The Ant-Hill Soiree

Heading to the Keough Hot Springs Resort in Bishop, California, we were anxious for some overdue relaxation. The resort had promised a natural hot springs pool and hot tub, sourced from the hills and piped directly to an indoor waterfall that cooled the water down to a toasty 102 degrees. As we drove south on 395, we were flanked by fields of grass parched and yellowed from long days of blue skies. Beyond this emptiness was only a small mountain range that paralleled the road, like two snakes racing towards a predetermined goal. Despite being able to drive quickly and freely out in open countryside, the drive felt long and uninteresting; the landscape was dull and nonprovocative. The only sight to see was the small town of Bishop, although it did have a decent number of restaurants and we made a point to remember it for dinner. Eventually the checkered flag finish line on the GPS came into view, but instead of being excited, we became concerned.

A complete lack of any civilization greeted us; the only visible marks of humanity were three white satellite dishes peeking at us from a distant hill like guardians ready to sound the alert. Our apprehension quickly transformed into confusion when a large, kelly-green sign reading "KEOUGH HOT SPRINGS RESORT" loomed up from the horizon on the left, opposite to a small winding road to our right. The sign bore no arrows or further indications of direction, and though in a strange land we had successfully matched up the hieroglyphics before us with those we were seeking, we still had not discovered its meaning. The road to the right appeared to lead into the hills; no tire tracks or buildings seemed distinguishable. Adam thought we should try exploring, but having not learned from our previous lesson at the lighthouse I was sure that if it looked wrong, it was wrong. I stressed we keep looking.

We kept driving for a small while only to find the neighboring roads gated and locked, without even a sign to acknowledge the existence of our final location like the previous road had. We turned around and drove back down to the initial path Adam had wanted to try, slowly crossing through a small dirt intersection. Once we crested the hill, a small complex appeared before us with a billboard identifying it as the Keough Hot Springs Resort. Relieved to have finally pinpointed it, we replaced our confusion with renewed hesitation; once again we found ourselves arriving in a location that appeared less than suitable. The buildings were small, echoing the style and decor of most roadside motels. The parking lot in front of the main building was empty, and I sat in the car staring at handmade wooden cutouts of clowns as Adam ran in to check things out. Coming out with a key, he ran down details of the interior, deconstructing our preconception of the "springs" into its true form: a warm swimming pool next to the gift shop.



Assuring ourselves that if nothing else, it would be another interesting story (warranting we didn't mysteriously disappear in this twilight zone), we headed to the tent-cabin we had rented for the night. Pulling up to the little fabric hut, we were slightly unnerved by the neighboring porch which was strewn with heaps of insect killers and barbecue equipment too hefty in volume for a temporary resident. Were there people who actually lived here at the resort/motel? We weren't sure. The tent-cabin itself was pretty well kept inside, three windows and giant fan were welcome sights in the blazing heat. Unfortunately, the cabin was also a small oven, and we uncomfortably put down our belongings in the carpeted cube of warmth. It was here that the pocket on the back of my pants became inexplicably hooked to the door, and Adam made sure to run and get the camera before setting me free.

After opening all the windows and putting the fan on full blast, we went outside to game-plan and get some fresh, if sweltering, air. As we both settled onto the porch sofas and respired in momentary silence, my legs started to feel tingly. Looking down, I saw the beams of wood swarming with ants crawling over every imaginable surface, including my toes. Disgusted, I started shaking them off as Adam grabbed a broom that had conveniently popped into our conscious existence on the other side of the porch and started sweeping colonies onto the dirt in front of our tent. Laughing in the amusement and mania of our surroundings, we decided we might as well try to take advantage of what we had and headed to the main building to scope out showers and see the pool. As Adam had indicated, it was just a regular pool with neighboring hot tub, although it did have the misty waterfall like promised.

Since we hadn't yet gotten dressed for swimming, we headed into the gift shop to pick up our token souvenirs. The gift shop was open but unattended and we walked around looking at the bizarre collection of random objects stocked in this particular little room, completely unrelated and non referential to the resort or its surrounding lands. After deciding that we couldn't comfortably drive the rest of our trip with a 6' painted zebra hiking staff sitting between us in the car, we accumulated a small armload of treasures including a wooden ladybug and a chameleon-shaped carabiner that doubled as a multicolored disco flashlight when you open its mouth. We waited for someone to appear whom we could pay for these things, but no one came. In the interest of time, we walked out of the store carrying our selections and to the check-in desk/milkshake stand where neither of the two people seemed surprised that we had come here to pay.

Back in the tent-cabin, we both changed into more water friendly attire and headed to the stall showers to rinse off (we were both in desperate need of cleansing and it was required before entry into the pool). Feeling refreshed, we then got into the pleasantly warm pool and floated around for the next hour or two, buoyed by foam noodles provided by the hotel. Realizing that it was approaching 5:30pm and we still wanted to eat dinner in Bishop before everything closed, we hopped on over to spend some time in the hot springs tub. This water actually was really warm and soothing; getting out of it was a reluctant, shivering experience.

While we dried and dressed, the evening heat tranquilized into a bewitching, breezy repose. Driving north, heavy clouds caped in a hue of sunken sapphire descended on the diminishing glow of sunset. Here we watched a neon explosion of plum and pomegranate, the sky flushing with the electric palette of a midnight massacre in an orchard. Doped with color and the cool air, we happily settled into a sushi bar called Yamatani right on Main Street. Here we ate our first healthy meal in a while, and our waitress happily obliged our requests for piles of sugar, soy paper, and custom rolls. Back in the cabin afterward with full bellies, we energetically committed to spending the rest of the evening writing posts. This lasted for about 7 minutes before I passed out, and Adam followed soon after.



In the morning, we awoke and packed well before our 11AM checkout time since we had plans to see Death Valley and wanted to get to our next sleeping destination (Las Vegas) with time to spare for a nice dinner. When we pulled up to the main building, we again noticed how empty the area was but it wasn't until Adam tried to open the door that we noticed a sign posted with the resort hours. According to the listing on the door, the main office would not be open until 11AM. If you are thinking that this is unusually tardy for an office, let me add that it was also physically unfeasible. According to our reconciliation of the situation at hand, people staying at Keough must be expected to materialize at the main office in the precise moment that the office staff arrives for the day. We were absolutely stunned when there appeared to be no notice explaining how to check out earlier than 11AM, nor was there any type of drop-box or mailbox that we could leave the key in. Unwilling to wait a couple hours and left with no alternative, Adam wrote a short explanatory note attached to the key and slipped it under the front door. Incredulous and crossing our fingers that we would not get a call in a couple hours inquiring about our extended stay fees, we left Bishop in the already swaying heat of the day, heading towards a National Park most commonly summarized by the image of a horned skull.

The beautiful, state-of-the-art bar outside our cabin and its bartender.

{pri}

From Mountaintops to Tufas

After the great Yosemite Detour of '09, we finally reach the mysterious Hodgdon Meadows (I'm not sure how to pronounce Hodgdon either). The check in booth was empty since it was well after midnight, and there were way too many papers with carious instructions taped to the closed window for my exhausted mind to bother reading. Unfortunately, one of the papers was a list of assigned site numbers for the late check-ins. I rolled past the booth after grabbing a site map and briefly glancing at a different paper that listed available sites. That list was rather long presumably because most people were better informed about the closing of Tioga Pass and had cancelld their reservations. I basically stopped at the first empty site and we groggily set up camp. Shortly we were passed out.

The next morning, I opened the tent and received a face full of ash. As my memory booted up I slowly drew the conclusion that we must be down-wind of the fire. We took down the tent and reloaded the car. Driving out of the campground was eerie, the thick smoke reducing visibility and tinting the light a golden color. We would later learn that the next closest campsite was actually closed because of its proximity to the fire.

It didn't take long to exit the smoke though, and soon the sky cleared up somewhat to reveal an overcast day. The road wound its way through the small peaks of the elevatated mountain plain (relative to the peaks in the valley) while to the south the back of the valley rim was visible. It was odd being more on their level as we had ascended several thousand feet the previous night. One vantage point was especially cool. A gnarled conifer of some kind, I suspect it was a younger sequoia, was literally rooted into the bare rock cliffs that decorate so much of the park. Even lichens have a hard time growing there, but the tree stood strong and sturdy.

Our drive also took us by way of many smaller mountain lakes with crystal clear water. We spent several minutes at this one, dubbed Tenaya Lake, before continuing.

Yosemite is apparently known as a famous rock climbing destination, and several rock climbers were visible from the road climbing the massive granite slabs. We stopped for lunch in Tuolumne Meadows by a river of the same name. Rolling up some ham and cheese in tortillas, we walked along the bank until we found a nice spot alongside the river. The rocks in the stream were tinged red with iron oxide, and beautiful through the clear water. I imagine people from this area probably don't know what substance runs in our rivers and streams back home considering how every body of water out here is literally crystal clear. Either way we hung out for a bit enjoying the stream, then continued through the meadows and finally out of the park.




But the adventure didn't stop there. Just outside of Yosemite is the strange place known as Mono Lake. It was visible almost as soon as we exited the mountain pass leading out of Yosemite, with two prominent islands looming from its otherwise still mirror surface. Like something out of a nuclear-waste themed story, I turned down Test Station Road which very quickly turned from shotty asphalt to a washboard dirt road. Recalling the episode of Myth Busters where they prove that driving quickly over such roads actually reduces the amount of vibration, I eased the car up to a speedy 35 mph at which point the roughness of the ride actually did decrease a little. To my left, the strange lake sat, very different from the mountain lakes we had just exited. This lake was not surrounded by tall green trees and hills, but instead set in a bowl-like depression, surrounded by nearly white dirt obviously full of limestone, and short, brownish brush. We sped on, kicking up a lot of dust searching for some point of reference to orient ourselves.
Eventually we reached a paved road again and a sign pointing towards the lake which said "South Tufas." I made the turn and soon we were in a parking lot. Stepping out of the car revealed another stark difference from the mountains, namely that the air was much warmer and even slightly humid (though still arid compared to NJ). We found the 1 mi loop trail and set off towards the bank in search of the mysterious rock formations that decorate the lake known as tufas. These rock formations are strangely formed limestone deposits created by fresh water springs containing certain minerals bubbling up from the ground under the very saline lake. Over time, the level of the lake has receded to reveal the entirety of these white spires, some on land and some close to the banks. We inspected the bizarre rock formations, and found that as we approached the water line, the black sediment there would buzz and fly away. Upon closer inspection, we discovered that the entire shoreline was completely covered in small black flies. Several seagulls patrolled the area, occasionally opening their beaks and charging through the thick mat of flies in order to scrounge up a truly horrifying meal.

We also took a video of the flies if you want to disgust yourself. Warning, Pri took the video blair witch style.

CLIP OF SHORELINE FLIES
We completed the loop and returned to our car. A short drive later and we were at the visitor's center up above the lake where a few other tufas were visible. Also, there was a gigantic piece of obsidian there. I forget why exactly they had it on display, but I do recall feeling obligated to take a photo with it.
We then stopped at Mono Cone in the small town, because we had clearly earned some ice cream. I went all out with a root beer float which was awesome but made me feel sick for the rest of the day.

We headed down highway 395 towards Keough Hot Springs which would be our home for the night.

[adam]

Our Nocturnal Furnace

Since we had already rejected the idea of spending an extra $80 to sleep in the valley's tent complex, we decided to suck it up and head to Hodgdon Meadows, the campsite we booked all the way on the northwest end of the park. Mumbling about the complete lack of foresight in reserving a spot so inconveniently situated, we located our endpoint on the GPS and set on our way. Slowly rolling down the main loop road, we started contemplating the fate of the fire we had seen earlier in the day and its proximity to the Tioga Pass we needed to get to camp. No sooner than the topic had taken form did we see red and blue lights twinkling at a distance eerily similar to that of the Tioga Pass intersection. Sure enough we reached our critical junction to find that the entire road had been closed down. Apparently, the fire continued to rage and the park police had understandably deemed it unsafe to allow civilian cars to take leisurely nighttime drives through a burning forest. 

While we were no stranger to these sorts of road closures and last-minute route changes, this particular alteration dealt a severe blow to our plans. You see, in New Jersey we are accustomed to a network of roads waiting to serve all of our detour needs. Yosemite, however, is not quite so accommodating. Without the crucial use of the Tioga Pass, we would now have to exit the park from the southwest gate, drive to a highway about 20 miles west, drive north another 25 miles, and then loop back around to the park and our campsite from the opposite direction. In the scope of our trip, these mileages were minimal, but they meant a 3-hour increase in travel time and we were already sleepy. We were not happy about this. 

As we set our altered course and tried to mentally accept our reconfigured bedtime (it was already 10PM at the start of the detour), we begrudgingly settled in for a very long drive to a very close location. Luckily for us, our drive proved to be better than we possibly could have anticipated. Not 10 minutes passed before the very fiery hill that had foiled our plans just moments ago, arose from the road before us in all its blazing, glowing glory. 

If the fire had been beautiful in daylight, it was absolutely seductive in the darkness of night. Like a carnelian rash fluorescing in the moonlight, the forest fire churned and pulsed in a rhythm of silhouette and shadow. Quickly tossing aside any lingering fatigue and pulling off into the shoulder, Adam began setting up his tripod while I slowly exited the car, staring at the burning hill as if in a trance. Unfortunately pictures cannot begin to convey the city of soft, illuminated crimson that frolicked on the hillside in front of us, but they can at least portray the milky garnet clouds that swirled above the trees busy fueling their own funeral pyre.

Despite the allure of the war roaring on in front of us, we conceded that with a best possible ETA of 1AM, we should get moving. Tearing ourselves away from the pavement, we settled back into the car and began our lengthy trip. Now, we were very familiar with the map that I posted above, and knew logically that this was our only available detour. We were therefore surprised when the GPS seemed to show a shorter way cutting across the giant loop with a shortcut. Giddy with the triumph of technology over other technology, we hurried on the highway to our discovered secret. When the GPS announced that we had reached the vital intersection in which we could choose to go the left on the initial path or right on the shortcut, we became utterly baffled. 

As far as we could tell, we were not at an intersection at all, but instead the absurdly steep driveway of a private residence. Fortunate enough to linger in a bubble absent of oncoming traffic, we tried to find a corroborating map on Google only to realize we were still completely devoid of any phone signal. Unsure of what to do, Adam hesitantly turned up the inclined path to test whether the GPS was actually satisfied with this response. Somehow, it seemed to indicate that we were following the intended course, but a couple hundred feet into the vertical drive a few things became very clear. The first was that the road was indeed a driveway of some sort, terminating at a small household. Furthermore, if someone were to argue that the road had not ceased at the house but continued on behind it, we would have to glance at the only possible cause for this argument and point out that it was made entirely from a smattering of gravel loosely and carelessly tossed on a near-vertical hill immediately adjacent to the shack. Without the requisite Hummer that would be necessary to scale what the GPS seemed to have deluded itself into thinking was a traversable road, we decided we would rather not get chased down with a shotgun by the slumbering owner of the residence we were thoughtlessly bathing in the bright beams of the car's headlights. 

Slowly backing out of the cramped and nonexistent "street", we found ourselves once again on the main highway which we hungrily accepted as the only prospect to get to Hodgdon Meadows intact. Now set even further back on time, we grumpily arrived at about 1:30AM. Skipping dinner preparations and reveling in the accomplishment of finally attaining a horizontal resting place, we hastily set up camp. Done with the day, we crawled into our freezing sleeping bags warmed by the unabating retinal afterimage of pure, dark heat thriving in the neighboring mountains.

{pri}

In the Valley

The course continued, after leaving the fire vantage point, towards Yosemite valley. We caught our first glimpses of the interior of the valley from a pulloff where an ABC news van was parked, presumably reporting on the blaze. Smoke cast a thin shroud over the massive rock formations eclipsing each other in the opposite direction of the fire. I'm not sure which of the massive guardians of the valley were visible, but my perception of Yosemite had already been wrong. The peaks are so much more majestic than even Ansel Adams could capture. We pressed onward to the interior of the park.

Shortly afterwards, we parked in the lot designated for Bridalveil Falls, one of the few park waterfalls that flows year-round, not just during the spring snowmelt. The trail up to the viewing point was paved and took little time to scale. It terminated in a boulder field, through which a small creek gurgled. The waterfall appeared to be a small trickle at the top which atomized into a fine mist before recondensing on the rock below and forming the creek next to us. We scrambled into the boulder field to enjoy the cold water of the creek and a better view of the vapor falls. Unsatisfied with the adventurousness of the trail, I decided that I would go explore upstream. Pri said she was good where she was, so I handed her my camera and dashed off into the rocks. the climb up was pretty fun, paralleling the path that the water had found easiest to come down, I ascended between boulders varying from the size of grapefruit to some larger than an SUV. There was a small pool about 100 feet from the bottom of the cascade where several other people had congregated to swim and hang out. I paused for a second to catch my breath and a young kid of about 10, who had come up with his dad, welcomed me to the top. After a few minutes I continued towards the terminus of the waterfall.

There were fewer people seeking this goal, and before long I was the only person climbing. Several large shelf like rocks were positioned for a great view of the stream below, and I made a note to stop here on my descent. The atmosphere up here felt cooler due to the air conditioning effect of the waterfall. The rocks became more jagged and paradoxically more slippery as I approached areas that saw less voluminous and more misty water flow. After cresting one last boulder the foot of the fall was finally visible. The air was actually cold up here where the condensation of mist was enough to reform a stream of water down the rock a few dozen feet above me. A large pool collected the water here, with a small oultlet feeding the creek below. I carefully walked over to the place where the water first hit rock and felt the small but powerful stream. After briefly debating taking a plunge in the icy collecting pool, I figured I should head back down. I stopped at the shelf rocks and looked out the entrance to Yosemite valley. I could see hints of the sun hidden behind the massive smoke cloud of the distant fire. Looking down, I imagined I could see Pri and started again towards her and the trail back out.

Five points to anyone who can find me in the picture above.

Finding a way down was actually more difficult than going up, and several times I had to abandon my chosen path to avoid unscalable drops. I gradually my way down a different way than I had gone up, and eventually made it to Pri. We collected some of the cold water in a vial, then returned to the car.

The road to the inner sanctum of the valley is basically a one-way loop. Upon entering the loop, we were granted a view of half dome and sentinel rock. There are no words to describe what viewing these geologic anamolies is like, but they loomed on either side of us throughout the drive. At some point we realized that it was impossible to predict the exact sunset time, as the jagged edges of the valley and the angle of the sun vary throughout the valley. We pulled off at a parking lot to see the Merced River and assess the position of the sun. Unfortunately we were moments late to see the sunset from the river (though in the tree lined parking lot it was still suspended above the cliffs). We waded out up to our shins into the ridiculously icy water, and after saying hi to some ducks, headed into the valley.

What I thought was a simple one way loop became incredibly complex with side loops and buses. We found our way to the second trail we had planned on doing, Cook's Meadow, where two male mule deer were just hanging out in the grass while a Dow lazily grazed alongside. Luckily the sun had not yet set here, so In the company of the deer we watched the sun sink behind the peaks rimming the horizon. The smoke from the fire cast a red-orange glow to the sunset light.

Once the sun set, in the elongated twilight cause by being in a valley, we wandered the trail for a bit, then made our way to the visitor's center. The personality of Yosemite, as all the parks before it, was unique. There seemed to be a smattering of accessible trails and attractions like Bridalveil and Cook's Meadow, but the majority of the park felt inaccessible to anyone unwilling to go backpacking for a week or more. The visitor's center has no parking next to it, so reaching it is almost a hike in itself. After checking out the awesome 3-D map of the valley, we went back to the car and started drivng out. Our campsite was in the mountains that form the northern rim of the valley, and in order to reach it we had to climb the mountains via Tioga Pass. Since we were feeling lazy, we debated staying in the valley at the one campsite with vacancy. As we exited the valley loop, the visage of El Capitan stood out against the night sky. Ansel Adams is lucky I wasn't around back in his day, for my iPhone photography surely rivals his 4x5 photography.I guess my point is, if you really want to see what the valley looks like, check out Adams' images. We briefly debated staying at the massive tent cabin city in the valley, the only place with availability, and we even swung around the valley loop to check it out, but the nosiness and $80 price tag deterred us. Darkness gripped the park and we exited the loop again, making our way towards Tioga Pass.

[adam]