Late August Camp at Webber Lake
Woke up in the rooftop tent with pine tops filling the mesh overhead — camped up at Webber Lake in Sierra County, close enough to Tahoe that everyone drives past this on their way to the bigger water. Coffee first: kettle on the Coleman, Chemex on the trailer's fold-down galley, the yellow enamel mug. The whole kitchen unpacks out of one cabinet and mornings are the reason it exists.
Strung the hammock between two lodgepoles at the edge of the meadow behind camp and lost a chunk of the morning there.
Later walked over to the old hotel — boarded-up windows, the whole building propped on rounds of logs, clearly mid-restoration — and the cluster of red-painted sheds running down toward the shore, a Do Not Enter sign on the smallest one. Past the buildings the lake opened up, wind chop and glare clear across to the treed ridges, a single small boat tied at a dock off the beach. Tahoe is the deep famous one, sitting at 6,225 feet with its clarity readings and its crowds; here there was nobody else on the sand at all. Walked the shoreline until the wind picked up, then back to camp.