Heading west towards California, we crested Montgomery Pass, 7,160”, and began the descent into Chalfant Valley, a verdant slice of land between the Silver Mountains and the White Mountains. There was an inspection station that straddled the road, just one lane wide, it looked more like a drive-through garage, where a wind-blown young woman questioned us about any fruits, vegetables or plants we might be importing to California from points east. After admitting to being in possession of oranges we had brought from California, she said we were fine as long as we had purchased them from a store in CA. We didn’t feel compelled to admit that we had picked them ourselves and they could very well be infested with California bugs.
In Bishop, we stumbled upon a lovely community park while looking for a place to park the rig while we ate lunch. There was a fenced dog park adjacent to a cottonwood-shaded people park, with a stream coursing between them. A large pond, with a resident duck population was surrounded by tennis courts, a skate park, horseshoe pits, jungle gym, picnic areas and a community garden. We walked the dogs around the park and then left them in the car, parked in the shade at the dog park, while we went to lunch. We had thought we might spend some time shopping in Bishop, but decided to head directly to our campsite just south of Big Pine, Tinnemaha Creek.
The campsite at Tinnemah was not disappointing only because of our low expectations. We positioned the trailer in the shade of some spindly trees and went off to explore and photograph the area.
Back at camp, I chatted up neighbors to find some ice for our wine. Our fellow campers consisted of fishermen who were there for the opening day of trout fishing so it was a pretty good bet that there would be ice aplenty.
We were settling into our beds, Mila to watch a Netflix movie and me to write in my journal, when Mila asked me to look at something she felt on the back of her neck. There was a big, fat tick, making his way towards her hair. Soon I found one on my own neck and a night of paranoid itching ensued.
Tinnemaha Campground proved to be an adequate place to stop for a night, but we agreed we wouldn’t consider it again. Clustered beneath high-power lines, were about 30 campsites. A stream flowed past some of the sites but ours was some distance away which proved to be advantageous when the campers along the stream grew boisterous and ran their generator through the night. By 6:22 A.M. I was ready to pack up and head down the highway when a bearded, portly fellow fired up his quad, bedecked with an American flag, to awaken his cronies, but which also served to annoy those who were still enjoying the stillness of the morning. I had been awake at 3:00 A.M. to walk the 50 yards to the pit toilets and enjoy a view of the rarely seen Milky Way. I’d forgotten my glasses so the bejeweled sky was a mess of pin-prick lights. The Big and Little Dippers were obvious, but my poor vision and scant knowledge of astronomy limited identification of anything further.
When we finally crawled out of our warm beds, we agreed that making coffee in the confines of the trailer, which by now looked like someone had tossed a hand grenade in, was too labor intensive. We fed the dogs, packed up the trailer and headed for the Alabama Hills Café.
We stopped briefly at the Manzanar internment camp. The first two tar-papered buildings that had been reconstructed to display the office and living area for new arrivals was so disturbing that we found neither of us were inclined to further explore the barracks, canteen, hospital, etc. I have toured the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam and, while what was done to the Japanese in this country doesn’t compare with what the Jews suffered under Hitler, the emotions evoked by the two memorials felt very similar.
The flagging spirits of the end-of-trip, dampened by the uncomfortable memory of Manzanar, made further exploration along the way unappealing, so we skipped Fossil Falls and headed for home. Note to self: don’t end a trip with a visit to a memorial.