Tufa -- strangely beautiful rock formations rising from the salty waters of Mono Lake on the East slope of the Sierra Nevada. Kristanne -- strangely beautiful woman rising as late as possible from Otto's sleepy clutches. Coincidence? You be the judge.
Mono Lake was our first stop of the day -- a fairly interesting walk through an interpretive tufa garden told us everything we'd ever want to know about the lake, the tufa, and the Alkali Flies. For example, did you know that Alkali Flies can eat algae? And that Alkali Flies resemble in taste and shape a nutty, salty, brown rice? And that the Paiute Indians harvested and traded said nutty, salty Alkali Flies with other tribes of Western California, who considered them a delicacy? Well, there you go. Now you can impress your friends in the same way I just impressed you. Or, if you've a mind to, you can go scare yourself up a big mess of Alkali Flies and eat hearty. It's up to you.
One Odyssey can only take so much tufa, so we saddled Otto up and worked him into a froth heading over Tioga Pass into Yosemite National Park. Kristanne used to spend a lot of time in Yosemite while living in central California, so it was a nice nostalgic trip for her. I rode my motocycle there once on an oppressively hot day when traffic backed up to a standstill all the way down the valley, so I was a little less excited. Predictably, all the campgrounds were full, but it's still one of the most beautiful places on earth. So, we gazed awestruck at El Capitan, marveled at Half Dome, dropped our jaws at Bridalveil Falls, and dunked our toes in the Merced River, and then we headed down the West slope of the Sierra Nevada, bound for trout and glory.
En route, we passed a sign that gave us both a chuckle. See, Kristanne's
older brother's name is 'Charles' -- 'Chuck' for short (though we call him
"The Ambassador Of Love"). So, he gets a huge kick
out of puns made from his name. In fact, it's a passion of his, rivaled in intensity
only by his love for the music of Tito Puente. So, we present this photograph
as a tribute to him. Hope you dig it, Chuck!
Now, as you may have discerned, Kristanne and I have both lived in California at various times during our lives (though always separately), so we both have a fair number of haunts that we like to revisit when we're here. In particular, I recalled one small river east of the town of Sonora that I spent a memorable afternoon fishing. The trout were small, but plentiful, and the scenery was unbeatable. Plus, there was no one else there. I remembered the name of the river, but little else. So, we inquired at a local outdoors store for directions to the Clavey River and headed off into the hills armed with a couple Forest Road numbers (3N01? 1N08? Does that sound right?), a full tank of gas, and great expectations.
Two hours later, we had humped Otto up and down miles of dirt forest roads with nary a trout to show for it. Oh sure, we'd seen the river -- from a bridge two miles above it's peaceful fish-filled pools nestled in an impassable canyon -- but we couldn't get to the furshlugginer thing. We had one more option remaining, though -- we'd seen what looked to be a jeep trail that indicated the Clavey River was eight miles thataway. Maybe it got easier after those initial deep ruts? We gave it a go. It did get easier for the first three miles, but then the road fell away. I don't mean that it got too difficult for poor Otto to negotiate -- I mean that it literally fell away, sliding down into the canyon some three miles below. This was not good at all. The road up to the point where it disappeared had been only wide enough to admit Otto and a couple cans of beer on either side. There would be no turning around here. Nothing to do but slap poor Otto into reverse, and painstakingly back up the crumbling dirt grade to the nearest switchback where we could turn around. Half a tense mile later, we were a mite sweaty, but heading forward again. Oh, the horror. The horror.
Shaken, but never quite so alive as we were at that moment, we pulled into a private campground on the Tuolomne River, only to be frightened by a pair of somewhat ornery goats and a hyperaggressive housecat. The Odyssey can be a neverending test of courage, I tell you. After a few moments to collect ourselves, I went fishing and caught some nice rainbow trout. There you see them in the requisite "Dead Fish Photo" that all the better fishing mags love. It's our substitute for the Extreme Shot of the Day," so enjoy it.
Check back tomorrow as we hit San Francisco. We'll be featuring action shots from the Bohner half of the Extreme First Family as we visit them in San Francisco (though you'll have to wait for Chuck and Lisa who, lamentably, are still in Boston...:-(). See you then!
Total Miles for 6/22 = 292