Mono Lake Tufa State Natural Reserve

Mono Lake is one of those landscapes that gets under your skin and into your imagination. A million years old, it sits in a great desert basin ringed by volcanoes, glacier-cut canyons, and the snowy Sierra Nevada. From above it looks like a spilled jewel-8 miles north to south, 13 miles east to west-its waters changing color with the sky: steel gray in storm, turquoise in summer light, sometimes pink at sunrise. And from its surface rise the improbable tufa towers, limestone chimneys that resemble castles, cathedrals, or something dreamed up in the surrealist wing of nature’s museum.

Tufa formations are born of chemistry: calcium-rich freshwater springs bubbling up through alkaline lake water, precipitating towers of stone. They look ancient, and they are, but they’re also still being made-at least until the lake drops and the towers are stranded, like so many Gothic ruins in the desert.

For years Mono Lake was treated as a water bank for Los Angeles. In 1941, the L.A. Department of Water and Power began diverting the creeks that fed Mono, and over the decades the lake shrank by 40 feet, doubling in salinity. The ecosystem teetered: alkali flies and brine shrimp-creatures tiny but critical-suffered, and so did the millions of migratory birds that depend on them. California gulls, eared grebes, Wilson’s and red-necked phalaropes all rely on Mono for nesting or refueling on their extraordinary commutes across continents.

And what a show those birds put on! Imagine tens of thousands of phalaropes wheeling and flashing over the water like living confetti, gulls and grebes filling the air with racket, and the shoreline crawling with billions of alkali flies that politely part at your feet. Mono Lake is not just a birdwatcher’s paradise-it’s a spectacle, a living drama that rivals any nature show you’ve ever watched on screen, only here you’re right in the middle of it. (And if the gulls seem to be laughing at you, they probably are-they’ve been running this show far longer than we’ve been watching.)

Then came the citizens’ revolt. The Mono Lake Committee, backed by the National Audubon Society and an army of scrappy activists, waged a 16-year battle in courtrooms and council chambers. In 1994, the State Water Resources Control Board ruled that the lake level must be restored. Mono Lake was, at least in theory, saved. Restoration continues, but the victory remains one of California’s landmark conservation stories-proof that a handful of determined people can, quite literally, move mountains of bureaucracy to save a lake. To learn more about that effort and ongoing restoration, stop at the Mono Lake Committee Information Center in Lee Vining. Their exhibits, bookstore, and staff provide context that deepens a visit to the shoreline.

Today the lake is protected as both a State Natural Reserve and a federally recognized National Scenic Area. The best place to feel its magic is the South Tufa Area, where a short interpretive trail winds among the spires. Depending on the lake’s level, the shoreline path sometimes has to be shifted-nature is busy reclaiming its bed. Signs explain the food chain, though most visitors are already too entranced by the towers to care much about brine flies. (For the record, “Mono” is a Yokut word for “brine fly,” which may not sound poetic, but the lake itself certainly is.)

If you want to extend the walk, continue a short way along the shore to Navy Beach. This is the lake’s best swimming area, though “best” is a relative term-Mono’s salty, alkaline waters leave you more buoyant than the Dead Sea. It’s the only time you’ll float higher than your hiking boots, though fair warning: you’ll also step out feeling like you’ve marinated in baking soda. Bring humor, rinse water, and a towel.

The landscape is otherworldly, the birdlife astonishing, and the sense of scale-big sky, big water, big silence-lingers long after you’ve left. Mono Lake doesn’t need to be compared to anything else; it is simply itself, and that is more than enough.