How did it get to this point?
In May, 2009, my fishing buddy and I attempted the great Eastern Basin Fishing Trip, in which we set out to fish the West Walker from a base of operations in Walker, Ca. Staying in a motel to avoid the anticipated cool weather, we thought to fish the river early, before it warmed up and dried up. Unfortunately, a combination of early warming and late rains resulted in the West Walker becoming a rushing, opaque, chocolate brown, unfishable, torrent. So too for the East Walker below Bridgeport Reservoir, where the river’s height meant the prospective angler stepped from entangling brush directly into a chest deep flood. River fishing was definitely out.
Scouting for fishable streams took us up the Sonora Pass to attempt Leavitt Creek, back down along the Little Walker, and then south along 395 to visit Summers Creek, Green Creek, and Virginia Creek to its source at Virginia Lakes. The high Sierras around Bridgeport host some of the most beautiful alpine territory in the world, and the lack of fishable water was tempered by the almost reverential feelings engendered by the scenery.
The second day brought us back up Green Creek Rd, where in a spectacular lapse of judgment, acting out of a desire to close with the creek, we decided to drive down a small spur road just below Dynamo Pond. We knew from the previous day that driving back up the spur would be difficult, if not impossible, but deduced from the map that the spur was a loop that would return us to the main road about a mile or so further on. What we hadn’t counted on was that out of sight, the spur was littered with boulders that impeded the progress of any but high clearance four wheel drive vehicles.
Did I mention that we were in a 2003 Honda Civic, with front wheel drive and about five inches of ground clearance? It mattered, very much so. Unable to drive over the boulders, we attempted to drive back up the spur, where the soft sand and embedded rocks repulsed our ascent. We tried flotsam under the tires, and digging out the most objectionable rocks, but ultimately came to rest with the front wheels fully dug in and the rear bumper wedged against a rock. We could neither advance, not retreat. We were well and truly stuck.
While my buddy stayed with the car, I walked about seven miles back towards Bridgeport, and hitched the last mile into town, arriving at the Sheriff’s office about nine at night, well after the highway patrol office had closed. Bridgeport’s only tow truck operator was in Carson City for the night, and the tow company in Lee Vining had closed hours earlier. Since the town was booked solid for Memorial Day weekend, the Mono County Sheriff’s deputies kindly put us up for the night, driving me back up to the car to pick up my fishing buddy, and letting us sleep in the Prisoner Interview rooms on a couple of pads borrowed from the jail.
About eight the next morning the young tow truck driver from Lee Vining tow arrived at the jail in an ancient but serviceable 4x4 Dodge Power Wagon, and cheerfully drove us back to our abandoned car. Using the lowest geared winch that I have ever encountered, the tow operator slowly hauled us back up to the main road, and sent us on our way. We were mobile once again.
Chagrined by our misadventure, and unsure of any damage we may have done to the car, we decided to forego fishing, and return home while the car was still drivable. We crossed over Sonora Pass, down through Kennedy Meadows along the Stanislaus, and turned north on Highway 49 to San Andreas, where Highway 12 is born to head west towards Sonoma.
It was well we left early, because as night fell around Fairfield and we turned on the Civic’s headlights, the charging light illuminated as well. Apparently digging into the soft road had blown enough dirt into the alternator to kill it, and we limped into town on the battery, with headlights failing and warning lights popping up, to finally die about five miles from home. Our second tow of the day finally brought us home about midnight, where we put the battery on a charger, and called it a day.
The Civic got a new alternator the next day, and eventually, new motor mounts, to repair the damage caused by out off road excursion. And I reluctantly accepted that a Civic isn’t the best choice for off road fishing, and began the search for a four wheel drive to take us to the places fish reside, like the End of the World, the Hole in the Ground, and the Gates of the Antipodes.
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