Winter Wonderland
MAMMOTH LAKES — They once defended Stonewall Jackson, a bit of a military stiff, by pointing out that “when the ludicrous presented itself, he fully enjoyed it.”
Well, there is plenty of ludicrous to go around — then and now.
Like, the fact that McDonald’s now relies on self-help kiosks. Obviously, McDonald’s has given up all its Michelin-star aspirations and decided to go after bottom-feeders like me.
During one recent visit, my order number vanished as I tucked my credit card away. Luckily, the place wasn’t busy (those kiosks doing an excellent job of keeping the crowds down).
Indeed, the road can be a harsh place, Jack Kerourac taught us that, as did Napoleon, as did Thelma & Louise. Bad things happen out here on the gusty 395, which is one of the reasons I enjoy it: the suspense.
It’s just White Fang and me up here for a couple of days in the sugar-frosted Sierra. I lure the handsome husky into the Honda with promises of winds through the aspen and snow napping on the highest boughs.
Our first morning looks like a weather alert. We wake to ice on the walkways and snow pushed 40 feet high. They get so much snow here — more than you’ve ever seen — so super-sized plows push it back off the parking lots into Seussian piles.
You could ski the piles, if you wanted (no lines, no waiting). You could also hollow them out and build a condo, as they do almost everywhere else up here these days.
Remember Whiskey Creek, right there by the light? That whole area will soon be high-end condos.
Meanwhile, my buddy Steve Searles, this town’s former wildlife guru, says authorities have killed or driven off most of the resident bears. Once a model for co-existence, Mammoth has few bears left, Steve says,. That’s a permanent black mark on Mammoth’s resume — if you ask me anyway, which you didn’t.
I’m here to tell you that money may finally ruin Mammoth just as it’s ruined many Western ski towns of once-glorious virtue. “The mountains are calling…” said John Muir, and he wasn’t talking about day spas and hyper-luxe log cabins.
By the time they are done, developers will have paved over everything that made Mammoth irresistible in the first place.
But we’re not here to criticize. We’re here to appreciate … to get high on the wood smoke, the fresh snow, the starry-starry nights.
Our room at the Motel 6 is so cozy that when White Fang goes one direction, I have to go the other. But it is tidy, and they do that fancy thing with the toilet paper where they fold it into the shape of an arrow.
The message: Welcome too Mammoth! Watch your butt.
On every walk, White Fang and I hear the hymns blowing through the pines. As you know, Brahms wrote lullabies, he wrote symphonies. But did he ever write anything as beautiful as this?
Here’s hoping they don’t do to these amazing trees what they’ve done to the poor wild bears. What a lack of taste and finesse. In five years, this place could look like a West Hollywood strip mall.
In winter, Mammoth Lakes has always been a great place to visit but a tough place to reside. Lord knows when the cold wind blows it’ll turn your head around, etc., etc.
As a result, Steve says there are only a handful of restaurants left in town here. They never really bounced back after Covid, so now it’s down to hyper-busy Roberto’s and a few other joints. Before long, they’ll have to put up one of those nice McDonald’s.
Till then, I’d recommend Toomey’s for the buffalo meatloaf, a slab the size of your ski boot. Tasty too.
So, come on up. The skiing is phenomenal, thanks to the recent storms. But I gave up skiing just as I gave up golf: for emotional reasons.
Also, a day of skiing, though never a bargain, is now ludicrous.
A one-day lift ticket now goes for up to $239, depending on the day of the week. A Tuesday night at the Motel 6 will run you $200 (weekends $350-$500). If you can find a restaurant, add another $50 per person for a cheeseburger and a beer.
How do you get Dad buzzed and happy at those prices?
“Like standing in a cold shower and tearing up $100 bills,” my buddy Ulf used to say of a family ski trip.
Still, they come. Because Mammoth is California’s annual winter Olympics. Mammoth remains the antidote to rush hour on the 405 and the yakety-yack leaf blowers next door.
Stuccoed, paved, denuded, emasculated, de-beared, and soon to be unrecognizable, Mammoth Lakes is so wondrous that it may withstand all this cold-hearted greed.
But hurry.
Coming at you once again on behalf of the Erskine Family Compassion Fund, which honors my late wife and son. The donations help struggling families across Los Angeles, providing everything from blankets to financial support. Any amount helps. Click here to donate. If you prefer to send a check, please make it out to LCPC Parent Ed, and send to LCPC Parent Ed, 626 Foothill Boulevard, La Canada, CA 91011. Thank you in advance. There are many good causes; this is just one of them. If you have any problems with the donation site, please email me at letters@ChrisErskineLA.com
Photo of cottage courtesy of Darlene Liptak