Features

GARRETT SPOONHUNTER'S MANY TALENTS AND TALES

Story by Andrea Tetrick

Photos by Andrea Tetrick and courtesy Tania Spoonhunter

Garrett Spoonhunter knows more cowboy stories than there are horseshoes in the Owens Valley. But for every tale he tells, 10 more are told about him.

In fact, whenever anybody mentions Spoonhunter, a river of words invariably flows. Common terms include respected Indian elder; world-class cowboy and artisan; hardworking rambler; beloved father, brother, favorite uncle and friend. But the heart of the matter is, Garrett Spoonhunter lives and breathes Wild West frontier philosophy harmoniously integrated with a proud American Indian tradition.

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Edited by Stacy Corless

Photos courtesy Susan Cullen

“In this age of increasingly unexciting roadside trout-fishing—because the fish aren’t there, or are hatchery stock lacking spunk and discretion, California’s Owens River upstream from Crowley Lake holds up remarkably well.
Flowing east from the Inyo Craters region, Deadman Creek crosses U.S. 395 and, swollen by springs, becomes the river, meandering and dividing as it works its way southeast through the meadows of Long Valley.”

—Sunset Magazine
from an undated (but presumably 1950s-era) clipping in the Arcularius Ranch scrapbook

The Arcularius Ranch Resort and the waters of the Owens River that run through it are the stuff of local angling legend.

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Story by David Page. Photos by Christian Pondella.

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Story and Photos by John Dittli

SILENT FLAKES OF SNOW FLOAT DOWN from the blackness, dancing in the beam of our headlamps in a monochromatic kaleidoscope. A deep, narrow trench leads the way, beyond, almost absorbed by the darkness, a vague silhouette. We had been breaking trail through knee deep snow for most of the day, and now it would seem well into the night. How long had it been since dusk? An hour? Two? Time, measured only by falling snow and laden branches, becomes irrelevant.

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Our "Eastside Profiles" concept is too big and too good--we couldn't limit it to the printed page! Here, Addie Gottwald, an aspiring young writer from Virginia who spends her summers on a ranch near Mammoth, gives us a closer look at one of Mammoth's favorite cowboys, Scott Lee.

BY ADDIE GOTTWALD

GROWING UP IN THE EAST, I have found that most people don’t believe in cowboys. They are a myth - men only found in Remington paintings and the old western movies your dad watches. You learn about them in history class, thinking they are just part of the past, an extinct breed of humans who used to roam the open range. It’s a game you played as a young boy - wearing chaps, a Sheriff badge, and a cowboy hat - running away from your feathered neighbor as he hits his mouth with the flat palm of his hand. But unlike most other Virginians, I’ve been lucky enough to know a cowboy for eleven years of my life. A full-fledged steer-roping, horse-branding, Wrangler-jean-wearing cowboy.

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BY ANDY SELTERS

KICK AROUND DOWNTOWN BISHOP and likely you’ll see a slender old man sporting a billowy white beard and pedaling a bike trimmed in faux-leopard fur. His embroidered Western regalia and his suitcase-pannier proclaim that he is:
SIERRA PHANTOM
PRO MOUNTAINEER
FISHING GUIDE
CREATOR OF WILD-TROUT GLITTER FLIES

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REMEMBERING JOHN BACHAR

BY PETER CROFT

On July 5th the climbing world had its breath taken away. John Bachar had fallen. Climbers around the world were stunned by the news, suckerpunched by the unbelievable. Those close to him were crushed.

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BY WYNNE BENTIBanner Peak Bivouac, July 5, 1939

Dear Mother,
Twenty-four hours ago I was picking my way across the 45-degree slope of a glacier, at around 11,500 feet elevation, at the western base of the Minarets...

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WORDS BY MARK SCHLENZ
PHOTOS BY JOHN DITTLIWalk away quietly in any direction and taste the freedom of the mountaineer. Climb the mountains and get their good tidings, Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves. –John Muir

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WORDS BY BILL BECHER
PHOTOS BY DARIN MCQUOID“WE WERE LOCKED INTO THIS GORGE AND IT WAS GETTING DARK.
We couldn’t get out because the walls were vertical, so we had no option but to keep going. On the last drop, my two friends shrugged their shoulders and went blindly over the lip. There I was...

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