The Right Side of California

Take a journey into the highlights of the Eastern Sierra "ensemble."

By David Carle

[Editor's Note: Carle, whose popular column "Mono Viewpoint" is a regular feature of the Times, is also a state park ranger at Mono Lake State Tufa Reserve and he teaches at Cerro Coso College. His class, which includes a two-day guided field trip touring the Eastern Sierra basins, provided the inspiration for this article.



Look out west, from the summit of Lookout Mountain, and the pine forest on the lower slopes of Mammoth Mountain sweeps toward you as a long green carpet that circles and tops the hilltop where you stand, before pushing on to the northeast.
But this green strip has edges; it is confined on its northern and southern sides, limited to a corridor.

Limited by what? There's a question. One of many intriguing ones you may find yourself asking when you take a closer look at the contrasts, the edges, the variety of natural forms in the Eastern Sierra.

"Why is the Jeffrey forest here, and not there?"

"Why is there a mix of trees in one area, and then only one uniform strand for so many miles?"

"Why do we humans feel so attracted to the mix of environments found in the short distance between Sierra crest, down through high-country lake basins, along stream corridors that finally drop down into dry desert Great Basin?"

"And why are those east-side basins, in particular Long Valley and the Mono Lake Basin, so individually different?"

If you could make a trip from Sierra crest to desert floor, trying to answer such questions, you would get a feel for the whole "ensemble," which is harder to grasp piecemeal. Especially if you covered the terrain in just one or two days, so that the contrasts and variety were fresh and striking.

The Crest

You might begin at the crest of the Sierra Nevada, at the Minaret Vista viewpoint. Unlike Tioga Pass and other summits reachable by road, here you will see, dramatically, the reality of the crest as a divide.

At your feet, the land drops into the valley where the San Joaquin River begins its long journey to San Francisco Bay and the Pacific Ocean. Though hundreds of miles from the coast, this is the edge between California's ocean-facing orientation and the state's other face -- the one that looks inland toward the morning sun, into the landlocked Great Basin.

Here is the edge between "The Left Coast" and "The Right Side of California."

Minaret Vista is just over 9,000 feet in elevation. That is lower than nearby peaks, but just barely high enough for whitebark pines. Nuts from the small cones feed squirrels and squawky, gray-and-white Clark's nutcrackers.

Wildflowers around the vista add color, but despite the heavy snowsfalls at this elevation, this is a harsh, rather dry spot really. Volcanic soils drain rapidly. Temperatures are cold enough to keep the growing season short.

After a last look to the west, turn east and head downhill, like the melting snow. "Mixed coniferous forest" describes much of lower Mammoth Mountain. To see four of the tree types together, stop at "the Earthquake Fault." Near that fissure you can identify lodgepole pine, red fir (you passed lots of these two on the descent, in the heavy snow belt), Jeffrey pine (much more of this to come later, even lower) and the relatively rare western white pine (a.k.a. "silver pine"), with banana bunches of cones high on its branches.

Each of these trees is adapted to an optimal set of conditions, to particular variations in water availability, soil moisture, length of growing season, etc. At this elevation and orientation to the sun (a southerly ridge), there is enough overlap to allow them to mingle.

The Lakes Basin

There is yet another conifer to be seen, mountain hemlock, if you circle the mountain into the Mammoth Lakes Basin. At Twin Lakes, you'll have dropped 600 feet below the crest. The mountain peaks begin to loom above you now, forming a barrier to the west. And gravity and open expanses exert their constant physical and psychological pulls down toward the east.

Twin Lakes, and the whole Lakes Basin, is about water -- blue expanses, rushing streams, lush green growth, fishermen and campers, chipmunks and busy birds. Lots of life celebrating the growing season.

If you follow the upper lake toward the falls, along the creek, you will pass through wet meadows that bloom in summer with corn lily and cow parsnip, paintbrush and monkey flowers.

A short way up and you encounter mountain hemlocks. Members of the spruce family, they have single needles that project out around the stem in all directions.

And now you'll have seen six of the conifers that dominate the forest scene around Mammoth. When you drop down even farther, leaving the snowy alpine environments to enter the Great Basin desert, there will be others.

But first, the stream itself will draw you close. Water always does. And also hugging those banks are the water-loving willows and several riparian trees. Quaking aspen has white bark and quivering, elliptical leaves that put on a golden colorfest in autumn. On this particular hike you can also find mountain alder, with its saw-toothed leaf edges. Notice that each big "tooth" has more little serrations.

Mountain alder is much more common on the west slope of the Sierra. And here is evidence of a major influence on this area -- west-side species that "slop over" into the east. They have crossed the "gap," the relatively low places on either side of Mammoth Mountain that not only allow certain plants over the crest but, more importantly, permit storms to funnel through and across the mountains here.

To appreciate that fully, move on to Lookout Mountain. The carpet of forest green I described at the start is a good indicator of the gap. The Jeffrey forest coincides with the zone where the rain shadow effect of the Sierra barrier is overcome (or at least lessened).

Lookout Mountain also commands good views to the south and east of the rest of the Long Valley Caldera, your destination for the rest of this day.

Long Valley Caldera

Hot Creek is the popular spot to view evidence of the area's volcanic nature in fumaroles and hot springs. But a loop drive across the valley and around its south end gives you a feel for the caldera's size and relationship to the higher country.

Along Convict Creek, near the junction of Hwy 395 and Benton Crossing Road, the contrast between streamside vegetation and the surrounding sagebrush scrublands becomes striking. And here, yet another tree, water birch, keeps its "feet" in the water.

They look much like the mountain alders, without the double-serrated leaf edges, and with reddish bark. This location is one of the northernmost spots for the birches which dominate streamsides on south through the drier, hotter Owens Valley.

You are in a different drainage than Twin Lakes', yet Convict Creek obeys the same impulses -- move water downhill into the basin, merge with other waters, finally join the Owens River and in that channel move south. What water not captured by plants or animals or evaporated, moves down, always, down.

The surrounding shrub-lands are dry, covered by sagebrush and rabbitbrush. Both bloom in the late summer and early autumn, but only showy, yellow rabbitbrush blossoms catch the eye; sagebrush flowers are the same gray-green as the rest of the plant.

At Benton Crossing, where the road bridges the Owens River, stop for a look back at the Sierra crest. You would need an ultrawide-angle lens on your camera to do this vista justice. Stops like this help to put the topography together. Way up there, off the right side of Mammoth Mountain, you can see where this journey began.

Annual rainfall totals here in the valley are only eight to 12 inches, depending how far east of the Sierra crest you are, and how far south of the effect of the Mammoth gap. (Compare that to an average 350 inches of snow at Mammoth's ski area). Temperatures at this elevation can easily be 20 degrees higher than up on a Sierra summit, just a few miles away as the crow flies.

Climbing away from the Crowley Lake reservoir and turning onto the Owens Gorge Road will bring you to the southeastern edge of the Caldera, to some intriguing pink rock formations and to a different kind of pine tree.

The rock is Bishop Tuff, the consolidated ash of an enormous eruption that occurred three-quarters of a million years ago. Ash deposits from the eruption reached Nebraska and Kansas. When so much material is ejected, a depression, or "caldera," forms at the site: our Long Valley.

Piñon pines have suddenly found their niche in this slightly higher elevation. Piñons inhabit the Great Basin hills and mountains, which catch a bit more moisture than the desert basin floors.

They have single needles, yet are true pines. A cross-section shows five vascular bundles within each needle, suggesting that the evolutionary ancestors of the piñon once had bundled needles like all other pines. These are "nut trees," with small cones that produce big seeds -- attractive food for animals and man.

End the first day of our trip at the outlet to Crowley reservoir, where Owens Gorge Road crosses the Owens Gorge. Here, water carved an exit down toward the Owens Valley. Standing above the Gorge, watching the river run, you feel the pull of gravity and water shaping the land.

We began at the Sierra crest, saw lake basins and stream corridors and the response of the vegetation. Saw the valley formed by volcanoes, where the water goes but does not stay.


Eastern Sierra ensemble

The Eastern Sierra is not one environment. Tremendous contrasts characterize the landscape between 14,000-foot alpine peaks and high-desert basins. Yet those different environments combine; they become an ensemble.

Mention the Eastern Sierra to many people and they may think about a particular camping area, no doubt with lakes and streams close by. Most campgrounds (and residences) here cluster in the elevations where summer temperatures are moderate, where trees provide shade, where innate human attractions to water and the color green can be satisfied.

There is plenty of forest terrain like that on the western side of the mountains, but it is not the same. It does not feel the same to be there.

Here, timberline is always close. Above the trees looms a constant presence: the peaks and ridges that define the Sierra Crest. The Crest is "the great divide," the edge between "The Left Coast" and "The Right Side of California."

Off to the east is another constant -- the physical and psychological pull of gravity and open expanses which point into the Great Basin.

The Sierra escarpment draws us to its waters and forests, but the basins just east, defined by spur ranges running east-west, are part of the total package which makes the Eastern Sierra so special.

Consider those basins: the Owens Valley, so deep, so hot in the summer; Long Valley, the volcanic caldera that gathers Mammoth Lake's stream waters into the Owens River and sends them south; the Mono Lake Basin, as unique a place as you will ever see on this earth; and Bridgeport Valley, green and lush.

What makes them so individually different?

Were it not for the "Mammoth gap" -- the low places on either side of Mammoth Mountain that allow Pacific storms to funnel through the Sierra barrier -- the Jeffrey pine forest between Long Valley and the Mono Basin would be sagebrush scrub. These trees coincide with more moisture, and abrupt edges to this forest signal equally abrupt changes in water availability and soil character.

At 200 square miles, this is the largest Jeffrey pine forest in the world. Most is a pure stand, just one tree species; though, here and there around the edges, Lodgepole pines appear. And where surface water is abundant, groves of yellow aspen punctuate the autumn scene. But the special character of this Jeffrey forest is its uniformity.

Most of it has been logged, beginning in the late 1800s. This was the wood supply for 19th century mining towns like Bodie, dependent on wood fires to power steam mills and heat buildings.

The road to Bald Mountain goes into the heart of this forest, toward the "Piuga" (pronounced "pee-ah-gi") Site. The site protects several acres of old-growth trees; around their bases you can still see circular trenches dug by the Kuzedika Paiutes to trap a prized food, caterpillars.

Pandora moths lay eggs in Jeffrey pines. Mature caterpillars crawl down to burrow in the soil and become pupae. Moths with four-inch wing spans complete the two-year cycle when they emerge from those cocoons to mate.

The moths' last major outbreak occurred between 1979-1981. Even if the Pandora moth caterpillars are not "in action" when you visit, the old-growth trees are worth the trip, to get a hint of the original forest character.

The drive north, emerging along Hwy 120, will help you grasp the scale of our Jeffrey forest. Turning west brings you to a striking vista point and an overview that explains much about the Mono Lake Basin.

At your back are the Jeffrey forest and the young, dormant Mono Craters -- higher land, in the path of wetter weather systems from the Mammoth gap. To the west is the snowy Sierra escarpment, with summits over 14,000 feet. North and east are ancient volcanic formations, the Bodie Hills, Anchorite Mountains and Adobe Hills.

Below is Mono Lake, an inland sea covering 60 square miles. This elevated vista gives a good feel for the vast expanse of water. Look at any map or, better yet, find one of those satellite photos from 500 miles out in space. Lake Tahoe and Mono Lake dwarf other natural lakes in California. Mono County's freshwater lakes, where people spend so much time, are tiny by comparison.

That very size is important to an understanding of Mono Lake. Because when you walk along its shore, close enough to see life in the briny water, the numbers of shrimp and flies and birds becomes hard to grasp.

Remember the scale of this place when you see the water teeming with tiny shrimp, and hear that the lake produces some 6 million pounds of them each summer -- about 4,000,000,000,000 (4 trillion) shrimp.

They become essential food for about 100 species of birds. Between 800,000 and 1 million eared grebes alone will feed on the lake through the autumn months.

How did Mono Lake get this way? Why is it so incredibly alive, producing far more biomass than most of those relatively lifeless, freshwater lakes?

A good place to seek those answers, and the best place for first-time visits to Mono Lake, is the South Tufa Area. Walk down to the shore, passing through the strange forest of rock towers. Feel the lake water; rub it between your fingers. Taste its saltiness.

This odd, harsh water holds the answers to most Mono Lake questions. A recipe for duplicating Mono Lake, using familiar household items, would include table salt (chloride), baking soda (carbonate) and epsom salts (sulfate), with the big emphasis on baking soda. This is a soapy solution, 1,000 times more alkaline than fresh water and nearly three times as salty as the ocean.

This unusual chemical mix means Mono Lake is uninhabitable for fish. Uninhabitable for most aquatic creatures, for that matter.

But within this mineral mix enormous amounts of algae and diatoms are produced, food for brine shrimp and alkali flies, which in turn feed so many birds. Few species have adapted to this harsh water, but those few make it one of Earth's more life-productive lake ecosystems.

Water chemistry also explains the tufa towers, the signature visual image for this famous lake. Where springs emerge from the lake bottom, calcium in the fresh spring water reacts with the lake's carbonates to form tufa precipitates.

After crouching to feel and taste the water, stand and look west, toward the surrounding mountains. Because the explanation for Mono Lake's water takes you back to the high country once again.

This basin, unlike Long Valley, has no outlet. Mono Lake slowly accumulates minerals that are washed in by the freshwater streams which feed it. Now and then large lump sums were added to that savings account of minerals when neighborhood volcanoes deposited their ash into the lake.

Lake sediment cores show that Mono Lake was here before the Long Valley eruption occurred 780,000 years ago. The Mono Basin probably began to accumulate water between 2 million and 3 million years ago. That makes Mono the second-oldest lake in North America (Lake Tahoe is 4 million years old).

The long battle to stabilize the lake, to stop a half century of stream diversions to Los Angeles, produced a workable plan finally in 1994. If Mono were freshwater, halving its volume would not have been such a threat to its unique life; it would not have doubled its salinity and threatened to turn this living lake into a dead sea.

Mono Lake's unusual water was the essence of that human battle. Always, water is the answer to our questions about this eastside basin.

So move back uphill again, reversing the direction that the waters flow. The lowest point in the Sierra crest to your west is Mono Pass, just south of Mt. Gibbs. You can take a side-trip on dirt roads that cross Parker and Walker Creeks at the base of the hills. Or better yet, hike a ways up Bloody Canyon, past Walker Lake, toward the pass itself.

This was the preferred trans-Sierra route in days of foot and horse travel, before the Tioga Pass road was built. The Kuzedika crossed here for summer trading trips to Yosemite. And John Muir used it, too, traveling out of the mountains along Walker Creek. He wrote:

"[The creek] glides quietly through ancient moraines and reaches of ashy sage-plain enticing us lovingly on through gentian meadows and groves of rustling aspen to Lake Mono, where, spirit-like, our happy stream vanishes in vapor, and floats free again in the sky.

"there was a field of wild rye, growing in magnificent waving branches six to eight feet high, bearing heads from six to 12 inches long. Indian women were gathering it in baskets, bending down large handfuls, beating it out and fanning it in the wind. They were quite picturesque, coming through the rye with splendid tufts arching above their heads"

It has become difficult to find such rye fields, and it is worth watching for them. Most areas that they once dominated have been transformed. Sheep and cattle, like us, prefer some foods over others. Grasses are sought out, but sagebrush has chemicals that interfere with digestion and is avoided. So sagebrush came to dominate the landscape.

This day's trip finishes with a hike up Lundy Canyon, Mill Creek, back up to flower fields and the coolness of high country snowfields, melting to feed Mono Lake. Waterfalls, late-season flower gardens and groves of fall color beneath looming peaks complete the trip in a wonderful way.

I know of no better flower gardens than those at the top of Lundy falls, even into late summer. And the early-autumn color of the aspen groves is always spectacular.

The Mono Lake Basin and Long Valley have differences. What they share is the Sierra crest, the downhill flow of melting snow, green riparian corridors, and the Great Basin desert out east, in the rain shadow of the mountains.

Mammoth Lakes, Long Valley, the Jeffrey forest and the Mono Lake Basin are "the Right Side of California."