tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18764385818399809582024-03-05T07:30:39.233-08:00Rock Creek LodgeThis blog has been created as a place to capture the memories & history of Rock Creek Lodge during the time it was owned by the Roby family: 1947 through 1988.Lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17529051671675437679noreply@blogger.comBlogger55125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438581839980958.post-27761728319459943412015-09-20T17:13:00.001-07:002015-09-20T17:13:49.079-07:00Look Who We Found<br />
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Anyone recognize this gentleman on the left? He worked at the Lodge for two summers, 1973 and '74. We recently heard where he's living these days, so of course the senior Robys showed up on his doorstep unannounced. Fortunately, he has the same fond memories of his time at Rock Creek as the rest of us. So who is he? Tom Walsh! I asked if he'd mind sharing a bit about his life since then...<br />
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"I now have young men and women working for me (around the same age as I was at your Lodge) and I think how young I was! As I'm sure is true for most everyone, time has mellowed and changed me to some extent."<br />
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"I was working at the Lodge between HS and my first year of college, and then the summer between my 1st and 2nd years at college. I originally attended Humboldt Sate Univ, but knew in my heart that I wanted to be involved with aviation and Aerospace in some fashion. I transferred to San Jose State Univ where I finished a BS in Aeronautical Operations, and went to work for a commercial land developer as his pilot. That was short lived due to mortgage rates going through the roof at that time and wanting to stay somehow connected to aviation, went to work for Lockheed Corp. I worked for Lockheed for 20 years! I was involved with the launching and operation of most of our nation's classified satellites. After leaving Lockheed, I went to work in Silicon Valley for a few start ups and did some consulting for Lawrence Livermore Laboratories."<br />
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"Since college I had learned to love coffee and roasting coffee at home has been a hobby for most of those years. I finally left the Hi-Tech industries and opened a <a href="http://cambriacoffeeroasting.com/" target="_blank">Coffee Roastery in Cambria</a>. I have been doing this now for 9 years, and I absolutely love it."<br />
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Thanks, Tom, for sharing your story. So fun to reconnect with you!<br />
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<br />Lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17529051671675437679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438581839980958.post-48830040276106238362013-02-13T17:11:00.001-08:002013-02-13T17:11:38.340-08:00You Don't See This Every Day<br />
When's the last time you saw someone in a suit at Rock Creek? This is my great-grandfather, Kilburn Roby II, standing next to the meadow (or what used to be a meadow) before you cross the bridge onto the Lodge grounds. Probably 1947 or so.<br />
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<br />Lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17529051671675437679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438581839980958.post-16116518249448033832013-02-08T15:48:00.001-08:002013-02-08T15:48:34.066-08:00Back to the Very Beginning<br />
Recently I received some old family slides from my aunt Martha. We haven't yet looked at all of them, but this gem was in one of the carousels we have viewed. We believe this was taken in 1947, the first year the Roby family owned the Lodge. Martha remembers that they took their truck up the old road before it was closed to vehicles. She recalls being amazed at how slowly it crawled up Crankcase Grade in its lowest gear.<br />
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That's my grandmother, Kathryn, with her first three kids bundled up in the back of the truck; Kib, Jim, and Martha. Click on the image to see it full size.<br />
<br />Lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17529051671675437679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438581839980958.post-33186858797694972192012-09-06T16:15:00.000-07:002012-09-06T16:15:14.294-07:00"Up at Rock Creek" 6x8 oil<br />
From <a href="http://josephmancuso.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Joe Mancuso's blog</a>...<br />
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Available Through Coons Gallery In Bishop California. 300. framed
<a href="http://coonsgallery.com/Coons_Gallery/Welcome.html" target="_blank">http://coonsgallery.com/Coons_Gallery/Welcome.html</a></div>
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I painted this piece while I was up at Rock Creek a couple of weeks ago. This is the scene right before arriving at Rock Creek Lake. Before arriving, I had already planned on painting from this location so I was already thinking about values, colors and shapes etc. You could say I was already painting it before I arrived. I had thought about the granite on the mountains and the blue sky and how they related to each other. I was also thinking about the apsens and if the greens used would be warm or cool or both? When I first arrived and setup my easel I noticed the shadows across the road and how they would be the first shapes to change, so I quicky made shape and color notes for those as well as the shadows on Mount Abbott. From that point on I roughed in the biggest shapes and then worked more on the details later. When I began painting, the sky was clear and when I finished it looked like it might rain. Experiences like this keep me excited and motivated to paint on location often.<br />
<br />Lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17529051671675437679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438581839980958.post-81737560683486657262012-08-24T11:36:00.000-07:002012-08-24T11:37:34.757-07:00Benton Hot Springs<br />
Here's an interesting bit of history on Benton Hot Springs. Might be a fun side trip next time you're in the area.<br />
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<a href="http://windyscotty.wordpress.com/2012/08/14/old-benton-hot-springs/" target="_blank">Old Benton Hot Springs by Windyscotty</a><br />
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<br />Lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17529051671675437679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438581839980958.post-78863914901716143492012-08-18T11:17:00.001-07:002012-08-18T11:17:39.942-07:00More Photos!<br />
After seeing the photos I've been posting, my cousin Jessica Roby Martinucci (Tom Roby's daughter) was inspired to scan and share some of her own on Facebook. Since not everyone can see them there, I'm sharing them here too. I also added them to the Slideshow (see link above)... we're slowly filling in the timeline.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4BiEV2aUfWbPfoosU-Vm5btcua6V0EpJjnkBKa-36bIoXdUJ6LL946_4C7s9hYawYrABWnz1RzUPKAjMH48gyNcGNq9JU7w8ApAZSHpGNhzPhWyBdcWy_eEf-xZzhWlkRNCah-KckK4sn/s1600/Martinucci1965.08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4BiEV2aUfWbPfoosU-Vm5btcua6V0EpJjnkBKa-36bIoXdUJ6LL946_4C7s9hYawYrABWnz1RzUPKAjMH48gyNcGNq9JU7w8ApAZSHpGNhzPhWyBdcWy_eEf-xZzhWlkRNCah-KckK4sn/s400/Martinucci1965.08.jpg" width="396" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;">Tom Roby, August 1965</span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ4Pom1xMS8YfoIpjg1sbFKgVRdPjBP4WWcKvzxfpBwT2HKd_RVVWxQqKB2fFvqYaA7SR21ay8m8yqlxaRYESont5X1eFdpcpPhvsBnoYijRTXegy514HqXBI73pZVMbt0ZZpiW_axVXB9/s1600/Martinucci1965ed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="393" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ4Pom1xMS8YfoIpjg1sbFKgVRdPjBP4WWcKvzxfpBwT2HKd_RVVWxQqKB2fFvqYaA7SR21ay8m8yqlxaRYESont5X1eFdpcpPhvsBnoYijRTXegy514HqXBI73pZVMbt0ZZpiW_axVXB9/s400/Martinucci1965ed.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;">Linda (Mitchell) Roby with Tom Roby and horse's behind at Rock Creek Pack Station, circa 1965</span> </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGy_9Myk81mUMsBCZ80TfhKIbI_705pPR02zePvry011Y70-AxVAdwmd0liUerGhKsoTZG7patgV6Bbu2WuQ9_oLol81GnceduY3Albf1tu-aLprqJ_DsR6nKvJMCphHUaKdSiY3h14H3A/s1600/Martinucci1966.07aed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGy_9Myk81mUMsBCZ80TfhKIbI_705pPR02zePvry011Y70-AxVAdwmd0liUerGhKsoTZG7patgV6Bbu2WuQ9_oLol81GnceduY3Albf1tu-aLprqJ_DsR6nKvJMCphHUaKdSiY3h14H3A/s400/Martinucci1966.07aed.jpg" width="390" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;">Brothers Kib and Tom Roby behind the counter in the store, July 1966</span> </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijVCpmS3SOKLteZMMyG4vY9DI_-145YpstpT7Tqr7m3EJsVpf_aEn00bl0ixDDJpK0eNnIZvHgHEqYTuEf9AqDFDJlOsFBayT2FQx5GKA9M6p7JpKHkjmPqVK-paPBs4CmYJ6-fuZIZbFu/s1600/Martinucci1966.07bed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijVCpmS3SOKLteZMMyG4vY9DI_-145YpstpT7Tqr7m3EJsVpf_aEn00bl0ixDDJpK0eNnIZvHgHEqYTuEf9AqDFDJlOsFBayT2FQx5GKA9M6p7JpKHkjmPqVK-paPBs4CmYJ6-fuZIZbFu/s400/Martinucci1966.07bed.jpg" width="396" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;">Tom Roby in green jacket, Bud Edmonson in blue, Charlie McNeil in glasses, Kib Roby standing, July 1966. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;">Does anyone recognize the others?</span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQSP3pkVkcMgnPSEuq1e8lsL38rVhKSmbVsAlrtKM8-4FcKiIrEC-V8U4lnMEG0pYbVmWyLmqT3TGLEnOiorHmHKQUYiKWlwoXoFM4BY-QkOhZtEwBA0VpKdAcT6JRdmeGZ_nVtCooLRjg/s1600/Martinucci1966.07ced.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQSP3pkVkcMgnPSEuq1e8lsL38rVhKSmbVsAlrtKM8-4FcKiIrEC-V8U4lnMEG0pYbVmWyLmqT3TGLEnOiorHmHKQUYiKWlwoXoFM4BY-QkOhZtEwBA0VpKdAcT6JRdmeGZ_nVtCooLRjg/s400/Martinucci1966.07ced.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;">Rear: Eric Boutwell, unknown guest, Kib Roby (standing)</span><wbr style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;"></wbr><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;">. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;">L-R seated: Pamela (Hunsicker</span><wbr style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;"></wbr><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;">) Stadler; Hazelle, Kimberly, and Jack Rosander; Tom & Linda Roby. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;">July 1966</span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSLBg_msNAgTpnW3usdxyKmh5aJcTtZV1yXmfidwCj9YWrAGw0JeSUQLcke2GCkh9td_OGqt9SIFK8T_d5jd4xy8KFWm5ohPKiT_2VwP2M7QYOaYeQqH9GoadWkKW-SvMHgR7VCI0qFgBT/s1600/Martinucci1971.06aed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSLBg_msNAgTpnW3usdxyKmh5aJcTtZV1yXmfidwCj9YWrAGw0JeSUQLcke2GCkh9td_OGqt9SIFK8T_d5jd4xy8KFWm5ohPKiT_2VwP2M7QYOaYeQqH9GoadWkKW-SvMHgR7VCI0qFgBT/s400/Martinucci1971.06aed.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;">June 1971</span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCtCmL9eUB6YRDWXAqn2vDk3o0qNBXqgqy6Wq5ii315xIqjLr9e1tvDXpXRzic-JwIBXR9tro7VIfuWQxc29K6G1kCM_AaSD-FO83PI8E3ibMPWR_v2yDb94Vmr62wXoo37Q0rnXGS7_JW/s1600/Martinucci1971.06bed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCtCmL9eUB6YRDWXAqn2vDk3o0qNBXqgqy6Wq5ii315xIqjLr9e1tvDXpXRzic-JwIBXR9tro7VIfuWQxc29K6G1kCM_AaSD-FO83PI8E3ibMPWR_v2yDb94Vmr62wXoo37Q0rnXGS7_JW/s400/Martinucci1971.06bed.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;">Jessica with her mother Linda, and Kib in the background</span><wbr style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;"></wbr><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;">, June 1971</span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQB1deuYIBkyo0tSr-DhijXjhLIgxUQeSuerJ0XH4_03SWnYn-2JAOlXQm_pX4SNrepE8jz_Lp4S1HB2cbBfsfMPM9NKk0OCucBq9OW1ssGf608NIkkpfXU-At9LdHyYj7JxCvBVO7aJMt/s1600/Martinucci1972ed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQB1deuYIBkyo0tSr-DhijXjhLIgxUQeSuerJ0XH4_03SWnYn-2JAOlXQm_pX4SNrepE8jz_Lp4S1HB2cbBfsfMPM9NKk0OCucBq9OW1ssGf608NIkkpfXU-At9LdHyYj7JxCvBVO7aJMt/s400/Martinucci1972ed.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;">Creek above the Lodge, 1972</span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2PIw1S82JlXhnBQU8OC6nEXafN7-nISGqVSjT8TalmFR0vodCDFfRBD0ZL69gfnJGkfR4gXFqyQtYX_SO7haph-wq80_12uqz8NhS9t3y5wct4zTdzyIoUioObZcuKSYbIjYXH_DiIcpa/s1600/Martinucci1972.07ed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2PIw1S82JlXhnBQU8OC6nEXafN7-nISGqVSjT8TalmFR0vodCDFfRBD0ZL69gfnJGkfR4gXFqyQtYX_SO7haph-wq80_12uqz8NhS9t3y5wct4zTdzyIoUioObZcuKSYbIjYXH_DiIcpa/s400/Martinucci1972.07ed.jpg" width="276" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;">Donna & Dean Miller, Leslie holding onto swing, and Jessica showing her love for cousin Kibby! </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;">July 1972</span>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWOqdYG5XarEsg9vjahtKzIYFtMOo7tuFNxd5uo8EsUBp11vOJmS0jBVMlVMUNWmzUNT-v62vJ-o00K8qMQMmGqECgXc-izY3uvLelsm71BqThRn0pBU3s_vIltRqP490Fuiu9CbykpKhG/s1600/Martinucci1975.07aed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWOqdYG5XarEsg9vjahtKzIYFtMOo7tuFNxd5uo8EsUBp11vOJmS0jBVMlVMUNWmzUNT-v62vJ-o00K8qMQMmGqECgXc-izY3uvLelsm71BqThRn0pBU3s_vIltRqP490Fuiu9CbykpKhG/s400/Martinucci1975.07aed.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;">Leslie teaching cousin Jessica to fish with Linda Roby watching, July 1975</span>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT4bopidl4PqVqTkf-GGW6WCT2bPwa9eT3RvOMAmyRN93AVQ9li7PUxeChEV34A9SLdEzoBoRP_-D4aoUhqeBn1iL73VOIb3148YjZocfhCQVSos2hP6uST-XDCY-zg3s21B_PM7wfBg3a/s1600/Martinucci1975.07bed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT4bopidl4PqVqTkf-GGW6WCT2bPwa9eT3RvOMAmyRN93AVQ9li7PUxeChEV34A9SLdEzoBoRP_-D4aoUhqeBn1iL73VOIb3148YjZocfhCQVSos2hP6uST-XDCY-zg3s21B_PM7wfBg3a/s400/Martinucci1975.07bed.jpg" width="280" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;">Kib, Kibby, Jessica</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;">, and Pepper, July 1975</span> </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ6aofDmg1-L51R7X-JORkNM7bh-GG59wHAqbfa4w19J_3WnxTwaUdTJegp4SuaGK2T7ySuFNkki0fnmtqPobmE5oGc6MG25q84voEIjYAoNmIHsRZAMPYZ2HS01GI4Y1FlH9Esc4hoonm/s1600/Martinucci1975ced.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ6aofDmg1-L51R7X-JORkNM7bh-GG59wHAqbfa4w19J_3WnxTwaUdTJegp4SuaGK2T7ySuFNkki0fnmtqPobmE5oGc6MG25q84voEIjYAoNmIHsRZAMPYZ2HS01GI4Y1FlH9Esc4hoonm/s400/Martinucci1975ced.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;">Cousins! Jessica</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;">, Kibby & Leslie, July 1975</span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT59swSNlYEJHR6dE4RvcfV4ccG03SPnvKy8UOth2jmIDFo8dP7CXr5qpJA9yC8-V1yHKJ8iHspg3Hs-uPCqUIJx7uqBkquN8IfyXF2O6B3bzrEduHcf6scN4j1M2QydkhX9hHW4qZlSJK/s1600/Martinucci1977aed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT59swSNlYEJHR6dE4RvcfV4ccG03SPnvKy8UOth2jmIDFo8dP7CXr5qpJA9yC8-V1yHKJ8iHspg3Hs-uPCqUIJx7uqBkquN8IfyXF2O6B3bzrEduHcf6scN4j1M2QydkhX9hHW4qZlSJK/s400/Martinucci1977aed.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;">Campfire fun! Unknown boy in red, Kibby, Pepper, Leslie, and Torrey, Jessica, & Tom Roby, 1977</span> </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXw74NSvfg_SbGgZcSYGPZSlIKo75F91yDwzg5D73KJbayQhA0_uo93jgTefFjdIRotR6P5T51mINOb-WTaKK0RJ011RBcJWdcM-jjD3iz34c6uJ91HqXdWAeaLk8A_aleQYa0Tevsl8Wq/s1600/Martinucci1977bed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXw74NSvfg_SbGgZcSYGPZSlIKo75F91yDwzg5D73KJbayQhA0_uo93jgTefFjdIRotR6P5T51mINOb-WTaKK0RJ011RBcJWdcM-jjD3iz34c6uJ91HqXdWAeaLk8A_aleQYa0Tevsl8Wq/s400/Martinucci1977bed.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;">Smores! Kibby, Torrey, Leslie, and Jessica Roby (and Pepper and Sandy), 1977</span> </td></tr>
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<br />Lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17529051671675437679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438581839980958.post-37622133070032934272012-08-14T15:25:00.000-07:002012-08-14T15:26:25.236-07:00Buried Treasure<br />
As mentioned in my previous post, my parents and I had dinner with the Von Rohr family in Mammoth last week. Ken had said he would try to find some old photos for me to scan and share, and he delivered. Here are the treasures (you can click on them to see them larger). Be sure to check out the short shorts on the boys! We all got a good chuckle about 1980s "fashion."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOE48FoSV_CnOB-B-YHR4eo6rG4z-RPJSaSjXAdIBIBlutMEuqSDe5CxyTMzow1W4XT8ZWz2EIcXlKl2VQg3aI7eb7TnpUuJApslnN7QL5xEfhvI45gLQBXV0K05_kfm1-mWaGeZJmFfKj/s1600/VohRohr1978.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOE48FoSV_CnOB-B-YHR4eo6rG4z-RPJSaSjXAdIBIBlutMEuqSDe5CxyTMzow1W4XT8ZWz2EIcXlKl2VQg3aI7eb7TnpUuJApslnN7QL5xEfhvI45gLQBXV0K05_kfm1-mWaGeZJmFfKj/s400/VohRohr1978.jpg" width="392" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leslie & Kibby Roby enjoying a campfire, 1978</td></tr>
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I think the dog on the left is probably Duke, Ron Williams' dog. None of us knows the kid on the right, although he looks vaguely familiar. Does anyone recognize him? The funniest thing about this photo for me is what I didn't see until I pulled it up on-screen; our dog Pepper is under Kibby's chair, about to taste whatever was on my plate!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilPrYaMPuvZuSNEXRJwKzIXTC5LGY6gw343LE8PpnyinxcfxkkCJUE5hGLQeTLVqZK2FnUt3VwSXh6cLhs4fVMuFHRxULcVuKZt2v-gh8BsUNYKMZFWFT3_PwVB7fvdyFgdclKqaXvaoxK/s1600/VonRohr1981.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilPrYaMPuvZuSNEXRJwKzIXTC5LGY6gw343LE8PpnyinxcfxkkCJUE5hGLQeTLVqZK2FnUt3VwSXh6cLhs4fVMuFHRxULcVuKZt2v-gh8BsUNYKMZFWFT3_PwVB7fvdyFgdclKqaXvaoxK/s400/VonRohr1981.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">typical crowd hanging out at the store, 1981</td></tr>
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Christopher Reavis (seated), Kib Roby, Billy Villarin, Leslie Roby, Kibby Roby, and Shirley Roby.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-aR5jI5Woil96E9gKZI5d1JqVQnZDMJIyY2TzK9MdM42BK4dW-u1-5CNnHZcx-HAXdQyRjUGZpEk8GC-Jz9IHjEfZEbncHhXnCQVoa3Gj26G22RUqODkVk5l0VorMob3WV1aDx2yEcZjy/s1600/VonRohr1981a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-aR5jI5Woil96E9gKZI5d1JqVQnZDMJIyY2TzK9MdM42BK4dW-u1-5CNnHZcx-HAXdQyRjUGZpEk8GC-Jz9IHjEfZEbncHhXnCQVoa3Gj26G22RUqODkVk5l0VorMob3WV1aDx2yEcZjy/s400/VonRohr1981a.jpg" width="391" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eric & Mark Von Rohr and Kibby at an unknown location, 1981</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf3TI-3_UbX80uoJMKFQrTZIVm9s0yBFCdnJ0tMsJCcKrdQdoiwyKI0v3hl5lkgcpOHSb9Igq9kupZCbhL-Wl1Z-VTTpMrnvPUptc9SYPI0ZKR_2gBH6YsMoaW3Q0qq2gPz-kP7iGURj5u/s1600/VonRohr1982.07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf3TI-3_UbX80uoJMKFQrTZIVm9s0yBFCdnJ0tMsJCcKrdQdoiwyKI0v3hl5lkgcpOHSb9Igq9kupZCbhL-Wl1Z-VTTpMrnvPUptc9SYPI0ZKR_2gBH6YsMoaW3Q0qq2gPz-kP7iGURj5u/s400/VonRohr1982.07.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mark Von Rohr, Kibby, Jeff Williams, Ken (Ollie) Kramer, Eric Von Rohr, 1982</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJkkfviHn3HYDoeOzB_KgU7p4TKPRAbeXk45zQzzKne6ls6k_ibx-TZ5watRamJy_Ca8PSHza9-P2RvMr0Y0iUPvCohblTf8ce2KuGm3T-02xCX5boBj_cJhtxjW-ZjHiYr06II7ADkfUs/s1600/VonRohr1986.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJkkfviHn3HYDoeOzB_KgU7p4TKPRAbeXk45zQzzKne6ls6k_ibx-TZ5watRamJy_Ca8PSHza9-P2RvMr0Y0iUPvCohblTf8ce2KuGm3T-02xCX5boBj_cJhtxjW-ZjHiYr06II7ADkfUs/s400/VonRohr1986.jpg" width="317" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the old gas tank, 1986</td></tr>
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Ken, thanks so much for sharing. I promise to get them back into your hands safely!<br />
<br />Lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17529051671675437679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438581839980958.post-58347322725770665452012-08-11T16:46:00.001-07:002012-08-11T16:46:39.777-07:00Robys at Rock Creek<br />
Recognize this?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIAlxxOHM80l9kjdd3IuDemqg6bLjRUhGP-6UQiktk28gVkePKWf9maKiXeJduV29WDIhOxrLF_69W13Y2hCGdTV_CWNlyIxZD0WlW8o6Jh3BBMn5e74AMmuRk3TO0QpDO2-WFaiPYIdYg/s1600/KibShirley2012-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIAlxxOHM80l9kjdd3IuDemqg6bLjRUhGP-6UQiktk28gVkePKWf9maKiXeJduV29WDIhOxrLF_69W13Y2hCGdTV_CWNlyIxZD0WlW8o6Jh3BBMn5e74AMmuRk3TO0QpDO2-WFaiPYIdYg/s400/KibShirley2012-sm.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Yep, that's Kib and Shirley about to arrive at Big Tire. They were spending a week in Mammoth, so I joined them for a few days. Naturally, we had to do a bit of "hiking" at Rock Creek, followed by pie. The walk around the pond was as nice as it always is... lots of wildflowers blooming and absolute peace and quiet.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBJ_O4RbNH5zzWmXp6XjW_blH-s827geyiYWraM51xz1OIDaU51JBz_v0Lx6oSXFBSSrhLBMYxJj7qcPsxh0z0VOLxNmGFdrDHDUVnSlCLBhvIeX-WY1sFeAWBvQpAMwhpzjQOhUU-jNsO/s1600/fireweed-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBJ_O4RbNH5zzWmXp6XjW_blH-s827geyiYWraM51xz1OIDaU51JBz_v0Lx6oSXFBSSrhLBMYxJj7qcPsxh0z0VOLxNmGFdrDHDUVnSlCLBhvIeX-WY1sFeAWBvQpAMwhpzjQOhUU-jNsO/s400/fireweed-sm.jpg" width="286" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">fireweed</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4h-oIoq_E130uTFWP3z0oP2kXYq9DJqJz5OGKMeU24YM7REVVZ4l2dpdzekcHNhXWD8WFcpdyZ3iJWQFhyphenhyphenUAXOBhYmMeqakqtvXrlgXWSMAVpGxHp3-GwlIoWi0n6mevgk1wdQgXgkQ-d/s1600/tigerlily-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4h-oIoq_E130uTFWP3z0oP2kXYq9DJqJz5OGKMeU24YM7REVVZ4l2dpdzekcHNhXWD8WFcpdyZ3iJWQFhyphenhyphenUAXOBhYmMeqakqtvXrlgXWSMAVpGxHp3-GwlIoWi0n6mevgk1wdQgXgkQ-d/s400/tigerlily-sm.jpg" width="312" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">tiger lily</td></tr>
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We also walked around Convict Lake; I can't believe how turquoise blue that water is!<br />
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The highlights of the trip were a brief visit with Christine Ferrara Engel and dinner out with the entire Von Rohr family. What a treat to see such great old friends. Sorry there are no photos to share; we were too busy yakking to think of getting out the cameras.<br />
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I do have a bit more to share from the visit, but that will be another post...<br />
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<br />Lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17529051671675437679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438581839980958.post-21887366729161142092012-05-22T16:40:00.000-07:002012-05-22T16:41:07.762-07:001961 BrochureMy mom recently sent me a (slightly damaged) RCL brochure from 1961. I have a few older ones from my parents' days of running the lodge, but had not seen one from my grandparents' time. Looking at the photos more closely, I realized that they were taken by my great-grandmother. I had always assumed they were provided by a professional photographer, but now recognize them as hers since I've been poking around in family photo albums.<br />
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As you can see, the brochure was originally a tri-fold. Later, abbreviated editions lost the interior photos, but the one on the cover remained the same, just cut in half. Note the photo of the lodge before the store was added, and my dad and his siblings with their donkey. I will take this opportunity to publicly note that although I tried many methods of persuasion throughout the years, my dad never allowed ME to have a donkey. So unfair!</div>
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Anyway, here's the 1961 brochure and one from our final years for comparison. If you click on the images, you can view them full-size. </div>
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<br />Lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17529051671675437679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438581839980958.post-91863189100121786932012-05-11T17:10:00.001-07:002012-05-11T17:10:52.700-07:00We're Now on FacebookYes, that's right! We now have a page on Facebook. Which means that if you're already on Facebook, you can "like" our page and connect that way too. And if you're not on Facebook, you can at least view the photos posted there - by me or others. You'll see I have added a Facebook badge on the blog in the left-hand navigation - just click and you'll be taken to our page. <br />
<br />
Also, now that I have a new (working) printer/scanner hooked up, maybe I will get back to sharing some old photos and stuff. Stay tuned...<br />
<br />Lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17529051671675437679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438581839980958.post-87979149115994312152012-05-02T14:54:00.000-07:002012-05-02T14:54:06.164-07:00Rock Creek Pack Station in the WSJ...<h2>
<b>Into the Wild West </b></h2>
<h4>
<i>A suburban family's thrilling, chilling, life-changing trip through the beyonds of the Sierra Nevada </i></h4>
By LISA BANNON<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX-_Eq-V0FBaAuHSzxdvyx6VqvVoCns-Ssjo-6lOl_kAOsDsroIAkZ3NzokRZU7SSrt89r4720RSXOZ4mQ0m5iwevVsfoIB6usRDZ3VDEn64nl5kyNvb60lDn15HIqaXrM9cz5g6_GXOmy/s1600/WSJ1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="line-height: 10px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX-_Eq-V0FBaAuHSzxdvyx6VqvVoCns-Ssjo-6lOl_kAOsDsroIAkZ3NzokRZU7SSrt89r4720RSXOZ4mQ0m5iwevVsfoIB6usRDZ3VDEn64nl5kyNvb60lDn15HIqaXrM9cz5g6_GXOmy/s320/WSJ1.jpg" width="298" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: #fff2cc; line-height: 10px; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">MOUNTAIN CLAN | Crossing a stream on horseback, in the eastern slopes of the Sierra Nevada. <i>George Steinmetz</i></span></span></td></tr>
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It wasn't until we reached the summit of Mono Pass, a spectacular trail carved 12,150 feet up in California's Sierra Nevada, that my maternal alarm bells went off.</div>
<br />
Ahead of me, my husband and three children were about to descend a series of steep, narrow switchback trails littered with loose granite rocks—on horseback.<br />
<br />
Suddenly, hazards seemed to be everywhere. The altitude was winding the horses. Bears lurked in the vast forest below. Mountain lions obviously lay in wait. The words of Craig London, the owner of Rock Creek Pack Station who'd sent us on our six-day trip that morning, echoed in my head. "You're completely dependent on your stock," he said, looking us in the eye. "If a horse trips and falls, you die."<br />
<br />
Terror was not what I had envisioned when my husband, an intrepid traveler, proposed taking our suburban New Jersey children on an outdoor adventure. Ages 12, 9 and 9, the kids were growing up much more "indoors-y" than out—to them, "the wilderness" might as well have been a sequel to "Angry Birds." George wanted to give them a memorable experience and teach them some basic survival skills before they became completely alienated from the natural world. He assured me that they would be more than fine without the antibacterial wipes, helmets and location-tracking iPhone apps that we had come to rely on at home. The physical discomforts, he argued, would be worth it.<br />
<br />
I agreed in principle. But in reality, I had no idea how painful it would be for a self-confessed helicopter mom to relinquish control in the woods.
<br />
<br />
For an authentic experience—far from hotels or Internet access—George chose a remote section of California's Sierra Nevada, a snow-capped range that includes Mount Whitney, Yosemite National Park and some of the last uninhabited wilderness areas in the contiguous U.S. Its backcountry trails are accessible only on foot, no motors allowed.<br />
<br />
Mr. London recommended we explore the John Muir Wilderness, 589 miles of trails through sapphire lakes, granite peaks and pine forests, named after the Western naturalist and set aside as part of the 1964 Wilderness Act. Mr. London furnished us with horses, a guide, a cook, camping equipment and food. Five mules hauled our gear and six bottles of good California wine (my secret to survival), over the pass to set up our camp—14 miles from the nearest road—in advance.<br />
<br />
I asked what would happen in an emergency. Mr. London, who trains special forces in backcountry navigation, shrugged: "Oh, you'll suffer for a day while they ride out for help. It's the wilderness—there are risks!"<br />
<br />
But even he wasn't totally cavalier. Unless our kids wore "protective head gear" on the horses, we'd have to sign a release, he said. This was a no-brainer for me, but George strongly disagreed. "Cowboys don't wear 'protective head gear,'" he said.<br />
<br />
I reluctantly stood down, mindful of my promise not to hover. The horses never faltered. And after seven hours, our helmetless children emerged unscathed from their descent over the pass, giddy with the adventure of it all. I recovered from my heart palpitations as we arrived at camp.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: #fff2cc; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 13px; text-align: left;">Catch trout and have a picnic. <i>George Steinmetz</i></span></td></tr>
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Tucked beneath the imposing 12,000-foot Mono Rock, the campsite looked out on the kind of landscape our family had only experienced while watching "The Sound of Music"—a lush valley with a babbling brook flowing through it. Nick and John were amazed that they would be brushing their teeth in a creek. I, meanwhile, was fixating on Giardia lamblia. My guidebook warned that the parasite could be found in some Sierra lakes and streams, and should be avoided by boiling and filtering all drinking water.<br />
<br />
This (I thought) helpful advice was dismissed by Ed, the cook; Paul, the guide; and my husband. "Been coming here for years. Never got that," said Paul, a plain-spoken Texan who'd worked the rodeo circuit.
<br />
<br />
Besides, he said, there were other concerns. Ed had spotted bear scat around the campsite, meaning a visit was possible. While this thrilled 9-year-old Nick, I could only recall the group of teens who'd recently been mauled by a grizzly in Alaska.<br />
<br />
Paul explained that although they adorn California's flag, grizzlies are extinct in the state. Local black bears generally don't attack humans unless you get between a mother and cub or food is involved. Our food, he pointed out, would be sealed in metal canisters and kept away from our tents.<br />
<br />
By day three, it was very clear that the instincts that granted me undisputed authority in suburbia were useless in the mountains. My husband's skill set was now ascendant: He could read a topographic map, gut a fish and follow tracks to find his way back to camp. He took us on trips to sparkling high-altitude lakes and meadows bursting with wildflowers where we would hike, catch trout and picnic.<br />
<br />
One afternoon, while George and the boys were out hiking, Ed and Paul needed to go wrangle the horses. The sun was setting and I couldn't stop thinking about the bear.<br />
<br />
"Do you want my gun?" Paul asked. Nell, age 12, whose entire experience with firearms involved a squirt gun in our backyard pool, asked meekly, "What's it for?"<br />
<br />
"Horse shootin'. Bear shootin'. People shootin', if necessary," said Paul, spitting out a wad of chewing tobacco.<br />
<br />
By day five, I could see how self-reliant our kids had become. Nick and John could catch and clean a trout, feed a horse and read a topo map. Nell could identify 24 different wildflowers and tell stories around the campfire.<br />
<br />
Yet I was the most unexpected beneficiary of the trip. I didn't learn how to shoot a gun. But I could now tend a fire, identify wild chives and enjoy total silence. As we made our way back up to Mono Pass, we met another group heading down, forcing us to turn around. I maneuvered my horse into a 180-degree turn on one of the steepest sections of the trail. I felt no fear; I'd finally learned to let go.<br />
<br />
<b>The Lowdown: Sierra Nevada </b><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Planning It: </i>Rock Creek Pack Station plans horse and mule trips throughout the eastern Sierra Nevada. Our six-day trip for five cost $6,235. rockcreekpackstation.com<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Getting There:</i> Mammoth Yosemite Airport is a 20-minute taxi ride from Tom's Place, the closest town to Rock Creek Pack Station. You can also fly to Reno and drive about four hours to Tom's Place.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>What to Pack:</i> Rock Creek has a 30-pound-per-person limit. But bring: air mattress, sleeping bags, rain gear, head lamps, sun and winter hats, bug repellent, sunscreen and cash for tips.<br />
<br />
Write to Lisa Bannon at lisa.bannon@wsj.com<br />
<br />
<i> A version of this article appeared April 7, 2012, on page D11 in some U.S. editions of The Wall Street Journal, with the headline: Into the Wild West. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The online version: </i><a href="http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052702303816504577307970491146042.html">http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052702303816504577307970491146042.html</a>Lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17529051671675437679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438581839980958.post-7998149400754650262012-04-09T10:33:00.000-07:002012-04-09T10:33:29.972-07:00Memories of Grant Clark<p></p>We've got mail! Grant Clark, who worked at the lodge in 1969, sent the following e-mail. It's a perfect description of "life at the Lodge" that I know many others will enjoy too. Thank you again for contacting me, Grant. We really enjoy hearing from everyone and catching up.<br />
<br />
<br />
Dear Leslie,<br />
<br />
I hope this letter finds you well. I have not seen you since you were two years old in the summer of 1969, when I worked that season for your father at the lodge. Through the years I have thought often of your family and I was very happy when my oldest daughter, Michelle, found the Rock Creek Lodge blog. I enjoyed the photos of your mom and dad as well as you and your brother (I didn't know you had a brother). Michelle encouraged me to write and share some memories of my time at the lodge. <br />
<br />
I had just finished my junior year of high school (Buena Park High School in Orange County). I arrived on a Greyhound Bus in early June, 1969, at Tom's Place and there was Kib Roby waiting for me in the old VW to drive me up to the lodge. That afternoon, in June, it snowed at the lodge and it was the first time in my life that I had been in falling snow ... it was pretty wild for a So. Cal. boy. I met your mother, Shirley, and you, and if I remember correctly a dog named Pepper. We all got to know each other over dinner. Your dad gave me a tour of the lodge and grounds, and I was so excited for the adventures that I knew lay ahead that summer.<br />
<br />
The winter of '68-'69 had been a severe one for snow, and its volume and weight had collapsed the roof of the dining hall right down through the middle of the floor. Of course the dining hall and kitchen were essential to the operation of the lodge so the repair of roof/floor was the first order of business. Kib had already started the work before I arrived so I helped in its completion and that was my introduction to building/remodeling skills. Climbing up on the roof to repair it and paint it green finished the project. <br />
<br />
There was some minor damage to the roof of the lodge, but it did not suffer a collapse. We accessed the attic through the drop down stairs and then strengthened several trusses with 2x4's we cut to size. We finished that project by painting the roof of the store/lodge the same green color as the dining hall. Through the experience of rebuilding structures and the entire summer of working with Kib as he repaired plumbing and electrical, I think he is the handiest man I have ever known.<br />
<br />
Within a few days the entire summer staff arrived; Penny and Wendy Sykes (sisters), Tom Pogue, Roger Nielsen and I. Roger had worked at the lodge the previous summer and was the most knowledgeable and responsible of the three guys. He was an easy choice for your father to be the go-to guy. Roger lived in the room up in the attic of the lodge while Tom and I bunked in the room over the shower/laundry rooms. I forget where the Sykes sisters stayed, probably in one of the cabins. You and your family had the small cabin across form the kitchen and you had your own little play ground with a red slide and swing I think. By-the-way, you were the cutest little thing at age two.<br />
<br />
As I suspected, that summer turned out to be one filled with adventures. The guys had daily routines of opening the store at 6:30 a.m., cleaning cabins after guests checked out which meant we cleaned the kitchen and dishes, changed bedding, swept and mopped floors, etc. The A-frames had bathrooms that also needed cleaning between guests and we cleaned the flush toilet outhouses. Penny and Wendy along with Shirley washed all of the sheets, towels, etc, in the old washer with the hand ringer. Everything was line dried as there was no clothes dryer. At various times during the day we took turns watching the store and serving customers who stopped in. <br />
<br />
Penny, Wendy and Shirley worked in the kitchen and prepared three squares a day for the staff. I must say, we ate well that summer. Each evening they would prepare dinner for the lodge guests and sometimes we guys helped serve. It was always fun being around the guests who were generally in good spirits. On Fridays we barbecued steaks, burgers or dogs and that was always a treat. <br />
<br />
The guys had several special assignments and projects. We spent the better part of a month cutting and chopping fire wood for the stoves in the cabins, and laying in a large stock of fire wood for the winter ski company who occupied the lodge. Large trees with trunks three to four feet in diameter on the lodge grounds had already been felled so we used chain saws to cut rounds about one foot tall. We then employed steel wedges and sledge hammers to separate a round into four or five pieces. We then used axes to cut the pieces into two inch thick sticks that were twelve inches long to be put into the wood burning stoves. I thought of the whole process as a manly task ... just what a 17-year old boy needed!<br />
<br />
Once a week Tom and I hiked the 1/2 mile or so up to the cistern and checked on the water level. The source of water for the entire lodge and cabins was the natural spring and well that fed into the cistern, so its level was critical to maintain.<br />
<br />
Once each week we guys made a trash run through the grounds of the lodge. We drove the old, large stake bed truck and picked up bags of trash as well as the trash cans. We then drove down the canyon to the dump (ravine) behind Tom's Place and dumped the load. As an aside, in those days one could buy fire arms through mail order catalogs. Shirley had a Sears Catalog that Tom and I got a hold of and we discovered some .22 caliber rifles that we could not live without . . . so we each ordered one! In ten days they arrived in the mail and they made the runs to the dump a whole lot more fun. We shot up the dump like we were defending Fort Apache . . . they were great times.<br />
<br />
Each week Shirley made a shopping list for one of us guys to take to Bishop to get the week's supply of food and other commodities for the store. Going to Bishop (going to town) was always the coveted job. We drove the old, blue Dodge pick up and Kib had a large, insulated chest in the bed that we used to haul back the dairy and refrigerated goods. We bought meat, vegetables, fruits, canned goods, dairy supplies and what ever Kib wanted for the store. The trip often took the better part of the day, but we were always back for dinner.<br />
<br />
Each day someone drove the old VW down to Tom's Place to pick up the mail. I remember that our address was Rock Creek Lodge, Star Route 2, Bishop, CA. The post office was downstairs under the bar at Tom's Place, but it really wasn't a post office, it was just big box about 4x4 feet with lots of cubby holes, one of which was labeled Rock Creek Lodge and our mail was in there. Kib always liked a news paper to be brought back to him as there was no T.V. or radio up at the lodge.<br />
<br />
Each evening after dinner Kib made a roaring fire in the lodge fire place. Many of the lodge guests gathered with us to visit and tell stories. When customers came into the store we served them. One night we asked Kib how hot the fire could make the temperature in the lodge. He said, "Let's find out." We stoked the fire with wood and more wood, we closed the doors and got the temperature up to 87 degrees -- that was too hot so we opened all the doors.<br />
<br />
Kib always gave us a day off each week. We traveled, hiked and saw the sights of the eastern side of the Sierras. One night all five of the staff made a moonlight hike over Morgan pass. Once I climbed with an experienced climber to the top of Huntington Peak and that was really something. Once we traveled to Bodie, the old ghost town. Sometimes we went to the hot springs and pools. Usually each day Tom and I could find some time to put on our running shoes (we both were cross country runners in high school) and go for a workout. We developed strong lungs running at 10,000 feet.<br />
<br />
When early September arrived I had to leave to finish my last year of high school, but a part of me would have willingly struck a deal to be like Peter Pan and suspend growing up if I could have stayed. Leaving the Robys, my friends on the staff and Rock Creek Lodge made me sad. Three months earlier I didn't know what to expect and how great a summer it was going to be, but it turned out to be the best summer of my life -- a coming of age summer. I think I instinctively knew that a chapter was closing and that I would never return to this place, at least not as a member of the Rock Creek Lodge staff. <br />
<br />
For the summer of work and fun, Kib compensated each staff member with their room, their board and $400 cash. After tallying up the cash advances, treats I ate from the store, the purchase of a .22 caliber rifle and the purchase of my first pair of cross country racing shoes, I departed Rock Creek Lodge with $124 in my pocket, a hug from Shirley, a hand shake from Kib and a lifetime of memories. I couldn't see spending the money to buy a bus ticket to get home so I hitched a ride in the back of a pick up truck from two guys who were heading down to L.A. My father worked in L.A. and when I showed up at his down town office looking a little like a hippie (I had let my hair and mustache grow), he took a double look and was quite surprised to see me. We had breakfast together and then he put me on a bus that delivered me to Knott's Berry Farm which was only one mile from my home in Buena Park. When I walked through the front door of home, my mother squealed with delight that her oldest child was home from a summer of adventure. I know you can't go back, but I do miss the days and times of Rock Creek Lodge in the summer of 1969. <br />
<p></p>Lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17529051671675437679noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438581839980958.post-3508450215396822382011-11-02T10:57:00.000-07:002011-11-02T10:57:19.593-07:00Eastern Sierra Art at Coons GalleryJust in case anyone might be in the area and interested in some great Eastern Sierra art...<br />
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Note that you must RSVP to attend the reception. Here's the Web site with info and images of the paintings they have for sale:<br />
<a href="http://www.coonsgallery.com/">http://www.coonsgallery.com/</a><br />
<br></br>Lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17529051671675437679noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438581839980958.post-5439559720530732382011-10-05T13:57:00.000-07:002011-10-05T13:57:32.324-07:00Fall Colors<div>
<br />
On my way home from Mammoth last weekend, I made a brief detour up Rock Creek to see the fall colors. The aspens near Upper Pine Grove and Lower Corral ranged from yellow to orange, and I could see a small spot up the side of Wheeler Ridge that was already red.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Near Upper Pine Grove</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wheeler Ridge</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Near the cabin at Lower Corral</td></tr>
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The rabbitbrush blanketing the Owens Valley was too gorgeous to simply drive past, so I also pulled over in Olancha and had a brief conversation with the cows about what a perfect day it was.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Olancha</td></tr>
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Lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17529051671675437679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438581839980958.post-35707639922825786672011-10-04T15:52:00.000-07:002011-10-04T15:52:57.778-07:00A few familiar faces<br />
I joined my parents in Mammoth over this past weekend so that we could attend the memorial service / barbecue for Herb London in Bishop on Saturday. It was an absolutely gorgeous day filled with music, laughter, and great storytelling. I'm sure Herb would have approved. I had the pleasure of catching up with a few old friends, so I thought I'd share the handful of photos I took...
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<i>Jim Brumfield & me</i></div>
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<i>Leonard Hunsicker & me</i>
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<i>Kib Roby & Ginny Hunsicker</i>
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<i>Ginny & Leonard</i>
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Lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17529051671675437679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438581839980958.post-40560313467454960912011-09-20T09:48:00.000-07:002011-09-20T09:48:11.940-07:00One of America's most beautiful highways<br></br><strike><img height="256" src="http://bloximages.chicago2.vip.townnews.com/azdailysun.com/content/tncms/assets/v3/editorial/6/14/61406f1e-5616-5645-b9bf-a2be4e318b0e/4e714e9a9cd8c.image.jpg" width="400" /></strike><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i><br />
Cattle in a field in Lone Pine graze below the magnificent range of the High Sierras in California. In middle right of range is Mount Whitney, the Old One, with its two twin spires on the left of the peak. Betsey Bruner/Arizona Daily Sun</i></span><br />
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BETSEY BRUNER Arts & Culture Editor<br />
<i>Arizona Daily Sun </i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px;">| </span>azdailysun.com<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Posted: Sunday, September 18, 2011 5:00 am</span><br />
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When my Phoenix cousin, Brad, asked me to photograph his wedding this summer in Lake Tahoe, Calif., I jumped at the chance for a family reunion, and a road trip.<br />
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Planning my route, I decided to get to there via U.S. Route 395 in California, a highway I have long considered one of the most stunning in our country.<br />
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A JOURNEY FOR DAD<br />
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I also had sentimental reasons for picking that route: My dad, William, who died last July at age 97, had spent many summers in his late teens and later in life hiking and camping in the Sierra Nevada mountain range, which many nickname the High Sierras or the Sierras.<br />
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He had also climbed Mount Whitney, which, at an elevation of 14, 505 feet, is the highest mountain in the contiguous United States. The Paiute Indian Tribe had called it the Old Man or the Old One, a fitting name for a stately and dramatic peak.<br />
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The steep Sierra Escarpment on the east side of the range parallels the highway for miles and is a huge fault-block created in the Cretaceous Period (145.5-65.5 million years ago) as a molten rock mass rearing up sharply from the west to the east.<br />
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The result is a drive with amazing views for hours of lovely, jagged peaks, so it is not surprising this section of the highway is called the Eastern Sierra Scenic Byway. The byway identifies 23 scenic turnouts and interpretive displays from Topaz Lake in north Mono County to Little Lake in southern Inyo County.<br />
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The highway also serves as a connection to the Los Angeles area for the communities of the Owens Valley, Mammoth Lakes and Mono Lake and is used as an access for both the highest point in the U.S., Mount Whitney, and the lowest point in North America, Death Valley.<br />
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RIDING THE RAILS<br />
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Probably the best sightings by car of the granite face of Mount Whitney are from the little town of Lone Pine, whose Whitney Portal (8,360 feet) at the west of the town is the preferred trail and gateway to an ascent of Whitney.<br />
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This was the way my dad always went, with his pal, Warren, as they escaped a Los Angeles suffering from the effects of the Great Depression.<br />
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They "rode the rails" from L.A., hopping into a passing train without paying, almost like the so-called hobos or homeless vagabonds.<br />
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They would probably have to hitch a ride on car or truck from the east-west train line in the Mojave to get to the road north to the Sierra.<br />
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Carrying only blanket bedrolls, thin jackets and canvas backpacks, they supplied themselves with slab bacon, canned goods like milk and even carrots and eggs.<br />
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They picked up mules at the old mule station at Whitney Portal, and lived for a few months on trout they caught in the many lakes up high.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Mount Whitney, with an elevation of 14,505 feet, is the highest summit in the contiguous United States. As seen from the east side, the two distinctive needles make it easier to spot as it looms just over two miles above the town of Lone Pine in the Owens Valley below. The ancient and worn Alabama Hills are in the foreground. Betsey Bruner/Arizona Daily Sun</i></span><br />
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MUCH LOCAL HISTORY<br />
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Mount Whitney is still considered a challenging but manageable climb for amateurs (with training) and professionals alike, and the little towns below -- Lone Pine, Independence, Big Pine and Bishop, the largest city in the Owens Valley -- offer good eats and cozy places to stay, some with wonderful views of the magnificent mountain range. The range is also part of the larger John Muir Trail, another very popular backpacking route.<br />
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Also visible surrounding Lone Pine are the Alabama Hills, the ancient weathered hills of metamorphosed volcanic rock that are about 200 million years old, as compared to the 90-million-year-old granite of the Sierra Nevada range rising sharply behind.<br />
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The corridor going through these little towns has been used since the California gold rush. Before our highways were numbered, it was known by several names including El Camino Sierra.<br />
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After leaving Kramer Junction on SR 58 in the Mojave Desert and climbing up to higher elevations, travelers can stop at Randsburg, dubbed a living ghost town, for evidence these gold rush days.<br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The living ghost town of Randsburg (population 69) is in Kern County, Calif., just off U.S. Route 395 as it climbs out of the flatlands near Kramer Junction heading north to the Sierra Nevada or High Sierra mountain range. Gold was discovered at Rand Mine near the site in 1895. It's a fun spot to stop and stretch and even has some places to eat and sleep. Betsey Bruner/Arizona Daily Sun</span></i><br />
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MANY GREAT STOPS<br />
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Randsburg is just one of many very fun sojourns possible as one drives along Highway 395. Other stops include a high concentration of natural hot springs along the way, the Manzanar National Historic Site, a internment camp where Japanese Americans were imprisoned during World War II (near Independence), and, one of the best destinations in the vicinity, Mono Lake.<br />
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The lake is located northwest of Bishop as Highway 395 climbs up more than 3,000 feet in elevation, past Crowley Lake, Mammoth Lakes, June and Grant lakes and the community of Lee Vining.<br />
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Dating back at least 760,000 years ago, it is a terminal lake in a basin that has no outlet, so that dissolved salts make the lake very alkaline and saline. In fact, Mono Lake has nearly three times the concentration of salt as the ocean.<br />
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There is a state-of-the-art visitor center there with many displays to illuminate the story of the lake, including information about the unique and lovely tufa or limestone formations dotting the lake.<br />
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GREAT WATER WARS<br />
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The ecology of Mono Lake was threatened when Los Angeles extended the Los Angeles Aqueduct system farther upriver into the Mono Basin.<br />
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The original system was completed in 1913 when water was diverted from the Owens River, ultimately providing half of the water for Los Angeles and robbing farmers and ranchers of land and water.<br />
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This act incited the California Water Wars, a fierce and long-running episode in history, which also inspired the 1974 film "Chinatown."<br />
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Highway 395 briefly crosses over into Nevada, where one can cross back over to California on one of the connecting highways at Gardnerville or Minden, and on to South Lake Tahoe, my ultimate destination.<br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Betsey Bruner can be reached at bbruner@azdailysun.com or 556-2255.</span></i>Lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17529051671675437679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438581839980958.post-33935302383836046052011-08-27T09:44:00.000-07:002011-08-27T09:44:17.234-07:00Squirrel!I think anyone who spent time at Rock Creek as a child remembers playing with the ground squirrels. Well, Jim Bull shared this story, with photos...<br />
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"One of the years we were up, I was bored and fascinated by the number of ground squirrels digging everything up all over the place, so I set up a trap near the shower house and caught a pair of them in short order, then built a box with the help of Ron Clark and somebody on staff, to take them back south to Claremont, where they lived for about 2 years. Only problem was they did not hibernate as was their normal process and eventually died from the heat or something else."<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsIiyyJR49226GGQPUOHq5bE6-7rSpd2GmhbLlIPuWML8mnUFHbs-3b8I37x95_k_4Xt4LokshuGym4CjYBGN5LdD-TD77SX0umClURRvobuFSylNIQSoKohvbzFln1vViPF5I9kQzFn7x/s1600/Bull5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsIiyyJR49226GGQPUOHq5bE6-7rSpd2GmhbLlIPuWML8mnUFHbs-3b8I37x95_k_4Xt4LokshuGym4CjYBGN5LdD-TD77SX0umClURRvobuFSylNIQSoKohvbzFln1vViPF5I9kQzFn7x/s400/Bull5.jpg" width="287" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>In front of Cabin 7</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--%3C/i%3Eo7kruDHKMY/TlkcaJk7rgI/AAAAAAAAHW4/MPZlnC7qiik/s1600/Bull6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4R8q7_m3giCv5xPWcp7bKQ3kyahVc132RUS4WGQWWXb4a5LMngtxNpd0AlJzlolkZ7PVXRCd8uAJ4fO5XB1dlJRbOsnNTcZqcLXtkxxJ8AnCfbudG6Mb3fr6bVM0tkyCWDmZE8hTYr285/s400/Bull6.jpg" width="368" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>At home in Claremont</i></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">And what a great Rock Creek kind of mom!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17529051671675437679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438581839980958.post-66472818762641862092011-08-24T15:59:00.000-07:002011-08-24T15:59:37.543-07:00More Bull Family Photos: Early 1960sI was thrilled to find another message in my inbox with photos from Jim Bull, Jr. More iconic images from the early 1960s! The <a href="http://rockcreeklodge.blogspot.com/2010/02/photo-to-share.html" target="_blank">last photo Jim sent</a> was of his brother Ben, his mother Libby, and Jim sitting in front of the store. Now we get to meet the photographer, Jim Bull, Sr. Here we have my dad Kib, Jim Jr., Ben, and their dad Jim Bull, Sr.:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdAma9ywwMhktWsOrvHpZs_034NGDbZ1bULILoo-K7-fWRGfyV-2_gS_1XOQbrtd-VFBCwJTJiYKVsdumsvkOAoyCVTe32Ywtym-E2fkIU3NDTvfbEiScj2gJGyQsoKZJAxMN7s8czY18j/s1600/Bull1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdAma9ywwMhktWsOrvHpZs_034NGDbZ1bULILoo-K7-fWRGfyV-2_gS_1XOQbrtd-VFBCwJTJiYKVsdumsvkOAoyCVTe32Ywtym-E2fkIU3NDTvfbEiScj2gJGyQsoKZJAxMN7s8czY18j/s400/Bull1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
And what was always one of the most fun events at the Lodge? Fish truck day! I can't tell you how many people still talk about how much fun they had riding the truck, carrying the sloshing buckets, or watching the fish stream from the truck into the pool near the upper bridge. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1_JudL3xf0d1Hiq9SO_TzFKWxMd7vcS40bBMWcYdwe6SPgI56M_Pcbs1Frs_eYglmSAA-iMOhGahnbWOvl36cqn9lSajuN4AKWhkr5gNNzIwyBnI_-NvMT77fkYrCwlSup0jXksI59Czw/s1600/Bull2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1_JudL3xf0d1Hiq9SO_TzFKWxMd7vcS40bBMWcYdwe6SPgI56M_Pcbs1Frs_eYglmSAA-iMOhGahnbWOvl36cqn9lSajuN4AKWhkr5gNNzIwyBnI_-NvMT77fkYrCwlSup0jXksI59Czw/s400/Bull2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
The man standing on the truck in this image is Charlie McNeil, and that's my dad again in the plaid shirt to the right of it. Libby and Ben Bull are on the far right in front of the Lobby. Does anyone know who the others might be? (Click on the photo to see it full-size.)<br />
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Here's much of the same crowd at the dumping spot:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj99hhOYa7wqQiJE4dO6JHVG4CgNbf5obvvyZWFSjqp7fWAajukrc6utdvbrkijqccj0__90CYThKUBGbnchEncu7aZ9pxI6Dq0qxNTrcV6XOICdAsIR7Fb6r7LntkgCmI5WRPHw0yNQmdR/s1600/Bull3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj99hhOYa7wqQiJE4dO6JHVG4CgNbf5obvvyZWFSjqp7fWAajukrc6utdvbrkijqccj0__90CYThKUBGbnchEncu7aZ9pxI6Dq0qxNTrcV6XOICdAsIR7Fb6r7LntkgCmI5WRPHw0yNQmdR/s400/Bull3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
A huge thanks to Jim for sending these along - they made my day. There are details I had completely forgotten about. Remember the red box on the porch of the lobby? It held Forest Service tools (axes, etc.) at the ready in case of fire. And who remembers the banner across the road? My parents did not!<br />
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Lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17529051671675437679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438581839980958.post-7396090055152536812011-06-10T11:03:00.000-07:002011-06-10T11:03:14.648-07:00Side Trip to Mammoth LakesI apologize for not posting anything here for such a long time; I've been too busy with other projects. <br />
<br />
Since I enjoyed this brief story posted on Dave McCoy's blog about the owners of another Eastern Sierra lodge, I thought I'd share it here. Many of you who have visited the Mammoth Lakes area in addition to Rock Creek might have crossed paths with Bob Schotz or visited his Woods Lodge at Lake George. As you'll see in the blog post, he also built several prominent buildings around Mammoth. <br />
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Anyway, <a href="http://www.davemccoyphoto.com/185-mammoth-1940s-1950s-bob-shotz/" target="_blank">click here to see their story and photos</a>.<br />
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You might also want to poke around in some of Dave McCoy's other posts; he's been sharing a lot of historic photos of Mammoth Mountain and the area in general, in addition to his own recent photography.<br />
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Enjoy!<br />
<br></br>Lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17529051671675437679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438581839980958.post-59205625878870401742011-04-04T08:57:00.000-07:002011-04-04T08:57:10.746-07:00Memorial Services for Herb London<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUxhzsP2TPOKKRMfUF7KkokMtI24k7YArek1UHDIK6vO70FH4yNPeqQnniaqI13sPnxyElQ2ESDDcQCedW3f4d5Ur0ptkQP1ZIEdjd-CglEKgQUj2-K9EIDCL-tnQynFLY5JTSXwthb-tj/s1600/herblondon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUxhzsP2TPOKKRMfUF7KkokMtI24k7YArek1UHDIK6vO70FH4yNPeqQnniaqI13sPnxyElQ2ESDDcQCedW3f4d5Ur0ptkQP1ZIEdjd-CglEKgQUj2-K9EIDCL-tnQynFLY5JTSXwthb-tj/s320/herblondon.jpg" width="220" /></a></div>Craig London has passed along information about the two services that will be held for Herb in Ojai and Bishop. Please <a href="http://www.memorialsolutions.com/sitemaker/memsol.cgi?user_id=349762" target="_blank">click here</a> to visit the memorial page with details.Lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17529051671675437679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438581839980958.post-63364487737250197202011-04-01T09:53:00.000-07:002011-04-01T17:54:50.156-07:00Herb London<p></p>Rock Creek has lost one of its great personalities. I got word this morning that Herb London has died. He was a huge presence in my life at Rock Creek and it's difficult to think that he is gone. I'm sure most everyone has some personal memory of him, from seeing him at the Pack Station to sitting in the lobby at the Lodge listening to his stories. The most vivid image I always recall is seeing him at Lower Corral, an Airedale or two never far from his side. Rock Creek and all the people who love it will miss you, Herb. Craig, our thoughts are with you.<br />
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Here's an article from <a href="http://news.sierrawave.net/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=4374:remembering-herb-london-of-inyo-and-ojai&catid=6&Itemid=200021" target="_blank">Sierra Wave</a>:<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Remembering Herb London of Inyo and Ojai</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0x2vU22aDIReVxrNYgbg0gcVJoJRiI2zXitQJ9l0V5nTbzQFwBxI7jykMR4rvjTlB8padBUaYgCGJ-SUJXlcmwtgwW6uJ1_wawmrG29brKbS504OqDWSOK-vZu0Slobp0mijzABBh1qp-/s1600/herbcraigsm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0x2vU22aDIReVxrNYgbg0gcVJoJRiI2zXitQJ9l0V5nTbzQFwBxI7jykMR4rvjTlB8padBUaYgCGJ-SUJXlcmwtgwW6uJ1_wawmrG29brKbS504OqDWSOK-vZu0Slobp0mijzABBh1qp-/s400/herbcraigsm.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Written by Benett Kessler</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Thursday, 31 March 2011 20:35</span><br />
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For some ten years back in the 60s and 70s, Herb London sat on the Inyo Board of Supervisors. He was a no nonsense, down to earth, straight talking man who was passionate about proper public planning and wilderness, and he was a story teller extraordinaire. London died Wednesday morning at his home in Ojai with his family and his dog Gus at his side. He was 92.<br />
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London was not a man of pretense. His son, Craig London of Bishop said his Dad was a very basic person. "He never bought anything just because if was new." London's Bishop home was simple and adequate. It looked like part of the land.<br />
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London sat on the Inyo Supervisors between 1964 and 1977. He was there when Inyo filed an environmental lawsuit against the City of Los Angeles over groundwater pumping. He opposed a road to Horseshoe Meadows. His son said London "didn't want uncontrolled growth."<br />
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John K. Smith, Inyo County's administrator for 30 years, said that London was "one of our better board members. He had a way of evaluating a problem and coming up with a real sensible conclusion." On the personal side, Smith and London made trips to Sacramento together. Smith said, "He was enjoyable to travel with. As a packer, he had a lot of stories. He was constantly entertaining."<br />
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London grew up around Glendale, graduated from UCLA with a degree in Agricultural Economics. He worked for American Airlines and was active in the Military Air Transport in World War II.<br />
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Herb and wife Marjorie and others bought Rock Creek Pack Station in 1947. They eventually bought out the other partners and operated the pack station for over 50 years. Craig London continues to run the business.<br />
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Family said London was responsible for creating the Millpond Recreation Center and fought for Wilderness that provided access to all types of people. He was one of the founders of Bishop Mule Days.<br />
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Herb is survived by his wife Aleta, his son Craig and wife Carmen and his loyal Airedale, Gus. Memorial gatherings in both Ojai and Bishop will be scheduled at a later date. For those who want to remember Herb, a memorial fund for trail maintenance on the Mono Pass Trail will be established in conjunction with the Sierra National Forest; or donate to any animal-based charity.<br />
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<i>Note: the photo above was later replaced on the Sierra Wave site with the one below, so I'm adding it here too. Not the Herb we were used to seeing at Rock Creek, but a great photo of him.</i><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV1YlAT7ba2cV_Tixvf89blEhmWEW9BvZv2LGeE1g6fvL55jcqYn1o0T3iNrtakvVqB20x0_P-Bz3-DlC8KmFV0MOcox67MxifDhLn9iDQYkKeT1ERqCVZ36NT2VJT4mZDp1andek7Cx0x/s1600/herblondon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV1YlAT7ba2cV_Tixvf89blEhmWEW9BvZv2LGeE1g6fvL55jcqYn1o0T3iNrtakvVqB20x0_P-Bz3-DlC8KmFV0MOcox67MxifDhLn9iDQYkKeT1ERqCVZ36NT2VJT4mZDp1andek7Cx0x/s400/herblondon.jpg" width="275" /></a></div>Lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17529051671675437679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438581839980958.post-90591633261458970652010-12-24T12:30:00.000-08:002010-12-24T12:30:22.077-08:00Merry Christmas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiE4I-Q3cgTWzbzevvaDUCy1LNHaLaMZU_evXD0drvCfR-iAZxyGDipuNmpYW_8hd_dREbY7ZRpfzqzmy9LGVqErC2brRPxMOup1_EqCG7sTVslrrpBk34DLLOpRu-oUMUFWPEefsPoSRr/s1600/Lodge1961a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiE4I-Q3cgTWzbzevvaDUCy1LNHaLaMZU_evXD0drvCfR-iAZxyGDipuNmpYW_8hd_dREbY7ZRpfzqzmy9LGVqErC2brRPxMOup1_EqCG7sTVslrrpBk34DLLOpRu-oUMUFWPEefsPoSRr/s400/Lodge1961a.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000; font-size: x-large;">Wishing everyone a very </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000; font-size: x-large;">Merry Christmas!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13; font-size: large;">~ The Roby Family</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim6gQRMyuYL_Nqam_FkeSOYUP-bOMt9nMhZ7kx6xBXZn9e_3FVbtqfl0OOdPLkvqJ0o1E7FPcgvQdqoBZ96bzOYk3Sl4c7ya1v_EpFWoSYxbfTIOylDErlty_cIMki81VIgQJ11EPG0JJe/s1600/Lodge1961b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim6gQRMyuYL_Nqam_FkeSOYUP-bOMt9nMhZ7kx6xBXZn9e_3FVbtqfl0OOdPLkvqJ0o1E7FPcgvQdqoBZ96bzOYk3Sl4c7ya1v_EpFWoSYxbfTIOylDErlty_cIMki81VIgQJ11EPG0JJe/s400/Lodge1961b.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<i>These photos are from my Grandfather Richard Roby's collection of slides, dated 1961, probably when they opened for the season.</i><br />
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</i>Lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17529051671675437679noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438581839980958.post-14298270132532821162010-12-08T14:08:00.000-08:002010-12-08T14:08:07.391-08:00Mancuso Brothers at Rock Creek<a href="http://rockcreeklodge.blogspot.com/2007/12/joe-mancuso-fine-art.html">Joe Mancuso</a> just shared these photos with me, so I thought I'd share them with all of you. He and his brother Carl visited the Lodge in November...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeIyEQxJRhNzBDhFhsV-7UGETlIC7qyjwgKf434oOAr5wEA_B1_drKKmcAQXnMkxbnEEEQddqXykVQwkPsOYh-Tqiu5wmxxexxA8r4v5Wl0HA-vVIL-t6Mk2WMdVXBlytA5376aPd3QFch/s1600/bridgeview.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeIyEQxJRhNzBDhFhsV-7UGETlIC7qyjwgKf434oOAr5wEA_B1_drKKmcAQXnMkxbnEEEQddqXykVQwkPsOYh-Tqiu5wmxxexxA8r4v5Wl0HA-vVIL-t6Mk2WMdVXBlytA5376aPd3QFch/s400/bridgeview.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>View from the upper bridge</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAElKvcZEb_KsoX3995sghx1tK_ktksl5T09mgCwfx2Ch_v2ha0a4HnR5-MABGIxBgze9kmVis9YtxXx-8xnA_AZsxSxizMyABC-wSDAwC5RsK1UuoAeYRXQzQYIeWL4ha1Bys5ak-XYCC/s1600/carlatrc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAElKvcZEb_KsoX3995sghx1tK_ktksl5T09mgCwfx2Ch_v2ha0a4HnR5-MABGIxBgze9kmVis9YtxXx-8xnA_AZsxSxizMyABC-wSDAwC5RsK1UuoAeYRXQzQYIeWL4ha1Bys5ak-XYCC/s400/carlatrc.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Carl enjoys the autumn sun</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkYoz1S_b_7I8VF_J9rtftLIptfuZuHZfS8RCM4bSmDBi7df6QsW6Aazl_6nqYQIIAaPXJCbD3v4AE9lKv86Er9b9pauO7ezSaHzQ8AA-ginJA7tqh6vqHHeHjTe-0p5yYfFc6f1T7uHaN/s1600/diningroom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkYoz1S_b_7I8VF_J9rtftLIptfuZuHZfS8RCM4bSmDBi7df6QsW6Aazl_6nqYQIIAaPXJCbD3v4AE9lKv86Er9b9pauO7ezSaHzQ8AA-ginJA7tqh6vqHHeHjTe-0p5yYfFc6f1T7uHaN/s400/diningroom.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Dining Room in snow</i></div><br />
And as usual, Joe's talents perfectly capture the Lodge...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj03sgTOOWs9x8qeIW9UN2N-7pRmIHVtaNwyMz38Ln9WOLKu5V3Jg52MQA_nEc5qS8edPcUtQC3QbE4FxwC6gw-sQ0XRMO4p7ySjwU8sfs31KTf5m5E86U3j1vlL9Ypwd3Kk9m0e_Rzdd2M/s1600/lateseasonlodge8x10oil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj03sgTOOWs9x8qeIW9UN2N-7pRmIHVtaNwyMz38Ln9WOLKu5V3Jg52MQA_nEc5qS8edPcUtQC3QbE4FxwC6gw-sQ0XRMO4p7ySjwU8sfs31KTf5m5E86U3j1vlL9Ypwd3Kk9m0e_Rzdd2M/s400/lateseasonlodge8x10oil.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Late Season Lodge 8x10 oil</i></div><br />
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Thanks for letting me share, Joe!Lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17529051671675437679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438581839980958.post-37869767330871217912010-09-27T16:49:00.000-07:002010-09-27T16:49:23.329-07:00A Different View of Rock CreekI ran across a <a href="http://www.socaltrailriders.org/forum/ride-reports/53589-mammoth-rock-creek-epic.html" target="_blank">trip report</a> by someone who rode their mountain bike up the road and then down the Sand Canyon trail along Wheeler Ridge. Thought you might enjoy the photos too (click on "trip report"). This is a nice one of the store...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnKK7_wCbqIGsJMiv2zib03xAhG7fTkf6B6tNMdrrLd5x_zjsskMyjSyuXxfeY68HQp93yUDqzfjBm9VUI1tXr3HIM1BlPfKRFLMn_s_HjDNF9WKYgwXrvhf41oYEz6P2agn3dP0y7vafb/s1600/RCL+by+GP_pilot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnKK7_wCbqIGsJMiv2zib03xAhG7fTkf6B6tNMdrrLd5x_zjsskMyjSyuXxfeY68HQp93yUDqzfjBm9VUI1tXr3HIM1BlPfKRFLMn_s_HjDNF9WKYgwXrvhf41oYEz6P2agn3dP0y7vafb/s400/RCL+by+GP_pilot.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17529051671675437679noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438581839980958.post-2156708253841823492010-07-27T16:34:00.000-07:002011-08-27T09:45:05.973-07:00Roby Invasion at Rock CreekWe Robys have a reunion with extended family every three years. This year my mom and I were in charge of organizing it, so naturally we chose to hold it in Mammoth Lakes. This was fortuitous for many members of the family who had not been to the Lodge in many years—and for those who had never been there, even though they'd heard stories about it all their lives. <br />
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Craig London graciously allowed us to park our caravan at the Lower Corral and I stood on the cabin porch to share a brief outline of the Roby history at Rock Creek. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglCwJ374fASb3MdWGZ1QGDYPl2nv1WsDyogtUdoZ7M7wbI26dGX6CCz03-BgVHbH3TIHbvqjvfOH3sGI4s1ae8MpyiUuD95YQ8IR9OLwr9uwdu5GQ7lkuS3njzarOXWCs7AeC6reK9QiUO/s1600/rclblog6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglCwJ374fASb3MdWGZ1QGDYPl2nv1WsDyogtUdoZ7M7wbI26dGX6CCz03-BgVHbH3TIHbvqjvfOH3sGI4s1ae8MpyiUuD95YQ8IR9OLwr9uwdu5GQ7lkuS3njzarOXWCs7AeC6reK9QiUO/s400/rclblog6.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Photo courtesy of Martha Roby Bader.</span></i></div><br />
We managed to gather almost everyone for a group shot in front of the store.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg33RP1OMCg_qqMMW-ue3kiTAW6g8NRw9CxQdXM-ryn1QuCk1thQWCl6Eq19UoXvn8Wa2SPaRwa0_zUBSNcYyahxthOUxyCLIJ_clCpmbxFSfAM4BEBSLYL6-v1m3SEzsNwISFHOUWlq2ae/s1600/rclblog1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg33RP1OMCg_qqMMW-ue3kiTAW6g8NRw9CxQdXM-ryn1QuCk1thQWCl6Eq19UoXvn8Wa2SPaRwa0_zUBSNcYyahxthOUxyCLIJ_clCpmbxFSfAM4BEBSLYL6-v1m3SEzsNwISFHOUWlq2ae/s400/rclblog1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Note: included in this group are Bob Clark's three kids and one grandson with their spouses, and three of his nieces & nephews with their families—</span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I have noted previously that he built and repaired some of the buildings.</span></i></div><br />
Below are four of the Robys present: Martha, who made an appearance as a little girl in my last post, my cousin David Roby (Jim's son), and of course me and my dad.<br />
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We toured the Lodge grounds and shared a few stories before heading up to Rock Creek Lake to spend some time playing in the water.<br />
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As you can see, it was one of those perfect July days. It was nice that the canyon welcomed all of us back so generously.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ROVGK6Dx3UZJripzaCzg5_Npr3vL5rJsEKyi3B2G7yJbVVbEWqM9eK3vXd76Zl2lfxG_cO6ex0i6qXVlMf_8-jMnSPXMsKIEG78ocMrzvd82WOsw5KF7XBswfXpBWVJ51iyKTcCJeJ_j/s1600/rclblog5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ROVGK6Dx3UZJripzaCzg5_Npr3vL5rJsEKyi3B2G7yJbVVbEWqM9eK3vXd76Zl2lfxG_cO6ex0i6qXVlMf_8-jMnSPXMsKIEG78ocMrzvd82WOsw5KF7XBswfXpBWVJ51iyKTcCJeJ_j/s400/rclblog5.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Lesliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17529051671675437679noreply@blogger.com3