The contents below are part of a multipart series of events that took place during Thanksgiving week 2008. Please be sure to read from the bottom up, otherwise you will read the story in reverse. The events are told as i remember them. Names, ages, and locations have not been altered to protect the innocent. . .or guilty.
Day 3.
Rise and Shine!
Todd and I woke up to sunshine, glorious sunshine. For those of you who don’t live in the Pacific NW, you may not understand this sun worshiping habit. Up here in this corner of the U.S. cold weather = rain. Apparently in California, cold can mean anything it wants. . .damn liberals. The first thing I sought out, after my down jacket, was some water. The funny thing about water is that it freezes or gets mighty slushy if you sleep in sub 32 degree temperatures. I awoke to a near frozen, exceptionally slushy jug of water. Regardless of its viscosity, it did well to curb the impending hangover. We flipped up the tailgate of the truck and headed down to Mammoth Lakes for some breakfast. There is something interesting that seems to happen on the west coast (and possibly the east coast but I just haven’t noticed). For whatever reason, people, restaurant owners in particular, feel the need to make some East Coast claim when it comes to naming their establishment. For example, we ate at a New York bagel place, in Mammoth Lakes, California. It’s as if there is something special about New York that makes their bagels better than anything produced on the West Coast (I was recently told it was the water)?
Morning slushy.
After some delicious New York “style” bagels we headed up to the mountain for a day of serious shredding or. . .shreddin’. It was time for Brody to break out some of the moves he learned last year, only. . .Brody is still just learning to turn his skis. The resort claimed to have a base of 12-48 inches which turned to be more like 0-48 inches. There were a few bare patches on the hill but nothing I couldn’t fall over or around. The riding was good but I felt bad for holding Todd up, he didn’t seem to complain though. After trying a few different runs we pieced together a nice long route from just below the top down to the lower parking lot. The run provided for several options on its lower section, one being through the terrain park. I didn’t do much more than granny my way up and over a couple jumps, while Todd took on a rail or two. The upper part of the run started with a steep turn, usually crowded with beginners like myself, that swept down into a large shoot that afforded us with some gorgeous views of the mountains that make up the east side of Yosemite National Park. From there the ride was pretty open and mellow, not that any of that kept me from falling.
Todd doing some map reading mid-slope.
Todd dropping into the killer run.
Brody shreddin' on the long run.
The chute on the golden run.
Just one of the many views on the lift. 
A view from the gondola up the mountain.
A long day on the slopes calls for a few things. But first things first. . .an Everline will not be denied; we made a second attempt at the hot springs. Since the lifts closed at 4pm we had enough light to actually see the fabled “green church” that represented the gateway to the hot springs. Daylight seemed to be the missing element from the night before because the Green Church stood out like a sore thumb. After taking the prescribed left at the green church we were one step closer to finding the sought after hot springs. There are a few springs all in line with one another, all being within a mile or so from one another. We stopped off at the first spring, Hot Tub (creative name I know) only to find two hippies and their dog, enjoying the warm water. No worries, two more springs to choose from. We made our way to the furthest of three springs, Shepherd Hot Spring, again we found inhabitants. This time a hippy dude and topless hippy chick (the dude was topless as well but not really worth mentioning, even though I just mentioned it). After wandering around on desert roads and some creative map reading, we found our way to a hot spring tucked a little further off the beaten path, Crab Cooker. Feeling the dire need for a bath and armed with a 12-pack of beers, we decided to wait out Crab Cooker’s residents. We broke out the FlashFlight and tossed the disc around until the spring was free. Todd and I jumped into our suits and headed down to the spring. What we found was sheer hot spring bliss.
Crab Cooker.
The view from Crab Cooker.
The hot springs on the east side of the Sierras have a reputation of being some of the best in the country. They are well maintained by the local community and Crab Cooker proved to live up to the national recognition. Unlike many of the springs in the area, Crab Cooker had an intake and exit valve allowing the user to “control” the water temperature. It also came with a gorgeous, secluded view of the Sierra Mountains. The tub was thrown together by what I would suspect to be a stoned stone mason but fit our needs just fine. A bench rimed the inside of the tub providing a perfect seat. Crab Cooker was also deep enough to attain full submersion, a nice touch after sleeping in a truck for several days. We spent a couple-a-few hours in the Crab Cooker. Throw a few beers in the mix and it was exactly what the doctor ordered after a long day of skiing. The biggest problem one runs into when soaking in a hot spring for multiple hours is. . .getting out. Crab Cooker treated us well while we were in the water but could do very little (nothing) to protect us from the cold air hanging around outside of the tub.
While Todd washed off the funk. . .
. . .I opted for some sleep Following an awkward cold air, half naked dance, it was time to fill out stomachs with more than just beer. We hit up “Gomez’s” for some fine Mexican dinning. The food was great but the effects of sitting in a hot spring and drinking beer really started to kick in. I was so exhausted I could barely finish my margarita. I may have briefly, just briefly, crashed out on the table between bouts of stuffing my face with chips and salsa. It possibly happened again while waiting for the bill. Todd nearly had to carry me out of the joint. Good thing he didn’t have to because he barely had enough energy to get himself out the door. We decided to skip a drive down to the snowy meadow for the night and crashed right in the parking lot of the ski lodge.
Day 4.
After an uneventful night of sleep it was time for some nourishment before another day of shredding. Crab Cooker really seemed to loosen up the ol’ joints and tenderized the aching muscles that the first day on the slopes left us with. Todd and I headed into the lodge’s “marketplace” for a cafeteria style breakfast. The options were broad the prices weren’t nearly as bad as expected. With full bellies we lined up at the Broadway lift, ready to start our day on the mountain. We left off where we started the day before, back on the full mountain run. The snow seemed to be a bit harder and more sparse than the day before. We ran the mountain pretty steadily until 2ish. We walked back to the truck to get a little break and something to snack on. My knee and ankle were still a bit tender from the header I took on my bike so I opted to spend the rest of my afternoon in the bar (not getting any damn service), while Todd headed back up the hill for a few more runs.
The mountain.
Going up?
Todd hiding from the sun.
Monster lift.
Going down? A view from the top of the mountain.
Todd heading down hill.
Taking a break and soaking up the scenery.Todd and I grabbed a few beverages at the bar and headed back to Crab Cooker for another evening soak. There was a family getting in their nightly bath so we waited in the parking area and enjoyed a beer and I snapped off a few pictures. It wasn’t long before the family was on their way back to their car and we were headed down to Crab Cooker. We had the tub to ourselves for a second night and enjoyed the sun as it set behind the Sierras. I drug down my camera and tripod with hopes of getting a few soaking photos. Todd’s point n’ shoot came away with better photos than my fancy rig could pull together.
The last bits of sunlight from Crab Cooker as it dropped behind the Sierras.
Steamy.
The brothers at bath time.
The, what now seemed ritualistic, dressing dance took place and it was off for some tasty treats at the Whiskey River restaurant and lounge. We both picked the portobello mushroom sandwich. Todd added a prefix of artichoke dip. The Whiskey was by far the classiest place we had dined at during the trip. They had real silverware and cloth, yes cloth, napkins; a real swanky place. After dinner we took our pints over to the pool table for a couple games of billiards. I crushed Todd, game after game (or so remember) and we left, one head hanging lower than the other. The Crab Cooker did us in again. Like a couple of old men in our assisted living village. . .it was (head)lights out by 8.30.
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