Now and then, my friend Owen Melroy and I throw our sleeping
bags, toothbrushes, bourbon and sweet vermouth in the trunk and
light out for Tioga Pass and the eastern escarpment of the
Sierra.
Now and then, my friend Owen Melroy and I throw our sleeping bags, toothbrushes, bourbon and sweet vermouth in the trunk and light out for Tioga Pass and the eastern escarpment of the Sierra. Steppenwolf blares out the open car window as the wind rushes through what’s left of our gray, thinning hair. Our arms rest on the car door, and too tough to care, we glare disapprovingly at the world through our wrap-around sunglasses. Send the women and children inside, and lock the doors. Yeah, we’re rebels.
Nothing excites two middle-aged men like knowing that for four days we won’t get dragged to a fabric store or have to go see a chick-flick. We’re gonna spit and talk dirty and rough it. Heck, we didn’t even bring any maraschino cherries for the Manhattans.
Owen and I were off on another in a long series of adventures to the east side of the Sierra. I have written before that, for my taste, the country along highway 395 between Lone Pine and Bridgeport has it all. If you’re a Vegas-type, stay away. But if you like the high desert, mountain lakes, granite alpine peaks looming 10,000 feet over your head, obsidian domes, breathtaking fall colors, stunning spring wildflower displays, countless Indian petroglyphs, hot springs, and on and on, drop what you are doing and go. Whatever your age, you do not have enough time left to see it all.
Tioga Pass intersects highway 395 at Lee Vining and Mono Lake. Our usual habit is to head south from there toward Mammoth and Bishop. But this time I wanted to go north toward Bridgeport, 30 miles above Lee Vining.
I have this dream of someday having a place on the east side, nothing special, a hovel even, to use as an outpost for extended stays and explorations. So far, nothing has been quite right. Bishop is too hot in the summer, Mammoth is too L.A. I have passed through Bridgeport before, and I remembered it as a beautiful place. But this time I wanted to look at it as a potential part-time hometown.
We crossed Conway Summit north of Lee Vining and began the slow descent to Bridgeport Valley. Several miles short of town, the vast setting was revealed at once. Perhaps five miles wide and 10 miles long, the Bridgeport Valley is a huge green expanse (covered with wild irises in the spring) that showcases the jagged 12,000 foot sawtooth portion of the sierra crest that separates the north end of Yosemite National Park beyond from the Hoover Wilderness area on the near side. The setting might somewhere be equaled, but nowhere surpassed.
Our exploration began with a day hike up Horse Creek Pass at road’s end 14 miles west of town. As we climbed above Twin Lakes, we were treated to a rare view of a bald eagle perched high in a lakeside pine. An hour later on our descent, he was still there.
Back in the valley, driving toward town, the Mono County Courthouse poked above the small clump of buildings that marked bustling Bridgeport (population 800). The famous courthouse was built in 1880 and is still in operation today. Bridgeport became the county seat of Mono County when an early survey determined that Aurora, the original county seat, was in Nevada.
We sought refuge from an afternoon thundershower in Joan Quinn’s High Country Realty office. She’s the only Realtor in town. After a camping vacation 30 years ago, Joan and her husband returned to Huntington Beach, sold their home and moved to Bridgeport. She tells it like it is.
“I’m one of the few fools who stays year-round. We compete for the national low temperature in winter, sometimes hitting 40 below.” She said the inventory of homes on the market had never been lower too.
Like Thelma and Louise, we pulled out of town throwing caution to the wind, swearing and spittin’ all the while. Little ole Bridgeport won’t soon forget the havoc wreaked by these two outlaws.
Ron Erskine has lived and worked as a builder and brewery owner in South Valley for 20 years. He lives in Morgan Hill with his wife and two children.
