Lake Tahoe

I've seen plenty of pictures of Lake Tahoe, and I had looked at the maps, trail guides, and web sites. Besides, I've camped at plenty of Destinations like this before, so I knew just what to expect.

The drive in would be a crowded four-lane highway along an over-developed lakefront. A steady parade of huge motor homes would block all sign of the big pond.

The campground would nestle in a well-developed state park, a crown jewel of the parks department. Along the flat beachfront would run a typical, well-used gravel trail crowded with cheap bikes, runners, and shambling retirees.

When will I learn?!

After passing a few tourist restaurants and RV camps, the highway narrowed and twisted steeply into the mountains on the west of the lake. "How will mountain climbing get me to a campground on the lake?" I wondered. Roadside pull-offs offered sweeping views of the huge lake. Instead of a crown jewel of state parks, a steep one-lane road led down to a worn out, shabby park, half of which was closed for the construction of steel food lockers to thwart the bears. The park's Rubicon Trail would be at home in the remote backcountry: dusty, sometimes steep, cut into a sheer mountainside, shaded by tall evergreens.

Lake Tahoe is big, people. Photos don't really convey that. Tahoe isn't Lake Michigan size, of course: you can see the far shore. Maybe like Puget Sound around Bellingham: finite, but still awesomely big. It's got some serious attitude, being up here and stealing attention away from the Sierra.

So I was totally off my game when I finally parked GoGo. My blasted expectations were part of the feeling, but there is something in the air here too. You can feel all the expectations of all the people here, the longings everyone brought with them to this fabled place. Everybody wants something from Tahoe. Some people want a vacation, but not just a vacation; it has to be over-the-top, because, hey, it's Tahoe. Some come here to gamble in Nevada or aboard one of the lake's big casino boats, fashioned like Mississippi river boats with festive lights around the deck and a fake paddlewheel turning behind. Some are here expecting spiritual epiphany, seeking the vibe of Indian heritage or going direct to Gaia. Some travellers come here fishing around for essays for their web sites. But the sense of need and longing is tangible. I don't know how the lake deals with the burden.

I hit the trail as soon as I could, to recover my balance.

I soon came upon two park workers with a jackhammer, chipping away a boulder that had fallen in the trail. I waited until the foreman saw me, and he reached across his coworker to shut down the machine. "Go right ahead sir," he said.

"Thanks. You needed a break anyway, right?"

The man leaning on the jackhammer said, "I sure did!"

As I walked on I heard the foreman say, "You needed a break?"

"Yeah," the man sighed. "My arms are shakin'."

"Oh, man. Sorry. Let's switch off more often."

So I did my good deed for the day, I suppose. I pressed on, the wind tearing at my broad straw hat until I had to use the chin strap. I hate the chin strap; it looks stupid, but I do want to keep the hat. I rounded a bend and began a steep climb up bare rock. I came upon two women sitting by the trail, both in straw hats with their chin straps on, which encouraged me.

"I feel like there's a sail on my head today," I said.

"Yes," they said vaguely without looking at me. They were intent on something in the distance. "There's a big nest there," one said. Perhaps there's a secret society of chin strap people, so they trusted me immediately.

A huge nest clung to the top of a tall, broken off tree. It was below our vantage from the mountain trail, but still 100 feet up in the air. There was movement in the nest.

"The mother just flew off," a woman said. "I hope we see it come back and land."

"That's a big nest! Was it a golden eagle?"

"We're not sure. Do you have some binoculars?"

"No."

"Mine are in the trunk of the car."

I waited with them a few minutes, but nothing was happening, and I felt like an unexpected guest. It was nice of them to tell me about the nest, but I didn't need to linger too long in their space.

Up the trail just a few hundred yards was another vantage. I waited half an hour, watching the sky around the nest. A picture of the adult returning to the nest could be the inspiration for a web site essay, and after all, that's what I came to Tahoe for.

The mother didn't return before I got cold waiting for her. I had to get moving again. Ten minutes later, though the trees, I saw a big dark bird, flying fast: an osprey! No photo opportunity. So it goes.

I hiked on for an hour or so, saw nice stuff, smelled nice forest smells, got my bearings again. Tahoe had blasted my expectations. I like that in a Destination.

The nest was empty again as I returned past the vantage point. Jeez, I really wanted that picture. The wind was blowing cold off the mountains now, at 5:00 o'clock, so I decided to wait just ten minutes. Fifteen minutes went by, then I stowed away the camera and started walking again.

Abruptly the words came to mind, how a teacher once expressed his admiration for Ansel Adams: "He'd wait for days to get his shot, if that's what he had to do." Now a rare opportunity was presented to me: was my determination so feeble that a cool breeze could shake it?

Right at hand was a sheltered, sunny niche in the cliff - much warmer once I snuggled in there. Keeping my gaze on the sky, I dug around in my pack for the jacket, and I draped a fleece vest over my bare knees. Another half hour passed before I saw her.

She swooped around the tall snag before landing on the nest. Another adult took flight, and I saw a white chick in the nest before the mother settled in.

As I write this, the film is undeveloped. It probably won't amount to much. The nest was too far away, and I likely have pictures of some specks atop a dead tree, against the backdrop of the vast lake. I don't care about that. I care that I stayed true to the purpose of this journey, and that in return, Tahoe had come up with a surprising gift.

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