"My Trip"

While I am still in the Owens Valley, just awakened in my Hindu cabin, and getting ready for my first full day in Bishop, I want to go back to that aforementioned time when I was just a seventeen year old high school graduate discovering the Eastern Sierra for the first time. That was in June of 1964 and I remember vignettes of that trip as clearly as if those discoveries of the "Range of Light" had occurred just last month. I stated in the previous post that not much had changed in the Owens Valley from that time to the present, but actually much has changed. The looming backdrop of the mountain range to the west is the same and will be for millennium to come. The changes I speak of have taken place over the last forty-eight years and if one could capture the slow pace of those changes in time-lapse photography I think one would see two seemingly contradictory trends.....the disappearance of man-made and natural landmarks, and the addition to the landscape of man-made features. Fortunately, suburban spread with its commercial sameness, the most feared man made blight in such a natural setting, has been restricted to areas outside of the Owens Valley. Lancaster, Palmdale, Rosamond, Ridgecrest and some of the surrounding land around Bishop.


Cascading Stream Flowing to the Alabama Gate



Looking South to the Mouth of Red Rock Canyon

The Highways, 14 and 395, have been widened for most the route through the Valley. Before that improvement I witnessed many near-misses as drivers passed others seeking to gain any yardage they could in the race to wherever they were going. I have also come upon the aftermath of several fatal collisions as sleepy or inattentive drivers passed over the centerline or took too close a chance in passing another. That trip forty-eight years ago was made in a 1960 Plymouth over those two-lane roadways. Many of the freeways in Los Angeles did not exist at the time and I have no idea exactly how we escaped the gravity of Greater Los Angeles, but it seemed to take forever. Those were the days when it was common for travellers to hang a canvas water bag on the front grill of the car...just in case of a "boil-over" while climbing some grade and we had several... we did have to resort to those bags and some bottles of water to cool off the radiator while climbing the Sherwin Grade outside of Bishop. I never see those bags anymore.

We were four "greenhorns" packed in that Plymouth....with army surplus camping gear, ice chests full of hot dogs, hamburger, eggs, bacon, butter...the peanut butter and jelly, bread, candy and whatever pre-granola snacks we chose were stuffed into cardboard boxes jammed amidst the cheap fishing gear, wicker creels and salmon eggs. We probably looked like the Kingston Trio in workboots. The Beatles had only just come to the United States a few months earlier and their growing influence had yet to take full hold of the teen population. Short hair, straight legged pants and Levi's, Pendleton shirts and Keds were the things to wear in our world.

Bob, Craig, Clem and Steve...newly minted mountain men.

 Clem died of cancer in his mid- thirties, leaving two teenage sons and a widow. I was surprised to find he lived no more than five miles from my home. I had not seen him for many years.

Craig disappeared after receiving notice he was under investigation by the "Feds" for using the U.S. Mail to defraud what were probably gullible potheads. He had come up with a scheme to advertise in and sell out of the back pages of comic books what he called "Magical Moire Panels" guaranteed to produce "Psychedelic Patterns on Your Bedroom Wall". The kit consisted of two "halftone" negatives that when placed atop the other produced the moire patterns (look it up in Wikipedia). Of course, the customer had to provide some light source to project the images onto a surface...the instructions as how to do so not being included in the kit. When asked if he had tried out the concept to see if it worked, Craig said anyone with brains could make it work, he just hadn't tried. Ironically, several customers wrote letters that they thought the kit was very cool and they ordered another. Others, the brainless ones, complained to the "Feds". I never heard of Craig again.

Bob became a CPA for Price-Waterhouse. He had the honor for some years of holding and delivering the locked briefcase containing the Oscar results. He was a character and often I did not quite believe his self-described exploits. But more often than not he was telling the truth and actually never lied about any of them....exaggerated would be a better word. We stayed friends for some time after high school. Bob joined the Naval Reserve to avoid being drafted and going to Viet Nam. He was in a group of randomly picked new reservists that was sent to Marine Boot Camp to become a Medic. He ended up in Viet Nam anyway and saw some of the worst combat there.

"The Trip".....to be continued

SRH