Getting Out of Mammoth...

Bankside Flora on Hot Creek

I have intended to visit the blog and maintain the flow of my story for some time...Frankly, I was stunned to see that the last entry was posted over three weeks ago. I never spent that much time in Mammoth when we had the townhomes, so it is time to continue the journey and get over the Tioga Pass before the first winter storm forces its closure.

With that aforementioned Schat's coffee and bun in hand I rolled out of Mammoth in the Explorer and headed to Hot Creek just a few miles south of  Mammoth off of Hwy 395. This Creek emerges from the ground as a huge spring of ice cold water. In a sense there is no identifiable headwater as one generally finds with almost all creeks and rivers.....no high mountain canyon or watershed is its source. Snowmelt from the peaks to the west percolates through the alluvial fans that sweep out of the canyons and travels underground until channeled through the volcanic bedrock that opens up near the fish hatchery. Hot Creek is known as one of the most challenging wild trout waters in the West, and it was always one of our favorite fly fishing/catch-and-release fishing spots.

Some distance downstream numerous hot springs bubble up and flow into the cold waters, so much so that the water becomes almost tepid and will not support cold-water loving trout. At one point the hot springs bubble and hiss and steam like a collection of cauldrons cooking some witch's brew. People have lost their lives in these steampots......the most recent, to my memory, was a man who went into the hissing water to retrieve his pet dog.

I have many fish stories from the time spent on the banks of Hot Creek with my son Scott...who is a far better and instinctual fly-fisherman than I. Sentimental feelings welled up as I walked the edges of the stream...the occasional trout rising to a emerging caddis or mayfly...searching out the old holes and undercut banks. Some looked the same...most had changed to one degree or another. Scott, never one to conform, generally went into battle wearing a broad brimmed, tattered straw hat, shorts and tennis shoes, a t-shirt and a worn out fishing vest festooned with the clips, snips and doo-dads necessary to the sport. I always smiled when the wind would drive that ragged straw brim up like that of a Pony Express rider hurtling across the plains.

That morning the Creek was fished by just two individuals. I chose not to string up and cast my line. I would become mesmerized and lost to the world...that is the reward and the main hazard of fly-fishing. The Tioga Pass loomed some thirty miles to the north just out of Lee Vining. Traversing the crest of the Sierra would be long and challenging on that road.

Hot Creek...With Mammoth Mountain Looming on the Right

Lee Vining, on the western shore of Mono Lake, survives on tourist dollars in the season. The town was nearly empty, but for long haul truckers and a few retiree vacationers. It was October and, like Mammoth, it was going into hibernation. The first snowfall would close the Tioga Pass and shut off the tourist flow and cash.

Tioga Pass Road...Into the West

It had been years since I travelled the Tioga and I had forgotten how many miles and how long it would take to get over the Sierra to Yosemite Valley. It took a very long time; the drive made bearable only by magnificent glacier-carved scenery. At the highest elevation of the trip the ancient glaciers stood many hundreds of feet higher than the roadbed.
All about me were bald, bare granite domes and mounds with preserved glacial polished surfaces that had not yet exfoliated. Large boulders lay planted in seemingly inexplicable locations...abandoned in place by the glacial advance or retreat. Called "erratics", they give witness to the inexorable force of glacial flow. Many of these boulders were larger than a house.

With several stops, it took two hours to drive to Yosemite Valley. The shadows were long when I turned onto the road at the western end of the valley. I had no idea where I would spend the night, though I hoped that I might be fortunate enough to find a room at the Ahwahnee Hotel....a vain hope as it turned out......