PoorX Photography
April 4, 2026
April 4, 2026
These photographs chronicle my late March 2026 road trip up US-395 through the Eastern Sierra. The journey began in Paso Robles, cutting southeast toward Inyokern, where US-395 intersects CA-14 and the Sierra suddenly rises like a wall. From there, I followed the highway north through the Owens Valley—past dry lakebeds, small towns, and the familiar trailhead turnoffs I used to speed past in my high school and college days.
Back then, I drove US-395 from San Diego constantly—usually racing toward an eastern trailhead for backpacking or cross country skiing. The highway was just a corridor to the mountains. I barely noticed the country I was passing through.
This time, I slowed down. I let the landscapes, detours, mishaps, and surprises shape the trip. After looping through the Eastern Sierra, I wrapped the journey by climbing over Carson Pass and returning to the coast, trading high desert light for the salty air of home.
One memory still sticks: finishing a Sierra trek and stopping in Lone Pine at Bobo’s Bonanza to inhale one of their legendary greasy burgers. Bonanza still exists today, though now it’s a Mexican restaurant. Time moves on; the road stays the same.
CARRIZO PLAIN - A Sunrise Surprise
We kicked off the trip at the Carrizo Plain, dragging ourselves out of bed at 5 a.m. to reach Soda Lake before sunrise. It was my first visit, and I was blown away. Fields of wildflowers—Fiddlenecks, Tidytips, Owl’s Clover, Desert Gold—stretched in every direction. And the birds! I wasn’t expecting such a joyful, noisy chorus. It was an incredible start to the trip.
ANTELOPE VALLEY - A Detour Pays Off
Rumor had it that the Tehachapi area was glowing with golden poppies. On the drive up, we were disappointed to see hills already brown and barren. On a hunch, one of my traveling companions suggested heading south—well out of our way. Just as I was ready to give up, we rolled into the Antelope Valley poppy fields, and they were in full, electric bloom. A spectacular sight in the most unromantic setting imaginable: flat desert under buzzing power lines.
TRONA PINNACLES - Twice For Good Measure
After a quick stop at Red Rock Canyon, we aimed for the Trona Pinnacles—twice. Sunrise and sunset. My poor Subie hated the road: gravel, dips, mud, washboard. But we survived.
The pinnacles were great, but the real gem was the drying pond and abandoned railcars near the railroad crossing. Something about the decay, the textures, the emptiness—I thought it was more compelling than the spires themselves. See if you agree.
KEELER - Echoes of a Drowned Past
Like Bombay Beach on the Salton Sea, Keeler is a dying town with a once prosperous past. When Owens Lake was still a lake and the silver mine in the hills was booming, Keeler was a hub of steamships, railroads, and commerce. Then came the water wars. The lake dried, the toxic dust storms came, and the town faded.
A handful of residents remain, but the echoes of its past still stand—weathered, stubborn, and strangely beautiful.
EUREKA DUNES - A Quart of Oil and a Lesson in Luck
A funny thing happened on the way to Death Valley’s Eureka Dunes: my car ran out of oil. Well… funny in hindsight. Right on the border of the national park.
Luckily, my travel companions had room in their car, so I hopped in and we continued to the dunes for sunset. While wandering the sand, I approached a traveler who had just arrived in his 4Runner and asked, “Any chance you have a spare quart of oil?” He rummaged around and—miracle of miracles—produced a quart of Mobil Synthetic. He tried to give it to me for free; I insisted on giving him beer money.
Lessons learned: I was damn lucky, good Samaritans are everywhere, and always carry a spare quart of oil in the car.
ALABAMA HILLS - Iron Man was Here
In the shadow of Mount Whitney, the Alabama Hills were high on my bucket list for sunrise, sunset, and astrophotography. We wandered the Movie Road area, spending most of our time near Cyclops Arch—mainly because we had it almost entirely to ourselves, unlike the ever popular Mobius Arch.
That evening, while setting up my Milky Way shot, I met Jim from Focal World, whose astrophotography setup put mine to shame. Not only that, he planned to stay out all night. My travel companions began lobbying for sleep around 10 p.m.
CROWLEY LAKE - Hot Springs and Hot Takes
Now traveling solo, I was excited to see the Crowley Lake columns, soak in a hot spring, and hike Hot Creek. The highlight was watching the sun rise while marinating in Hilltop Hot Springs.
That is, until a tech bro cannonballed into the tub and immediately launched into a monologue about how he made a fortune buying an AI stock with insider information. Even in the middle of nowhere, you can’t escape these guys.
MONO LAKE - Still and Strange
Mark Twain once wrote of Mono Lake: “This solemn, silent, sailless sea… is little graced with the picturesque.” He certainly wasn’t talking about the Mono Lake I saw.
The tufa towers, the alkaline water, the eerie quiet—it was all strangely beautiful. I caught the glassy reflections of the afternoon and the orange glow of the tufa at sunset. I hope the seagulls return someday.
BODIE - A Ghost in a Ghost Town
I’d been looking forward to visiting Bodie for years. So imagine my disappointment when, driving up CA-270, I hit a “ROAD CLOSED” sign with cones blocking the way. A smaller sign read, “Bodie State Park 3 miles.”
It took me a heartbeat to realize: I can walk that.
So I did. An hour hiking down the dirt road, and I arrived to find the entire ghost town completely empty. Just me, the ghosts, and the remnants of a once rowdy mining town. Honestly, it felt right.
AFTERWORD - A Memoir and a Chance Encounter
One of the pleasures of a trip like this is the unexpected encounters that slip into the day when you’re not looking for them.
I had just finished reading Miracle Country, Kendra Atleework’s memoir of her family and the Owens Valley. Years earlier, I’d photographed her sister Kaela during a workshop, so I already had a sense of the family’s story—at least the edges of it.
On this trip, between my sunrise and sunset shoots, I stopped at Bishop’s lone taco stand for an al pastor burrito. A tall, sturdy man with a shock of gray hair was chatting with the vendor. I recognized him instantly: the sisters' dad. I introduced myself, mentioned photographing Kaela, and told him how much I loved Kendra's book, which I’d finished just days before this trip.
He lit up. Within seconds we were talking like old friends—geeking out about maps, obscure backroads, and places worth exploring in the valley. He was generous with his time, generous with his stories, and generous enough to hand me a few maps he kept tucked in his truck.
And then he signed my copy of Miracle Country. How often does a road trip hand you a moment like that?
Driving US-395 again reminded me how much of California exists in the spaces between destinations. The Eastern Sierra isn’t a place you rush through; it’s a place that rewards attention, patience, and the willingness to stop simply because the light looks good.
By the time I crossed Carson Pass and dropped back into the Bay Area, the trip felt less like a loop and more like a reset—one long, quiet exhale stretched across a few hundred miles of road.
I'm already plotting my return.