Upward
June 26, 2017

What a difference a day makes!  And what a difference 6,000 feet in elevation makes!

From the Mojave Desert, we climbed, climbed, climbed: up through the lush greenery of the Owens Valley, which has remained beautiful despite the city of Los Angeles’ taking of its water, to drive parallel to the stunningly snow-bound peaks of the Sierra Nevada range.

Stark convolutions of past volcanic upheavals were evident on all sides - everything from 30-foot-high and miles-long shelves of lava flow turned to solid inky rock to the intermingling reds and blacks of cinders flung from volcano mouths - and all back-dropped by vast amounts of snow from mountains tops and winding far down into the gigantic fingers of canyons.

It was a day of driving filled with continuous exclamations at the contrasts and beauty and murmurings of disbelief at such grandeur.

In my usual fashion, I kept the camera warmed up and clicking away at every juncture.  

Even more awe-inspiring scenery awaited us when we drove up into the mountains to upper and lower Virginia Lakes.  The lower lake had thawed already, but the upper one was still in the throes of ice melting.  A few intrepid float fishermen were trying their hand at snagging trout while bundled in their insulated suits and others were fishing from the shore, mostly unsuccessfully.

We hiked along the tree-lined shore to where an amazing cascade of snow-melt was pouring down from above, and of course we wanted to return the next day when Shannon and Brianna, my niece and great-niece, arrived from Oregon to share the awesomeness.

Willow Springs, Bridgeport . . .

Because we were meeting the girls to tour the ghost town of Bodie together, we opted to lodge at the Willow Springs RV park which also offers cabins.  It's a lovely little place, owned and managed by Annie during its four open months of summer.  The landscaping is delightful; however, it is in the midst of a cyber dead zone.  Unapologetically, Annie offers no internet connection.  No problem, we think, we can use our mifi - uh no, not happening.  "The canyon", as it's referred to locally, is a cell phone signal wasteland, thus, I am ensconced in an 1881 house turned coffee shop in nearby Bridgeport tippy-tapping away using their internet, and it only cost us a cup of java.

Bridgeport is a picturesque town approximately three blocks in length with some very impressive old houses and commercial building, including a majestic courthouse constructed in 1880.  We wandered its halls and stairways and I had to photograph the girls using the quaint old phone booth.

 

 

 

Bridgeport Reservoir, just outside of town, appears to be a popular and picturesque fishing-by-boat destination.

This gull seemed to be waiting for a picnic to show up, but we did not oblige him.