the Gold processing mill that made Bodie what it was. It got its name from Mr. Bodey who froze to death
there in the winter of 1859, right after discovering placer gold (on the surface)--rather, I presume, than abandon his claim.
Small mining operations persisted until 1879 when a cave-in exposed the mother lode and
during the 1880's gold production peaked, as did the towns population, soaring to nearly 10,000
and making it at the time the second largest city in California.
Back then it was twenty times the size of the present scattered ruins now, and streets were lined with dozens of
saloons, brothels, opium dens, and even a China Town.
Just as quickly this vein was exhausted and the city collapsed by the turn of the century to 500,
and continued to dwindle over the decades.
WWII caused mining operations to be closed, and Bodie was commissioned as a state park in 1962. In today's
dollars, nearly a billion in gold was mined over the years.
Moseying down the Main Street of Bodie today. Looks like they even had telephone service by the time the city
was abandoned. (The gold mill would be just to the right of me from this shot.)
And fire hydrants too. I feel like the high plains drifter.
A couple shots looking inside the school house.
And this must be the main drag. And theres my saloon with a pool table. Too bad it's closed.
Here must be the last bastion of decency against the Wild West debauchery that was Bodie.
Again, today it was hit and miss with the cloud cover, awaiting the occasional break in the thunderheads
to catch a few shots with golden hour lighting. I coudn't be too picky when the sun occasionally did break out.
Hmmmm, it might be just a ramshackle ghost town ruin here, but I bet it would be a half-million dollar "fixer-upper" if you put
it for sale in San Francisco nowadays. Location, location, location.
One last look as I yippie-kay-yay out of Dodge... I mean Bodie. Beep beep beep. Wouldn't you know it.
With that very last shot I got the sound that my memory card is full. So I guess it's time to head on back...
...of course, not before a few rounds of 21 at Topaz Lake that night, then next morning crossing over the Sonora
Pass and stopping by the folks before heading back to SF. So, to my obvious relief,
even without the LCD, the pictures turned out alright. The Flume Trail exhibit was the first use of this camera,
so it has hardly been a year and it already needs fixing. It's a nice camera but does not score points in durability.
The main thing I learned from this is that if photography is going to be a
significant part of the trip, then you better bring a spare. So I'll get this one fixed, and maybe
start looking for something else. It might be time for the 7 megapixel S70, or who knows, even the G6.
(b. September 19-22, 2005)
Wallpapers
Click to expand
Tufa formation at the south lake site, on the shores of Mono Lake.
Downloads (watertufas):
1280x960,
1024x768,
800x600,
640x480
A crystal alpine stream, right beneath the Lake Sabrina Dam. Fishing was slow today, according to those who were trying.
Downloads (alpinestream):
1280x960,
1024x768,
800x600,
640x480
Eddies of twisted Bristlecone wood along the Discovery Trail in Schulman Grove.
Downloads (twistedwood):
1280x960,
1024x768,
800x600,
640x480
This web page ain't big enough for the both of us... I reckon you had better meet me before the general store at high noon!
Gazing over these wallpapers I see a nice balance of colors throughout the sites I visited this trip.
Downloads (bodietown):
1280x960,
1024x768,
800x600,
640x480
Back to top.
Back home.
But no politics this trip.
Driving South on 395 from Reno to Bishop, the stop at Mono Lake came almost as an afterthought,
but given that the golden hour was nigh and there was nothing I'd planned in Bishop that evening, I just
couldn't resist. Here I am walking down the trail toward the south lake Tufas.
Tufas form by the upwelling of calcium-laded spring water into the alkali lake rich with carbonates.
The odd chemistry of Mono Lake itself I suspect comes from it's volcanic origins, although that I'm not sure.
Because of the upwelling natural ground water, the calcium and carbonates react to form these lime pillars, or "tufas."
All the tufas that you see here were exposed in the 1940s when the city of Los Angeles diverted the five streams
that feed Mono Lake for its own water needs, dropping the Lake level down 41 feet. Conservation efforts in the early 90's
led to an agreement to restore the lake level from 41 to 17 feet below the original level, sometime in the
next 20 years.
But at the time, all I could think was that Mono Lake during
the Golden Hour must be amateur photographers paradise. You can do no wrong.
Seriously, almost any angle it's all good. Anyway, the ecosystem is flourishing, but basic.
Alkali flies and brine ship feed on algea, and California gulls feed on the flies and shimp.
When seagulls aren't on piers eating your french fries, it appears the majority of them--80% according to the sign--
come to Mono Lake to roost.
Over the hour the light slowly faded to deep shadow.
For the next three days to follow, photography would not be so enjoyable anymore.
This is Lake Sabrina, above Bishop, between showers. Most of the Sierra Nevada is evergreen, but here there are some
nice fall colors.
From this shot you can get a sense of the overall conditions today. It was pretty wet. I also, now, in retrospect,
remember reading something from my digital camera's manual about sudden elevation changes, and keeping it in a plastic
bag to prevent condensation. Something like that...
I don't know if it was the rain, the elevation change, or what... but this shot here is the last one I had with a functional
liquid crystal display. This is just below the Lake Sabrina dam. Looks like a nice place for some fishing, but everyone
there said things were going slow today.
Here is the day after, and the weather channel predicted clear skies, so I headed up to the White Mountains,
running parallel to the Sierra Nevada, separated by the Owen's Valley, and home to the Bristlecone Pine.
Again, this is at 10,000 feet, about at the same elevation as Lake Sabrina, but looks nothing alike.
Only on the white dolomite hillsides do you find the Bristlecones.
And here for a short time there was a mining operation with occasional cabins and mineshafts scattered about.
Though it never rained, the storm clouds had returned, obstructing optimal lighting.
Here we go, bristlecone pines... the oldest known living things on the planet, the oldest reaching nearly 5000 years.
Not just that, but they only grow in enviroments so hostile that essentially no other species can survive.
They are a robust species I hear, and seedling germinate readily. Wind, frigid winters, drought, alkali soils, and time
they can all handle. But competition from ordinary desert scrub they cannot.
They only grow where nothing else does, but to these conditions they seem perfectly adapted.
Here I'm walking through Methuselah's Grove, where the oldest of the Bristlecones grows.
It's like walking through a bleak alien landscape where all normal and ordinary laws of biology have been abandoned,
replaced by twisting vortices of frozen chaos.
The tree rings are microscopic layered together like thick
pages in a book. It is a very hard, resinous wood.
The Methuselah trail is the longest loop in the Schulman Grove at four miles, spanning 800 feet of elevation. But at
altitude, it felt like twice that. So I ended up having a pretty good hike.
Finally the sun started breaking through the storm clouds for a minute or so here and there. Basically, whenever it
did so I just had to break out the camera and grab a shot of whatever was there.
Funny enough, I almost like the haunting pall of the stormy overcast better.
The first shot is along the Methuselah trail, and the second is heading up the much shorter Discovery trail, where Schulman
was the first to find a living tree over 4000 years old.
This is near the summit of the Discovery Trail, a much shorter, about 1-mile loop, near the ranger station.
Nowhere do they identify any particular tree, or its age, but this guy here has to be pretty old.
Now once in your life, everybody has got to visit a ghost town!!
Here's the Gold processing mill that made Bodie what it was. It got its name from Mr. Bodey who froze to death
there in the winter of 1859, right after discovering placer gold (on the surface)--rather, I presume, than abandon his claim.
Small mining operations persisted until 1879 when a cave-in exposed the mother lode and
during the 1880's gold production peaked, as did the towns population, soaring to nearly 10,000
and making it at the time the second largest city in California.
Back then it was twenty times the size of the present scattered ruins now, and streets were lined with dozens of
saloons, brothels, opium dens, and even a China Town.
Just as quickly this vein was exhausted and the city collapsed by the turn of the century to 500,
and continued to dwindle over the decades.
WWII caused mining operations to be closed, and Bodie was commissioned as a state park in 1962. In today's
dollars, nearly a billion in gold was mined over the years.
Moseying down the Main Street of Bodie today. Looks like they even had telephone service by the time the city
was abandoned. (The gold mill would be just to the right of me from this shot.)
And fire hydrants too. I feel like the high plains drifter.
A couple shots looking inside the school house.
And this must be the main drag. And theres my saloon with a pool table. Too bad it's closed.
Here must be the last bastion of decency against the Wild West debauchery that was Bodie.
Again, today it was hit and miss with the cloud cover, awaiting the occasional break in the thunderheads
to catch a few shots with golden hour lighting. I coudn't be too picky when the sun occasionally did break out.
Hmmmm, it might be just a ramshackle ghost town ruin here, but I bet it would be a half-million dollar "fixer-upper" if you put
it for sale in San Francisco nowadays. Location, location, location.
One last look as I yippie-kay-yay out of Dodge... I mean Bodie. Beep beep beep. Wouldn't you know it.
With that very last shot I got the sound that my memory card is full. So I guess it's time to head on back...
Tufa formation at the south lake site, on the shores of Mono Lake.
A crystal alpine stream, right beneath the Lake Sabrina Dam. Fishing was slow today, according to those who were trying.
Eddies of twisted Bristlecone wood along the Discovery Trail in Schulman Grove.
This web page ain't big enough for the both of us... I reckon you had better meet me before the general store at high noon!
Gazing over these wallpapers I see a nice balance of colors throughout the sites I visited this trip.