The Sierras are not easily transected. There are roads for sure, but roads that you can reliably take a 38’ motor home on are relegated to highways and at least two-lane paved roads. To get to Wishon Village and Wishon Lake we had to amble back down the mountain to the old reliable highway 99, head north, and then angle back northeast up, up, and up again into the mountains. What may have been 30 or 40 air miles turned into something like 100 road miles of sinewy, spaghetti-bowl climbing and dropping. Old Nell did us right. She hung in there and we made it, though the tachometer was very busy that trip. Good thing, too, because Wishon and its environs are drop dead gorgeous...sort of a Shangrila of the Sierras. This old resort has been here for ages and rules atop a very remote section of the Sierras. There is literally nothing else, civilization-wise, near here, and, it’s at the end of the road, literally. Snow still graced the sides of the roads and some parts of the forest. Perhaps we were at 8000’ or so. The resort is well cared for and obviously loved by its owners and managers and staff. IT’s the kind of place that people come back to year after year. They make reservations for the next year as soon as they possibly can. They’d make reservations for eternity if they could.
The forest here is as thick as gravy and when you get a few yards into it just as dark. I took the dogs out for a walk and decided to venture straight into them as I used to do in Missouri, no trails. After about a hundred yards, no, fifty, I started to get disoriented. First, I was dazzled by the ecology of the place. Sequoias were arching to the heavens and every manner of green living tree, lichen, moss, and mountain flower sprung up out of the melted snow and super-saturated hills. Granite, pushing its way out of the earth and forcefully as God’s own muscles. Talk about feeling small! Heidi and Dash were equally enthralled. They splashed through the playground as if they were in heaven...they were.
Wishon Lake itself is semi-hidden in this overgrown garden. Its banks are rock-lined and really difficult to get to. It’s a gem for sure. It’s apparently loaded with trout but we did not fish it. We spent our time here, brief as it was, hiking and cramming every bit of scenery and sensory experience into our souls. After so much time in the desert, the deep moist earthiness and bracing altitude, along with being surrounded by new environments as yet unfelt in our lives, was intensely appreciated and relished. This...is why we do what we are doing...why we sold everything we owned. We traded up.