Silver Lake

My first story for the memoir class.

Silver Lake Richard Nichols 2-1-11

Every summer for two weeks, during the late 1940's and early 50's, starting when I was  8 years old, my parents packed up the car and off we'd go camping north of Los Angeles on the east side of the Sierra Nevada Range, at Silver Lake. 

Silver Lake is one of four lakes along the 2-lane road called the June Lake Loop. The road traverses a deep valley, in a region scoured by glaciers 10,000 years ago. The lake at 7000 feet elevation is bracketed by peaks of 10 and 12 thousand feet. The stream feeding the lake, Rush Creek, originates high in the mountains and flows down in a series of falls and cascades before reaching the old fashioned hydro power station built in 1915, and still in use.

photo: Rush Creek basin and the peaks high above Silver Lake 

We camped in the willow thicket along the shore, in a US forest Service campground, with pit toilets, water and a table, but no asphalt, no numbered sites, no gigantic RV's, and all for free. It felt like home, that we had arrived. My little brother and I would forget the days, and only have fun, living for the sun to rise so we could run, and explore and fish. We spent most of our time fishing for the rainbow trout that the Fish and Game Dept. stocked into the lake. A lovely gravel bank, a small peninsula, was formed by a small creek, with the clear blue lake diving deep, where the fish lurked. Any time the fish truck unloaded, the fish arrived at what we called the "pier" about an hour later, and for days the fishing was good. On some days, we'd catch a limit of ten in the morning, and return in the afternoon to catch another, this time illegal, limit. A few time we'd rent a little row boat and fish in the 'hotspot" but the fishing was really just as good at the pier. The little rustic store by the lake would freeze several limits for us to take home. My mother was stuck with cooking for us hungry fishermen, and did it is good spirits, although I think she got tired of it.

On occasion we'd explore the surrounding country. Rush Creek gushed  through the valley, before running into the scenic and salty Mono lake, full of brine shrimp and flies and millions of visiting birds. Trout were abundant in the stream and sometimes we'd explore the riffles and pools for the whole day. Sometimes we'd hike a few miles to a lake higher in the mountains. The first time we went to Parker Lake up in a small glacial valley, an older man was hiking in and at every turn he'd say, "just around the next bend" which it wasn't. The 3 mile hike seemed endless, but we were treated to a wonderful little lake full of small native trout, surrounded by steep ridges, aspens and pines. From Silver Lake, we could peer up into the high country of the Rush Creek drainage. It seemed so mysterious and far away, with mountaintops and ridges rising above 12,000 feet. I always wanted to go there.

Silver Lake was heaven on earth for me, and I always wished I could stay forever. One year storm clouds gathered over the mountains a few days before we going to go home, and my dad announced that we were packing up "now", to avoid getting drenched. Soon after we were packed and driving away from heaven, the storm struck, and a fierce rain fell. 

In 2006, at age 64, I had the pleasure of backpacking the entire 218 mike length of the John Muir Trail. The trail starts in Yosemite Valley and terminates on top of 14,500 foot Mount Whitney. This is an accomplishment I couldn't have imagined doing 20 years ago, or 60 years ago as a child. The trail leaves Yosemite National Park at Donohue Pass, and then traverses the beautiful and scenic upper Rush Creek drainage, full of creeks and meadows, beautiful forests, surrounded by peaks, just as I had imagined it might be as a child. It took over 50 years to make it to that place.

In 1950, the word environment (meaning surroundings, environs) was not in common use, and the environmental movement was years away. The Sierra Club was a group that went into the high mountains, risking their lives, in our imagination. We didn't know that Los Angeles was embarking on an endeavor to ship all the water from Rush Creek to LA, thus drying up the lower creek and starving Mono Lake. My parents never knew nor mentioned any of it. But I credit my family for taking me to experience a majestic landscape, and I know that the reason I became involved in the environmental movement, love to hike in natural places and work for protection of our planet for the last 30 years, is because of my parents. I don't think I ever thanked them for this gift.