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Alchemist photographer Ian Ruhter brings his time machine to Mammoth
There is a saying: “Jump, and the net will appear.”
When one is compelled by a vision and takes a leap of faith toward that vision, great things happen.
Such is the story behind Ian Ruhter’s Silver and Light project.
Piute Pass is one of the fastest, easiest (well, easy is a relative term in the Eastern Sierra) ways into the high alpine country that dominates the Sierra backcountry.
Along the five-mile hike to the top of a 11,400-foot pass, hikers will pass two beautiful teal and indigo high-country lakes and numerous waterfalls and swimming holes, along with sweet, alpine meadows and wildflowers.
“I have thunder phobia,” Fido said. “Don’t like-don’t like-don’t like thunder.”
“I love a pic-a-nic,” Fido said. “We should have one every single day in the summer.”
Mammoth High School graduate one of top medical students in country
When former Mammoth High School graduate Clifford Sheckter graduated summa cum laudefrom the Keck School of Medicine at USC a few weeks ago, he had every prestigious residency program in the country chasing after him.
Not only did he graduate at the top of his class, he also received the American Medical Association Education and Research Fund’s Clinical Award (one of two students of 160) and its Outstanding Student Award (the only student to get this award).
“I’m home, I’m home, thank Dog Almighty, I’m home!”
“Fido, you might have that ‘Dog Almighty’ thing turned around, but I get your point. It’s good to be back, isn’t it?”
“It felt like I was gone a year. That’s seven years to you, and that’s a long time. I thought I’d never ever get back here!”
“Surely, though, you enjoyed various adventures on your dog-cation.”
“Most of them were bad.”
The sun is hot, the sky is as blue as the underwing of a Steller’s jay, and it’s raining—raining hard.
The rain comes down in great sheets, dropping from the cloudless blue sky, catching the hot light, casting rainbows against the silver granite rock.
Somewhere up ahead, beyond the crashing river drainage below and the tall granite walls above, comes the sound of thunder.
The ground begins to shake; it feels like walking into the teeth of a storm, except the air is warm and fragrant and the sun is shining through the rainbows.
“I like this one,” Fido said “Let’s pee on the tires!”
“You have that all mixed up, Fido. You don’t do that when you’re looking at cars. You can kick the tires, sure, but that’s more a human thing. Dogs don’t kick really well.”
“OK, then, let’s look under the hood!”
“What’s the deal with the blue leash?” Fido asked. “I usually have a red leash. Not complaining, just wondering.”
“Why are we upside down?” Fido wanted to know. “Why does my butt hurt so much? And why is the roof suddenly the floor, and the floor suddenly the roof?”
“Wow, not a single joke in there, except for the title,” Fido said.
“You expected a comedy?”
“I figured “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woof!” was about dogs. It’s in the title.”
“Oh Fido, you have been misled once again. It’s not ‘woof!’ as in a bark, it’s ‘Woolf’ as in a name.”
“They should have made that clear. I am easily misled.”
Who’s Afraid Of Virginia Woolf?: A Theatre Review
As endings go, it would be hard to top Mammoth’s local theatre company.
The Mammoth Lakes Repertory Theatre (MLRT) ends its season with a fiery explosion in the form of the expletive-laced, tremulous relationship between George and Martha in Edward Albee’s “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?”
“I’m not sure I was cut out to be a center fielder,” Fido panted.
“But you’re a dog!” I said. “It seems like you’d be a natural.”
“Not really. My legs don’t work that way. I’m mostly a chow-chow. Ever hear of a Hall-of-Fame chow in center field?”
“Now that you mention it, no.”
Lower Rock Creek trail, one of the best early season hikes in the area, holds many secrets—including the Devils Postpile’s forgotten little sister.
Rock Creek is best known as the beautiful creek that meanders through the meadows above Rock Creek Lake, under the black and white striped turrets and ramparts of Bear Creek Spire, then down along the road from Mosquito Flats to Tom’s Place.
“My sniffer is working again!” Fido yelled.
“Pray tell, my big fine fellow,” said I.
“It’s like someone just flipped the ‘on’ switch! Don’t you sense all these fine whiffs?”
“Human aren’t that tuned in to sniffs, like dogs.”
“That’s too bad. Let’s go over here! No! Over here! No! Over there!”