We visited Yosemite Valley in the early spring.  The waterfalls were magnificent as the meltwaters of a record accumulation of winter snow filled them to capacity.  We were headed east to the lands across the Sierra Nevada Mountains and ultimately to Death Valley.  Tuolome Pass was still closed and not expected to open for several weeks, so we drove north in search of an open pass across the mountains.  Along the way, we heard that the snow plows had recently opened the road through the Sonoran Pass. We decided to try it.

The roads to the Sierra Nevada passes all have long approaches from the western side.  They struggle through miles of foothills before they begin to snake their way up the slopes of the mountains.  We spent the better part of the afternoon driving through those sparsley populated foothills and into the dense pine tree forests on the mountain slopes.  The sun set behind us and the shadows grew denser beneath the giant trees.  We began searching for a refuge where we could find accommodations and a good meal.

Aside from a few isolated hunting cabins, we saw no signs of habitation in the wilderness. We grew tireder and hungrier as we climbed higher up the mountain.  At last, we came to an isolated lodge whose signs offered lodging and food.  Unfortunately, the place was fully occupied, and we found no refuge for the night.  Fortunately,  the owner directed us to an even more isolated hunting and fishing camp further up the slopes.  He said they might have some cabins that we could rent for the night.  We decided to press on, as it was already getting dark.

 We found the camp a few miles off of the main road beside a mountain stream.  It consisted of two main lodges surrounded by a dozen small cabins and an empty horse corral.  It looked deserted.  We were relieved to see two men seated on the veranda of the larger lodge. 

They wore faded jeans and well-worn work boots of the type favored by cowboys.  The larger dark-haired man with the bushy moustache wore a plaid flannel shirt.  The shorter, thinner man wore an old white "cowboy" shirt with black piping and pearl buttons.  He also wore a string tie with a turquois clasp.  Both men wore leather belts with large silver buckles and traditional "ten gallon" cowboy hats.

In response to our questions, they said that the camp was not yet open for the season.  In a few weeks, the horses would be brought up from the lowland pastures, kept in the corral, and rented as pack animals for hunters, fishermen and backpackers.  The proprietor of the camp was in the lodge, they added; and surely, he could provide us with some lodging as all the cabins were empty.  They were right.  We managed to secured a cabin for the night.

 We had eaten nothing since midday, and were quite famished.  We asked the proprietor if his restaurant was open.  No, he said, the cook had gone off fishing and he had no idea when he would return.  The older cowboy with the bushy mustache overheard our conversation and offered,  "We have some spaghetti left over from our dinner. If you would like some, we can heat it up for you." 

His name was Bob and he introduced his diminutive partner simply as "slim".  Bob owned a horse ranch in the foothills and slim was his hired hand.  They were here to do some repair work on the trails, he explained. They had a small camping trailer at the edge of the camp.  For dinner, he had made a large pot of spaghetti with venison sausage and mushrooms gathered in the surrounding forest.  It was more than they could eat, so they had plenty left.  He could go to the trailer, fetch the pot and return to heat it in the empty kitchen of the dining hall. 

 We readily agreed.  The proprietor opened the dining hall.  Bob brought his spaghetti, heated it on the gas stove and used a loaf of bread to make us some garlic toast.  Perhaps our ravenous hunger made it taste better, but it was some of the best spaghetti we ever ate.  The cowboys both seemed pleased that we were enjoying their meal.

We thanked them profusely for the chance meal, and offered to pay them for it, but they refused our money.  They agreed, however,  to our offer to buy them a beer.  We managed to inviegle the proprietor to open his small bar, and ordered bottles of beer for all.  Slim put several coins in the jukebox, and played some western music.  He offered to teach the ladies how to dance the Texas two step.  For the next hour, we danced, we sipped beer and we had a jovial time with our new cowboy friends.

We had a restful night after our suprise feast followed by the impromptu dance party.  The next morning, as we were driving out of the camp, we saw Bob operating a backhoe and Slim leaning on a shovel.  We stopped to bid them farewell and once again thank them for the dinner.  They seemed genuinely pleased that they could help us and sad to see us leave.  We will always fondly remember our two cowboy friends and their great spaghetti dinner.