One of Darren’s more inspired ideas was to get a book on ‘Hot Springs of California’. We tested it out earlier this year, which led us to ‘The Hot Tub’ in the middle of nowhere between Crawley and Mammoth Lakes, a delightful way to warm our bones after camping in extremely chilly conditions.
Our latest venture was to find Buckeye Springs. Now one of the things about hot springs is that they tend to be in random, remote locations, not intuitive and certainly not in places you would happen to stumble upon (without said book or advanced googling skills). We followed the directions, something along the lines of “take this side road for 13 miles, after the cattle grid take the dirt track on your left, when it splits in two take the middle fork until you arrive at a flat-ish parking area – in winter you should see the steam rising ahead, in summer look out for the green algae on the rocks”. Green algae was not in abundance but we did at least arrive at a flat-ish parking area. From there, the book promised, it was a mere 100 yards or so to the hot springs.
Wearing nothing but my bikini and sandals, I started to follow what seemed like the most obvious path. After maybe 300 yards, the path died out at the river – no steam, no hot springs. Doubled back and tried again. And again. The terrain was not quite what you’d call easy going. Uneven, steep, boggy in places, I have to admit I felt like a prize idiot scrambling over the rocks, clinging to branches for support, with only the barest of essentials covering my dignity.
Whilst it was apparent we had stopped at the wrong flat-ish parking area, we were definitely in the vicinity, and our perseverance eventually paid off. We were greeted by streams of hot water cascading down the rocks, leading to a shower-like waterfall sprinkling into the hot pools below. All this right next to a raging river, icy from the mountain snow melt.
On a Saturday afternoon in the middle of summer, you don’t expect to have this sort of natural wonder to yourselves. There is some expectation that there will be others there, albeit only those with (i) advanced navigation skills, (ii) an ability to persist in the face of adversity, or (iii) had this knowledge handed down to them over the generations. It seemed inappropriately inquisitive to interrogate the other hot spring bathers on how they found the place so I politely kept my thoughts to myself.
Seems to attract an odd collection of people though. For a start, there were 3 young quintessential American girls. The type with blonde hair and pigtails, matching baseball caps, cans of Coors Lite, and bikinis designed to make the most of their curves. The type of all-out American gals that Colin Frisell set out to find in Love Actually, the ones who would dig his cute British accent. Then there was the guy with the Stetson and mustache, all he was missing was the cowboy boots and checked shirt (kind of difficult in a hot pool).
Then the nudists turned up. Which we didn’t mind one bit, especially as it cleared most other people away. Not to mention that this nude couple had film star bodies (not that we were looking). Anyway, great timing to virtually get the place to ourselves, so we could enjoy the beauty of the hot springs, sating our thirst with cans of beer and prosecco, at one with the surrounding environment.
Epilogue: We visited again early the next morning, this time armed with cans of coffee. Not another soul around, we wallowed in the indulgent hot water, what a start to the day! Topped only by our mere 100 yard walk, this time from the correct flat-ish parking area!