Eastern Sierra

As the sage brush flew by at 70 mph, a finger of nimbostratus reached down into the Owens Valley, and I thought back on the last day and a half of nonstop exhilaration. I had climbed at the world-class Happy Boulders near Bishop, fished the middle Owens River and pulled nineteen trout out in under three hours, skiied waist deep powder and taken numberous face shots at Mammoth, cooked homemade gnocchi with fresh sage, lemon, and bacon, and soaked in geothermal tubs near the Green Church - all in less than thirty-six hours. I had been drunk on dry mountain air, and best of all, I enjoyed the company of my brother and favorite sidekick for all the aforementioned.

I bolted Friday after work, sped back to my house and loaded the car with the gear I had packed the night before. I called to Sammy the dog, "Load up!" and he hopped in his seat in the rear of the 4-Runner. Sammy was to be a surprise for my parents, whom I still thought I would be picking up in Reno, half-way through the drive. We were gone by three, headed at a slow crawl through Friday traffic east on the 80.

I did not arrive in Mammoth until 11:30 that night; escaping the Bay proved brutally difficult, as it often does. Throughout the drive I felt the creeping anxiety of my aloneness, and further still when I learned my folks had missed their flight. It would be just the brothers then, and what my brother called the "Hippie Triathalon."

We would wake early Saturday, boulder for a few hours, fish for the next few, then hike a nearby peak and ski down to a hot spring. In true hippie fashion, we made it through the climbing and fishing (yes, nineteen fish in just a few short hours!), and opted to skip the skiing, buy a six-pack of small batch beer and head straight to the springs.

While I reclined in the liquid biproduct of volcanic activity, wind and building cloud cover confirmed what Alec had told me upon arrival: snow was on the way. The next morning we woke to over a foot of new snow. It would be epic, and the hand-rolled gnocchis of the night before would provide ample sustenance for us to charge. With Alec as my guide, I skiied from nine til noon, dipping into glades, skirting powdery faces, and generally reaping the fruits of a frozen Eden.

I was out of town by two, as my bro had to go to work, and I had the task of a long drive in front of me. All said and done, I drove sixteen hours - exactly a third of the weekend - which is too much...in most cases.