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Journey to Bud’s Lakes It is September 2006, the weekend after Labor Day. I have been planning this trip or sojourn for months. I arrived yesterday and checked into McGee Creek Lodge, which was the original ski lodge for Mammoth Lakes in the ‘20s. My sister Kathy has accompanied me but will not be going on the outing I have planned for tomorrow morning. Bud has been gone now for seven months. This trip is to help me to say goodbye to one life and begin a new reality. I need to be able to do this on my own. I have hired a guide to take me on horseback up into the mountains to see Bud's lakes that he fished and loved so much. They are all nested above McGee Creek in beautiful meadows above 10,000 feet. I have heard his stories for years, now I must see these lakes for myself. I invited Kathy, but she said, “This is your dream, Val. Now, go live it!” I have packed a lunch and water for it will be a ten hour trip. As I drive up this narrow road leading to the stables, the sun is just coming up. Oh, how I love this time of the morning. There are still wild flowers along the road. As I reach the crest of the hill and look to the left, I can see McGee Creek and the canyon that it feeds from. As I continue the road begins to wind down into a pretty valley. I can see the stables nestled down on the other side of the creek. It is so picturesque; it's perfect, just as I wanted it to look. It really looks like it tumbled out of a story book. My heart is pumping. I am so excited. Can I really be doing this? So often anticipation is greater than the actual event; but, I feel that this day will surpass all my expectations. When I arrive the stable hands are getting the horses ready and saddled. My guide is Debbie. I like her. She is about 50 to 55 years old. Sturdy with a big smile. Raised on a ranch and born in the saddle. Her horse is beautiful and in my training she says she has a ranch near Bishop where she raises and trains horses. Perfect. A real cowgirl. I will be riding a mule, as she says we will be going up rocky areas where a mule is much more sure footed. I like him; his name is Scout. Debbie stows our lunches and water in our saddle bags. They take our picture and off we go. The trail winds along the creek, through brush and small willowy trees. Again, pretty wild flowers dot the way. Debbie talks and fills me in on the history and lore of the area. Her voice has a resonance that is so calming and pleasant to listen to. I begin to tell her my story and why I need to see these lakes. She is quiet for a few minutes, then turns to me and there are tears running down her cheeks. She has recently lost her husband and has been dealing with running the ranch and missing her partner in life. Before you know it, we were on this journey together. From that moment on, I knew that this trip was planned by a greater power, and for more than just my needs. Debbie and I were to take this journey together. It will prove to be one of the most incredible days of my life. Now, Debbie and I are quiet. She senses that the beauty of the trail is enough. We are hugging the creek and gaining altitude. Scout has made this trip many times, but I feel he, too, is excited to be out on this crisp morning. Animals have that acute sense of the many possibilities of the trail ahead. They hear and see things long before we do. In the quiet of the morning, I am looking and listening for all that is out there to be discovered. Bud, would always say, "Listen, boys, and use those big boy eyes and ears. What do you see?" He taught me, along with our sons, to look for the wonders of the trail. We started around 7,800 feet. I can feel that we are now rapidly gaining altitude. Scout is indeed sure footed. I am shocked at the way he can almost leap up onto a granite shelf to find the way to a pass through the rocks. My heart is pounding. The excitement of the open trail and its intrigue is wonderful. We have not seen another soul. For this I am truly grateful. Up until this trip, all my experiences on horse back have included at least two or three other riders. With each person the need to talk is multiplied until there is never a time to enjoy the quiet and feel the beauty of the wilderness. Today is an opportunity for the total immersion of the senses. We seem to be crossing many little streams, or brooks. Scout will take them in either one big leap or two. So, now as we approach a stream, I steel myself for the air time I am about to experience. If I am prepared, I save myself from being thrown forward and barely hold on to the saddle. Debbie always turns and says, "Are you still with me, Val?" I am not scared but thrilled that I am almost in control of my mount. Up ahead, I can see that the trees are getting smaller and we will soon be above the tree line. Those who have prepared the trail up the mountain have cut huge steps in to the granite rock out cropping. These enable the horse to more easily navigate the trail. Scout is amazing. He clambers up these steps, and I am nothing but a bouncing rag doll, until I get his rhythm and begin to stand forward in my stirrups. Since I left the stable, every moment of this adventure has occupied my every nerve. I want to share this feeling. Put it in words; treasure it to be savored later when I can no longer physically experience a day like today. This is Debbie’s life and she seems to know just how fortunate she is. We have been riding in silence. This kind of quiet is unlike no other. I am hearing not only the sound of the horses brushing against the chaparral and the creaking of our saddles, but a soft breeze rustling through the trees. Once again, we cross McGee Creek, which has been leading the way up. There is a fork in the creek ahead. I ask Debbie, "Where does that little stream go?" "You will see. We will follow it". Now, I am really excited. I love to wander off the beaten trail. Like Robert Frost’s famous poem, “the road less traveled” holds all the mystery. The stream is widening as we follow it. Debbie points out the piles of sticks along the way, most of them just scattered on the banks. She tells me to look closely at the sticks. It is obvious that they have been gnawed by some animal. Who else but old Mr. Beaver? We see the huge dam that he has constructed stick-by-stick. We are entering a clearing where we now see a pond created by his handiwork. It is such a lovely scene. Debbie says we will take a break here and rest. It feels good to have my feet on the ground. It is a little like getting off a boat and letting go one’s “sea legs.” We tie Scout and Lady to a low hanging tree branch. Debbie loosens their saddle belts. Immediately, they lift one back leg and let out a sigh, quiver a little then relax. Debbie and I take out a bottle of water and half a sandwich. She lays down a saddle blanket she had rolled at the back of her saddle. We sit to eat and visit. Talk of the trail up. What a peaceful place. After a few minutes, Debbie says, “Walk around enjoy the scenery, we will leave in 20 minutes.” She lies down on her blanket, tips her hat over her eyes, crosses her hands and feet and like the horses, lets out a little sigh. I feel am truly in a Louis L’Amour novel, right now. There is only a little clearing in the trees and brush to view Mr. Beaver’s fishing pond. I can't get the full impact; so, I decide to seek higher ground for a better view. Across the meadow, there is a small stand of trees and large granite boulders bracing a small hill. I cut through this lovely meadow with little watery fingers formed from the stream working its way to the pond. Pretty little flowers blanket the way. The path I am taking was made by animals cutting through as I am to gain access to water and potential food. I clamber up the rocks and pick a spot to survey Mr. Beaver’s Pond and all that surrounds it. I have read so many books by Louis L'Amour which have prepared me for this journey. In every story he wrote he depicted a scene such as this. I have a camera, but it is sorely inadequate for capturing all the beauty before me: the beaver pond, the meadow with its ocean of wild flowers, and, from this vantage point, the way in which the stream spreads out in fingers to create a cobweb of water, nature’s own irrigation system. I take a picture; but, I know that the one I hold in my mind will be perfect and true forever. I see Debbie getting up and folding up her saddle rug. The horses are stirring, sensing it is time to move on. As I come across the clearing, she is tightening their saddle belts. I am excited, too, to get on with this grand adventure. Debbie has pulled out her map of the area. It is covered with lakes of every size and shape. We need to choose the route that will take us to the lakes where Bud and his two good friends had their great adventure. The first of the lakes will be Gold Lake where those wonderful Golden Trout where caught by them and cooked by Bud. He said they were the best he ever tasted. They built a fire in a stone ring and laid their bedrolls out around it. In the morning, there was coffee made by Bud’s method of putting the grounds in a towel and dunking it in the kettle of boiling water. No grounds in your cup. It is the best. Beaver Dam sits at 9200 feet above sea level; Gold Lake is at 10,800 feet. We are in for a climb. One the map, Gold Lake appears to be one mile “as the crow flies;” but, I am sure that we will be weaving in and out in our approach. As I look at the map, it is hard to grasp the full magnitude and scope of the area that holds these many lakes. The mountains have virtually encompassed the lakes in the palm of valleys between their many peaks. I wish that I could see the area from a plane. I see on the map that there are lakes above the 12,000 feet level. Amazing! I now feel giddy and talkative. Hard to believe, isn't it? As we ride along, I begin to relate the story that brought these three men on this adventure. I heard it many times and never tired of Bud’s story. It was late spring of l946 and thousands of men were pouring out of the service. The war was over – at last! – and they were excited to be getting on with their lives. Each was armed with the G.I. Bill, which gave him the priceless opportunity for a college education. Most would have never dreamed of the world that was opening up to them. A college degree was rare to the middle class until then. Bud was standing in line at U.C.L.A., waiting to sign up for Summer School and for the upcoming fall schedule. As he looked up and down the line, he noted it was full of young men in their early- to mid-twenties, wearing khaki pants and service issue leather shoes. Their pullover sweaters were the only fashion statement they would make. They were full of life and eager to talk. As they shuffled along in line, Bud started talking to two young men nearby. Ray was from a farm in Nebraska and Bill was from Ohio. All three would have several weeks to live and eat before the summer session began. They determined that if they went camping in the Sierras they would not only save money but have a great time. Ray had a car. They all had gear. And Bud could cook anything they caught. So, this adventure was planned that day and a friendship that would span their life time was born. Debbie is interested in hearing all that I can remember of Bud's story. This was 1946, so, of course the roads were different then. But, Debbie says that this trail leading up to Big McGee Lake is very much like it was then. The ranch house that serves McGee stables is also from that era. So, let’s assume that this is, indeed, the route they took. If you follow the road past the ranch house and cross over McGee Creek, there is a fire break they could have accessed for about half a mile. This would have brought them near the area of Beaver Dam. With this knowledge in hand, we’re headed the same way. We are slowly gaining altitude. I love the peace and beauty of the trail. I am surprised, though, that we have not seen any wild life other than birds -- no beaver at the pond, no deer feeding in the meadows. At first light this morning, I thought we would see some deer. Debbie says, "Oh they are out there, watching us. They will quietly return after we pass." Debbie says that the base camp she uses for her travelers is right up ahead. It is a good possibility that it will feel like a place Bud and his friends would have chosen, those many years ago. They would have had to carry their gear in, about two or three miles. I think that it would have seemed like a walk in the park compared to what their bodies had been through the past four years. Here it is. She turns into a wooded area, just off the trail. Scout and I follow. Debbie brings Lady to a halt with "Ho, Lady!" We look around at what should have been a pristine little camp ground on McGee Creek; but, instead, it is littered with trash and some interlopers’ still-smoking fire. Debbie takes her CB Radio out of the saddle bag and calls the Ranger Station to report the incident. She describes the condition of the camp ground and asks the ranger to watch for a party of four riders coming out at either McGee Creek, or, more likely, Upper Rock Creek Lake, as we had not passed any riders on our approach. She thinks they have been gone about an hour. She tells the ranger that we will bag up all the trash and douse the fire. They will need to send someone to pick up the bags as there is more than we can carry. She then calls the pack station to alert them. She tells me the interlopers will be ticketed and fined. To litter in the back country is bad, but to leave a fire still hot, carries a big fine. After cleaning up the area, we decide to eat our lunch. I am starving. Now I wish I had packed three sandwiches. Debbie says, "Don't worry, I am always prepared!" Thank you, God, for my new best friend. I know what you are thinking. Are we ever going to get to Gold Lake? Yes! And it will be worth the wait. As we enjoy our lunch, I look around this pretty campsite. Nice stand of trees, perfect to hang a hammock from. Bud used to love to tell the story of tying his service hammock between two Jeeps one night on the Burma Trail. The troops were all exhausted from the harsh, bone-racking trip along that primitive road. Most just fell into the back of the troop trucks like sardines. Not Bud. He wanted his space. He thought, as he went to sleep, how really comfortable this hammock was. How smart it was that he had brought it. That night it began to drizzle. He was in his sleeping bag and did not care. However, as you might have guessed, the drizzle was only a precursor to the monsoon downpour that was about to hit. He almost drowned trying to get out of that hammock. Bud was in water up to his neck. He was never to hear the end of this incident for the rest of the trip. Debbie and I were laughing so hard at the vision this story brought to mind. At last, we were on the way to Gold Lake and the home of those delicious trout. This could have been one of the first places Bud, Ray and Bill fished. I should have brought a pole. When I made my reservations, it was one their suggestions as most who take this trip have a good trout meal in mind. We get down to business now. We are really beginning to climb. We will be at 10,800 feet at the lake. We are sitting at 9,800 feet right now. Debbie says we will be going up some fairly steep passes very soon. I know what that means -- granite steps cut out of a mountain. I am ready this time and will stay forward in my saddle feeling Scout’s rhythm. We are quiet again, listening to the wind moving through the brush and enjoying our total immersion in the Sierra wilderness. Debbie tells me that we are on the John Muir Trail. Very exciting! We are now turning back on ourselves and, just ahead, I can see a pass climbing right up a mountain. Here we go! Debbie gives Lady a little kick to recharge our momentum. Scout’s ears go forward. I sense that he really enjoys this part of the trip. I ask Debbie if I need to be prepared for anything. She says, “Just follow me and do as I do. Scout knows exactly where we are going. He is an expert.” Boy, am I happy to hear those words. This is probably the scariest thing I have ever done. It is steep. You do not want to look back for where you had been is way, way down the mountain. Holey Moley! I keep my eyes forward on Scout, telling him, “I trust you old boy. Just get us to the top.” It seems to take forever and then, just when I feel like the tension is too much, we clear the top. Oh, my! Would you look at that sweet, little lake. It is amazing! It is just there, all by itself, all shiny and bright. Once again, there is the feeling that this picture just toppled out of a story book. It must be teaming with fish. And why shouldn’t it be? There is not a soul here to catch them. Any other lake like this one, within a short hike, would be wall-to-wall with fisherman. We head our horses down an easy trail to its banks. We dismount to enjoy this opportunity, our high point, for we will be turning back and heading home after this. We can loop around and see one or two more lakes on our descent. Going home will be faster than getting here, as, once the horses are turned to the barn, they’ll be in a big hurry to get there. We will be reining them in as we go. We sit on the banks of Gold Lake and visit while we eat an apple and day dream of what it must have been when Bud , Ray and Bill experienced all this beauty. It was a moment in my life and a feeling I will never forget. I could not believe that I could be sitting at the very same lake where these men fished over sixty years ago. I am certain it was as breath-taking then as it is today. We must mount up to continue our journey. At this moment, I am full to the brim with the wonder of this day’s adventure. I think that, throughout our lives, we all experience many small, life-changing events, often unnoticed at the time, only realized later when a major change has taken place. But today, it is like a giant bolt hitting me with the overwhelming feeling that I have been changed forever. The pictures I am storing in my mind may be revisited and savored, again and again, to bring me back to this special time when Bud was forming his love of life’s many possibilities. He seemed to know that most were free for the taking. You only had to read and dream of the many opportunities just waiting to be explored. I am brought back to reality now, as Debbie says, "O.K. Val, we are approaching the trail down the mountain. Scout is use to this granite trail but may want to go down faster than you will feel comfortable riding. I will go first and hold Lady in. She is not as sure footed as Scout. Are you ready? Remember lean back in the saddle and keep your balls of the feet tight in the stirrups. Stirrups forward. Let’s go." You can imagine my heart is pounding. But this is all part of the experience, I tell myself. So, we start the trail down. We begin at a very slow pace. I am feeling confident. I can do this. Scout is impatient. He wants them to get going. I am now having a hard time keeping him off Lady's heels. "Debbie, what do you want me to do?" Scout seems to know I am not in control. Debbie brings Lady to a halt. We both stop. ”Let me go down a little way before you start Scout. Then, you must hold him in. He needs to know you mean business." We start again. I am doing my best with some success; but, it is still along way down. I have to look down now and the view is daunting. Looking off at the steep drop to my right is really scary. So, it’s eyes forward, mind on my business, heart pounding out of my chest. The gap between us is growing larger. I am thinking this is a good thing. I will learn very soon that it is not. Debbie is around the corner and at the bottom. She yells to me. I am trying hard to hold Scout in. But, he knows where they are and – Whoa, Nelly! – here we go! Hold on to your hat, Val. We are flying. Then, boom! I am at the bottom standing next to Debbie and Lady. Debbie tells me,”Well, you did a great job. You’re still in the saddle. Good girl!" In my mind, I hear Bud saying, as he so often did, “Hurray for you!” I am feeling pretty brave right now. I can hardly wait to tell our sons this story. And I am sure, with time, it will get better and better. There is no doubt, however, that I am a little bit shaken by the E-ticket ride down the mountain on Scout. I tell Debbie that I would like to see her do that with eight or ten riders. She says that the reality is, that when the trail is full, the horses know and just relax. ”Oh, so you’re telling me that I had the optimum conditions for the Wild Ride of my Life?" "Ya! I would say." I ask Debbie, “What’s our plan from here?” We look at the map and decide a small loop will bring us up on two nice lakes and her favorite camp spot for large groups. I ask what preparations are involved when taking a large group for a week. She explains that they usually want to do just as Bud and his friends did. Fish several different lakes and catch a variety of fish. “I take care of the cooking, but teach them preparation and show them my techniques. I am able to truck up on a pack horse enough food for about three days. Then additional food will be brought in to the next campsite.” I wondered about refrigeration. She says, “It is no problem as all meats are shrink-packed and frozen solid. They act as blocks of ice and keep everything cold.” “You begin by preparing the most perishable foods first. At times when food deliveries are late, I become very creative turning potatoes, onions and green pepper into hash with what ever pieces of meat or jerky are left. For a treat, I can make an incredible skillet size oatmeal cookie that they will never forget. It is about giving them something new and different. I can cook almost anything in a Dutch oven and an old Iron Skillet. Coffee pot and kettle, you’re in business.” Now I tell Debbie that I wish we were spending at least one night. I would love to add the feeling of sleeping under the stars and eating her grub. Just like a good old Trail Drive. Maybe, next time. One never knows what's just around the corner. I now feel it may be time to throw the final twist in Bud's story out for Debbie to chew on. In the last week of the men’s trip, they were beginning to venture off alone to their own favorite fishing spot. They took a small nap sack with lunch and their gear. They would each spend the day in the beauty and solitude of their favorite fishing hole, rejoin the others in the afternoon with their catch. All would have had a different experience to share around the camp fire that evening. One day Bud and Ray walked Bill to his lake and then ventured on to their own. In the late afternoon, Bud and Ray returned back to camp about half an hour apart. When Bill did not return soon, they decided to go see what was keeping him. They joked that he probably had not caught anything and, after bragging of his great spot, was embarrassed to return empty handed. When they arrived at his turn off, they followed the trail to the lake and called out his name. No reply. They thought he may have gone somewhere else to fish. No sooner did they clear the brush leading to a small cove, when they almost trip over Bill. He was leaning against a bank just below some boulders. His fishing gear still sat on the rocks above. His feet were in the water. He had a large gash in his forehead, and blood everywhere. He was semiconscious and moaning, obviously in shock. Immediately, Bud and Ray took off their nap sacks to find what first aid supplies they had with them. Bud began to talk to Bill, rubbing his hands and wiping off his face with a handkerchief and water from his canteen. Bill opened his eyes, looked up but was not really seeing. Ray tried to give him some water. He wasn’t drinking but his tongue licked his lips. This was a good sign. Both his friends tried to get some response from him. Ray took off his jacket and laid it across Bill’s chest. Bud continued to clean the blood and dirt from the gash on Bill’s forehead. Bud thought it was deep enough for a couple of stitches, but not life threatening. Bill’s eyes were neither fixed nor dilated. Bud and Ray began to relax a bit, hopeful that Bill would come around. After a few minutes, Bill began to open his eyes and tried to move. He moaned and Bud began to talk to him. Bill looked up, now aware of their presence. Ray asked, "Bill, are you alright? Does anything hurt?" Bill tried to move to his side and get up. They asked him if he thought he could stand. "I'll try." With their help, he got to his feet. With the effort, he was now aware of a sore shoulder and was having a hard time taking a full breath. When Ray felt his ribs, Bill moaned. He had probably cracked a rib. "Hold on a second,” Bud said. "Ray, run back to the camp ground and get that adhesive tape out of the first aid kit." They got Bill to a dry area and sat him down. Bud supported him until Ray returned. While Ray was gone, Bud asked, “What happened?” Bill said he decided to climb the bank behind the rock ledge he was fishing from. He thought if he got up high enough he could see where the fish were schooling. He lost his footing and tumbled down the slope hitting his head on the rock ledge and falling to the shore below. When Ray returned they taped up Bill’s ribs. Each took a side and slowly walked Bill back to the camp. Bud made dinner, cooking up their catch for the day plus a can of beans, hot biscuits and coffee. A roaring fire and the day’s excitement was over. Their adventures that day were bigger than any fish story they could have told. "Well, Debbie, what do you think of that for a day’s excitement on the trail?" I asked. "To be honest," she says, "things like that can easily happen if you are not careful. When you are alone, it is really very dangerous. They at least kept track of each other and knew what to do in an emergency. Had he had a broken bone, they would have had to carry him out two miles to the car and drive down the mountain to get medical care. So, my recommendation is to stay together, so help can be immediate." Debbie tells me that Round Lake is straight ahead. “There is some interesting terrain around it, you might enjoy seeing. Follow me.” We kick up our horses and wind up a little trail. Ahead I can see a stream cutting through it.. I know what that means and so does Scout. His ears are forward. I am ready for air time as we clear the water. It is getting so I actually enjoy the excitement of the anticipation. If I lived around here I would be riding Scout all the time. What a guy! Round Lake sits in a lovely meadow, not unlike Beaver Dam. It is surrounded by granite shelves that have been tipped upward at a forty five degree angle. What caused this I am not sure. Bud would have had a long story about the volcanic action in the area. Mammoth Mountain is near by and we all know of its geologic instability. So, that’s my best guess. “It is beautiful and worth exploring,” Debbie says.”We will stay here awhile and you can enjoy the terrain.” I think Scout would like to go as well. I know he could walk right up these slanting rocks. I dismount, tie Scout to a tree branch, and set off. Debbie warns me to keep her in sight and not to wander off. She knows how seductive the Sierras are. She has probably had to round up past day explorers who didn't heed her warnings. It is so easy to get turned around and lose your sense of direction. I am well aware of my directional limitations so I take her warnings to heart. I am amazed by all the delicate plant life, especially the pretty little shell-like flowers, in pink and white, poking their heads out of cracks in the granite rocks. I can honestly say that the wonder of this high country takes your breath away. It may be the rocks and flowers, or the raw simplicity and quiet that overloads your senses. Whatever it is, this place opens your heart and mind to the beauty of God's creations. I find a quiet place to sit. It is well into the afternoon now. I feel that this may be my last opportunity to be quiet, surrounded by nature and the mysteries yet to be discovered. Maybe I will catch a glimpse of something watching me and wondering what secrets I hold. In too short a time, we must head back. The horses are moving around, getting their water bags off and cinches tightened. Debbie waves at me. I start down the rock front. I am feeling very melancholy knowing that this wonderful experience is coming to an end. I tell myself, “Soak it all up and take your mental pictures. They will last a life time.” As we mount up, my head begins to swim with the emotional weight of this journey. It is hard to believe I have accomplished and experienced so much in such a short time. The planning and anticipation of this trip took months of discussion and timing. To think that I am in its final hours, I am almost afraid for it to end. Have I expected too much from this journey? What if it doesn’t give me the feeling of release that I so need? Debbie heads our horses toward the lake. She says, "Lets make a loop around, before heading back." Round Lake looks like someone just dug it out with an ice cream scoop. I ask Debbie if it is stream fed. She says not, that it is a warm spring from deep in the earth. "People really enjoy just sitting and relaxing in it after a day’s ride. I have brought many campers here at the end of a long trip." Bud roots were deep in American West. His childhood, as the son a civil engineer and a teacher in a one-room school house, sowed the seeds of his lifelong love of science, history and education. He grew into his own career as teacher, principal and finally, Deputy Area Administrator for forty Los Angeles City Schools. Throughout his life, Bud was a caretaker of everything he touched: me, our sons and any other child with whom he came in contact. He loved plants, animals, bugs, books, stories, confidences, requests for advice. He had a credo: "Fill your life with purpose. It’s not about you, but what you give." Bud gave.
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