Stepping into the dark on a sun-drenched day in the High Sierra really does a number on perception. The eyes go first, from squinting in refractive light to flailing in blackness until the retina has time to adjust. Swagger in the gait erodes with each forward step. Time slows then fades to black.
The Summit Tunnel hike at Donner Pass is like tiptoeing into another dimension, unknown to almost everyone arriving at Lake Tahoe for a getaway. Traffic streams past on Interstate 80 with a distant whoosh. Those drivers on a hasty retreat down the serpentine roadway might briefly notice the railroad tunnels on a southern ridge of Donner Pass.
But they’re not giving this otherworldly slice of Tahoe much thought on the way to ski slopes, golf courses and casinos. They know nothing of the eerie granite arches decorated by graffiti artists, creating an image of a subterranean Balmy Alley in the Mission.
I’m not sure what to expect upon entering the dank cavern, where the sun’s warmth goes to die. Shivering from the quick temperature dip, stumbling into pools of water in the blackout, my picture of this land starts taking on a wholly different form.
To stare into the sapphire-blue face of Tahoe is to grapple with perspective. So many archival mileposts to consider, including this abandoned stretch of the intercontinental railroad, built by the blistered hands of Chinese laborers. Unearthing such historical morsels is like pulling loose coins out of the crevices of a worn sofa.
It took Bay Area historian Scott Lankford years to realize it. “I thought I knew Tahoe like the back of my hand, but I hadn’t flipped my hand over,” says the author of “Tahoe Beneath the Surface.” “I knew where to ski, I knew where to climb, I knew where to fish, I knew where to hike, I knew where to boat. But I did not know anything about where I was. The place is a nexus of historical forces that are deeply powerful.”
Since Lt. John C. Frémont became the first explorer to cast eyes upon the crystalline waters — in 1844 — Tahoe has been tugged and pulled by American expansionism. First came the 49ers on their way to the Sierra goldfields. Ten years hence, opportunists decimated surrounding pine forests to support Nevada’s Comstock Lode.
Environmental issues remain central to the Tahoe experience, just as they were at the beginning of the 20th century, when famed naturalist John Muir campaigned to create a national park here. John Steinbeck and Mark Twain were among those who left footprints.
Starting from Donner Summit, in the northwest corridor, I’d circumnavigate the 72-mile shoreline looking for breadcrumbs of history in the Bay Area’s favorite backyard playground.
But all that has to wait. The trip starts inside the rock-sculpted railroad bunkers built in the 1860s to bridge the East with San Francisco.
That’s when the ground starts to shake violently.
The south side
Far from the blackjack tables at touristy Stateline, Nevada, southsiders find refuge in the pine-scented village of Markleeville. A natural hot tub with stunning vistas of crumbly peaks inspires the 45-minute drive from South Lake Tahoe to Kit Carson country. Grover Hot Springs State Park is an antidote to the high-priced resort spas of Swedish massages and mud baths.
What the spring lacks in amenities it more than makes up for in value. For $7, visitors can enjoy a 1 ½”‘mile round-trip tramp to a waterfall, or 4 ½ miles to Burnside Lake. Whatever one’s physical limit, the reward is a good soak at the finish line.
Most, though, forgo the trails to enjoy the rejuvenating warmth of the copper-colored mineral water that rises to the surface at 148 degrees before it’s cooled in holding tanks above the pools.
Molten rock burrowed underground has heated the springs since before the ice age. Geologic tumult eventually led to seepage to the surface, where the Washoe people once settled. The Washoe people’s 9,000″‘year history around Tahoe often has been overshadowed by the relatively recent Eurocentric cultural domination. But it hasn’t been completely blotted out, thanks to such events as the annual summer Wa She Shu It’ Deh Native American Arts Festival, at the Tallac Historic Site, near South Lake Tahoe’s Camp Richardson.
The Tahoe name, which became official in 1945, came from the Washoes’ descriptions of the lake. However it transpired, it’s more apropos than the once-common “Lake Bigler,” in honor of California’s third governor.
The Washoes had a summer camp at nearby Taylor Creek — similar to Camp Richardson. This woody section includes Fallen Leaf Lake, residing in the shadow of Desolation Wilderness, one of the state’s finest backpacking destinations.
The growth of the Richardson family resort paralleled shoreline development that sprouted stately homes for the 1 percenters of the 1930s. Camp Richardson has remained a family-oriented refuge, like the Markleeville hot springs.
Miles away, however, another famous lodge pays homage to a different way of life.
The east side
George Whittell Jr.’s lavish estate lies far below the Flume Trail, beloved by mountain bikers and once the vein that sent virgin timber down to Virginia City. The acreage is lodged into the rocky granite cliffs overlooking the lake, just off the highway.
The Thunderbird Lodge is a symbol of the wealthy who developed Tahoe’s shoreline, 29 percent of which lies in Nevada because of a mapping error.
Whittell’s family built a fortune through San Francisco real estate. The scion took $50 million out of the stock market to build in Tahoe and also a secluded 50-acre estate in Woodside that now is Kings Mountain Vineyards.
Whittell intended to erect waterfront palaces and a casino in the 1930s when purchasing 40,000 acres, which included 27 miles of shoreline. Those plans faded because the strapping Whittell didn’t care for people. Instead of developing, the San Francisco millionaire “gave us the whole eastern shore in pristine condition,” says Sue Bernheisel, the volunteer coordinator for Thunderbird Lodge Preservation Society, which owns and manages the property.
Society members have come to call the eccentric Whittell their “accidental conservationist.” They are the stewards of a bygone era, using fundraisers, tours, weddings and special events to safeguard the Thunderbird from modern-day encroachment.
“He left us the east shore,” says Bernheisel, who grew up in San Leandro. “It’s the flavor of Lake Tahoe from that time, and we lost that” elsewhere.
The preservation society formed in 1999 to take over the 5.8″‘acre property. Its 90″‘minute tour starts at the Incline Village visitor center beginning in mid”‘May. The group also gives tours in Whittell’s famous wooden yacht, with airplane engines that roar to life. At least they do when the lake that descends a mind-numbing 1,645 feet isn’t suffering from current drought conditions.
That’s OK. I came to Tahoe for solitude.
The north side
The sun has slipped behind the forest, sending the slightest chill through a muffled wind. Impressionist reflections on the smooth surface of the Little Truckee River mirror the tree-covered riverbank. At that moment Bryce Bennett shatters the serenity with a declarative, “Got it.”
Wearing a big grin, he hands me the pliant rod to haul in a plump 14″‘inch brown trout at one of his favorite fishing holes northeast of Tahoe.
“Slowly,” Bennett says as I turn the crank with my left hand.
I haven’t tried fly-fishing in 30 years. Back then, we set out in western Montana to one of those world-class locales Norman Maclean wrote about in “A River Runs Through It.” Our goal was to retrieve the main entree for a wedding rehearsal dinner. The groom-to-be insisted we were on a can’t-miss mission.
I should have known better. I made such a mess of my rod and reel upon first casting that my friend spent more time attending to me than fishing. On the way back we stopped by a friend’s house to collect frozen fish for the hungry wedding party.
Now, as a pregnant white moon begins to rise above the forest, I have one task: Reel the squirming speckled trout to shore for a photo op and, ultimately, his welcomed release.
Before heading to the river I had toured the UC Davis Tahoe Science Center in Incline Village to learn about the area’s aquatic health. The research project with Sierra Nevada College provides an introduction to what’s at stake.
Change is the watchword for those worried about Tahoe’s once-robust fishery. Human handiwork and climate change have conspired to impact the stock. In the late 1880s, for instance, well-meaning souls introduced mackinaw trout to Lake Tahoe to help boost fishing. The new species, however, overwhelmed native inhabitants. Oops. Seven endemic species remain in the lake along with 10 nonnatives, which include, alas, goldfish.
After “winning” our spirited battle with the brown trout, we set out down the rushing river to find Bennett’s father, Stan, who did not share our luck this early May evening along the old California trail that brought pioneers west decades before the railroad.
Ruminating about wagon trains that rumbled past here eons ago, we hike up and down the river searching for opportunity. In the past four years, Bryce Bennett has scouted every section of the river from Tahoe City, miles from where he stood casting a line as gracefully as a ballet dancer.
Which is an odd image, come to think of it. Bennett, 22, is the 2014 U.S. downhill champion, the latest member of the great Tahoe skiers populating the national team roster. He’s a 6″‘foot”‘7-inch approximation of a speeding missile when strapping on skis. Fly-fishing might seem contrary to an adrenaline junkie, but Bennett finds parallels in his twin passions.
“I found it challenging,” he says of fishing. “There is so much technique involved. Then, you have to learn the river, what bugs are hatching and what the fish are eating. It’s similar to skiing, because the conditions are always changing.”
***
Bennett’s promising ski career can be traced to another historical monument to the region. The first recorded organized ski race in U.S. history took place in 1867 northwest of Tahoe in the Gold Rush town of LaPorte, where miners used long wooden planks to see who got down the hill the fastest. What else were they going to do when maritime storms covered their minefields with cottony flakes?
The Squaw Valley Ski Resort, outside of Tahoe City, opened in the 1940s, like many of the lake’s famed slopes. But it was Squaw Valley that put Tahoe on the skiing map by playing host to the 1960 Winter Olympics. Other than the athletic center, now called the Olympic House, most of the Games’ structures no longer exist at Squaw Valley, which has since merged with a neighboring ski resort and is one of America’s largest ski areas.
Two years ago, folks in Tahoe City opened the cozy Museum of Sierra Ski History and 1960 Winter Olympics on the second floor of The Boatworks Mall. Among the famed Tahoe residents spotlighted is Tamara McKinney, a three-time Olympic skier who in 1983 became the first American woman to win the overall World Cup title, a feat not duplicated until Lindsey Vonn came along 25 years later.
McKinney, 51, is a successful real estate agent these days, but she continues to help groom the next generation of Squaw Valley ski racers, including Francesca, her engaging teenage daughter, and their friend Bryce Bennett.
Tamara and Francesca live above Olympic Valley, where they can see the first hint of snow along the ragged ridges of Squaw Valley’s slopes. Tamara points out some of her favorite runs as we climb through Shirley Canyon on another one of those spectacular Tahoe day hikes.
The scenic 5-mile trek begins at the end of the resort, near where McKinney once lived. On hot summer days an entrepreneurial Francesca used to sell lemonade to parched hikers returning from Shirley Lake.
Tamara leads an ascent over the rocky trail with Daisy, the Saint Bernard. Tamara describes Shirley Canyon as one of the area’s premier late-spring hikes because of the water. The path follows Squaw Creek up 1,300 feet. About halfway to the lake hikers arrive at a series of cascades with inviting swimming holes. It’s the perfect destination for anyone looking for a picnic ground and a cold dip in the snow-fed stream.
The trail becomes more challenging after the waterfalls, with some steep pitches over granite slabs. Tamara and Daisy bounded up the smooth, hard rock as naturally as the breeze that ruffles the conifers. Retracing steps on these tricky descents can be daunting for the less sure-footed. But Tamara has a solution a mile beyond Shirley Lake.
“You can always take the tram down,” she says.
Squaw Valley’s aerial tram, at the 8,200″‘foot High Camp, is running May 22″‘Aug. 30 this year. It also is scheduled to operate on weekends in September. Hikers taking the 2,000″‘vertical”‘foot ride down don’t have to pay.
We have no choice but to hoof it down the dusty trail, with a late afternoon light darting through fallen trees scattershot across the understory. Francesca’s refreshment stand is not waiting at the bottom, as those days are but distant memories. But Tamara offered an alternative: a jar of lemonade and gluten-free garlic chips at Fireside Pizza Company, at the Squaw Valley Village.
Donner Summit
The shaking we feel is the result of an approaching truck in the railroad tunnel, our starting place. Would we meet our doom near the infamous spot where members of the Donner Party resorted to cannibalism to survive the harsh winter of 1846? We just don’t know for sure.
Hiking guides describe the railroad tunnel excursion as a 3″‘mile trail that includes Washoe petroglyphs and the China Wall, near Rainbow Bridge, above Donner Lake. Most say nothing about Union Pacific Railroad trucks rumbling through the tunnels, slicing the eerie silence with the commotion of an armored vehicle. Although the railroad owns the property, the workers welcome us with quick waves as they pass.
A fascination with the tunnels and a sense of relief keep us going for miles, shining headlamps and retreating into the shadows whenever trucks squeeze through. We push on and on into a darkness that illuminates the surprising ways Tahoe’s spirit is burnished into our souls. Deeper and deeper until the echoes of time transport us to a higher realm.
Follow Elliott Almond at Twitter.com/elliottalmond.
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