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Mono Basin JournalA roundup of less-political events at Mono Lakeby Geoffrey McQuilkin Rippled sand is moving across old paths at South Tufa as the lake's rising waters reshape the well-trodden paths. The waves leave berms of pale sand along the lake margin, atop which lies the winter storm wrack line of pine cones, alkali fly pupae, wood chips, and foam. Standing with my toes in the freshly deposited sand, it's hard not to point out into the waves and recall a time not so long ago when I stood there, under the waves, wondering if the lake would ever rise again. One evening a gentle, late winter sunset spread across the sky and I took the highway north, skirting Mono Lake. Looking to the east I could see fifty miles to the softly lit mountain peaks of Nevada, yet rounding a curve I glimpsed what appeared to be a fogbank over the north shore. Slower speed and closer inspection revealed the reality: the great windstorm of the previous week had driven whitecapped waves across the tossing lake for days, and the aftermath lingered on land. The waves had broken against the shore, and now every rock, sagebrush, and tree along the beach was brilliant white, coated with salt spray. No journal would be complete without mention of comet Hale-Bopp, that visitor from worlds without lakes. Early one morning I watched its luminous tail spread across the stars, and then disappear into the orange glow of sunrise as a more familiar celestial object, the crescent moon, revealed itself from behind the silhouetted Mono Craters.
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