Lake Isabella (the lake, not the
town) is beautiful, but looks to be about 25 to 30 feet below its normal level. Sensing a story here of a big city stealing water from a
mountain lake (remember Mono Lake), I stopped in Lake Isabella (the town, not the lake) to
check it out. The lady at the Chamber of
Commerce confirmed that Bakersfield owns rights to the water in the lake, and has
continued to take water despite the fact that there was very little snowmelt this spring
and practically no rain this summer to replenish the lake.
Usually, it balances out and there is still a full lake to support the
recreational tourist trade in the area. She
did express concern, however, of a repeat of the late 80s and early 90s when there was a
drought for several years, and the lake got so low that people could wade across the
middle of it.
I followed the outlet of the lake,
the very pretty Kern River, all the way to Bakersfield.
As I paused for lunch on a large pile of boulders next to the river bed, I
watched the river innocently flowing westward unaware of its fate to be drinking water for
the Bakersfieldians; uh, hmm, maybe Bakersfieldites.
How about Bakersfielders? No,
not quite right. I think I’ll go with
Bakersfieldhands.
As with every other day in November,
I was diligently scanning the highway for road-kill when I saw something brown and fuzzy
crawling across the shoulder of the road. My
brain screamed “TARANTULA” and my hands hit the brakes, all in about 14/1000ths
of a second. I was travelling pretty fast
downhill, however, so it took me about 150 feet to stop.
As I half-ran back up the hill, I could see the creature now in the roadway
and on-coming traffic headed straight for it. So
I stepped onto the roadway, causing the traffic to move to the other lane (this was a
four-lane section of the highway). The last
guy, in a pick-up truck, was reluctant to move, but finally did so, just missing the
Tarantula by less than a foot, but blowing it backward head over heels. When it recovered, it kept going straight, but was
now pointed toward the shoulder again. I
suspect it just kept crawling, now in safety, but thinking it had really crossed the
highway. Anyway, I got its picture before it
got away. I made a mental note to keep my tent tightly zipped shut at campgrounds for the
next few days. About a mile down the road, I
saw another one sunning itself on the curb. My
mental note got bigger. Throughout the rest
of the day, anytime I thought about this, my mental note got bigger and bigger. The particular part of my brain that stores such
images is now banned from Utah in compliance with their billboard advertising laws.
(Great
Adventures to Scenic Places)
