RETIREMENT TRIP #6

     UNUSUAL ARTISTRY OF NATURE    

          September 2015         

The temperature read 68 degrees this morning at 8 a.m. when we left Tonopah.

“It’s going to stay warm,” said Andy.  “The prediction for Las Vegas today was 103 degrees, and the high is not supposed to go below 97 degrees for the next five days.”

Someone forgot to tell the weatherman that it’s fall according to the calendar.

Far in the distance Boundary Peak, Nevada's highest
mountain, rises dominantly.

As we drove west on Route #6, through Inyo National Forest, we could easily identify Boundary Peak, Nevada’s highest mountain, at 13,141 feet in the distance.

Coming into the defunct town of Basalt, we passed hill after hill of basalt.  The road cut through miles of cinder cones and old lava flows piled on top of each other and all covered with low-growing, dry sagebrush.

A roadway sign for wild horses warned drivers of roaming animals as we drove through Montgomery Pass on Route #6, 7,167 feet in elevation.  Boundary Park dominated the landscape.

The water tank in Nevada was painted with the words, “We already miss you,” as we crossed the state line into California.

Along Route #120, spectacular scenery
rises at every turn.

When Route #6 headed north, we took California #120 west toward Lee Vining.  Benton Hot Springs outside the Paiute Indian reservation had No Trespassing signs at all the driveways.

A pamphlet advertised the Inn at Benton Hot Springs as a perfect get-away to gaze at stars, listen to nature and soak in soothing waters.  Andy said there was a bed and breakfast there, but everything looked closed to me.  Benton Hot Springs was once a silver mining town of 5,000 inhabitants.

Then, piles of sandstone boulders popped up, uplifting from ancient times.

Black Lake, a dry lakebed, shows
the effects of the recent drought.

A little farther on through the pass, we saw Black Lake, nearly dried up, with only the white salt shell as evidence of a once healthy body of water.

Route #120 went up and down over the small hills, following the contour of the land like a roller coaster. A few times we both gasped as little Midget Red sailed over the crests.

Mono Craters next to the road show
the volcanic origins of the landscape
from recent geologic activity. 

We caught one first real glimpse of the Sierras when we drove through the pass at 8,139 feet.  Patches of snow left white streaks in the crevices of the higher peaks. Our car said 68 degrees at the 8,000-foot elevation.  Suddenly the slopes ahead of us were covered with Ponderosa pines.

Tufa layers along Navy Beach of Mono Lake
increase in size as the lake waters rise.

We stopped at the Mono Mills pullout. Here more than 200 people lived and worked to support the mining industry.  They prepared the lumber for the Bodie mining district.  Chinese and Indian laborers who were not welcome in the white community also lived here and found employment I the timber cutting and milling business.

From Mono Mills we had our first glimpses of Mono Lake.

A little farther on, we passed Mono Craters, volcanic formations that rise as cinder cones high above the road.

“Mono Lake is a lot higher than it was years ago when we came through here,” said Andy.  “Do you remember when we could walk all around the tufa formations?”

“I do,” I told him. “That must have been 20 years ago.”

Mono Lake, healthier than it was years ago, is a credit to
demands of environmentalists to preserve a small part of nature.

Since our visit in the past, the courts decreed that Los Angeles couldn’t bleed the lake dry and had to allow at least minimal flow.  The court decision came in 1994.  Los Angeles had to agree to allow water in the four main tributaries so the lake would rise to the 1968 level.  It’s so good to see some degree of protection.

Mono Lake is one of the oldest lakes in the western hemisphere.  Its most distinctive feature is the eerie tufa towers—mineral structures created when fresh-water springs bubble up through the lake’s alkaline waters.  The ancient sea hosts millions of migrating birds that come to feed on the teeming populations of alkali flies and tiny brine shrimp.

We walked out to Navy Beach and followed the trail part way to South Parking Lot.  Ducks glided silently along nearby.  At one point a hot spring bubbled up out of the ground, spilling its water into the lake in a steady gentle stream.  Cautiously we felt the water.  It was barely lukewarm.  Alkali flies in great numbers buzzed around the edge.  The lake seemed healthier than when we saw it years ago.

We paid $3.399 this morning for gas.  “Now is when I’m going to like this little car,” said Andy.  Gas at Mammoth Lakes was very close to $4.00 a gallon. 

Mountain piles upon mountain as we head into the
Devils Postpile National Monument in California.

We turned into the Devils Postpile National Monument and Reds Meadow Valley.  Everywhere crews had cleaned up and piled the dead debris.  A steep, narrow road led eight miles down the side of the mountain.  At the far end of the road was Devils Postpile along the Middle Fork of the San Joaquin River on the Sierra Nevada’s western slope at 7,560 feet.

The Postpile actually started 82,000 years ago when basalt flowed from an unknown source.  The thick lava with a consistent mineral composition cooled slowly and evenly, contracted and split into symmetrical, vertical, hexagonal columns.

Artistry in rock, this natural formation is the result of an
ancient lava flow forced upward and carved by glaciers.

So Devils Postpile features columns of igneous rock forced upward generally in hexagonal shapes, although they vary from three to seven sides.  The top actually looks like a grouted slate floor of perfect hexagons. The interpretive sign explained that the hexagon is the most stable form in nature and can be found in soap bubbles, turtle shells, bee hives and salt flats.  It has most recently been identified in clouds around Saturn.

Some 20,000 to 12,000 years ago a glacier flowed down the Middle Fork of the San Joaquin River.  The moving ice carved away one side of the Postpile, exposing a sheer wall of columns 60 feet high.  Weathering broke off pieces, creating a talus slope at the base.

On top of the Devils Postpile, the hexagon
slabs at my feet look like slate flooring.

Originally part of Yosemite National Park, the Postpile was almost lost after 1905, when mining interests planned to dynamite it to create a rock dam on the river.  President William Howard Taft saved it by restoring federal protection in 1911.

The hike up to the top through a grove of gigantic ponderosa pine was strenuous but gorgeous.  The .5-mile loop took us around the base and then up over the top and down.  The meadow nearby was dry and dead.  California really suffers now from lack of water.

A trail from the main road took us to
what remains of Satcher Lake.

At Satcher Lake we followed the Nature Trail.  Poorly marked and with many deviations, it climbed to a high overlook.  Retracing our steps, we headed back to the car.  We weren’t sure about the length or even if we were on the right path.  But we had climbed to lovely views of what remains of Satcher Lake.  Unfortunately, one arm was a dry and overgrown meadow.

All day the camera battery had been acting up.  No one anywhere deals in digital batteries.  We even stopped at Mammoth Ski Area after checking Rite Aid and Vons pharmacies.  Joel at The Gallery in Mammoth Lakes suggested we order from Amazon and have it expressed to his address.  Andy had already mentioned Amazon, but Joel was nice enough to check my battery, look at the charger and identify my video cable.

Julie at the Mammoth Lakes Visitor Center suggested Mammoth Mountaineering.  Our best potential lead, that too failed.  So we’ll keep our fingers crossed and hope the battery holds a little longer.

Later, as the sun dipped behind the 13,000-foot Sierra Nevada’s, we dashed back to Mono Lake, hoping to catch the last rays highlighting the tufa formations.  We were just a bit too late.  Jogging out to South Tufa Beach, we caught only the remnants of sunlight behind the mountains, and Mono Lake was shadowed.  Others with tripods had lined the beach before us.

But tomorrow is another day with another sunset.