A Journey in Geological Time

Our guide book warned us about the elderly woman proprietor who lives alone in the eleven room inn, last open to guests in the 1930’s. We were warned that she will only allow customers of whom she personally approves to pay the three dollars and swim in her hot pool.
Apparently we passed inspection, as cigarette dangling from her lips she looked us up and down, then took our money and invited us in. The view from the pool looked out onto the wetland created by its source, and in the distance the Big Smokey Valley, and the Toquima Range beyond.

Our final thermal pool to visit this weekend was Darrough’s Hot Springs, a “commercial” operation that is a just the lonely remnant of an old-time resort hotel. Up the hill from the concrete pool its source ponds are a crackling, boiling seep. But pipes mix the hot flow with a cold water source and make the pool a perfect temperature. Her pool was in need of a power-scrub; a growth of algae on the smooth bottom made it possible to glide my feet effortlessly across the pool like an astronaut in zero gravity.
		Our guide book warned us about the elderly woman proprietor who lives alone in the eleven room inn, last open to guests in the 1930’s. We were warned that she will only allow customers of whom she personally approves to pay the three dollars and swim in her hot pool. Apparently we passed inspection, as cigarette dangling from her lips she looked us up and down, then took our money and invited us in. The view from the pool looked out onto the wetland created by its source, and in the distance the Big Smokey Valley, and the Toquima Range beyond.
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