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The Magic of Mono Lake: Sea Kayaking in the Great
Basin
By Brad Rassler
"Let the past drift away with the water."
-Japanese saying
"Hey, you guys, watch out for that underwater
tufa on your right!" Stuart's words of warning
come too late. My gut wrenches to hear the hiss of limestone
kissing the fiberglass hull of the borrowed sea kayak.
I hope our guide and friend hasn't heard the collision.
I hope in vain.
"Brad, when you paddle in the front of a double
kayak, you've got to be the navigator. Keep your eyes
peeled for more tufa."
Stuart's advice makes sense. Unfortunately for him,
and his kayak, I'm preoccupied, taking in the sights
and sounds of the lake. Focusing on the water six feet
in front of the prow seems impossible at the moment.
However, after a near miss with another lurking calcite
column, I steal a glance at Carla Spencer, my paddling
partner. Her job in the rear hatch is to control the
kayak's rudder, using foot pedals below the deck. She,
too, has been caught up in the wonder of the place,
less in the howto of paddling. We've been weaving around
the lake like a grebe who's eaten too many brine shrimp.
"Better head for deeper water," I say. Carla
nods in assent.
Carla and I are here at the urging of our mutual friend,
Stuart Wilkinson. Stuart owns Caldera
Kayaks, a Crowley Lake-based sea kayak outfitter
and guide service. He and his partner, Sue Johnston,
have kayaked Eastside lakes like Mono and Crowley for
years. Together, they have kayaked most of the Sea of
Cortez shore of Baja and the 400-mile Pacific coast
of Costa Rica.
Stuart had been surprised that we had never experienced
Mono Lake by kayak.
"Safer, and a lot more fun than a canoe,"
he said. "We'll even camp out on one of the islands."
The offer had proved irresistable. Along with Stuart,
Sue, Carla and me are photographer Andy Selters and
Mono Basin Scenic Area Visitor Center naturalist JoAnne
Dolan.
Our group of six, scattered about in five kayaks, hugs
Mono's north shore en route to Negit Island.
The waters of Mono Lake breathe life into the harsh
landscape of the Great Basin. Paddling within its strange
waters, it's easy to appreciate the immensity and beauty
of the place.
Briny blue water slips by the prow as my paddle displaces
countless brine shrimp with a single scull. The tumult
of deep, silent springs pockmark the lake's surface
and testify to the forces that shaped the Mono Basin.
A California gull perched upon a tufa promontory squawks
in protest as we paddle by. An eared grebe dives under
the kayak, an avian torpedo, and reappears yards away,
shakes its head and dives again. The simple but elegant
rhythm of the lake and its inhabitants instills a sensibility
of life boiled down to the basics: water, air, land,
and sun. There is peace in the simplicity of Mono Lake.
And paddling on it is like a meditation. The past and
future do not exist. The here and now is the only relevancy.
It's ironic how the basic motion of paddling a kayak
is not dissimilar to the locomotive efforts of the lake's
most prolific denizen, the brine shrimp. When in need
of instruction, merely look to the depths and observe
thousands of these tiny creatures stirring the water
with their many arms and legs. Perhaps inspired by the
shrimp, Carla and I soon get the hang of paddling and
join the rest of our more experienced group.
Within a few hours, we approach Negit's western edge.
The drone of thousands of alkali flies, fecund and omnipresent,
greets us as we wade to the muddy, alkali-encrusted
shore.
Standing on Negit, we see the evidence of the volcanic
eruption which formed the island. Though the volcano
appears as if it erupted just last month, it is nearly
1,700 years old. Black and rust basalt rises from the
shore to its cinder-cone summit. The shore exudes a
strong odor of lake-bottom sediments and decomposing
matter.
We see remnants of the wire fence erected in the early
1980s, a failed attempt to keep marauding coyotes off
the island when a land bridge was exposed by the lake's
receding waters.
Though the gulls abandoned Negit as their favorite
nesting spot, they have persisted despite the change.
Surrounding islets have provided suitable nesting habitat
and, each year, more gulls return to nest on the lake.
Back in our kayaks, we stream across the table-top
slabs of pavement tufa, no deeper than six inches below
our rudders, then shoot over a seemingly unfathomable
tufa canyon. Spirals of thousands of the brine shrimp
swirl in the depths of the fresh-water springs. They
are attracted to the mineral-rich seeps for the abundance
of phytoplankton which grow there.
The brine shrimp, like the alkali fly, is a major component
of the Mono Lake food chain. No larger than a fingernail,
and resembling wispy strands of thread, these humble
occupants of the lake are nothing if not prolific. An
estimate of their number in the peak of summer exceeds
4 trillion individuals.
We feel privileged to join these small beings in their
habitat. However hard we try, we are not nearly as expert
at paddling as they are.
As we round the east tip of Negit, an archipelago of
black volcanic islets — with names like Java, Pancake
and Twain — comes into view. One holds special
interest for us.
Named Krakatoa, it was used for a memorable scene from
a mostly forgettable 1953 Hollywood film called "Fair
Wind to Java". The film crew constructed an ersatz
volcano on the islet and, in the climax of the movie,
it erupts in a display of pyrotechnics which is impressive
even in a modem-day viewing.
Remnants of the set remain on Krakatoa. In recent years,
the old riggings have been modified by wildlife biologists
into a gull-observation platform. We paddle to a makeshift
dock and scale talus to the top of the island.
The panorama is tremendous. The stretches of deep,
blue water between the buff and black islands makes
us feel as if we are in an Aegian dreamscape, not in
a Great Basin inland sea. Reluctantly, we retum to our
kayaks to begin our passage to Paoha Island.
Paoha is a Kuzedika Paiute word which, translated,
means "Long-haired spirits which rise from hot
springs." The indigenous Kuzedika could see the
hot springs which are on the south shore of the island
from their mainland homes. They considered Paoha haunted,
and rarely mentioned its name for fear of bringing the
wrath of the spirits on their village.
For this evening, we will not heed Paiute lore, and
will brave its shores for an evening.
Almost 10 times the size of Negit, Paoha was created
by a single upheaval of magma about 300 years ago. It's
the bottom of the lake which forms the island's surface.
Paoha's greater size, plus its several bitter springs,
have given it a more colorful human history than Negit.
The island has been tilled for alfalfa crops; a rabbit-and-chicken
farmer once set up shop, and the island was also inhabited
by a family who ran a health resort and raised goats
for milk and yogurt.
Only a few hardy vegetarian coyotes live on the island
today. Though surrounded by water, Paoha is a desert.
The greasewood, rabbitbrush and other brittle Great
Basin vegetation get scant nourishment from rain, snow
and springs. The earth seems raw, only just formed.
We sink several inches into its delicate crust each
time we take a step.
We make camp on a beach of black sand on Paoha's north
shore, on land which will soon be reclaimed by the rising
lake. No sooner do we land than the aftemoon winds pick
up, transforming the placid lake into a whitecap-tipped
sea. Stuart suggests that we follow him back onto the
lake to hone our rough-water paddling skills.
Under his tutelage, we all get the hang of paddling
through the chop. Stuart explains to us that kayaks
come into their own when challenged with big water,
then sets out to prove it by showing us how to surf
the windward swells.
As evening falls, the winds die. We're the only humans
inhabiting the lake this night, and the feeling is of
peace, protection and privilege. We fall asleep to the
sound of Mono's waters gently lapping our beach.
The next morning is clear and windless. We hurriedly
eat, pack and launch our kayaks for a circumnavigation
of Paoha Island. As we round the Lake's south shore,
Hot Springs Cove comes into view. The fabled wisps of
steam rise from the lake, and I trail my hand in the
water. I feel the warm water welling through the cooler
salt water. Several of our party go ashore to further
explore the steam vents, the source of the Kuzedika
legend.
I continue around Paoha alone. On the slow crossing
back to the mainland, I decide that to really know Mono
Lake, one must paddle across it, commune with the brine
shrimp, flies, gulls, shorebirds and waterfowl; reflect
on the geology which created it; and soak in the essence
of the place.
Mono Lake has a magic quality which is in plain evidence
from the deep seat of a kayak. Within the cockpit, half
below the water, one feels less a visitor, more an inhabitant.
It forces you to ponder what further connection you
might make with the inland sea which sustains so much
life — and so much spirit.
MONO PADDLING DETAILS
Paddling on Mono Lake is a grand way to experience
the Lake's biodiversity up close and personal. But there
are some things to keep in mind before venturing out
for an excursion.
First, consider hiring a guide.
One good local source is Caldera
Kayaks. Caldera Kayaks is based in the Eastern Sierra,
is a USFS permittee, and offers guided sea kayak tours
on the lake. Caldera also offers lessons and kayak rentals.
Call Caldera at (760) 934-1691.
The Mono
Lake Committee, based in the neighboring town of
Lee Vining, also offers canoe tours on the lake. Call
them at (760) 647-6595.
If you are an experienced paddler and wish to plan
your own trip on the lake, ranger Larry Ford of the
Lee Vining USFS Ranger Station has these suggestions:
· Remember, all islands on the lake are off
limits to visitors from April 1 through Aug. 1, to
protect the nesting California gulls.
· Launch from Navy Beach. It's the easiest
place to access, and involves the least amount of
portaging.
· Consider kayaking in the morning, especially
during the summer; diurnal winds from the south kick
up about midday, which would make a return trip to
Navy Beach difficult.
· Conditions on the lake can change quickly.
Ford has seen the lake go from calm to choppy within
a half hour. If you are caught on an island when a
strong wind comes up, it's best to sit it out. Always
carry extra food, water and equipment for this eventuality.
· If, between Aug 2 and March 31, you wish
to camp on any of the islands, you must contact the
Forest Service for a permit. Apply either at the Lee
Vining Ranger Station or at the Mono Lake Scenic Area
Visitor Center.
For more information, call the Lee Vining Ranger Station
at (760) 647-3044.
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