Category Archives: Sierras

Driving Up & Down 395 Looking For Fall Color and Thinking About Elon Musk

Generally, if draining is worth doing at all, it is worth overdoing...civil engineer George E. Waring Jr., speaking for the drainage design of New York’s Central Park, in 1867.

Anything worth doing is worth overdoing. My favorite homily, although Lazarus Long in Robert A. Heinlein’s Enough Time For Love (1973) apparently also said it.

Last week, we drove to Olympic Valley – formerly known as Squaw Valley – to spend some time with Rick Paine and Lynnaea Lumbard, who were passing by on their way to a family meeting. In a way, we were passing by, too, on our way to find some fall color in Bishop Creek Canyon, west of Bishop, California. We were in our electric Kona, which, while not exactly a problem, does take some planning to drive around rural California (exactly is the operative word here).

Our first stop was a Tesla charger near Roseville that’s almost next door to a Japanese restaurant. I thought about Elon Musk for the first time. Well, NOT the first time ever, but the first time on this trip. We had a Japanese meal while we topped up on electrons just before we started the uphill grind to Donner Pass at 7,056 feet. It worked perfectly.

We had a delightful but all-too-short 24 hours with Rick and Lynneae, and then they were on their way. We had charged the Kona overnight, so soon after, we drove around Lake Tahoe, on the west side, past Emerald Bay, through the border city strangely named South Lake Tahoe, over Kingsberry Grade, and finally dropped 3,000 feet into a different world on Highway 395 in Nevada.

We drove down the eastern side of the Sierra Nevada –Snowy Mountain Range in Spanish – crossing the border back into California at Topaz Lake as the shadows cast by the Sierras turned into twilight.

I want to make an aside here. The above photo was made by Michele, as was the photo above it and the photo above that. On the driving-to-get-somewhere part of the trip, at least, the great majority of the photos were taken by Michele while I drove. End aside.

While we had a very late lunch at the Whoe Nelli Delli, we topped up the Kona at a Rivian charging station, and I thought about Elon Musk again. Not that I like Elon Musk; he seems very juvenile and insensitive at best. And I want to add, I really don’t know much about Musk except for the chainsaw stunt or whatever it was – political speech? demonstration? childish asshole stunt? or just plain whatever? – in the White House with President Trump. Oh, and that he has a lot of kids, 14, I think – by four different birth mothers. He seems more childish and wacky than interesting, but he is worth a trillion dollars. A TRILLION DOLLARS, so he must be doing something right (assuming he does want to make lots of money).

A trillion dollars is an unfathomable amount of money, though, in the middle of the 19th century, the entire Rothschild family – in London, Paris, Frankfurt, Vienna, and Naples – were probably richer in total. Still, Musk is richer than any single person: ever. Sure, Elon Musk is exceedingly smart – he taught himself computer programming at an early age and sold the code for a basic video game, Blastar, when he was just twelve years old – and has often been at the right place at the right time, but I think his not-so-secret ingredient for financial success is that he is fully committed to whatever he is involved in.

Musk is a “put all your eggs in one basket” kind of guy; I’d even say, an “anything worth doing is worth overdoing” kind of guy. His 14 kids are an excellent example, so is Tesla. Every automaker makes electric cars, but most do it sort of begrudgingly. Tesla not only makes electric cars, but Tesla also makes high-speed chargers to make electric cars more convenient, and now they are starting to build diners nearby so people can eat or grab a cup of coffee while their car charges. They are committed. I’m pretty sure we could not drive across the country without using Tesla chargers.

We had a late lunch at the Whoe Nelli Deli, owned by the same kind of “anything worth doing is worth overdoing” kind of guys. The Whoe Nelli Deli is located in a Mobil gas station on Tioga Pass Road just off Highway 395 and just outside the small town of Lee Vining. To quote the New York Times, our editors were relieved to find the Whoa Nellie Deli, a shockingly gourmet oasis located at the local Tioga Gas Mart, and The Los Angeles Times described chef Matt Toomey as a manic figure in a white chef’s jacket and a baseball cap whose charisma and sense of humor are reflected in his cooking….To have one of the better meals of your life in a gas station is bizarre. It leaves you staring at your plate for a moment or two in disbelief. I know that feeling; I just had it at our lunch. I ordered the steak salad – again, because it’s so good – and just stared at the plate, thinking this is the most perfectly cooked steak I’ve ever had except, maybe, two or three restaurants in Japan and one in Paris.

After lunch, we drove to Bishop in the dark, had a late dinner, went to sleep early, and woke up to a view of a small portion of the Sierra Nevada’s eastern wall.

After an early cup of coffee and egg-thingy at Starbucks, we drove up Bishop Creek Canyon to see the fall color. Bishop Creek Canyon starts west of Bishop at about 4,150 feet and climbs up an additional 5,000 feet. Near the top are three lakes, North, South, and Sabrina, all with lots of Aspens in color. We hope.

The last time I was here was in October of 2018, and I was the only person at North Lake except for a Chinese women’s photography class. This year, eight years later, North Lake we had to follow a honey wagon on its way to servicing the new portable outhouses.

Years ago, probably about 15 years ago, I remember meeting Michele and Karen Amy for lunch in Nashua, New Hampshire. We walked around, stunned by the fall colors, especially in the lovely – can I use that word? – old cemetery where the bright yellow leaves were almost ankle-deep. The Eastern Sierras are not like that. The Eastern Sierras are less color and more mountains. (So, be forewarned, Karen.)

I think North Lake is the most photogenic lake in the entire Sierra Nevada that anybody can drive to in a regular car. In this case, there were too many regular cars already parked along the narrow dirt road for us to find a place to park close to the lake. The lake was packed, but from what we could see, as beautiful as it was in 2018.

I blame the internet for the crowds; I blame YouTube specifically; and I have very mixed emotions about it. Michele and I have pitched the Eastern Sierras for years with very few converts. I think YouTube, with dozens of people, often with kids, pitching the magic of the Eastern Sierras in fall, probably has a low conversion rate as well, but they have an almost infinite audience. More than 15 million people within easy driving range. It is the democratization of information in a way we have never experienced before.

Out of all these people, some, probably not very many, maybe a lot, I have no idea, will have their soul touched like I did in 1956. They will look at North Lake, even in a crowd, and their life will change. That’s great, but last week, they were just blocking the road. I have very mixed emotions.

North Lake in 2018.

After crowded North Lake, Lake Sabrina, South Lake, and the surrounding area seemed pretty empty, the kind of empty where you stop and chat when you meet someone. Most of the people we chatted with were locals, and most of them were interesting and charming, and most of them probably voted for Trump. But we didn’t talk politics; we talked about how stunning the whole area is, and even more so in fall colors.

Happy New Year

Xmas (1 of 1)-2After two offline weeks at Michele’s family cabin in Olympic Valley – which everybody calls Squaw Valley, but is officially Olympic Valley because the Squaw Valley name was already taken by a small town in Fresno County where one can buy 5.6 acres with a well for $65,000 – we are back home. We had a good time, hosting family for Christmas and friends for New Years, but it is always good to be back in home (for Precious Mae, it is great to be back home as she spent most of her time hiding from visitors by sleeping under our bed at the cabin). We went to Reno to see a couple of movies, Star Wars in a packed house, of course, and The Big Short, in an almost empty theater, did some walking, Michele did some skiing, I did some photoing, and we both did alot of watching it snow. We also went to the Nevada Museum of Art to see a superb show on Tahoe.

Starting at the end, Michele, at the suggestion of her sister, Claudia, campaigned for a visit to the Nevada Museum of Art. It is just down the street from an Adult Fantasy Store – crazy  sexy  hot – in a Reno neighborhood that is an up and coming art/restaurant area. The museum was new to us and we both loved it. It had us at the Deborah Butterfield bronze horse outside.

Martis Valley (1 of 1)-4Inside, the show was terrific (no pictures allowed), ranging from a huge 1865 Albert Bierstadt painting to Frank Lloyd Wright drawings for unbuilt – fortunately – houses on Emerald Bay. From several Maynard Dixons, including a stellar portrait of a pine, to a luminous, Thiebaud-esque, painting of Emerald Bay by Gregory Kondos, to fabulous  Washoe Indian – Native American? Indigenous People? – baskets, to a collection of postcards (with a backdrop of a window overlooking the neighborhood).Reno Museum (1 of 1)-2On the day that Michele went skiing, I wandered over to the east side of Lake Tahoe to photograph the boulders at Sand Harbor, the view from the Mt. Rose Highway, and the gloaming twilight in Martis Valley.Tahoe view (1 of 1)-2Tahoe view (1 of 1)Martis Valley (1 of 1)We were at the cabin just a day short of two weeks and one of the things that sort of surprised me was the logistics of getting around. Several days the temp was in the single digits at night and in the teens during the hottest least cold part of the day, definitely parka over light fleece weather. The problem, though, is that most places seem to keep their thermostats set at about 80° which translates to about 107° under a parka and fleece; and where does one put the gloves, and what about the hat? Watching Star Wars, I had a sizable pile of winter clothing on my lap. We fared better in The Big Short because the seats were strangely wide and the theater was almost empty. That is a pity because the movie is terrific, a perfect example of Steve Allen’s observation that comedy is tragedy plus time. 

The Big Short is based on the book of the same name, written by Michael Lewis, and I thought the movie – by Adam McKay, a director whose previously best movie was Anchorman – is about the roots of the 2007-08 meltdown and several of the people who saw it coming and bet against, essentially, us. The Big Short is funny – very funny – and more informative than I expected. I was especially dazzled by Christian Bale who plays Michael Burry, a savant who sees that the numbers don’t add up. He is so different from Bruce Wayne or Irving Rosenfeld, the con man in American Hustle, that I didn’t recognize him.

As an aside, there are several scenes in The Big Short in which the camera cuts away from the action to have celebrities explain various arcane financial instruments such as Selena Gomez explaining Synthetic CDOs (collateralized debt obligations). It was brilliant and got me thinking how hard it must be to make an aside like that work. Quentin Tarantino made it work in inglorious Basterds in which he broke the action to explain how nitrate film is flammable, but I can’t remember another example. End aside.

Now, at home, watching it rain from a dark sky, the snow seems almost mythical, but it wasn’t. The snow’s inconvenience and beauty were everywhere. Martis Valley (1 of 1)-2Martis Valley (1 of 1)-3

Lake Tahoe and The Galen Rowell Scale

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Michele and I went to her Squaw Valley Cabin over a long weekend. It was great to get into the mountains and it brought back all sorts of childhood memories for her. Playing in the creek behind the cabin, hiking up to Shirley Lake, swimming in Lake Tahoe. Listening to her talk about her adventures reminded me about an article in – I believe – Outdoor Photographer in the February 1991 issue. It was January 1991 and, if all had gone as planned, I wouldn’t have been reading that issue.

Michael McDonald and I had booked a trip to go to the Hoggar Mountains in Southern Algeria on the same date Bush the Elder scheduled the start of the First Gulf War. I was starting to get cold feet about going into a Muslim country just when we were starting to bomb another Muslim country, but Michael kept saying that the war was all a bluff and there wouldn’t be a problem. Then, the night before our trip started, Pan Am cancelled our flight to Algiers. We now had almost three weeks off from work with no place to go.  However, in a couple of days, we would have free tickets to almost anywhere else.  As an aside, I had to get a Visa in my passport to go to Algeria and I had been to Morocco so I had an entry stamp and an exit stamp but they looked the same if you couldn’t read Arabic. After 9-11, this became a constant problem especially trying to get through Heathrow. End aside.

The day after our trip didn’t start, I saw the article by Galen Rowell. It proposed a scale to measure how much is still left of what you are going to see, at the place you are going to see; in other words, how uncontaminated is the place. As I remember, Rowell used Waikiki and The Galapagos as the one to ten extreme examples. Galen Rowell was – sadly, he was killed in an airplane accident while flying into Bishop in August of 2002 – a nature and landscape photographer and he was traveling to mostly natural places to see nature and indigenous people. He rated Kathmandu a six on the scale because, among other things, it had become so popular that it even had a Howard Johnson. Guatemala rated an eight.

For  me Tahoe City rated about a two, but up a dirt road out of Tahoe City is a trail that leads to a lake that rates about an eight.

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Driving through the empty backcountry above Tahoe and waiting in a car line, trying to get through Tahoe City, I realized that there was a huge flaw in the Galen Rowell system. Unlike, Rowell, most people come to Tahoe to see what is there now, shopping and dining with the natural beauty as a backdrop. That, I think is the draw of Tahoe, and the end of the day, even with all the people and all the traffic, it is an incredibly beautiful place.

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A pitch for walking in the Saddlebag Lake area

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(I want to start this by saying that this trip was Richard’s idea and he spent about three-quarters of it waiting for me to catch up. It was the longest I have walked since my foot gave out about six months ago and Richard’s patience approached angelic levels. Thank you, Richard. You are a Mensch, my friend.)

A funny thing happened on our trip to Yosemite to take a walk in Tuolumne Meadows, we ended up at Saddlebag Lake (mostly near Saddlebag Lake, actually). Saddlebag Lake is one of my guilty pleasures. You can drive up, park your car, walk a hundred and fifty feet, take a boat across the Lake, get out, walk another 150 feet, and you are in The High Country. Somehow, it seems a little too easy, a little cheap and it is; there is no suffering involved. Just Pleasure.

Any trip to The Sierras from The Bay Area, involves going through The Great Central Valley and, to me, they are always linked. In the late 60’s, when I was going to the Sierras a lot, I had an un-airconditioned 1966 Corvair convertible and The Valley was always Hotter than a son of a bitch. We would drive across it on Friday nights, stopping in small Valley towns, along Highway 99 before it was a freeway, to get a Giant Orange Juice – from a building that was round and orange! – on our way to The High Sierras. When we got there, we already looked like we had been backpacking for two days, now Richard and I ride in comfort looking at Outside Temperature to see how hot it is.

This year, it was hotter and drier than usual, and it is only July!

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Don Pedro Reservoir is way down (although as a useless-reservoir-and-the-boating-it-encourages critic, that doesn’t dismay me).

Saddlebag Lake area -9682We drove by the cremains of last year’s Rim Fire and it was not as desolate as Smokey the Bear would have us think it would be. Now there is dry grass between the trees, proof of the new grass and new life in the fire-caused clearings.

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Like anybody and everybody else, I cringe when I read or hear about wildfires or forest fires and I live in an wild-place/civilization interface so I certainly don’t want this area to go up in flames, all that aside, however, the ecosystem needs these fires. It is our ecosystem too – now – even if we were once interlopers, and it has evolved with these fires. In their wake, there is always new life.

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The weather forecast had been for thunderstorms during the day and a 50% chance of heavy showers that night so Richard and I decided to camp out in a motel, in Lee Vining. That complicated our trip because we had to check in before 4:00 PM which meant we would have to drive through Tuolumne Meadows on the way to Lee Vining and, then, drive back into Yosemite. We decided, instead to spend a couple of hours wandering around the Lee Vining River Valley, off of the Saddlebag Lake Road.

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We were walking at about 9,600 feet and it was late spring with wildflowers blooming (including wild onions).

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We ended the day by dropping back down to Mono Lake where we watched the sunset from the Dining Terrace of the Whoa Nellie Deli.

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The next morning,  as we were  driving up Tioga Pass, Richard suggested that we go to the Saddlebag Lake area rather than Tuolumne. He had never been there – I can understand why, it is not a place the cognoscenti go which is why I feel slightly guilty – but, I think, he was a little surprised by the highness  of our walk the day before. So we drove up,  parked our car, walked a hundred and fifty feet, and got on a boat. It was spring in the High Sierras on the other side of the lake. Saddlebag Lake area -9773

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About 145 to 66 million years ago, the Farallon Plate dove under the North American Plate, heating and pushing magma up under an eastern California that wasn’t there yet.  That magma lifted, twisted, and metamorphosed the rock – a combination of volcanic flows, volcanic ash, and sedimentary rock, called Country Rock because it was there before the magma- that it pushed through. About twenty million years ago, this whole area started lifting again and, as it lifted, it started wearing down by being exposed to weather, a process that is still going on.  The core of that lifting mass is the Sierra Nevada, forming what John Muir called the The Range of Light. About 2.5 million years ago to about 10,000 years ago, glaciers carved huge valleys into the bright granite. About a week ago, we got off the boat at Saddlebag, on a Saturday morning. We were standing on Country Rock: the rock that was here before the Sierras.

We are standing next to Saddlebag Lake, in a garden of yellow flowers – Mimulus guttatus, I think – in chips of shales, but just to the east of it is the contact zone where the twisted, distorted, Country Rock hits the Sierra granite and, beyond that, the bright, white Sierra Nevada massif itself. Saddlebag Lake area -9776

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What I most like about this area is that it seems like a collection of Zen Gardens. We are at 10,000 + feet, one of the harshest environments on earth and everything is so delicate, so refined, elegant.

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We are walking up into a cirque below Mt. Conness and, as we get higher, storm clouds are coalescing into thunderheads. Saddlebag Lake area -9820High on the mountain, to our left and way above us is the last vestiges of the Conness Glacier, mostly covered in scree. For the first time in all the years that I have been coming here, I realize – with mixed emotions – I will probably outlive it.
Saddlebag Lake area -9813It starts to rain and the glacial polish on the wet granite shines in the fading light as we turn around and head back to the boat landing.

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An hour or so later, driving through Yosemite on 120, it starts to rain and Richard says the thermometer reads 56°. About and hour and a half after that, going through the valley, it says 90°. We are almost home, in time for me to watch qualifying for the German grand Prix.

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Maybe it’s all a matter of attitude

Uhhh…that should really be Maybe it’s all a matter of altitude. Let me make a short story, long.

Michele’s sister, Claudia, was going to the family cabin at Squaw Valley and she graciously agreed to give me a ride – pretty far out of her immediate way – to get the Range Rover which was now back in Minden at Hollar’s 4×4.

As an aside, I had meant to post that on Monday but got the date backwards and told WordPress to post it on 06/05/2013 rather than 05/06/2013. I really left on Monday and got back on Wednesday. End aside.

Because Claudia was in Napa, the easiest way to meet her was to take the ferry to Vallejo. Michele dropped me off and I started my trip at the Ferry Building which has been remodeled – in 2003, under the Willie Brown administration – into a foodie paradise featuring local purveyors.

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In the back, the Ferry to Vallejo loads at a new pier.

Rover trip-0010I said Goodbye to San Francisco and about an hour later said Hello to Vallejo which is still devastated from the Navy pulling out (I think as a way for the Pentagon to punish California’s anti-war liberal Congress-members).

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Claudia picked me up and we headed to Minden under a darkening sky that turned to rain in the foothills and snow – with big flakes that didn’t stick to the road – as we got higher (passing blooming dogwoods in between).

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When I picked the Rover up at Hollar’s 4×4 and drove to Squaw Valley without the low coolant light going off even once, I felt very hopeful. Not hopeful enough to drive to Gerlach, but hopeful enough to think I would get home. Claudia and I spent the next day driving to Gerlach in her truck and, on Wednesday, I started home early so I could be home to let Precious Mae out (she had been locked in all night because Michele was now in Napa) .

When I fired up the Rover, in the cabin’s driveway, the low coolant level light started flashing immediately. This changed my chances of getting home, but I decided to give it a try anyway. I figured that there were two main obstacles: Donner Pass at  7,056 feet which I could go over slowly by taking the old road and Emigrant Gap at about 5,200 feet where I didn’t think there would be an old road to bypass the freeway.

After getting gas and a supply of anti-freeze, I drove around Donner Lake with Donner Pass looming, ominously, in the background.

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Donner Lake and Donner Pass are named after the infamous Donner Party (duh!, OK, probably only infamous in California). I figured, no matter what, my trip would be considerably easier than that experienced by the Donner Party in 1846. Considerably easier than working on the First Transcontinental Railroad when – primarily – Chinese  workers labored to get tracks through this solid rock landscape (today, it is hard to believe that all this work was done by hand, lots of hands).

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After taking a couple of hurried pictures from the side of the road near the summit, I turned back towards the car. Coolant was running out from under the engine. Not dripping, gushing. All I could think of as I ran back to the car was If I can just get over the summit, I can coast to a place to park where AAA can pick it up. I jumped in and started driving.

As soon as I got over the summit, I turned off the engine and started to coast. Ahead was a a little uphill section and then it looked like a long downhill and I was calming down, so I fired up the engine, and – watching the temperature gauge – got over the next bump. That pretty much went on until I got to Emigrant Gap where I stopped, let the Rover cool, and then poured almost a gallon of coolant into the reservoir tank. I called Michele and told her that I was not going to make it and I would keep her posted.

I went over Emigrant Gap at about 45 and coasted – off and on – to the Rest Stop at Gold Run. I stopped, washed my hands and sweating face, and decompressed. I was about 145 miles from San Francisco and our towing covers 100 miles so I thought I would see if I could get under the limit. This went on for a couple of hours, coasting downhill, crawling uphill at 45 until I finally got to the Great Central Valley. The I pulled off the freeway at a Park and Ride to add more coolant. It turned out that I parked next to the Placer Buddhist Church and I took that as a good sign. So I walked over to the Church while the Rover cooled. The Church was closed but the Koi in a pond- infront of the Church – were calming.

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I filled the coolant reservoir and it only took about a quarter gallon and I was off to see if I could get within 85 miles of San Francisco to give myself some breathing room on the towing distance. Then a funny thing happened: the Rover stopped spewing coolant. I checked in Vacaville even though there were no flashing lights, everything seemed fine and I kept going (at 45 on the Freeway!). I didn’t bother to check before I went over the Bay Bridge. I didn’t even bother to check  this morning when I fired up the Rover to go to the market. Still no flashing lights.

Michele’s theory, which I am completely buying into, is that the Rover problem is only bad at high elevations. This is because the pressure cap releases fluid at about 15 psi – pounds per square inch – and that is the differential pressure between the atmospheric pressure – outside the Rover radiator –  and the pressure inside the Rover cooling system. I have no idea what the pressure should be  inside the radiator, but let’s say it is 25 psi now. At sea level, the outside pressure is about 14.7 psi. That plus the 15 psi pressure cap is almost 30 psi at sea level, well over the inside pressure of 25 psi. Going over Donner, the atmospheric pressure is about 40% of sea level or 5.88 psi and that is not enough to keep the cap from releasing massive amounts of coolant.

Of course, the whole point of the Range Rover, for us, is to go to the mountains; to go over Donner Pass or, more importantly, Tioga Pass at  9,943 feet where the pressure is under 4 psi. But, if I stay at sea level until I do a restoration on the Range Rover, I may be OK. Or, maybe, it’ll be OK for the next week. We’ll see.

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