A Time for Bonding
The Story of My Crowley
By Freed
It was the summer of 1992. I was a senior at El Toro High School when I got invited on a camping trip to Lake Crowley near Mammoth Lakes. It was mostly a group of juniors from the class of ’93 organizing it, but a few of us ’92 guys were invited. I ended up being the only one from my class who actually went.
Before I knew it, it was go time. I packed up my tent, sleeping bag, fishing rods, and a funnel. It was my first time driving up Highway 395, and the road was majestic. Since then, I’ve driven it more times than I can count—whether heading to Crowley or during my college days at UNR. That drive always brings back memories of my first Crowley trip.
We arrived late at night at Shady Rest Campground, which people now call the Old Shady Rest. None of us really knew what we were doing. We barely had any flashlights and forgot to bring firewood. We were just a bunch of teenagers who thought we were ready for the outdoors.
That first night, we probably irritated everyone else in the campground. It was quiet when we got there, but we were excited to be on the trip. Someone—though I still don’t remember who—took firewood from nearby campsites to get our fire started. We were loud and having fun. Nobody said anything at the time, but the next morning we got some dirty looks. Most people weren’t too happy about losing their firewood or being kept up late, but I guess no one wanted to come out of their tent in the middle of the night to confront a group of rowdy teenagers.
The next day, we regrouped, bought firewood, picked up supplies, and started to settle in. Then we began exploring. The first destination was Lake Crowley—this was a fishing trip, after all. The mountain backdrop on the drive was stunning. We stopped at the Owens River along the way, but the bugs were so bad it made it hard to enjoy. When we finally got to the lake, it was muddy almost everywhere. Someone got stuck in the mud and had to be pulled out. I wish I could remember who it was.
The following day, we visited Rock Creek Lake. That place is absolutely beautiful, with clear water and dramatic mountain views. I caught a trout around dusk, which was a highlight of the trip. On the way back, we stopped at Tom’s Place. I’m not really sure what makes it a must-stop location, but it just is. If you’re in the area, you stop at Tom’s Place. That’s just how it goes.
There are so many more stories from around the campfire, from side trips, and from late-night conversations, but those are better saved for another time. That trip became known as Crowley I. I made it to Crowley II and III before the Navy pulled me in a different direction for a while. Even so, I returned whenever I could. One year, I brought some friends from San Diego. I don’t think one of them will ever drink Apple Pucker again after that trip.
Another year, I showed up at 10 p.m. on the last night. People couldn’t believe I made it. I remember seeing some of the guys heading down the fire road as I was coming up. I’ll never forget Joey saying, “No one has ever come up on the last night.” One person was happy to see me. The others stayed in their tents, annoyed, just like the campers during Crowley I who didn’t want to come out and tell us to quiet down. But this time, they were just some scared poetry-reading wimps. I love that story…. and the other versions I’ve heard over the years. Mine might not be the most accurate, but it’s the best for me….
This year will be Crowley XXXIII. If my count is right, only two have been every year. I consider myself lucky to be part of something like this and to have lifelong friends because of it. These are my Crowley brothers, and this is only part of our story.
