Claire Henley: Adventures West (Luxury In Lake Tahoe)

  • Wednesday, October 7, 2015

(Editor's Note: Chattanoogan Claire Henley started an adventure of a lifetime on the remote Pacific Crest Trail in April. Along the way, she had many adventures and found herself a husband named Big Spoon).

As we stood on the side of Highway 50, our arms extended and thumbs raised in an effort to get a ride back to the trailhead at Echo Lake, I reflected on the past few days lavishly spent in Lake Tahoe. Big Spoon and I arrived at Echo Lake four days before on a Wednesday. Our reservation at the Resort at Squaw Creek wasn’t until Saturday. Therefore, because the resort was thirty miles northwest of where we hitched in South Lake Tahoe, we decided to explore the area for the next several days before checking in. 

Among other things, like its extravagant casinos, Tahoe was famous for its alpine lake, the largest in North America at a length of twenty-two miles, exhibiting the emerald shades and smooth clearness of the Caribbean Sea. Big Spoon and I wanted to experience the lake with leisure and ease and thus rented a car to go where we pleased at the time we chose. A short bus ride into Stateline, Nevada led us to a busy dealership where the lady at the front desk handed us keys to a yellow Kia Soul, a compact cube on wheels the striking color of a honeybee. 

Freedom was ours as we cruised around the expansive lake. It was late afternoon and the sun hung low. A half hour into the drive, we pulled off on the side of the road behind a long line of cars and walked a mile down a paved pathway to Emerald Bay. Columns of trees lined the asphault, blocking out any view of the lake. Then, at the bottom, the path gave way to sand and water and sky. A rock mansion called Vikingsholm, built in the early 1900s, rose like a medieval castle from the shore. The home contained thirty-eight rooms and was rich in outer adornments. Big Spoon and I picked a spot on the beach in front of the mansion, stripped to our undergarments, and ran into the lake. The water was cold and deep. It cleansed us head to toes. We swam and we swam until all sunlight on the water became overpowered by evening’s chilling shade.

As we stood on the side of Highway 50, our arms extended and thumbs raised in an effort to get a ride back to the trailhead at Echo Lake, I reflected on the past few days lavishly spent in Lake Tahoe. Big Spoon and I arrived at Echo Lake four days before on a Wednesday. Our reservation at the Resort at Squaw Creek wasn’t until Saturday. Therefore, because the resort was thirty miles northwest of where we hitched in South Lake Tahoe, we decided to explore the area for the next several days before checking in. 

Among other things, like its extravagant casinos, Tahoe was famous for its alpine lake, the largest in North America at a length of twenty-two miles, exhibiting the emerald shades and smooth clearness of the Caribbean Sea. Big Spoon and I wanted to experience the lake with leisure and ease and thus rented a car to go where we pleased at the time we chose. A short bus ride into Stateline, Nevada led us to a busy dealership where the lady at the front desk handed us keys to a yellow Kia Soul, a compact cube on wheels the striking color of a honeybee. 

Freedom was ours as we cruised around the expansive lake. It was late afternoon and the sun hung low. A half hour into the drive, we pulled off on the side of the road behind a long line of cars and walked a mile down a paved pathway to Emerald Bay. Columns of trees lined the asphault, blocking out any view of the lake. Then, at the bottom, the path gave way to sand and water and sky. A rock mansion called Vikingsholm, built in the early 1900s, rose like a medieval castle from the shore. The home contained thirty-eight rooms and was rich in outer adornments. Big Spoon and I picked a spot on the beach in front of the mansion, stripped to our undergarments, and ran into the lake. The water was cold and deep. It cleansed us head to toes. We swam and we swam until all sunlight on the water became overpowered by evening’s chilling shade.

Lodging that night was in the Walmart parking lot, forty-five minutes east of Lake Tahoe in Carson City. We figured since we spent money on renting a car, we should milk it for all it was worth by also using it as a home. Tall street lamps outshone the stars as Big Spoon circled the large vacant lot for a good place to park. He eventually picked a spot beneath a light post, away from the giant sleeping herd of RVs. We lowered the back seats and unrolled our sleeping bags. It was an uncomfortable night’s sleep–cramped and hot–but it was a night’s sleep nonetheless. Besides, after spending the last eighty odd nights on the ground, what was it to us to sleep in a car? 

The next two days brought nonstop activities like climbing on the rounded rocks of Hidden Beach, listening to free concerts in the tourist filled streets, and playing the bright and ringing slot machines at Monte Bleu. We gambled fifteen dollars a piece and collectively lost a grand total of seventeen bucks. It was a thrill to try our luck at the casino for the half hour that it lasted, but it made me sad to see the many people with change purses fastened to their hips who appeared to have been there for hours pouring money into the alluring machines, a look of desperate hope in their eyes that the next spin would land on jackpot. 

Saturday arrived, and by this point Big Spoon and I were weary from all the fun and games. The room at the resort where we would stay that night was a wedding gift from a friend. We drove into the plush Squaw Creek grounds at noon, checked in, then lounged by one of the three sparkling pools for the rest of the afternoon. After three nights of sleeping in the Kia Soul, the bed in our fireplace suite felt fit for a king and queen. The room included a generous view of the Sierra Nevadas, a full bath with both a shower and tub, and fancy room service that enabled us to settle comfortably in our luxurious suite, giving us no reason to leave until checkout the next morning. 

My reflections on Lake Tahoe were coming to an end when a Prius pulled over for Big Spoon and me. The woman who stopped rolled down the window. “Going to the trailhead?” She asked. 

As she transported us back to the trail, we learned her name was Deb, a teacher of Geography, Government, and History who, though two years away from retirement, was already working on prerequisites to be a volunteer nurse because, as she put it, she still had a lot of energy and couldn’t see herself as one to sit all day and veg. 

Deb had a happy countenance, a fit and sun-colored physique, and she expressed herself in a clear and upbeat tone. She was a hiker herself who had recently gotten divorced, and she said over and over again how inspired she was by my and Big Spoon’s journey. She said she loved picking up hikers because of the uplifting stories they all had to tell. 

“Our story is that we met and got married on the trail,” said Big Spoon as if on queue.

Deb’s face changed to one of great wonderment. “Are you serious? And now you’re going to make me cry,” she replied. Tears formed in her eyes as she continued, “See, each year I have my students make a Leap List. Not a Bucket List, because why wait until you’re dead to do what you most want to do? And each year, more and more of my kids are putting down that they want to attempt a thru hike. It’s so inspiring to me because, as you know by now after hiking eleven hundred miles, you have to learn to live with being uncomfortable, a fact of life our society tries to cover up with all the glitz and glam. On the trail, you have to learn to deal with struggles, struggles that are preparing you to deal with the struggles of life. And, from what I’ve heard and also experienced, the trail is packed with struggles from thunderstorms to mosquitos to blistered and sore feet. In my opinion, you hikers are living twenty years in five months. And you come out of it with a deeper understanding of life. You come out of it getting it, getting that life is just as much pain as it is pleasure. You’re better for it, trust me. How inspiring! And for you to tell me that the prospect of love and marriage is also possible on the arduous trail, well, that just makes it even more inspiring to me.”

“How refreshing to hear,” I said to Big Spoon after Deb dropped us off at Echo Lake. The water shimmered in the afternoon sun, and we looked to the trail that led along its plant-rich banks. 

“How do you mean?” Big Spoon asked. 

“This trail is teaching us to live in uncomfortable situations, but I hadn’t thought of it like that until Deb said so. And I hadn’t considered how learning to live in such a way could be beneficial, especially with all the comforts and luxuries that are presented to us in ‘real life.'” 

I made quotation marks with my fingers when I said, “real life,” because the truth that Big Spoon and I both knew by now was that the trail was real life, only it was a more condensed version where the good times and the bad didn’t slip in and out of our days like a slow building breeze, but darted into us like a sharp targeting wind with our every step. 

“If we can make it through this trail, we can make it through anything,” I said to Big Spoon as we adjusted our packs, which contained our most basic needs, to our backs. 

Big Spoon cinched his hip belt tightly around his waist and nodded. When we finished gearing up, we made for the trail. We stepped back on its rugged grounds, and Big Spoon said with strong assurance, “Anything.”

* * *

Claire's first book on her adventures while living in Colorado can be ordered here:

http://www.amazon.com/51-Weeks-The-Unfinished-Journey-ebook/dp/B00IWYDLBQ/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1394801373&sr=8-1&keywords=51+Weeks

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