On our fifth and final day in the Eastern Sierra we drove further uphill on Rock Creek Road to view the lovely Autumn Aspens which were turning bright yellow up above 9000 feet in late September, then headed south to the Manzanar National Historic Site, where we learned about one of the most shameful events in American History, when the US Government “relocated” thousands of Japanese-Americans into Concentration Camps during World War II.
Now that the storm had passed, it was a cold night up at 8000 feet elevation in the Rock Creek Valley. Frost was everywhere that morning when we woke up. I decided to let Vicki sleep a bit longer and went out to try my hand at fly fishing, hoping to land a trout for breakfast. I wasn’t surprised that I had no luck. It was cold! I imagined that it was hard to be hungry when you’re half frozen, so I let the fish alone and headed back to the car. By then, Vicki was awake. She was hungry, so she got out the stove for a hot breakfast. Meanwhile, I started the car’s engine and cranked up the heat to full blast, and gradually warmed myself back up as well. I went out when breakfast was ready.
It was a fine clear morning. I packed up the gear in the back of the car, but didn’t work too hard at it as we planned to head home today. I’d have to air out, dry out, and re-pack everything later on anyway. We said goodbye to our nice campsite and drove on up the hill on Rock Creek Road. The Mosquito Flat trailhead parking lot was at the far end, and it was situated at 10,000 feet elevation. This was where Vicki and I spent time acclimating to elevation back in 2022, when we hiked 70 miles from here, up and over Mono Pass and on to North Lake via the Pacific Crest Trail. Rock Creek was flowing by, and lots of day-hikers were already arriving, heading out into beautiful Little Lakes Valley.
Back home, I read that the Aspens were turning yellow for Autumn up at the higher elevations right now. They typically turn color at lower elevations in early October, but we were a bit early. It used to be hit and miss, but now there were websites detailing the current Fall Color conditions. I knew that upper Rock Creek was a likely spot, thanks to them. Of course, the aspens themselves also have their own elevation range, typically growing between seven and nine thousand feet elevation. So we headed back down the road until we discovered the best trees and leaves. Very pretty. Other than aspens, most of the High Sierra trees are coniferous, so there isn’t much Autumn Color out here. At least the aspens were bright yellow, but I have to admit that the red of Fall maples back east was more spectacular. California can’t be best at everything, I suppose. Still, this is the Golden State, and these aspen leaves were Golden, so there you have it!
Well, I hadn’t entirely given up on catching a trout, so we drove down the hill to Rock Creek Lake. This lake was very popular with fishermen, and it was regularly stocked with rainbows by the California Department of Fish and Game. Therefore it was also heavily fished, by far better anglers than Yours Truly. I knew that I had almost no chance of catching anything, but the lake itself was beautiful, so it was worth the short hike to the shore. As expected, other fishermen with fancier gear were already stationed at the best spots, where the water was deepest, and where there was minimal brush nearby to snag their hooks. And I didn’t catch anything, or even get a hit. But that was OK. It was still a fine day in the Sierra, with majestic mountains all around us.
We drove down the long hill on Rock Creek Road to US 395, the Eastern Sierra Scenic Byway. We drove down the big hill toward Bishop. But before we reached town, we turned right and took a shortcut toward Highway 168 and the Bishop Creek drainage. This was another one of our favorite hiking spots. I read that there were colorful aspens up there, too.
We drove through the town of Aspendell, which had lots of aspens, but they were still a solid green. We needed to go higher, toward North Lake and the Piute Pass trailhead, up above 9000 feet elevation. We turned off on the small side road to the lake and stopped for yet another opportunity to catch a trout. This spot, on the Middle Fork Bishop Creek, had yielded fish to me before. It was also stocked, but I had to at least try. Once again, I was shut out. But at least this time I could see them. While they utterly ignored my fly. I’m not sure if that’s a better or worse appraisal of my fishing prowess.
We drove up the steep hill to North Lake, and visited the campground and the Piute Pass Trailhead. Then we drove slowly on the way back, enjoying the aspen leaves as they fluttered in the breeze. Vicki and I call them “Giggling Aspens” when entire trees look like they are shimmering and laughing.
Afterward, we drove down the long hill on Highway 168 to the town of Bishop. We stopped at Jack in the Box for a bit of brunch, and turned south on Highway 395. We were on our way home now. It was a clear day, and the views of both the Sierra and the Inyo Ranges were lovely. But first we had to top off the gas tank in Fort Independence, at the Piute Reservation’s cheaper gas station.
We also wanted to stop in at the Manzanar National Historic Site, just north of Lone Pine. Actually, we stopped here on our first day, but the Museum part was closed, so we only got to drive around to the outdoor exhibits. Today was our day to see the important displays inside the Visitor Center. I’m including both visits on this one web page for simplicity. So if you see different clouds in the sky you’ll know why.
Manzanar was one of many places in the west where American citizens and immigrants of Japanese descent were imprisoned by the United States Government in Concentration Camps during World War Two. Much of the camp had been knocked down in the intervening years, but now there were a couple of buildings that were rebuilt for the monument, plus the large museum. And, of course, the ominous guard tower with spotlight.
After Japan attacked Pearl Harbor in December 1941, President Roosevelt ordered that the Japanese be imprisoned for National Security, even though there was no evidence that anyone had caused a real issue.
“Without due process, the government gave everyone of Japanese ancestry living on the West Coast only days to decide what to do with their houses, farms, businesses, and other possessions. Most families sold their belongings at a significant loss.”
Over 110,000 people were rounded up and placed in ten remote camps. Manzanar was one of them, with about 10,000 people. Two thirds of them were American Citizens! Many Americans thought this was wrong, of course, but others were swayed by the usual propaganda techniques: Fear, Uncertainty, and Doubt. These folks liked the idea, and the ones who didn’t were afraid to speak up. This sort of thing has happened many times in American History. Whether it was fear of immigrants, like the Irish, the Polish, the Italians, the Mexicans, and many others, or just generalized fear of newcomers, like the Okies who arrived in California during the dustbowl 1930’s, or even the older fears of savagely murderous Indians, the same sort of cruel, lawless injustices were done. Again and again and again. In fact, the same old rehashed lies are working their evil magic right now! I don’t know how to stop it, or whether it can be stopped. Some things have to run their course. Both the Ocean and Ignorance appear to have unstoppable tides.
The Japanese in 1942 suffered from this madness worse than many new American immigrants, but not worse than all. This internment wasn’t like the Nazi holocaust, with the gas chambers and starved Jews, but it still wasn’t right. Nobody was denied food or was murdered outright, simply for existing. But the conditions of their captivity were certainly less than ideal.
They were housed in rows and blocks of long, tar-paper barracks, exposed to roasting heat in Summer, freezing cold in Winter, and howling winds with dust storms in between. They had a school for the children, and medical care, and clothing. But they also had towers, fences, and military guards.
Inside the museum was where much of the history can be viewed. I didn’t take anywhere near my usual quantity of photos in there. It was far too sad. I’m not going to lie when I say that it brought tears to my eyes. How could the American people I loved have been so incredibly callous and ignorant? As a 12th Generation American, whose ancestors immigrated to Plymouth back in the 1600’s, I can’t help but feel that this is wrong. I welcome all immigrants, because I know that everyone who comes to the US wants what’s best for themselves and their families, with the result that all of the US becomes enriched. In the end, I’m no better than any of the other immigrants, just because my people got here sooner. That’s what the American Dream is all about. That dream was crushed in 1942 for the Japanese in our country. It wasn’t until 1988 that President Ronald Reagan finally apologized for these reprehensible actions. At least it happened eventually.
We drove around the grounds of Manzanar. It was 6700 acres in size, so you really needed to drive. But it was still difficult to grasp the full scale of the camp, now that almost all of the buildings were gone.
One of the places on the grounds that has received the most restoration was “Pleasure Park” where the internees themselves created a place of beauty within the harsh confines of the camp. Many of the Japanese were artisans, and they spent the long hours of their captivity working to build a garden there. Not a vegetable garden, but one with water features and flowers and loveliness.
After spending some healing time in the park and orchards, we drove out further into the sandy waste which once housed not only the Japanese, but also their guards. This was a military camp, after all, with military discipline. And you can be sure that the guards didn’t live in multi-family, tar-paper shacks.
I was in a sad mood after visiting Manzanar, as was Vicki. We hate injustice, as all decent people should. The only bright spot remaining on this day was to get the hell out of there.
It was time to head home. We drove south, down Highway 395, into the vast desolation of the Mojave Desert. Joshua Trees and desert scrub were all the eye could see, for miles and miles. At least it wasn’t 120 degrees, like it often was in the middle of Summer. Today was the last day of Summer, in fact, and the sun was setting earlier than ever. We stopped for breaks along the way, to stretch our legs and prevent cramping. Our new relaxed pace. By the time we got to LA, most of the traffic was gone. Of course, there’s always traffic in LA, but it least it wasn’t gridlocked like the daytime.
It felt good to pull into our driveway that evening. We knew that a soft bed awaited us. I also knew that my 2024 Sierra Adventures were truly finished. All in all, it was good to be home. All I had to do now was write up over fifty pages in Hikingtales! Oh boy. I knew that it would take me most of the Winter to do it. By the time it was published, the 2025 Hiking Season would be upon us. Now, that was something worth getting excited about!
For a topographic map of the hike see my CalTopo Page
For LOTS more photos of the trek see my Flickr Page
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