Donner Lake
Last spring, I had the good fortune to retrace the steps of the Donner Party. This post is part of the story of my journey. If you want to begin at the beginning, go here first. Big thanks to the Indiana Arts Council for helping to make this happen.
As I said before, we arrived at Donner Lake after driving all day in some nasty weather. So the sky offered up a perfect rainbow for my first view of the lake:
We stayed in a wonderful cabin that I selected online largely because it was the closest one I could get for that time period to the eastern side of the lake, which is where the Graves family was camped.
The owners of the cabin had a photo album inside that had pictures of various snowfalls over the 40 years since they’d built the place. Times when the road over the mountain (Donner Pass) was closed because the snow was so high. I loved seeing those pictures. Snow is a serious thing here.
The cabin was perfect, and we had a gorgeous view of the lake in the morning:
All three mornings that we were there, I woke up early and sipped my tea on the chilly balcony, overlooking the lake. And also some guy in a loincloth who was doing Tai Chi on the dock below.
I did not take a photo of that.
The lake is calm and lovely and majestic. The community around it is charming and warm. It’s close to Tahoe, but doesn’t get nearly the tourist traffic volume that Tahoe does. And somehow that feels right. I like the fact that most of the people around the lake are owners of the cabins. That they love this lake enough to buy a second home, drive here most weekends, get “DNNRLK” vanity plates on their car. (Seriously. I saw 10 different variations of that. It’s a thing.)
The entire aura around the lake was much more respectful and serene than I had pictured. I had assumed there would be cheeky little gift shops all over with bizarre Donner Party souvenirs. I only saw one t-shirt (“Donner Lake: Who’s on the Menu?”) as I perused the shops. And of course, this little cartoon on the fridge in our cabin:
But truly, it was much tamer than I’d assumed.
I really, really loved it. My kids did too. We are completely ready to move in. I hope I’m able to come back in the winter some day and see it covered in snow.
Leaving the lake was a little momentous. Driving up and over the mountain range that trapped Mary Ann and her family…imagining how perilous this would be covered in snow, even with paved roads and metal guards. I can’t imagine trying to do this in 1846 without a path, without proper shoes or clothing, without any sure idea which was the right way to go.
At the top of the summit, I looked down at the lake below, just like I know she did 170 years ago. She must have been so worried about her younger siblings and her mother. She must have been so determined to get help.
I was sad to leave.
For the next post in this series, go here.