Chapter Two: Mountain Dreams


“Becca, Becca," my dad whispered those words as he reached to gently nudge my shoulder. He helped me climb down from the top bunk bed and in my half awake state, dressed me in my overalls, stocking cap and jacket. Grasping my hand my dad led me to the car filled with fishing poles and tackle. I remember seeing the white tip of my pole hanging across the front seat as my dad lifted me into the car with my juice filled sippy cup in hand. The sun still tucked behind the ridge, I remember seeing the silhouetted trees pass by the car's window as we traveled.

Arriving at Lake George, the rising sunbeams brightly reflected off the Crystal Crag fin in contrast with the dark edges of the bowl that made up this glacial lake.

Feeling the crunch of the granite trail beneath my steps, we hiked to the inlet on the other side of the lake. I remember the sting of the cold air and the fresh alpine scent and my dad’s warm hand as we walked together. Strung across my shoulder was the bait bag while my dad carried my pole and his. While my dad was rigging up the poles, I squatted over the water and tried to cup guppies swimming along the shore. Chasing one as it swam away, I felt my body leaning forward past the point I could catch myself and was surprised when my first boot struck the water with my second boot closely following. Straining, my body still craned forward, gravity continued to draw me further into the lake. After about the fifth step I finally fell forward into the lake splashing away any leftover sleepiness. Finally, regaining my feet underneath me, I stood up in sharply cold, waist deep water, crying for dad to help me. 

This is the beginning of my childhood memories of going fishing with my dad in Mammoth Lakes. Since my first trip at five my dad routinely woke me up at six in the morning to take me fishing. A summer ritual that became the impetus for my dream to one day live in the Eastern Sierra. Not all visits to Lake George ended with me in the crystal clear water but those quiet cold mornings of sitting in my dad’s lap to stay warm, as we watched our fishing poles, grew the dream of one day living in the Eastern Sierra. Not only to live in the Eastern Sierra but like many five year olds, my dream included a canine companion.

Lake George, Mammoth Lakes Basin

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