I kick back, and soak in the faint rays of sunshine. The mountain lay before me, flanks robed in snow, tiny people visible making their way down. the chairlifts crawled upwards, and the skiers came down again. A cloud hovers around the cap of the mountain, shrouding the top in mystery. Today, I will once again attempt the snowboard. I envy the ease I see others glide down with, secure in their skills. I find the single board strapped to both feet rather confusing, maybe owing to my skiing background. But I am determined. I want to be at least mildly proficient at this.
Yesterday, we stopped in at the Donner Pioneer Memorial. A simple wooden building, and a metal statue on a high stone base. Inside, you can learn a bit about what happened to the ill fated Donner Party. A group of emigrants, starting out from Kansas City, were heading for California, a new life and cheap land. There were apparently lots of these emigrants, and they just loaded up canvas covered wagons, and headed out. They took all their belongings and left, never to see their friends and family left behind again. This one group of about 80 people branched off from the main trail, taking a “short cut”. Well, it was no short cut, and the delay put them crossing the Sierras in the beginning of winter. An early snowfall trapped them in Donner Pass, and a record setting snowfall kept them there. The reason this story has stuck around, seeing as how this happened in 1846, is when the food ran out, the surviving members of the party turned to eating the flesh of those who had already perished. Some did survive, being rescued in Feb and April. The stone monument stands outside, it’s base as high as the snow was that winter. It’s base is 22 feet tall. In all the years since, it has never snowed that much again.
We also went down the shore of Lake Tahoe, to a sheltered cove with an island. You can park up on the shoulder of the surrounding mountain, and look down to the island, where a small stone house stands. This was built in about 1912, if memory serves me. A woman came to this bay, and since it reminded her of the Norwegian fjords, she built her home there. Quarried stone from just up the hill, and trees from nearby, all went into shaping her grand home in the scandinavian cast. She insisted on the trees being left intact around the house, and this presented unique building difficulties. These trees now shade her home from casual view from the hill. In the spring, one can hike down the trail and tour the main home on the shore. Apparently, the park rangers take it poorly if you attempt to visit the old teahouse on the island. A waterfall completed this breathtaking scene, splashing down behind the main house.
We took it easy last night, coming back to the lodge near the ski hill. A little mead went down quite well, and the cards came out. I can’t say who won or lost, as I retired to bed fairly early, victim of the early flight. Today, I feel well rested and there is bacon cooking for breakfast. The ski hill beckons, the snowy slopes drawing us onwards.
Wherever you are, Be There 