Technology and the VVR

 *Guest post by Dave Mau… be sure to check out Dave’s other writings at http://blogs.ocweekly.com/stickaforkinit/, and http://www.dinnerwithdave.com

There’s a lot of history as you meander along Kaiser Pass road, if you know where to look for it. A not-so-hidden gem is the network of telegraph towers that relayed signals from Big Creek to Camp 64, near the inlet of Ward Tunnel at what was to later be Florence Lake. You can see them along the rockier parts of the road, especially the stretches between Tennessee and Blacksmiths points and the stretch between Ward Lake and Florence itself.

Communication in the backcountry has always been a sticky proposition and in earlier years the only way to communicate was with CBs or Forest Service radios. The technology in our lives changes at a lightning fast pace and the same is true at VVR. Although, up here, the pace of change is more like a glacier and just at relentless.

My first season (18 years ago now!) working the VVR kitchen under the Wiggs was interesting, to say the least. Back then we got a few minutes of KMJ news radio out of Fresno when the ionosphere was cooperating and we could get what is called a “skywave” signal bounced to our radio. It usually crapped out by the time the restaurant opened so the fresh off the trail hikers couldn’t get any firsthand updates. We’d do a town run once or twice a week and we’d always grab a Fresno Bee or, if an incoming guest remembered, they would as well. Believe me, we swooped on that newspaper like a pack of hungry jackals.

The first cell phones of any use back here were those clunky bag phones that looked more akin to a Korean War era walkie-talkie than anything else. Stony O’Neill had a VVR-issued phone he called “The Brick” since it felt as heavy as one in his shirt pocket. We had a weak signal at best; having to call the answering machine at the Wiggs’ ranch to take reservations and call in credit cards hoping the transactions went through. Prior to Butch and Peggy, the only phone was located in an SCE lockbox at the dam, definitely for emergencies only. The second year they had the resort, Butch started hammering the phone company for better service. That was when he put the first cell antenna high atop a tree near the main building to bounce a signal off the dam. Steve Sturgis, one of our outside guys and one crazy SOB, free-climbed that tree to install it and he was up and down a few times that first year adjusting it. You don’t wanna know where Butch got the roll of very expensive coaxial cable to run up that tree.

Our spot to get a clear signal and call out from VVR is located on the vista point at the east end the Edison Lake dam. Aptly called God’s Phone Booth, you get a solid signal and a spectacular view of Silver Divide, Vermilion Cliffs and the whole drainage of the South Fork of the San Joaquin River. Truly a spot from which God himself would make a phone call. The punch line about the repeater on White Bark vista is I get five bars on my phone while hiking and/or fishing the far reaches of upper Mono Creek but can’t use my iPhone in my bedroom at home in Orange County.

Butch’s Mom, Betty, wanted to watch her afternoon soap operas in her Airstream (at that time parked directly behind the store). Since I had some experience with video, Butch enlisted me to put in the first satellite dish. Up the hill came a giant box filled with all the necessary parts and I was off kitchen duty and on cable install for two days. (You can still see the original mounting block on a tree by the front corner of the patio). That changed everything at VVR considerably – we now had live news, movies and, most importantly, Monday Night Football on the patio! Later, under Jim’s ownership, we got real satellite internet access and now we no longer use cell service for our phones at the resort.

I was actually on the ferry when the very first email was ever sent from a phone at VVR. There was a hiker, who’s name I can’t remember, who came through with what was basically the first smart phone ever and Butch took him out on the lake so he could get a solid signal. But a real watershed moment was last summer when I was able to FaceTime wifey from my cabin via VVR wifi.

Time and technology march on, even here at our humble mountain home, which can be both good ad bad. But at VVR you can always turn off your phone, power down your laptop or just pretend there were “technical difficulties” if you wanna take a zero-technology day off.

*Note from the VVR: While we acknowledge the improvements in communication we still caution our guests to be careful about bandwidth… we pay by the gigabyte and it ain’t cheap!

Guest Post: Hard or soft, it is time for another VVR opening expedition.

by Dave Mau

I’m sentimental to a fault and it doesn’t stop when I start up the four lane to Vermilion either. It might, actually, get considerably worse.

Our opening isn’t quite what it used to be. Years ago we would have what could be called a “hard opening”, meaning we were basically right behind the SCE snowplows and had a few short days to get the place ready before the gate was unlocked and the masses released into our big, beautiful, backcountry home. Back then, most large projects were usually reserved for autumn when the road was still open and the hiker traffic slowed down. With the advent of access via quad for late spring fishing and exploration, we have more of a “soft opening”, nonetheless daunting but not quite as compressed and frantic. Okay, I take that back, it’s still pretty gnarly. Nowadays though we usually have a few bodies back there early to start to turn on the water, propane, pull a few shutters and otherwise get the place ready for the season. If we have the time and resources we might even try and get some repairs and improvements done. Properly planning the fall closing can make or break an opening as well; it’s much easier to get the extras done if everything is already in place from the previous season. There’s no Home Depot at 7700 feet and we have to rely on whatever comes up that goat path called Kaiser Pass Road.

I love the opening in all its forms and I’ve seen some rough ones. Like the time a bear and three of her cubs decided to winter in the main building, feasting on cases of mayonnaise that were improperly secured. Now that was a mess for the ages. I wasn’t there for it but I remember when the opening crew had a substantial flash fire from a broken propane line that almost took the whole place out. Opening can be treacherous and don’t forget we’re two and a half hours from Fresno even when the road is open. During late spring with a closed road you are on your own.

Where my sentimental nature meets the nuts and bolts of the opening is where my favorite traditions reside. And here they are.

I’m not terribly religious but I do believe in God and describe myself as a “half-assed Catholic/aspiring Lutheran”. Every year for opening I bring my Grandmother Lola’s Bible (dated 1916) with me. When we get to Kaiser Meadow, either a snowy paradise or epic bog during late spring, I always walk out a bit with Grandma’s Bible and say a little prayer. I give the Big Guy upstairs a heartfelt thank you for allowing me to experience the “new morning of God’s creation” one more year, enjoy the kind company of my mountain family, make some new friends and have a bit of peace and quiet even for the shortest of times. Silly? Perhaps, but it makes me feel damn good nonetheless.

I love collecting books about the Central Sierra and have some real gems, including a first edition of “The Story of Big Creek” signed by the author, David Redinger. (I’m also a huge narrow gauge railroad nerd but I’ll save that for another time). He was chief engineer for the whole Big Creek project, which created the chain of lakes that allow us to have our little slice of paradise. In it (and all subsequent editions) is a photograph of Mr. Redinger standing on the top of Kaiser Pass for the Edison Company’s own version of opening season in 1940. He is standing in the road, arm extended to show how high the snow was. I do the same thing every spring. There is more snow some years than others and I generally look like a one-armed referee standing there, but I do it anyway.

My Father, Robin Mau, has been gone ten years now, passing away all-too-young at the age of 64 (note: don’t smoke cigarettes). He was the one who put the mountain bug in me, from my very first camping trip to Yosemite Valley as an infant to subsequent trips to Florence and Ward Lakes. He loved Ward in particular, the late afternoon thunderstorms booming off the polished granite above it being a particular highlight for him. We scattered his ashes nearby. My brother Chris’ went there as well, six years later. I still have a shirt of my dad’s, a boxcar red button down that somehow fits me. Every year that is the shirt I wear for that first run over Kaiser. More of a gesture than a thank you, it embodies gratitude to my old man nonetheless.

Opening season up here is a very special time for many reasons and right now I’m chomping at the bit waiting to get in. Packed and ready, various gear in hand and counting the seconds. When that starting gun goes off signaling time to go up, you gotta know I’ll be out the door in a flash. And I’ll see everyone at that gate to paradise for a cold beer.

Dave Mau is an Orange County-based chef, photographer and food writer who has helped man the kitchen at Vermilion for 18 years. A great supporter of he VVR mission he recently came on board to contribute to the Vermilion blog, sharing personal stories, tall tales and high country memories of the people and places of the Edison Lake area.