After a hectic fall, quiet sounded good. Tahoe in the summer and winter is not quiet. It's downright crowded, apparently. But in the off season, it's quiet.
Finding a Spot to Squat
Tahoe has 72 miles of shoreline, with 2/3 in California and the rest in Nevada. Each part of the lake is a little different, and all of it is under 2 hours' drive from Reno.
I knew nothing about the area (except that "Tahoe's so beautiful; Tahoe's so beautiful!"), and few East Coasters venture there, which meant there were few friends in Charlotte to consult about where to stay, eat, etc. Luckily, we have the Internets! And Borders coupons, which made a copy of the Moon Handbook on Tahoe obscenely cheap. (Looks like a good deal on Amazon, too.)
The first task was to play Goldilocks with three areas around the lake: the northeastern shore, in Nevada, is full of resorts and golf courses. South Lake Tahoe has a Harrah's. But Tahoe City, in the northwest, looked juuuust right. Locally owned businesses, small inns, and Google Maps confirmed a health food store, bars, restaurants, easy access to great hikes and a neat-looking kayak rental place.
Googling "Tahoe City" led to GoTahoeNorth.com, with a link to a lodging "cool deals" page that squared up decision #2: Granlibakken, a family-owned resort in Tahoe City, advertised $99 midweek room specials with free breakfast. Plus, their website says granlibakken is Norwegian for "hill sheltered by trees," which sounded, yes, quiet.
Their website boasts a ski hut with sauna, heated pool, vikings running around, a crazy sled hill...
Sled hill at Granlibakken from above, on the trail to Page Meadows....but this is what the sled hill looked like in early November. Tahoe receives hundreds of inches of snow in the winter. But the only place sporting a few crunchy patches of snow on this trip was Mount Rose at 8,000+ feet, an altitude at which they say all precipitation will be snow. Tahoe City sits at 6,200'. Sled season was at least a month off.
There were also no vikings running around, and if you're interested in the pool or hot tub, call ahead to see if those amenities are open. Take nothing for granted in Tahoe's off season. It's like Italy's ferie d'agosto. Even a few Tahoe City restaurants and shops were shuttered through the month of November.
The only vikings at Granlibakken in the off season were made of trees.Granlibakken doesn't include lake access like another tempting lodging choice, Cottage Inn, which has excellent reviews on TravelAdvisor.com. However, Cottage Inn is right on Highway 89, and that promised to be less quiet than a hill sheltered by trees. Plus, Travel Advisor reviewers are nice enough to Granlibakken.
Remind me to go put a positive review up, by the way: it will say that breakfast was good, staff was very nice, and the room was clean, though it was noisy when there were neighbors.
Noisy in the way that I knew exactly what my neighbor thought of her coworkers because every word of her treacherous cell phone conversation, conducted on speaker phone with a female friend, was audible through the adjoining door. I stuffed a towel into the gaping crack below the door to lower the TMI factor. It sort of worked.
Besides having to listen to personal conversations through terrycloth, this hill shaded by trees is a nice place. Convenient nature trails loop the property, and it's centrally located. Had I not traveled with a stash of gluten-free snacks and dye-free gummi-style chewy bears, the health food store was within walking distance. Everything in Tahoe City (restaurants, shops, public beach and much more) was under 5 minutes' drive away and would have been an easy bike ride from Granlibakken, which rents bikes.
Granlibakken resident with a prize. Tis the season for squirrels to hoard; these guys were fanatical about pine cones and were burying them all over the resort property. They yell if you get too close to their cones. Getting There, or, Pitstop at a Naked Hot Spring
Rumor had it one might score a shuttle from Reno to Granlibakken for $90, but with so much to see around the lake, personal transportation is a necessity. Tuesday morning, I claimed my steed for the week at Enterprise Rent-A-Car and struck out toward the mountains. There are plenty of attractions along the drive: old mining towns, casinos, vistas and hikes off Mount Rose. I opted to spend the afternoon at a hot spring.
Sierra Hot Springs in Sierraville, CA, is convenient to both Reno and Tahoe City. The website makes the springs sound serene and, of course, quiet. Alcohol and pets aren't allowed, not even in your car. Cell phones are verboten at the springs. The website mentions that this is a "clothing optional" location, which isn't surprising; many hot springs have the odd topless lady person wandering around.
Still, most visitors to the springs I've been to do opt for clothing, as clothing is, after all, an option.
Then again, so is nudity. It turns out most people were opting for the latter at this facility.
The middle of nowhere is a great spot for a nakie hot springs.My first indicator that this spot was more nude than not was the co-ed dressing room. A man in tightie whities stood in front of a wall of cubbyholes trying to find his sleeves as his lady friend sat on a bench tying her shoes. I ducked into a shower room to find clue #2: no hook or shelf for hanging clothing.
I jury-rigged a makeshift clothing hook on a shower curtain rung, did a perfunctory pre-springs rinse, and ventured back out to stow my bag in a cubby hole no longer guarded by a man in briefs. I stepped out into the sulfur-steamy, eastern California mountain air and, bam, 10 naked people.
Back up. The first-first indicator might have been a funny look from the Jerry Garcia look-alike at the registration desk. Like, "You're in for a treat. You should see the last 10 people who checked in."
I jury-rigged a makeshift clothing hook on a shower curtain rung, did a perfunctory pre-springs rinse, and ventured back out to stow my bag in a cubby hole no longer guarded by a man in briefs. I stepped out into the sulfur-steamy, eastern California mountain air and, bam, 10 naked people.
Back up. The first-first indicator might have been a funny look from the Jerry Garcia look-alike at the registration desk. Like, "You're in for a treat. You should see the last 10 people who checked in."
Here's the thing. Garmy (more formally "Garmin") played a trick on the trip from Reno to Sierraville. It mapped a route through the Toiyabe National Forest on a fire access road that was like a one-lane rock pile for 20 miles. I didn't see another car for over an hour and was thankful to have purchased that crazy rental insurance every time a metallic whomp resonated from the bottom of the car as it skirted over a particularly large rock.
As each turned corner revealed another stretch of single-lane dirt track, I began to wonder if eastern California was all no-man's land and if an SUV rental would have been a wiser choice; I was rock climbing in a Hyundai Accent. My heretofore undetected, or un-admitted, addiction to Garmy meant I hadn't packed a paper map, so I just kept going forward, listening to Garmy ("in .5 miles, turn right on pile of dirt"). Later that evening, a paper a map showed that the "highways" Garmy had routed were dotted lines. Said paper map found a home in the Accent console.
Seriously, not one car for over an hour. It was as if a bomb or zombie virus had eradicated everyone but me and chipmunks.
One of the smoother stretches of the "highway" to Sierraville. No one here but me and the 'munks.Strange: this beautiful place was animal-less besides the chipmunk horde and a few birds. Not one turtle or elk. Chipmunks run amok. The best is when they scamper across the road holding their tails straight up. It looks hilarious. They're so serious.
After thrashing an Accent, dodging chipmunk herds, and paying $20 for registration and a 3-hour soaking pass, I was taking a dip in a hot spring, nudists or no, with their dirty looks at me for overdressing in a bikini. The disdain in their eyes made me feel as if I'd worn jeans to a black tie event or a Star Trek costume to a Renaissance faire.It turns out the key phrase to watch out for on a hot springs website is "body acceptance." Who knew? I do, now, and now so do you. Enjoy! Also know before you go...
- The 3-hour pass turned out to be a parking pass granting the privilege of parking on the property while hiking to the main springs, the one with the geodesic dome. Those who require handicapped access can drive all the way up the road and park next to the dome (adjacent to the co-ed dressing room hut), but otherwise, it's a quick, 2/3-mile-ish, uphill hike.
Look very closely at the center of this photo to see the geodesic dome containing the hottest natural spring and two frigid, refreshing plunge pools at Sierra Hot Springs.- They may not be adamant about alcohol and cell phone rules just to preserve quietude. The bottom of the health waiver noted that the facility is run by the New Age Church of Being. That's so California. NACOB draws beliefs from the Human Potential Movement, started in California in the 60s. Each of us is part of the whole. Don't come here stressed out because you could queer the vibe, yo.
- Sierra Hot Springs also has cabin and camping accommodations, which weren't visible from the main springs area, and a small cafe in the main registration house that may make up 1/5 of the food vendors in the tiny town of Sierraville.
I was traveling with that stash of gluten-free goodies, so I skipped the cafe and plugged "725 Granlibakken Road" into Garmy. The trip from Sierraville to Tahoe city was an hour and a half and fully paved.
A Tale of Three Dinners
The Accent puttered up Granlibakken Road at dusk. I may have been the sole guest at the resort that first night. Dragging my suitcase down a deserted hotel hallway, I stopped to shake a fist at Stanley Kubrick for all those chilling visuals he created for The Shining. But, quiet accomplished, and tromping up the stairs to my room, I figured all that quiet would make for a good night's sleep, as long as no twins in pigtails or kids on Big Wheels came whizzing by.
I settled in and headed to town for dinner. Tahoe City has plenty of restaurants and proved to be a good place to stock up on perishables, too, with a Safeway, Save Mart and other shops, including that health food store at Granlibakken Road and Highway 89 (which I never had a chance to pop in to, but the concept of it being there is nice).
I had three nights around Lake Tahoe, tried a different restaurant each evening and would recommend all three. That might be due to uncanny restaurant luck this autumn, but each place did a great job.
Jake's on the Lake
This American-grill-crossed-with-fancy-steakhouse has a stellar view of the lake, which I didn't see because it was after dark, and dark there was pitch dark because of a lack of light pollution. So, no view, but food was great and service impeccable, possibly because, as a girl traveling alone, I inspired pity. They even undimmed the lights so I could pore through the New Yorker more easily :)
I ordered what looked like the only two gluten-free items on the menu: basil-and-prosciutto-wrapped shrimp and a salad of greens with apples, goat cheese, candied walnuts, and housemade vinaigrette. The wine list was reasonable and tasty.
This is where I learned that "gluten-free" has not hit the streets of everywhere yet. Waitstaff was unsure about "what a gluten is," and when asked about hard cider, servers squinted. The only cider in the beer aisle at the Safeway was Hornsby's.
I hadn't taken an extended vacation since going completely gluten free this past year, and it was an eyeopener how spoiled celiacs are in Charlotte with all the options here.
North Shore Hawaiian Grill
Back at Granlibakken, front-desk girl's eyes lit up when she recommended this Hawaiian BBQ joint. I tried it on night #2, fresh from a long day of hiking in altitudes to which I am unaccustomed. Read: famished. I could have eaten two cows with a whole-chicken garnish.
They serve their menu to-go, but since I was being antisocial enough on this trip, I plopped down at a little table in their brightly painted room at the back of a bar called Pete N Peters. I alternated talking to the server, a laid-back Tahoer, and antisocially researching the next day's hikes in the Moon Handbook. The owner was celebrating his birthday. He kept calling out over Marvin Gaye and Isley Brothers songs for me to come dance with him and his wife. I declined the dance card but gave him a hug on the way out.
Portions were generous. Food was fresh and flavors were unique and outstanding, with the right touch of garlic or onion and/or some kind of spice you didn't expect in the marinade. I ducked out of there with leftovers equaling half of the portion they call a "Regular." Happy.
The Naked Fish
South Tahoe has 3 or 4 sushi places, but Moon and a few South Tahoeans confirmed that this one is the best. It's on the main drag near the Nevada line, maybe a half-mile south of Harrah's.
They're serious about their sushi and are quick to remind you that San Francisco is 4 hours away, so shipments of fresh seafood arrive in South Tahoe every day. And when they say "fresh" here, they mean that.
The sushi chefs were summerized snowboarders, itchy for the snowfall next month but skilled with the shari and seaweed. I happened to fall into a bar seat at happy hour (4-6 p.m.), so it was a teeny bill for a few rolls and a big, hot sake. Hand rolls and simple "long" rolls, like a Philly roll or spicy tuna roll, were under $4, and nigiri was under $5.
A specials board announced the day's deliveries of specialty fish, the names of most of which went straight over my East Coast head. Staring pie-eyed at the specials board, it felt like I was having a real Californian sushi experience.
First a naked hot springs associated with the Human Potential Movement, and now this! Whoo hoo, California!
Hiking Day 1: Bliss
But I didn't come here [just] to eat. I came to hike, kayak, bike and ride a horse through the mountains. Except we all now know that Tahoe + off season = quiet, so rental opportunities are limited. A bike was easiest to score, followed by a kayak and then a horse.
I saw one stables open, near South Tahoe/Mount Tallac Historical Site, on Friday morning. Likely, if there are bikes, kayaks, parasails or equestrian adventures to be had in the off season, it will be over the weekend. Friday was the day I was driving around the lake on the way back to Reno to catch the redeye. There was some extra time to play with, but I passed on the horsie experience because it would've been rude to ride horses and then board a tight flight without a shower first.
(Or so I thought. As it turned out, if my seatmate on that redeye had doused himself in eau de stables, it would have effected a marked improvement in his personal aroma.)
Kayak-wise, a guy at the outdoors shop on Tahoe City's main drag said Tahoe City Kayak might offer a boat to paddle around on, and Tahoe City Kayak's website doesn't say that they close for the winter. But once I started hiking, it was obvious that three full days wouldn't be enough time to cover even a fraction of the hiking I wanted to do.
The first morning at breakfast, Granlibakken Chef Ron Eber, who had free time while serving a breakfast crowd of me, lingered to chat about gluten and area hiking. We talked about how the gluten-free thing hadn't reached this area yet. Chef Ron said he was seeing the issue a lot more with guests, though, and that he keeps a loaf of GF bread in the freezer and occasionally picks up flours at the health food store to make cookies and soups for special-needs guests. That's cool. GF people don't usually get to have bread and cookies on trips.
Chef Ron echoed the Moon Handbook that D.L. Bliss State Park, 17 miles south of Tahoe City on Highway 89, would be a great first hike. The views are said to be breathtaking, and the trails fit into a formula that factored time of sunset minus start time with trail mileage, along with the speed I thought I could hike on the first day at 7,000'. It's 6,250' higher than Charlotte, so it stood to reason I'd move more slowly than normal.
Then, the hike began, and the formula went out the window for 2 reasons:
A) Off-season issues are in play again. Moon calculates mileage from the trailhead, but D.L. Bliss was gated at the top parking lot. This adds 1-2 miles to any trailhead in the park because you have to hike in first from Highway 89.
B) I was wrong about how fast I could hike at that elevation. Moon says it helps to sleep overnight at the altitude where you'll be hiking, and Kubrick nightmares or no, Granlibakken provided a good night's sleep. It also didn't hurt to spend three days before that in Reno, at 4,500 feet. When I hit the trail that morning, I was moving much faster than expected.
And then again, once the beauty of this place started to sink in, I didn't want to move fast. For reference, I started on the Lighthouse Loop trail and stumbled onto the Rubicon Trail; the trails mingle near the lighthouse (though the lighthouse is so hidden that it's easy to miss). One can pause for ages over the vistas in this park. Even simple textures of the trail are enchanting--polymorphous shingles of red bark on a massive tree, frilly silver lichens, the profile of dead branches against the sky, faces in the crags on the rocks...
...spots where the earth was still smoking from a controlled burn, a particularly sneaky bird or trembling chipmunk hovering over my lunch of aged cheese and hard cider on top of a boulder high above the water.
A brilliant blue Steller's Jay was my lunch date, along with a bold, crumb-hungry chipmunk who, like the rest of his trembling bretheren, was too quick for the camera (hence the silly chipmunk sketch above).
Lunch date contemplates my hard cider.
Lunch date flies away. Probably making a loop for a better view of dessert: all-natural, gelatin- and dye-free, gummi-style bears. Mm.
View over Rubicon Bay at lunch with new trail shoes from Scheels in Reno, since I somehow outgrew my other trailrunners over the past year, which I didn't realize until trying to cram my feet in them at the gym in Reno.
Rubicon Lighthouse hidden in the trees around the corner from the lunch boulder. Built in 1919 at the highest elevation of any lighthouse in the world...abandoned in 1921 because it was so high above the water that it confused mariners. Restored in 2001, it's still basically a shack tottering on a cliff. Blink/miss it.
Clouds! The color blue! The crispness of the air. And at the beach: ridges on driftwood, coarse sand, crystal-clear water.
After lunch, the trail wound down to Rubicon Bay. This is a gentle trip (though they do advise to be "bear aware"). Elevation change is only 500-ish feet.
In the summer, this beach must be slammed. Signs bark at visitors about where to park and warn us not to smoke, start campfires or bring pets on the beach. Sort of funny because at this point, there didn't appear to be another soul for miles. I stayed 30 or 45 minutes, leaning on my backpack in the sand. It was so beautiful it actually hurt to leave. It hurt somewhere in my ribs.
Rubicon Point
Driftwood on the beach.
Moon mentions an interesting natural feature on the other side of the park called Balancing Rock, so from the beach at Rubicon Point, I hiked, bear aware, uphill through a ghost town of campgrounds shut off from visitors by the gate at Highway 89.
Balancing Rock is a 130-ton boulder that sits atop what looks like a pedestal made of another boulder. Nobody actually balanced one rock on the other. The area between the top and bottom of the rock has fallen victim of erosion. It should be safe to take pictures next to the rock for the next 20,000 years or so, when the top part of the boulder might finally roll off its base. If you're inside the park already, it's worth the quick schlep down and up the concrete road that runs past the forestry huts to the trailhead. Usually you'd drive this distance, but again, the car was parked 2 miles up at the gate.
It looked like people were also parking on the side of Highway 89 a quarter mile north of the D.L. Bliss entrance to reach the Balancing Rock area, maybe to mountain bike.
If you have a hankering for boulders, this is a good place to visit. Above a road flanked by 10' snow-marking poles and pockmarked by winter weather, one man photographed another leaping from boulder to boulder. That would make a great album cover.
The rock-jumping men comprised 2 of the 9 people I saw inside this massive park: 1 solitary hiking guy + 3 hiking couples (including Jay and Nancy, a couple in their 60s from Sonoma by way of Raleigh, NC. Nancy actually worked in Asheboro at the NC Zoo for a time) + 1 self-satisfied mixed-breed dog wearing a giant saddle pack who wanted to make friends.
Self-satisfied mixed-breed dog trying to round me up to catch up with his owners.
Here's the Balancing Rock. For scale, I'm the small, vertical line in the bottom-right portion of the pedestal.
Balancing Rock, still in D.L. Bliss. This park has everything!
All told, I spent 4 1/2 hours in D.L. Bliss State Park and left feeling tired, refreshed, and invigorated.
What victory looks like: returning to the Accent at the entrance to D.L. Bliss after the first day of spectacular hiking at 7,000'.
It was time for a real meal, but Emerald Bay looked nearby on the map, so I pointed the Accent south to see if it was reachable before dark. It was; the lake looks vast on a map but is quick to travel around without traffic. The entire western shore has zero traffic lights.
At this part of Highway 89, every curve in the road reveals a new and startling beauty, from sandy forests of yellow boulders to glimpses of the lake over the tips of towering evergreens. I actual laughed a few times at the beauty, in disbelief. When Highway 89 curved down to Emerald Bay, it took my breath away.
That was a trend: earlier, the lake took my breath away (for the first time I can remember in my life--it's a weird sensation) when the trees parted on Highway 89 and I saw the lake for the first time. This was the same lake hiding itself outside the windows of Jake's on the Lake last night? And everyone was eating and drinking right next to this lake without even talking about it? This sounds over-dramatic, but it was a relief not to spend another second of life without seeing this place.
Emerald Bay was the only crowded area on the western shore. It's also home to the "most photographed place in the West," Inspiration Point. Not sure if the superlative is accurate, but Inspiration Point is a visual treat. I would like to see it again and again.
You can't see it in the above picture, but rising 150' out of of Emerald Bay is Lake Tahoe's only island, Fannette Island.
Informative sign with subtle love graffiti.
Signs at the Inspiration Point parking area note that Emerald Bay almost wasn't part of Lake Tahoe. A volcano created the lake 2 million years ago, but glaciers have pecked at its shape since, nearly shutting off the entrance to Emerald Bay 10,000 years ago. The glaciers did cut off Lake Tahoe from Cascade Lake, a small lake around the corner from Inspiration Point, visible from the most stunning part of Highway 89.
That's saying a lot, the "most stunning part" of that highway, but south of Inspiration Point, the pavement tiptoes 200 feet along a ridge with nothing but an anemic buffer of little rocks and spindly plants to keep motorists from careening down the cliff on either side.
From that stretch, switchbacks take drivers down to lake level, through peeling-white-barked birch stands to the flat, yellow meadows at the base of Mount Tallac. The Mount Tallac Historical Site was my last stop before driving back north to Tahoe City at dark.
Moon says this is one of the few officially dog-friendly beaches on the lake. At least 4 people were walking the shore with unleashed retrievers. Tahoe has more well-mannered, off-leash labs and goldens than you might ever see anywhere else in the entire world. Installing a laid-back retriever in the front seat of your Bronco or Tacoma seems to be a requirement to live here.
From June-September at Mount Tallac Historical Site, guides show off a village of "estates" from the 1890s and recount the grandeur of a splendiferous resort that has been reduced to nothing but a clearing in the woods. I use scare-quotes around "estates" because they look like log cabins. Much progress was made before Isaias Hellman built the Ehrman Mansion a decade later, which I visited on Day 2...
Orange-ish sands of the beach at Mount Tallac Historic Site, a rare dog-friendly stretch of Tahoe beach.
Hiking Day 2: Rocks, Rolls and Brick Houses
Firstly, I added the word "Rolls" to this Day 2's heading because I had sushi for dinner. I didn't trip and roll down a hill or anything.
At breakfast the day before, Chef Ron was adamant that it was worthwhile to stop at Sugar Pine Point State Park to see the Ehrman Mansion. He said the house was already sealed for the winter but I could to peer over the cardboard in the windows for a glimpse of the opulence of old-Tahoe living.
Really, current Tahoe living is opulent enough. A drive along the western shore doubles as a tour of fabulous luxury homes. But after having breath taken away at Inspiration Point, I'd decided Emerald Bay would be the main event of Day 2. Sugar Pine Point is an easy pitstop, about 1/3 of the way from Tahoe City to Emerald Bay on Highway 89.
And again half of the way from Granlibakken to Sugar Pine Point, the very first stop of the day was for a 30-minute scamper up Eagle Rock. I'd read a blog about this being an inspirational place, an ancient plug of volcanic rock jutting up near Fleur du Lac (where Godfather II was filmed in 1974).
The view from porous, igneous Eagle Rock.
It was a quick, uphill hike for a few good views. I kind of thought Eagle Rock was prettier from the bottom than the top, but maybe I'm not into dusty volcanic rock. Road noise yelled up from Highway 89. The area is developed, so the landscape isn't nearly as pristine as at D.L. Bliss and many other parts of the shore. I did find my favorite rock here, though, a silky smooth, knuckle-sized basalt pebble that I dropped in my pocket and rubbed all day.
The Eagle Rock trailhead was poorly marked. Trusting that sunny, 60° weather wouldn't give way to massive snowfall, I parked in one of two pseudo-parking areas near the base of the rock (a clearing that a large orange sign said was reserved for giant snow drifts) hoping the trail started nearby. A laminated piece of 8 x 10 printer paper taped to a metal gate announced trail access for Eagle Rock. No formal signage marked the trail.
"I know it was you, Fredo. You broke my heart." The Corleone's house was supposed to be in Nevada, but Fleur du Lac is actually on the California side.
If you remember the movie, by the time the Corleones have this house, they are megamega-rich casino owners. Homes along the Tahoe shore are truly fancy and have been for over 100 years, as was evidenced by the day's next stop at Sugar Pine Point.
The Ehrman Mansion, also called "Pine Lodge," was a built as a summer home in 1901-2 for Isaias Hellman, a German man who immigrated in 1859. The house was built when Lake Tahoe had no roads, so its very creation is a feat. It's said to have exciting electrical and sewer innovations for its age. Tours are offered all summer, but the off season strikes again. All you can do in November is lurk around the grounds.
Ehrman Mansion at Sugar Pine Point, carefully sealed for the season against the snow. Peek through the windows under the plywood and cardboard for a view of grandiose, plastic-wrapped furnishings.
The home didn't look that huge from the outside, yet they say 30 staff accompanied the family when they visited 2 months out of the year.
Then there's the land it sits on, a long hill sloping gracefully to the water's edge; a lush, green lawn; the side buildings. The setting is at least as impressive as the house['s exterior].
"Pine Lodge," another moniker for the Ehrman Mansion.
What kind of person has this kind of land? And uses it 2 months a year? From SierraNevadaGeotourism.org:
"At the time of Hellman's death, he was President of Wells Fargo Bank, Chairman of the Board of Union Trust Company of San Francisco, Director of the United States National Bank of Portland, Director of Security Trust and Savings Bank of Los Angeles and President of the Farmers and Merchants National Bank of Los Angeles."
So Isaias was no slouch. Not sure what happened to the family post-Isaias or why they let it go. The mansion is called "Ehrman" because Hellman passed it to his youngest daughter, Florence Ehrman in 1920, but when Florence passed away in 1964, her daughter sold it to the State Park system. It would be hard to let go of a place that beautiful, although the taxes on 2,000 acres of Tahoe shore were likely as magnificent as the land.
Every time I was near the lakeshore, the blue water beckoned. I walked down the hill to the dock jutting over the water. A fellow named Steve was taking a moment from his bike ride to contemplate the water, too.
Steve is a carpenter. Originally from San Francisco but now a Tahoe "lifer." His story is similar to many people's there. He grew up visiting the lake with his family. Learned to ski at Homewood. Moved to Tahoe as soon as he turned 18 to hang out on the slopes. Never left. The economy means carpentry work isn't what it used to be, Steve said, but living is cheap after being there 20+ years. We sat on the dock for 30 minutes talking about fishing and life on the lake.
I did have a question so dumb I hadn't asked anyone yet: was Tahoe really this pretty? More specifically, was this Sierra Nevada landscape breathtaking to everyone, or had I just not taken a vacation in too long, so I was easy to please?
"Is anywhere else this pretty?"
"Yosemite," said Steve. "That's about it," he shrugged. "A lot of Yosemite looks like Tahoe."
Of course there are countless beautiful places in this land of purple mountain majesties, but there really is something about Tahoe.
If I had wanted to kayak or get more of an insider's view of lake culture, I could've hung with Steve for the afternoon. But Emerald Bay was calling, and, oh yeah, quiet and solitude, of which I couldn't seem to have enough, so we waved goodbye, and I headed down the road.
Ehrman dock with Steve the Carpenter (the speck at the end).
The Emerald Bay hike started with one more historical luxury home, Vikingsholm. Mrs. Knight, born in 1864 in Illinois (thank you, Vikingsholm.org), must have had family money and have come by more fortune through two marriages. Because somehow she had enough money to back the Christian Science Church, fund Lindbergh's Atlantic flight and own some of the most strikingly beautiful real estate in the nation.
I started at the Vikingsholm parking area overlooking Emerald Bay and Fannette Island off of Highway 89, one of the only places a hiking permit still appeared to be necessary at this time of year. Not sure if it was truly necessary, but $7 for a day's parking pass seemed reasonable after doing so much primo hiking for free. I stuffed cash into an envelope with my license plate number scribbled on it and headed down to the shore of Emerald Bay.
Fall color on the road to Vikingsholm.
In the late 1920s, divorced from her second husband, Lora Knight purchased the parcel of land on Emerald Bay for $250K. As the story goes, because the spot looked like a fjord and because she admired Scandinavian architecture, Mrs. Knight modeled her vacation home after Scandinavian homes and churches from 1000-1500 AD. Before construction began, she took an extensive journey around Finland, Denmark, Sweden and Norway for inspiration for her new summer home. Tough life.
The sod roof and carved wooden exterior of Vikingsholm.
Driftwood on the shore of Emerald Bay in front of Vikingsholm.
Thanks, Trish--in front of Fannette Island from the Rubicon Trail.
Dock off of Rubicon Trail. In the summer, this water would be jammed with boats. It's a boat camp, where you can sleep onboard or in a tent ashore.
But now, the water is quiet and glassy.
Day 3: Down, around and back to the Biggest Little Town
Friday morning, there was time for one more hike between breakfast and checkout. The nature trails winding around Granlibakken connect with a wide track that leads to Page Meadows. I hiked 40 minutes in, 30 of which were uphill, but the meadows were still probably 10 minutes away when I had to turn back. As it was, I barely made it back to shower and check out on the dot of 11 a.m. Once again, the Accent pointed south. Today, I wanted to make another stop at Inspiration Point and see the Nevada side/eastern shore of Lake Tahoe.
Cave Rock, Crystal Bay, Incline Village and Mount Rose were on the list of places to see. This map looks like it was a long drive, but it is at most 2 1/2 hours, which stretched out to more thanks to stops for picnicking, climbing on rocks and snapping pictures.
Circuitous route around the lake on the way back to Reno.
Crystal Bay
The pinnacle of the day's excitement--this wasn't an extremely exciting day--was near the top of Mount Rose. A few miles after the highway curves out of Incline Village and up Mount Rose, Tahoe Meadows stretches out next to the road. It's beautiful. I swerved into the parking area and hopped out.
A blast of frigid wind whooshed by, and I trotted to the passenger side to dig winter clothing out of my pack. Mummified in hat, sweatshirt and jacket, I locked and shut the passenger-side door (all the locks on the Accent were manual). And gasped as I patted my left hip compulsively to find that, instead of bulging from my pocket, the keys were swinging from the ignition.
Heart pounding, I trotted on shaky knees back around to pull the driver's side door handle, which I was in a habit of locking automatically. I was sure I had landed myself in deep trouble, here on top of the mountain where it might be a long wait for roadside assistance.
Somehow, the driver's side door was unlocked. Still not sure how that one worked out. I shook for 10 minutes , both from the adrenaline and the wind. At 8,000+ feet, Mount Rose felt 20 degrees cooler than lake level. There wasn't time for a longer hike, so Tahoe Meadows was a quick meander along a system of boardwalks.
Tahoe Meadows
This is what happened to the last person who locked keys in their car on Mount Rose.
That cool Tahoe sky over Mount Rose.
The highest point of the trip, but only physically. The whole trip was a high point!
...spots where the earth was still smoking from a controlled burn, a particularly sneaky bird or trembling chipmunk hovering over my lunch of aged cheese and hard cider on top of a boulder high above the water.
A brilliant blue Steller's Jay was my lunch date, along with a bold, crumb-hungry chipmunk who, like the rest of his trembling bretheren, was too quick for the camera (hence the silly chipmunk sketch above).
Lunch date contemplates my hard cider.
Lunch date flies away. Probably making a loop for a better view of dessert: all-natural, gelatin- and dye-free, gummi-style bears. Mm.
View over Rubicon Bay at lunch with new trail shoes from Scheels in Reno, since I somehow outgrew my other trailrunners over the past year, which I didn't realize until trying to cram my feet in them at the gym in Reno.
Rubicon Lighthouse hidden in the trees around the corner from the lunch boulder. Built in 1919 at the highest elevation of any lighthouse in the world...abandoned in 1921 because it was so high above the water that it confused mariners. Restored in 2001, it's still basically a shack tottering on a cliff. Blink/miss it.
Clouds! The color blue! The crispness of the air. And at the beach: ridges on driftwood, coarse sand, crystal-clear water.After lunch, the trail wound down to Rubicon Bay. This is a gentle trip (though they do advise to be "bear aware"). Elevation change is only 500-ish feet.
In the summer, this beach must be slammed. Signs bark at visitors about where to park and warn us not to smoke, start campfires or bring pets on the beach. Sort of funny because at this point, there didn't appear to be another soul for miles. I stayed 30 or 45 minutes, leaning on my backpack in the sand. It was so beautiful it actually hurt to leave. It hurt somewhere in my ribs.
Rubicon Point
Driftwood on the beach.Balancing Rock is a 130-ton boulder that sits atop what looks like a pedestal made of another boulder. Nobody actually balanced one rock on the other. The area between the top and bottom of the rock has fallen victim of erosion. It should be safe to take pictures next to the rock for the next 20,000 years or so, when the top part of the boulder might finally roll off its base. If you're inside the park already, it's worth the quick schlep down and up the concrete road that runs past the forestry huts to the trailhead. Usually you'd drive this distance, but again, the car was parked 2 miles up at the gate.
It looked like people were also parking on the side of Highway 89 a quarter mile north of the D.L. Bliss entrance to reach the Balancing Rock area, maybe to mountain bike.
If you have a hankering for boulders, this is a good place to visit. Above a road flanked by 10' snow-marking poles and pockmarked by winter weather, one man photographed another leaping from boulder to boulder. That would make a great album cover.
The rock-jumping men comprised 2 of the 9 people I saw inside this massive park: 1 solitary hiking guy + 3 hiking couples (including Jay and Nancy, a couple in their 60s from Sonoma by way of Raleigh, NC. Nancy actually worked in Asheboro at the NC Zoo for a time) + 1 self-satisfied mixed-breed dog wearing a giant saddle pack who wanted to make friends.
Self-satisfied mixed-breed dog trying to round me up to catch up with his owners.
Balancing Rock, still in D.L. Bliss. This park has everything!All told, I spent 4 1/2 hours in D.L. Bliss State Park and left feeling tired, refreshed, and invigorated.
What victory looks like: returning to the Accent at the entrance to D.L. Bliss after the first day of spectacular hiking at 7,000'.It was time for a real meal, but Emerald Bay looked nearby on the map, so I pointed the Accent south to see if it was reachable before dark. It was; the lake looks vast on a map but is quick to travel around without traffic. The entire western shore has zero traffic lights.
At this part of Highway 89, every curve in the road reveals a new and startling beauty, from sandy forests of yellow boulders to glimpses of the lake over the tips of towering evergreens. I actual laughed a few times at the beauty, in disbelief. When Highway 89 curved down to Emerald Bay, it took my breath away.
That was a trend: earlier, the lake took my breath away (for the first time I can remember in my life--it's a weird sensation) when the trees parted on Highway 89 and I saw the lake for the first time. This was the same lake hiding itself outside the windows of Jake's on the Lake last night? And everyone was eating and drinking right next to this lake without even talking about it? This sounds over-dramatic, but it was a relief not to spend another second of life without seeing this place.
Emerald Bay was the only crowded area on the western shore. It's also home to the "most photographed place in the West," Inspiration Point. Not sure if the superlative is accurate, but Inspiration Point is a visual treat. I would like to see it again and again.
You can't see it in the above picture, but rising 150' out of of Emerald Bay is Lake Tahoe's only island, Fannette Island.
Informative sign with subtle love graffiti.That's saying a lot, the "most stunning part" of that highway, but south of Inspiration Point, the pavement tiptoes 200 feet along a ridge with nothing but an anemic buffer of little rocks and spindly plants to keep motorists from careening down the cliff on either side.
Moon says this is one of the few officially dog-friendly beaches on the lake. At least 4 people were walking the shore with unleashed retrievers. Tahoe has more well-mannered, off-leash labs and goldens than you might ever see anywhere else in the entire world. Installing a laid-back retriever in the front seat of your Bronco or Tacoma seems to be a requirement to live here.
From June-September at Mount Tallac Historical Site, guides show off a village of "estates" from the 1890s and recount the grandeur of a splendiferous resort that has been reduced to nothing but a clearing in the woods. I use scare-quotes around "estates" because they look like log cabins. Much progress was made before Isaias Hellman built the Ehrman Mansion a decade later, which I visited on Day 2...
Orange-ish sands of the beach at Mount Tallac Historic Site, a rare dog-friendly stretch of Tahoe beach.Hiking Day 2: Rocks, Rolls and Brick Houses
Firstly, I added the word "Rolls" to this Day 2's heading because I had sushi for dinner. I didn't trip and roll down a hill or anything.
At breakfast the day before, Chef Ron was adamant that it was worthwhile to stop at Sugar Pine Point State Park to see the Ehrman Mansion. He said the house was already sealed for the winter but I could to peer over the cardboard in the windows for a glimpse of the opulence of old-Tahoe living.
Really, current Tahoe living is opulent enough. A drive along the western shore doubles as a tour of fabulous luxury homes. But after having breath taken away at Inspiration Point, I'd decided Emerald Bay would be the main event of Day 2. Sugar Pine Point is an easy pitstop, about 1/3 of the way from Tahoe City to Emerald Bay on Highway 89.
And again half of the way from Granlibakken to Sugar Pine Point, the very first stop of the day was for a 30-minute scamper up Eagle Rock. I'd read a blog about this being an inspirational place, an ancient plug of volcanic rock jutting up near Fleur du Lac (where Godfather II was filmed in 1974).
The view from porous, igneous Eagle Rock.The Eagle Rock trailhead was poorly marked. Trusting that sunny, 60° weather wouldn't give way to massive snowfall, I parked in one of two pseudo-parking areas near the base of the rock (a clearing that a large orange sign said was reserved for giant snow drifts) hoping the trail started nearby. A laminated piece of 8 x 10 printer paper taped to a metal gate announced trail access for Eagle Rock. No formal signage marked the trail.
The other landmark that didn't offer ready access was Fleur du Lac, a minute south of the base of Eagle Rock. The boathouse is all that remains of what was in Godfather II. The rest of this disgustingly choice lakeside acreage has been turned into condos, the largest of which is 5,500 square feet and last sold for something like $4.25 million. I left the Accent running, parked akimbo in a clearing by the shore, squeezed through a fence and scaled a rock pile down to a private beach for this shot of the boathouse:
"I know it was you, Fredo. You broke my heart." The Corleone's house was supposed to be in Nevada, but Fleur du Lac is actually on the California side.The Ehrman Mansion, also called "Pine Lodge," was a built as a summer home in 1901-2 for Isaias Hellman, a German man who immigrated in 1859. The house was built when Lake Tahoe had no roads, so its very creation is a feat. It's said to have exciting electrical and sewer innovations for its age. Tours are offered all summer, but the off season strikes again. All you can do in November is lurk around the grounds.
Ehrman Mansion at Sugar Pine Point, carefully sealed for the season against the snow. Peek through the windows under the plywood and cardboard for a view of grandiose, plastic-wrapped furnishings.
The home didn't look that huge from the outside, yet they say 30 staff accompanied the family when they visited 2 months out of the year.Then there's the land it sits on, a long hill sloping gracefully to the water's edge; a lush, green lawn; the side buildings. The setting is at least as impressive as the house['s exterior].
"Pine Lodge," another moniker for the Ehrman Mansion."At the time of Hellman's death, he was President of Wells Fargo Bank, Chairman of the Board of Union Trust Company of San Francisco, Director of the United States National Bank of Portland, Director of Security Trust and Savings Bank of Los Angeles and President of the Farmers and Merchants National Bank of Los Angeles."
So Isaias was no slouch. Not sure what happened to the family post-Isaias or why they let it go. The mansion is called "Ehrman" because Hellman passed it to his youngest daughter, Florence Ehrman in 1920, but when Florence passed away in 1964, her daughter sold it to the State Park system. It would be hard to let go of a place that beautiful, although the taxes on 2,000 acres of Tahoe shore were likely as magnificent as the land.
Every time I was near the lakeshore, the blue water beckoned. I walked down the hill to the dock jutting over the water. A fellow named Steve was taking a moment from his bike ride to contemplate the water, too.
Steve is a carpenter. Originally from San Francisco but now a Tahoe "lifer." His story is similar to many people's there. He grew up visiting the lake with his family. Learned to ski at Homewood. Moved to Tahoe as soon as he turned 18 to hang out on the slopes. Never left. The economy means carpentry work isn't what it used to be, Steve said, but living is cheap after being there 20+ years. We sat on the dock for 30 minutes talking about fishing and life on the lake.
I did have a question so dumb I hadn't asked anyone yet: was Tahoe really this pretty? More specifically, was this Sierra Nevada landscape breathtaking to everyone, or had I just not taken a vacation in too long, so I was easy to please?
"Is anywhere else this pretty?"
"Yosemite," said Steve. "That's about it," he shrugged. "A lot of Yosemite looks like Tahoe."
Of course there are countless beautiful places in this land of purple mountain majesties, but there really is something about Tahoe.
If I had wanted to kayak or get more of an insider's view of lake culture, I could've hung with Steve for the afternoon. But Emerald Bay was calling, and, oh yeah, quiet and solitude, of which I couldn't seem to have enough, so we waved goodbye, and I headed down the road.
Ehrman dock with Steve the Carpenter (the speck at the end).The Emerald Bay hike started with one more historical luxury home, Vikingsholm. Mrs. Knight, born in 1864 in Illinois (thank you, Vikingsholm.org), must have had family money and have come by more fortune through two marriages. Because somehow she had enough money to back the Christian Science Church, fund Lindbergh's Atlantic flight and own some of the most strikingly beautiful real estate in the nation.
I started at the Vikingsholm parking area overlooking Emerald Bay and Fannette Island off of Highway 89, one of the only places a hiking permit still appeared to be necessary at this time of year. Not sure if it was truly necessary, but $7 for a day's parking pass seemed reasonable after doing so much primo hiking for free. I stuffed cash into an envelope with my license plate number scribbled on it and headed down to the shore of Emerald Bay.
Fall color on the road to Vikingsholm.
The sod roof and carved wooden exterior of Vikingsholm.
Driftwood on the shore of Emerald Bay in front of Vikingsholm.Mrs. Knight's land included Eagle Falls, the only falls that flow directly into Lake Tahoe, and Fannette Island, to which she added a tea house. She used the tea house once or twice a summer a summer with friends. Servants paddled them out to the island.
The water does look emerald green here!
Out of all the friendly, neat people whose orbits happened to touch mine this trip, Trish is the person whose contact information I wish I had. Her husband is a retired supreme court judge in Seattle. They've been married since youth. Trish took over my camera and snapped pictures with me in them to prove I'd been here. She was meticulous about setting up a shot and taking multiple images, which is nice when you have hikey hair or tilty hat or blink too much.
Lower Eagle Falls with a little hikey hair but great composition. Thank you for the photo, Trish, wherever you are!
At 66, she looked maybe early 50s and hiked faster than I did. She and her husband own a condo in South Tahoe. They drove with their adopted cat for an impromptu visit in the off season to enjoy the quiet and fall colors. Trish and I hiked back past Vikingsholm and north along the Rubicon Trail on the shore of Emerald Bay.
The water does look emerald green here!Vikingsholm, like the others, is open for tours in the summer but not in November. Another attraction I wasn't equipped to see was underwater: in 1994, Emerald Bay was designated an underwater State Park. Divers can check out old shipwrecks and sunken equipment from the building of Vikingsholm and from the construction of the resort that preceded Vikingsholm on the same land.
What is still open in November until the snow starts is...more hiking! Full of dye-free gummi-style chewy bears, I embarked on another leg of the Rubicon Trail, 1/3 mile uphill to Lower Eagle Falls. About a minute in, I went back down the trail to ask one of the rangers winterizing Vikingsholm about the string of yellow caution tape across the trailhead. He said it was non-serious: just a warning that rain had recently worn a trench in the trail and to watch the footing. I was secretly hoping he'd offer to show me the inside of Vikingsholm, but while he was super friendly like everyone around Tahoe, he was in a winterizing frenzy, so I didn't bug him. And back up the trail, past the caution tape, I ran into Trish, a slim woman in slinky black hiking gear, stretching her hamstring against the fence.
What is still open in November until the snow starts is...more hiking! Full of dye-free gummi-style chewy bears, I embarked on another leg of the Rubicon Trail, 1/3 mile uphill to Lower Eagle Falls. About a minute in, I went back down the trail to ask one of the rangers winterizing Vikingsholm about the string of yellow caution tape across the trailhead. He said it was non-serious: just a warning that rain had recently worn a trench in the trail and to watch the footing. I was secretly hoping he'd offer to show me the inside of Vikingsholm, but while he was super friendly like everyone around Tahoe, he was in a winterizing frenzy, so I didn't bug him. And back up the trail, past the caution tape, I ran into Trish, a slim woman in slinky black hiking gear, stretching her hamstring against the fence.
Out of all the friendly, neat people whose orbits happened to touch mine this trip, Trish is the person whose contact information I wish I had. Her husband is a retired supreme court judge in Seattle. They've been married since youth. Trish took over my camera and snapped pictures with me in them to prove I'd been here. She was meticulous about setting up a shot and taking multiple images, which is nice when you have hikey hair or tilty hat or blink too much.
Lower Eagle Falls with a little hikey hair but great composition. Thank you for the photo, Trish, wherever you are!
Thanks, Trish--in front of Fannette Island from the Rubicon Trail.
Dock off of Rubicon Trail. In the summer, this water would be jammed with boats. It's a boat camp, where you can sleep onboard or in a tent ashore.
But now, the water is quiet and glassy.Because of the morning on Eagle Rock and dawdling at Sugar Pine Point, sunset was a only few hours away. After an hour, Trish turned back to meet her ride on Highway 89 on the south side of the bay. She said the south part of the trail is a grueling uphill situation. It looked like it was 1,000 feet of elevation change.
As it was, the return to the Accent would be a 500-foot climb, dodging the grumpy tourists who wanted to see Vikingsholm up close but didn't realize that a trip down to the shore meant a trip back up to the parking area.
When Trish turned back, I had 30 minutes left to hike in before having to head back out and up. You can see the slanty afternoon sunlight in these pictures of the trail.
Another face in the rock.
For reference, if you keep walking north on the Rubicon Trail from Vikingsholm, you reach D.L. Bliss in 5 miles. Based on the few miles of the Rubicon I saw, that trip would be worth doing.
One of many California-sized trees around Vikingsholm.
As it was, the return to the Accent would be a 500-foot climb, dodging the grumpy tourists who wanted to see Vikingsholm up close but didn't realize that a trip down to the shore meant a trip back up to the parking area.
When Trish turned back, I had 30 minutes left to hike in before having to head back out and up. You can see the slanty afternoon sunlight in these pictures of the trail.
Another face in the rock.
For reference, if you keep walking north on the Rubicon Trail from Vikingsholm, you reach D.L. Bliss in 5 miles. Based on the few miles of the Rubicon I saw, that trip would be worth doing.
One of many California-sized trees around Vikingsholm.I beat the sunset by a wide margin and was back at the parking area leaned up against the Accent, deciding what to do with the rest of the daylight, when a deluxe cab F350 with Escambia County (Florida) tags pulled in. I called over:
"You drive that truck all the way from Florida?"
"Further, actually," the guy answered in an Australian accent. (Or British or South African or from New Zealand; I can never tell. But it turned out to be Australian.) He, his wife and 3 daughters were on a 12-month drive around the States. When they turn the truck back (along with the RV they hook to it), they'll go to Europe and do the same thing for a year. This begged the question,
"What's the most beautiful place you guys have seen so far?" A supplement to the inquiry to Steve the Carpenter about whether Tahoe is really as pretty as it is.
The wife answered "Santa Fe" without hesitating and added that Tahoe was a close 2nd.
Sidenote: all three daughters were supposedly still in the truck at this point, which means they chose hibernating behind the tinted windows over walking 20 steps to an overlook to see their mom's 2nd favorite spot in the country (and the "most photographed place in the West"), which may indicate that traveling for several years crammed in a car with your family isn't everyone's idea of a great time.
I wished them safe travels and turned south again, with plenty of light left to hoof it around the mile-long loop to Upper Eagle Falls.
The parking area for Upper Eagle Falls is a stone's throw south of the Vikingsholm parking area and is the genesis of numerous trails. Paper signs said hiking/parking fees were waived for the season, so I dropped the camera in my jacket pocket and headed quickly up the rocks toward the falls. Even though the waterfall is essentially in intermission (the falls are much more impressive in the spring during snowmelt), this area was charming and calming. I felt more content and at ease on the rocks around Upper Eagle Falls than in any other place around Tahoe, which is saying a lot. Maybe it was food deprivation or two days of hiking endorphins, but I loved this place.
This is when the sushi craving hit bigtime. The drive to Naked Fish in South Tahoe took 20 minutes.
"You drive that truck all the way from Florida?"
"Further, actually," the guy answered in an Australian accent. (Or British or South African or from New Zealand; I can never tell. But it turned out to be Australian.) He, his wife and 3 daughters were on a 12-month drive around the States. When they turn the truck back (along with the RV they hook to it), they'll go to Europe and do the same thing for a year. This begged the question,
"What's the most beautiful place you guys have seen so far?" A supplement to the inquiry to Steve the Carpenter about whether Tahoe is really as pretty as it is.
The wife answered "Santa Fe" without hesitating and added that Tahoe was a close 2nd.
Sidenote: all three daughters were supposedly still in the truck at this point, which means they chose hibernating behind the tinted windows over walking 20 steps to an overlook to see their mom's 2nd favorite spot in the country (and the "most photographed place in the West"), which may indicate that traveling for several years crammed in a car with your family isn't everyone's idea of a great time.
I wished them safe travels and turned south again, with plenty of light left to hoof it around the mile-long loop to Upper Eagle Falls.
The parking area for Upper Eagle Falls is a stone's throw south of the Vikingsholm parking area and is the genesis of numerous trails. Paper signs said hiking/parking fees were waived for the season, so I dropped the camera in my jacket pocket and headed quickly up the rocks toward the falls. Even though the waterfall is essentially in intermission (the falls are much more impressive in the spring during snowmelt), this area was charming and calming. I felt more content and at ease on the rocks around Upper Eagle Falls than in any other place around Tahoe, which is saying a lot. Maybe it was food deprivation or two days of hiking endorphins, but I loved this place.
This is when the sushi craving hit bigtime. The drive to Naked Fish in South Tahoe took 20 minutes.
Day 3: Down, around and back to the Biggest Little Town
Friday morning, there was time for one more hike between breakfast and checkout. The nature trails winding around Granlibakken connect with a wide track that leads to Page Meadows. I hiked 40 minutes in, 30 of which were uphill, but the meadows were still probably 10 minutes away when I had to turn back. As it was, I barely made it back to shower and check out on the dot of 11 a.m. Once again, the Accent pointed south. Today, I wanted to make another stop at Inspiration Point and see the Nevada side/eastern shore of Lake Tahoe.
Cave Rock, Crystal Bay, Incline Village and Mount Rose were on the list of places to see. This map looks like it was a long drive, but it is at most 2 1/2 hours, which stretched out to more thanks to stops for picnicking, climbing on rocks and snapping pictures.
Circuitous route around the lake on the way back to Reno.
Crystal Bay
The pinnacle of the day's excitement--this wasn't an extremely exciting day--was near the top of Mount Rose. A few miles after the highway curves out of Incline Village and up Mount Rose, Tahoe Meadows stretches out next to the road. It's beautiful. I swerved into the parking area and hopped out.
A blast of frigid wind whooshed by, and I trotted to the passenger side to dig winter clothing out of my pack. Mummified in hat, sweatshirt and jacket, I locked and shut the passenger-side door (all the locks on the Accent were manual). And gasped as I patted my left hip compulsively to find that, instead of bulging from my pocket, the keys were swinging from the ignition.
Heart pounding, I trotted on shaky knees back around to pull the driver's side door handle, which I was in a habit of locking automatically. I was sure I had landed myself in deep trouble, here on top of the mountain where it might be a long wait for roadside assistance.
Somehow, the driver's side door was unlocked. Still not sure how that one worked out. I shook for 10 minutes , both from the adrenaline and the wind. At 8,000+ feet, Mount Rose felt 20 degrees cooler than lake level. There wasn't time for a longer hike, so Tahoe Meadows was a quick meander along a system of boardwalks.
Tahoe Meadows
This is what happened to the last person who locked keys in their car on Mount Rose.
That cool Tahoe sky over Mount Rose.
The highest point of the trip, but only physically. The whole trip was a high point!Past the mountain's peak, I pulled into the Mount Rose ski-area parking to dig Garmy out of the trunk and program it with the address of the rental drop-off. A Nissan sedan swung up, and the occupants yelled, "Beth!" It was Jay and Nancy from Sonoma by way of Raleigh.
They inquired how the trip had gone and said they were on an afternoon drive before choosing a restaurant for the evening. As relaxed as two people could look, on their annual Tahoe-in-the-off-season vacation.
And then I was back in Reno, catching a shuttle to the airport at sunset, flying to Phoenix for a snack at the one restaurant open at 9:45 p.m. in the whole airport. Surprising for a redeye hub. I sat with Donna (or Maria or Julie), a marketing person in the car parts business coming from her biggest trade show of the year in Vegas.
They inquired how the trip had gone and said they were on an afternoon drive before choosing a restaurant for the evening. As relaxed as two people could look, on their annual Tahoe-in-the-off-season vacation.
And then I was back in Reno, catching a shuttle to the airport at sunset, flying to Phoenix for a snack at the one restaurant open at 9:45 p.m. in the whole airport. Surprising for a redeye hub. I sat with Donna (or Maria or Julie), a marketing person in the car parts business coming from her biggest trade show of the year in Vegas.
She covered the finer points of car batteries as I gnoshed on a chicken caesar and sipped the gin and tonic meant to be a sleeping pill for the redeye, a strategy I was thankful for as I tilted my head into a wadded-up sweatshirt against the airplane window and drifted away from the reality of a sardine-packed flight next to a heavy breather with bad breath. Now that's a long sentence.
Then Charlotte, where the first winds of winter wafted in at 6 a.m. as I tugged a bruised, hot pink suitcase across Long Term Parking 2, to the Civic, home.
Then Charlotte, where the first winds of winter wafted in at 6 a.m. as I tugged a bruised, hot pink suitcase across Long Term Parking 2, to the Civic, home.
