Remote lake offers a no-frills Sierra vacation

By Thomas Curwen
Los Angeles Times

LAKESHORE, Calif. — After five hours of driving, night had finally caught up with us. Through the forest we caught glimpses of the lake and the flames of campfires, and by the time our high beams fell on our turnoff, we were ready to collapse. We unpacked the car and walked down to the dock. Huntington Lake, this unexpected gem in the middle of the western High Sierra, lay before us, dark and still beneath the stars.

But for us, this is the appeal. There are no big resorts here, no fast-food restaurants or fancy eateries, no deafening powerboats and Ski-Doos. This is a no-frills kind of escape, reminiscent of a bygone era. At 7,000 feet, surrounded by dark green forests, granite domes and peaks, it is just short of heaven.

When the sun rose the day after our arrival, the sweet indolence of a morning without an alarm took over. I filled the percolator with water (no automatic drip machines here), lighted the propane stove and stepped outside to remind myself what this world looked like in sunshine.

We were staying on the quiet southwest corner of the lake at Lakeview Cottages, a collection of 11 small, comfortable cabins. Surrounded by tall red firs, the cabins were built almost 100 years ago and have been progressively upgraded. All have porches facing the lake.

The cabins, open from Memorial Day to Sept. 30, are managed during the summer months by Jayne and Denny Mann. They not only organize activities, ranging from a pancake breakfast to a scavenger hunt for kids, but also maintain the all-important waiting list.

Because Huntington Lake is a popular destination with limited lodgings — only four resorts are open during the summer — it is a good idea to reserve well ahead. Lakeview Cottages takes bookings two years in advance.

When Margie and I heard this, we despaired of ever getting a cabin. But the Manns are efficient and call immediately with news of a cancellation. When the phone rang three days after our initial call, we thought we were lucky, but we were told such luck is not uncommon.

Ours was a spotless one-bedroom, one-bath cabin. It had white batten-board walls and linoleum floors. The cabins have plenty of hot water, showers, refrigerators and enough pots, pans, plates and utensils for a family of four. We'd brought a week's worth of groceries. Jayne had recommended that we bring table lamps for reading at night; the cabins are starkly lighted by single ceiling bulbs.

Although the lake has some rustic places to eat, we chose to fix our own meals. The local coffee shops serve hearty breakfasts and cook up burgers, fish 'n' chips and the like for lunch. Some have patios facing the lake. Near Lakeshore, the official hub of lake activity, a few places serve dinner, mostly mountain-style fare (pan-fried trout, chops, New York steak).

After breakfast — and nothing compares with frying bacon and brewing your coffee in the mountains — we went for a walk. A trail wraps around the lake through a wilderness of red firs and lodgepole pines, ferns and bracken. Overhead the breeze sighed through the needles. To our left, the lake rose from the shore like a landscape painted by Cezanne.

For the first few days we were no more ambitious than this. Away from phones, computers and interruptions, we watched the shadows of trees clock from west to east, smelled sap warming in the sun and listened to the silence, a luxurious emptiness broken only by the distant slap of a screen door, children counting in a game of hide-and-seek or the splash of someone diving into the lake.

When we felt adventurous, we took beach chairs to a deserted cove, read in the sun and swam in the icy clear water. Later, we explored the woods near our cabin, field guide in hand, identifying wolf lichen, manzanita, larkspur and penstemon.

In the evening, we barbecued steak or hamburgers and got to know another family who has been coming to Lakeview Cottages for years. Their ski boat was tied to the dock, and this year they had brought a sailboard with them. They welcomed us around their fires and passed along a few favorite activities: They recommended a drive into the back country over 9,175-foot Kaiser Pass and into the Vermilion Valley, where there are two other dammed lakes that feed into Huntington. Or we could take a dip at Mono Hot Springs, also in the Vermilion Valley.

One afternoon we rented a 16-foot sailboat from the small marina just across the lake from our cabin. As the boat was being rigged for us, we poked around the general store, which was stocked with fishing gear.

It was a beautiful afternoon for a sail. Huntington has long been regarded as one of the finest sailing lakes in California. Not only are the afternoon winds brisk and challenging, but most power boaters avoid it. They find that the lake is too choppy.

Gliding across the water, we tacked downwind past one of the dams, the spillway and its gatehouse, past the dense forests on the southern shore and the posh cabins on the opposite side. The return trip was wet and cold.

These mountains are as wild as ever. Head over to the D&F Pack Station, just west of Lakeshore, and go out on an hour, half-day or full-day horseback ride. You will find yourself on a narrow trail rising above the lake and soon disappearing in a world of crags, meadows and dizzying views. There are several hiking trails — the Eastwood Visitor Center has guidebooks and maps — that might inspire you to lace up your Vibram-soled boots. Within an hour or two you will have found yourself a private spot to picnic beside a stream or some quiet mountain glade.

One favorite destination is Rancheria Falls, a mile hike up Rancheria Creek on a paved trail. For the more ambitious, there is the hike to Nellie Lake, a 10-mile round trip in the Kaiser wilderness.

This trip was something of a homecoming for me. Before leaving, Margie and I had pulled out a Super 8 movie, since converted to video, of a vacation my family had once taken here in the early 1960s. There was my father with his buzz cut; my mom with an assortment of hats; my sister, Sally; my brother, Bob; myself and Sheba, our black Lab, all piled into a green Ford station wagon.