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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