Coast and Snow, Catalina to Truckee
Catalina first. Avalon from the air on the way in, the whole harbor curled around its moorings with the casino out on the point, fog sitting low on the ridges behind town. Later the dirt road up out of Avalon climbed straight into that fog — blue sky overhead, white spilling over the hill ahead — and from the overlook the boats sat still on their buoys, more of them than I could count. The dog came along for all of it.
Then the other end of the state: Truckee, up around 5,800 feet, one of the snowiest towns in the country — two hundred–some inches a year — and it looked like a good share of it had landed recently. The road past the cabins was plowed down to two dark ruts with banks piled high on either side, and the dog trotted right up the middle of it. The roofs were carrying a thick shelf of snow at every eave.
The dog got the green sweater with the trees knitted on it and stood in the snowbank looking put out about the whole arrangement, tail flag going anyway.