Tom had his headlamp stuck on during our whole ride.

This year's snow (please notice Tom's headlight)

A trip postponed from the Memorial Day weekend had received another wound through Kubackis having no car. Packing for it therefore felt even more bothersome than usual -- I was waiting for more things to go sour. Yet, everything went smoothly and we drove out on Friday at ten thirty (i.e. only a half hour later than planned). Juniors had been looking forward to this and therefore very behaved. I handed out a headlamp to Tommy, who's been going through another one of his train engine phases, and claiming that he shines a light ahead. I reckoned that running around with a standard flashlight held up to his forehead must be quite tiring. I had expected that he would appreciate the new wonderful toy especially in the nightly darkness, when we'd be camping, but Tom had put the headlamp on right away and perspired in the harness during most of our trip to Buckeye.

He even ran around with it on the very bright and clear afternoon in Sonora Pass. Kids, inspired by the Little Bears movie, had been demanding wilderness, and snow, for a few weeks now; a mountain pass at almost ten thousand feet appeared a suitable spot, where they could run and enjoy the nature. Real snow was a wonderful attraction, although Tom, having fallen down, cried out in surprise how cold it was. I don't blame him, for I, too, felt quite chilly in my sandals -- but why should I put on socks in the middle of summer just for one stop.

Settling down at Buckeye

Lisa grabbed the headlamp for a few precious minutes (and was forcing us to become rubber duck racing sponsors)

Then we were sliding down the eastern slopes of the Sierra and admiring quantities of water from the spring melt. We found horses in their corrals at "our" pack station, but there was nobody in the office with whom we could confirm our Saturday ride. We sped away to Buckeye, took the best camping site that it's forest offers, and erected our tents.

The owner of our favorite Texan barbecue in Walker had welcomed us (it is naturally impossible to forget my Hippo), while our kids yelled that this is the pub with the duckies and that they want duckies. Besides excellent beer and dinner, this year again we became (under juniors' pressure) sponsors of the rubber duck race. Tommy had remembered food we had last year -- French fries with cheese -- and demanded this delicacy. He spent most of the time in the restaurant playing with an ancient toy steam engine on display there; Lisa focused on her selected rubber duck (we lost the numbered tickets for these new ducks somewhere, and we shall see how much of a problem it is going to be in the fall - our ducks should have numbers 454 and most likely 947, respectively). It was nine thirty before we reached our sleeping bags. Juniors made mischief with flashlights; eventually we had to confiscate them (after Lisa turned hers right into my face, after I had assumed she was sleeping already).

Since the beginning, Egypt had tendencies to enter narrow spaces, where one can scrape the skin off one's rider.

Stirrup checkup and adjustment.

OUr alarm clock was set to seven thirty, but Lizzy was naturally up at six. I had to chase away our granny, who was grabbing her granddaughter, and pull our Lisa into my sleeping bag, where she kept talking on for a while, but eventually fell asleep after all. Why is it that the buzzing always sounds during the most pleasant phase of your sleep? Nevertheless, we wanted to squeeze a breakfast at Hays Street Cafe in Bridgeport into our busy day. We did not get disappointed -- toast with strawberries and whipped cream, and endless coffee with a view to snow-capped mountains, easily compensated for my lost sleep.

We arrived at the Leavitt Meadows Pack Station shortly before ten. Four horses were standing ready for a ride; Sid immediately recognized Farnsworth, on whom he rode last year, and thought that would be his horse again, on account of being the largest one they have, but got assigned Opie instead. I was given a white mare named Egypt. Mounting her involved some grunting, but once I was up in the saddle, I realized what it was Suchýš had meant last year by saying that the western saddle is as comfortable as a recliner chair. One cannot apparently forget how to ride a horse, and I really felt in the saddle like having put on some old, well broken-in slippers.

Spring panorama of Leavitt Meadows

Off road

A view to the Leavitt Meadow from the ridge above Secret Lake

Craig, the owner of the pack station, had reassured us that kids with granny may stay there, and Mike offered to show granny a convenient path to the river. It seemed that juniors were taken care of as far as entertainment goes (they manage to spend hours throwing rocks, dig with sticks in the dirt, and splash them in the water), and so we, too, left. I sensed that even our horses were glad for something to be happening, as they trotted forth at a brisk pace. Right in the first meadow, Sid began to holler that he lost the protective cover of our camera's lens. We all had to stop and look; meanwhile the loser announced that he was feeling like an idiot.

Sid was reveling in finding Opie friendly and well trained. Alas -- in one moment Opie headed around the other side of a tree next to the path, and almost succeeded in sweeping Sid off the saddle with a large branch. My Egypt had inclinations to scrape my legs onto trees and bushes along the way. At first I did not interfere much -- she was apparently picking her own path through the difficult mountainous terrain -- zigzagging on the uphill path. But when she attempted to rip my leg off by means of an especially hard and strong branch, I reckoned it had become necessary to control my horse a bit and stop relying on her taking care of me. We passed several beautiful mountain lakes, riding up a ridge over Leaving Meadows, and back again. We crossed the West Walker River several times, challenged by quantity of the icy cold water that rushed rapidly by, our horses dealt with it superbly, despite wetting our boots a little.

Granny on horseback

Farnsworth is bolting, David must take control

Having returned, we found our kids in good spirits and our granny by her senses. Tommy was asking to be allowed to ride on a big horse. I tried to explain that we took them two weeks ago on a pony ride, but did not get much far there. Meanwhile, Mike and Craig simply brought one of the horses and granted Tom his wish. Lisa howled that she would never ever ride the horsey, until Tom got in the saddle; then she began howling that she wanted on a horse and right now! Eventually she got her turn.

Our granny was getting ready for her first time on horseback. Originally, Kubackis were supposed to ride with her, but since they were sitting in the Valley minus one car, Sid offered (completely voluntarily) that I ride as her company, and he would stay with the kids. Granny was issued Farnsworth, I got Egypt again. The animals were noticeably less fresh this time, as they had apparently regarded their morning two-hour shift as final, and obviously did not like going again. Moreover, Farnsworth had sensed that granny was a beginner, and started to linger. He would stay behind, tried to graze and before a small ford he decided that he was not going to step in the river, no matter what granny did. I felt sorry for her - I recalled a vivid memory of our first ride at Kennedy Meadows, where mine and Sid's horses did essentially the same thing. It seems to be the basic lesson of the class, "how to turn a tourist into a clown", which all horses must attend. Granny got eventually saved by our guide David, who returned and led Farnsworth across. Then I and Egypt went to the end of the line, and when Farnsworth felt another horse behind, he stopped being difficult. Or perhaps he got better as we turned back home and his corral, regular feed, and free roaming.

Granny at a ford

The kids had exhausted the opportunity to throw rocks and dig with twigs in the river

I had enhanced our troubles with Farnsworth in one moment - this time I had dropped the camera lens cover. A scene of the day's morning repeated, with perhaps one difference, for I knew where the cover had fallen, all we had to do was pick it up (David was the one who selflessly dismounted), and the whole expedition did not have to circle around the path.

Sudden cramps in my legs had rather surprised me. I had survived our morning two-hour ride without a problem, and felt like having had enough time to stretch during our mid-day break. Apparently it was not enough and my tired muscles began to protest.

We had originally promised granny Twin Lakes for the rest of the afternoon, and a hike to the falls, but we all felt that the children had been stuck with the river and nature in general for the whole day, and so we headed to the northern shores of Mono Lake, where one can find a playground and a short interpretive trail. Granny had not visited the place before and the kids rejoiced being in a "civilized" place. Sid and I were both surprisingly devastated. Riding a horse is not an aerobic exercise, where one would actually "work herself out", but a few hours of unusual moves at a non-standard altitude (Leavitt Meadows lay in some 7,200 feet) leave their marks. And so we were stooping along the plankway by the lake, glad to not having realized our ambitious plans with the falls at Twin Lakes.

Craig had granted Tom's wish to ride on a big horsey

While riding, Lisa eyed local cowboys

We tested Virginia Creek Settlement for dinner - an Italian restaurant along highway 395. I have to say that the prices were rather steep, especially for the at best mediocre food. Sid had complained about his Scallopini Parmigiano di Vitello (a breaded slice of veal with noodles and GeWhG = Generic White Gravy), as the cook absolutely failed to season with salt or anything else. Having checked out the gathered dining crowds, we had spun a theory that the restaurant -- which is generally praised online -- would probably be most frequented by senior citizens, who's sensitive digestion is a prime reason for the flat, unsalted, posh-looking gravied noodles. We shall likely avoid this establishment in our future, barring emergencies.

Arriving by eight p.m. at our camp, we were all tucked in our sleeping bags by eight thirty. I have no idea when our kids fell asleep -- for I surely did even before our offspring stopped rolling and chattering, and even before Sid began to snore (and God knows he usually snores within ten seconds from the moment his head hits the pillow).

Lisa was the first one up as usual, there was nothing I could do except also getting up. Tom was the last one to stay in bunk, but by eight thirty we were all having breakfast. Then it took us almost an hour to collapse the tents and pack. Our kids made a great progress since last year, when it used to be a problem to make them occupied somehow. Now they would help a bit, mostly be in someone's way, but nevertheless they were content with the situation and needed only superficial control. They were actually quite behaved throughout the trip -- they had been quite self-reliant and self-sufficient; they can keep each other company or play individually; you can make conversation with them or explain things -- and they definitely and obviously enjoy road-tripping.

At ten we had engulfed yet another breakfast in Hays Street Cafe and got to Leavitt before noon. Sid and I had arranged for a a four-hour ride there. Sid got Farnsworth this time, I got Egypt again. Besides David, two more locals rode along with us -- Mike a Matthew -- their job was to have a look at various routes and loops, and where the river was safe to ford this year.

Northern shore of Mono Lake

Big like daddy

Tom has been issued our old camera.

Sid and I had taken this trail the year before, but that was August, the end of summer. This time we caught spring in full swing. Roaring green grass and leaves, overflowing streams, impressive waterfalls -- the landscape had a distinctly different look. On the spot were used to be a meadow last year, we found a beaver dam, with pointy chewed-on stumps of young trees. We were not lucky to spot a beaver, but we passed a heap of logs about which David claimed to contain a beaver den. Just above this dam I - AGAIN - dropped my lens cover. I could not control Egypt sufficiently to return. My mare insisted on not letting Sid's Farnsworth out of sight and refused to stop. So I yelled over my shoulder at Mike to be as kind as to pick the cover up. Mike obliged - perhaps because he was not with us on the previous day and did not know we tended to drop the cover with amazing regularity.

We picnicked near the waterfalls, and hurried back downhill. I passed the camera on to Sid, to let him snap pictures. You can guess what ensued (a hint: lenses cover). I think that on this ride we really made a name for ourselves and the crew of Leavitt Meadows Pack Station won't forget us anytime soon.

We pack a snack for our longer ride.

Beaver pond

Riding horses is interesting in how one regenerates quickly. I began complaining after a three hours spent in the saddle on the previous day, while this time the four hours seemed bearable. Having dismounted, I hobbled for a while, but my situation would improve rapidly and in the evening I was only feeling tired legs and back. My mood improved when I noticed how the professionals would also complain after dismounting -- even the young (barely) adult David moaned how he was too old for these long rides.

Sid and I were afraid that after return we would find our kids bored (after all, they were spending the second day in the same place), but there was another surprise ready for us. Our Lady Lisa was sitting in the car, reading a book (the kids regard our bus as our small home away from home), but Tom came to welcome us to the corrals with his new seven year old buddy, Corvin. Being local, Corvin took Tommy through the barn, jumped on bales of hay, alternated in playing with our old camera, and overall were graciously mischievous. Tommy had reached an age where he appreciates company of other children, especially someone so dramatically different from his younger sister.

Now, in the spring, the falls are full of rushing water.

Tom had enjoyed his time at the pack station (we hope that he and Corvin did not cause too much damage).

When our departure became inevitable, Tommy broke into tears saying he did not want to go home. When Craig tried to console him that we might come back again, he began crying even more that it would only be much later -- obviously he had gathered some experience with reality of life. Thus, against protests, we all gathered in our car -- awaiting a trip across the whole Sierra Nevada and the Central Valley almost all the way to the coast. Beginning after dinner at 50's Roadhouse near Knights Ferry, I got behind the wheel and must say that I felt having had enough. Kids had dozed off an hour before dinner, granny went down after dark -- only I could not. We came home by ten thirty -- juniors went straight to their respective beds, no bathing. We raced for the shower and then poured over a thousand of photographs we took during this weekend.

I would not hesitate to call the trip a huge success. We got to ride on horses, finding out that the more one rides, the easier and more comfortable traveling in saddle becomes. We have visited beautiful locations difficult to reach while being a pedestrian. Moreover, the eastern side of the Sierra is a "matter of the heart" for me; it's a land where I relax and recharge my batteries. Our children had enjoyed camping out, being in an alpine wilderness with snow and a river. Thanks to the friendly and outgoing crew of the pack station, they were exposed to the country farm yard and witnessed, how one takes care of animals. Our always careful Tom is surprisingly unafraid of horses, but has developed a healthy respect for them (he knows that "horseys know Corvin and so Corvin can go close, but the horses don't know Tom"). Our juniors loved the trip and were enjoyed every part of it, staying nice and not obnoxious. They made us very happy so -- you're always glad when your close ones manage to share your hobby.

Pictures that would not possibly fit in this entry, can be viewed here.