Happenings

S-M-A-C-K went the fish as it flew through the air. WHAT? That just doesn’t sound right does it? But I am here to tell you that’s exactly how it went…with some human intervention of course!

It all occurred one lazy summer afternoon on the banks of Lake Beorge in Mammoth Lakes, CA. Our family had been fishing for nary an hour when the first fish of the day was caught (sadly, it was not by me). Jan, my grandad’s friend, had hooked a small fish and quickly reeled it in though the water that lapped the edges of the lake. The slimy, scaly fish glistened in the sunlight as it lay flopping in the shallow water.

“Jan, I think he’s too small. YOu’d better throw him back,” my grandad whispered sheepishly to her.

With that, Jan knelt over to firmly grasp the tiny fish in order to degouge the hook from his throat. ONce hte hook was removed she reached back with the fish in hand to hurl him towards the lake with the might of a Louisville slugger. Only her aim was not that of a first rate picther…and instead of landing gently into the lake he flew through the air and…S-M-A-C-K…right up against a tree!

Our day of fishing didn’t end there however when the poor little fish had met an untimely death as he flew
into the tree. He lay there floating lifelessly in the water at the tree’s feet while our fishing rods darted back and forth from the center of the lake HOPING to catch another.

And finally we did…but sadly…once again it wasn’t I who saw the tip of the fishing pole dancing in the breeze to tell me that there was a bit. “Oooohhhh! I’ve got another fantastic fish!” Jan squeeled.

“Let’s hope she doesn’t kill this one,” I muttered under mybreath. Jan quickly and quietly reeled in her line whiel the rest of us watch with baited (no pun intended) breath to see if this would be the big catch of the day. At last we began to see a ripple in the water to indicate that the fish was near and the…flip, flip, flop…we were disappointed once again to see a bitty baby fish floppin on the shores of the lake. His eyes looked sadly up at us crying “Please, I don’t want to die!”

“Drats!” Jan garbled, “He’s too small too…I guess I’ll have to throw him back as well.”

With that-Jan knelt over to firmly grasp the tiny fish in order to degouge the hook from his throat. ONce hte hook was removed she reached back with the fish in hand to hurl him towards the lake with the might of a Louisville slugger. The fish flew gracefully past the trees towards the cool blue waters of the lake. “Phew!” I chorgled, “Looks like this one made it!”

No sooner had I uttered the wrods than a giant white gull flew sneakily from the tree tops screaming “Lunch, lunch, lunch…”, scooped down towards the water and swallowed our bitty baby fish in one gulp!

“That’s it!” I exclaimed, “Time for our fishing poles to say goodbye! Killing 2 baby fish in one day is QUITE enough for me!”

It has been said to me many a time that a little boy and a puddle are just like magnets and will eventually attract. I suppose I should have remembered that, and even thought twice, before I took my son on a hike…along a cold mountain creek!

It all began last June late in the afternoon. My family and I were on our yearly pilgrimage to Mammoth Lakes, CA and were truly enjoying the beauty of the mountains. Having come to Mammoth Lakes for many years (since I was younger than my own children) I was very familiar with the area. or rather very familiar with certain features of the area. There were however many hikes and adventures I had never been on. It was for this reason that we decided this year, to take a hike or two into unchartered territory (at least for us anyway). And that is just what we did. This late afternoon, we were going to take the treacherous hike back to T.J. and Barrett Lakes.

We began our journey by driving up the winding mountain road towards the lakes basin and parked our car in the lot near Lake George. After tying our jackets around our waists and tightening up our hiking boots we began what appeared to be an easy hike around Lake George to the trail head. Easy on the body anyway-not so easy on an eight year old boy when he saw the rushing creek up ahead. “Oooooo…look at the water! How are we going to get across it?” Christopher asked excitedly.

Inside I was groaning for I knew just what he wanted to do..he wanted to walk through the cold creek. I’m sure at the moment that would be quite fun for him, it would however make the rest of the hike unbearable for the rest of use because we would have to listen to him complain about his wet boots. “We’ll find a way, don’t worry…” I answered firmly.

“Oh, I’m not worried!” he replied sheepishly.

Thankfully, as we approached the creek, which ran about 3 inches deep, my husband was able to create a path of small boulders for us to step on. Success! “Yes!” I thought to myself “One catastrophe averted!”

Our family of 4 continued on our way up the mountain side towards T.J. and Barret Lakes. It was most certainly not an easy climb, although not so difficult that we turned back however. Once we arrived at the lakes we spent a short while sitting beside the clear water’s edge sipping on cool water bottled to reenergize ourselves and watching the fish swim in the lakes. It was one of the most beautiful sites I have ever seen.

After we were well rested we decided not to return to our car via the trail, but instead chose to follow the creek downstream to the lake and then walk alongside the lake back to our vehicle. We were getting hungry, and it was close to dinnertime so we figured this would get us home sooner. MISTAKE #1!

As we began walking downhill, we came upon several LARGE snow drifts that had not melted yet in the summer sun. They were sloppy, slushy snow drifts that our feet sunk into with each step we took. It was inevitable…with conditions like this our feet were bound and determined to get wet. Yet we forged on…determined to finish our adventure in the manner of true outdoorsmen, after all…who needed a trail to follow? MISTAKE #2!

Now, anyone who has spent time near melting snow drifts knows that underneath what appears to be a solid piece of snow likes dripping water and tiny streams of runoff. And anyone who has been near dripping water and runoff in the mountains knows that only one thing can be created in such a situation…MUD!

I should add at this moment that we were all getting rather tired-the hike down the hill was much more difficult than the hike up the trail and we found ourselves slipping and sliding with each step we took. Finally though, we emerged at the edge of the lake next to a tiny abandoned cabin with a huge snow drift next to it…that was just perfect for sliding down! MISTAKE #3!

So, as tired as they were, Carrie & Christopher summoned up the energy to plop their bottoms onto the icy drift and slide down the hill (thank goodness they avoided the mud puddle at the bottom of the drift-boy would THAT have been messy!). As soon as they reached the bottom they both bounded for the side of the lake where we could see a trail that would lead us back to the car. SPLAT! “What was that?” I asked as I heard a slopping sucking sound. When I looked over my shoulder I could see my Christopher pulling his boot out of what appeared to be about 4 inches of mud. Even the bottom of his jeans were muddy. “Ugh!” I groaned. He however simply smiled at me and yelled “COOL!”. I didn’t say anything…just rolled my eyes and began walking ahead of the kids on the trail…MISTAKE #4!

I should have stayed beside them. I should have guided them along the trail. I should have said something about the mud and how we needed to keep his boots dry. But I didn’t…like I said…mistake #4. As we rounded the bend toward the end of the trail we once again approached the same rushing creek. Now remember…I’m walking ahead of the kids, they are tired and lagging behind quite a bit, but I knew they were safe and couldn’t get lost on a trail that was so simple and close to the car.

Once I came nearer to the creek, I carefully stepped onto the same small boulders that my husband had laid out as I crossed the creek. I carefully made my way across so that my boots wouldn’t get wet. And then I kept walking…leaving the kids behind. A few short minutes later Mike & I realized that we hadn’t heard anything form the kids so we quickly glanced back to make sure they were okay. Once I saw them, I wanted to scream…and I did, “Christopher! Stay out of the creek!” But I was too late. I stood in horror as I watched my little guy traipsing back and forth through the creek splashing water from here to kingdom-come! Water was spraying everywhere-I just knew he was going to be drenched!

I rapidly darted down the dusty path back towards the creek to put a stop to this behavior, afterall, now his boots would be wet (and hiking boots take FOREVER to dry out), his socks would be drenched, his jeans would be sopping, and I just knew he would complain all the way back to our cabin. “Christopher! What in the world are you doing! Get out of there…that water is too cold…your going to get sopping wet! Why in teh world are you walking through the water like that?”

Once again…the sheepish grin…”My boots were dirty. I thought you’d want me to wash them before I got in the van.”

I had to hold back a giggle on that one…instead I managed to look at him condescendingly and calmly say “Christopher…next time…STAY OUT OF THE CREEK!”

Little boys and puddles…little boys and creeks…a true magnetic attraction!

photo credit: patrick dentler

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“Shamu! Shamu! Shamu!” the crowd fervently chanted beneath the crisp, warm California sunshine. This was it-the penacle moment of our vacation, the moment we’d get to see Shamu for the very first time.

The kids and I sat perched on the edge of our seats-waiting anxiously for Shamu’s arrival. Suddenly, we were stunned as the graceful giant leapt unexpectedly out of the water, appearing as though he would fly straight up to the sky!

“There he is!” my son chattered excitedly, frantically pointing towards the center of the pool!

Then as quickly as it all happened, Shamu was gone. He splashed far into the depths of his pool…only to emerge moments later…directly in front of US! However, this time we were not facing his friendly fact-it was his enormous flukes taht were gently waving to us in what I now know was a teasing fashion. “Aw, look-he’s weaving to us,” my daughter cooed softly as she began to wave back.

And that little wave from her was all it took! As if on silent command, Shamu raised his flukes high into the air and…

SPLASH!

…he slammed his giant flukes against the salty water with an enormous thud-and then it came-like a million buckets of ice water showering down on us, a humongous splash…

a gift,

a memory,

a treasure from Shamu!

It was a warm spring morning with nary a cloud in the sky when our family packed a picnic lunch and headed to the beaches of Camp Pendleton, California. We had been waiting of this day for months, and the long drive along California’s congested highways was met with much anticipation.

After weaving our way through the tangled traffic, we finally arrived at the almost deserted beach. The kids peeled away their clothes until only their swimsuits remained and bounded across the warm sand towards the crashing waves.

Upon arriving at the water’s edge, they both squealed and ran away from the creeping liquid when they felt just how cold it was.

Not to be outdone by their boundless energy, the waves silently chased them up the sandy beach in a gem of tag. The kids looked down just in time to witness their feet swallowed by the ocean, and then the ocean ran away, begging them to chase it.

And chase it they did. In and out, back and forth for well over and hour. The kids and the ocean palying tag. the ocean’s mighty waves roared in the distance-but quieted to a whisper as it approached them-almost as if it was afraid of frightening its new playmates away.

After hours and hours of fun in the sun, we begrudging ly loaded up in our van and began the long drive home along California’s congest highways with much disappointment that the day we had been waiting for for months was over so quickly. Afte weaving our way through the tangled traffic, we finally arrived back home. I sighed a bit and thought back to our fabulous day. I’ll never forget that day of watching my children play tage with the ocean. Although the day itself was short, the memory of it will remain forever ingrained in my heart.

Earlier this year, I awoke one cold winter morning and peered out the window to an unusual sight. The entire neighborhood appeared to be wrapped in a soft white blanket. It was clear, that the fog had rolled in during the night. Most people might not understand why that weather phenomena touched my heart so, but they should know that the fog-even the tiniest bit of it reminds me of “home”. Home for me, for my heart, will always be in the tiny (or at least it was when I lived there) town of Clovis, California. In Clovis, we had REAL fog, Tully Fog it was called. Fog so thick you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face, fog so thick you felt as if you were blanketed from all the troubles of the world. I loved the fog. And anytime we get fog in El Paso…my mind races back to my childhood days playing in the Tully Fog.

When the fog rolled in to Clovis, we awoke to a feeling of comfort while the thick grey blanket wrapped itself securely around our house.

When the fog rolled into Clovis, we lingered at home a bit longer since school would have to start late. My mom would make me a steamy cup of hot chocolate with it’s own layer of fog floating gently on top. The hot chocolate would warm my insides so that when I stepped out the door on the way to school I was not chilled by the dewey fog.

When the fog rolled into Clovis, the glaring headlights of oncoming traffic were nothing but tiny specks of light crawling, creeping desperately along the road through the dense cloud.

When the fog rolled into Clovis, the children played on the playground-they could be heard-but not seen. Their smiling faces were hidden by a layer of white softenss. The sounds of their laughter gave the only clue that they were even there.

When the fog rolled into Clovis all was peaceful, and calm. As a child I always enjoyed the peaceful feeling of waking up, wrapped in the fog.