Mono Lake Will Tell You Who You Really Are
Listen if you dare
It is near midnight and I am perched on an islet of otherworldly tufa towers about 20 yards from the shore of Mono Lake, CA, beneath the inky dark of an Eastern Sierra sky.
And the lake, to my surprise, is raucous.
Only a light breeze blows from the northwest, but it is enough to rouse these ancient waters, which have occupied this high desert basin for over a million years, making it one of the oldest such lakes in North America.
The sound here is not rhythmic and soothing as you might experience during a sunset stroll along the seashore.
Rather, it is a cacophonous sloshing, with waves, some over a foot high, assaulting my tiny island realm from seemingly every direction.
Beneath the waves, I can hear the lake grumble, as porous, light stones of volcanic pumice and calcium carbonate are sent tumbling along the shoreline.
Occasionally, a two-footer will roll in, swamping my domain, dampening my shoes and threatening my camera gear.
