With the long summer hiatus in Canada, early September hit me with the realization that summer in Northern California was fleeting. Time didn’t stand still here. Many of the things I would normally do over the summer here I exchanged for wonderful adventures in Canada. One of the things on my list for Northern California was to swim in the section of Lake Tahoe with its deep blue-green waters: Sand Harbor State Park.
When I arrived here in the summer of 2023, nature foiled my plans with an early-season winter storm that plummeted the temperatures and brought rain across the Sierra. In 2024, I didn’t realize the park had switched to a reservation system. If you didn’t secure a reservation months in advance, the park wouldn’t let you in. I was locked out. Now, in 2025, I finally got a reservation—only to have to reschedule due to work commitments. The only availability left was in early September (and this was back in June), so I took the first weekend spot and hoped Mother Nature would hold off on another early-season winter storm.
The trick with reservations is that you have to enter the park at 10:30 AM. Coming from the Bay Area, even on a Saturday morning, that means hitting the road by about 6:30 AM—especially since I needed a charging stop and wanted the creature comforts of the truck. Either way, even if I’d taken the motorcycle, I’d still be stopping for gas. The sun joined me on the trip, coming up over the horizon as I set out for this Alpine adventure. This trip was going to be an out-and-back on the same day, as I didn’t want the complication and cost of staying overnight.
I arrived at the park just in time, as the line was backing up to enter. Various police and park officials were turning away vehicles without reservations, telling them they’d have to wait and see if there was availability later. I didn’t want to play that game, so I opted for a confirmed reservation later in the summer. I don’t like doing plane trips on standby, nor weekend vacations.
Why Sand Harbor? This part of the lake is known for its good light, shallow waters, large boulders, and bright sand along the shoreline. As I peered into the water, I could see the bottom—just like I remember from Florida’s Emerald Coast along the Panhandle, where beautiful green waters extend for miles. In that moment, I felt a connection between that beautiful place from my past and my love of all things alpine. To put a San Francisco nerdy spin on it, this little slice of heaven embodied two things I love—a mashup between California’s Sierra and Florida’s emerald shoreline.
As I walked further along the shoreline, the views of the lake only got better. The morning haze from a fire to the south, near Fresno, began to thin as the wind shifted. That change brought much clearer air and stronger sunlight, making the bottom of the lake come alive. I had brought half a gallon of water along for the hike, which rapidly started to deplete under the strong sun, low humidity, and high alpine elevation. Just over a mile in, I was already working up a good sweat.
Along the trail, there were plenty of well-marked spots for park-goers to meander down to the lake. Some were busier than others, and it seemed like wherever I went, people followed. I’ll take it as a compliment, but it certainly makes photography more challenging, working around others along the shoreline. Still, it’s all in good fun—we’re all here to have a good time. I tell myself the challenge makes me a better photographer.
Sand Harbor State Park has a beautiful hiking trail along the east side of Lake Tahoe. The paved path is wide enough to accommodate even the largest groups. The park administration shows its sense of humor along the trail, with notes to hikers and bicyclists reminding everyone of the shared nature of the path—even if it’s broad, wide, and long. I give them kudos for helping me crack a smile every few tenths of a mile.
One thing that struck me early in the hike was the prevalence of courtesy wagons along the trail. I couldn’t place why they were there until I found one with a dog’s picture secured outside the wagon. Every spring, local animal advocates in my Nextdoor community highlight the dangers of walking your dog in the summer sun. The pavement heats up much more quickly and stays warmer longer than the surrounding surfaces. Nextdoor posters often add pictures of burned animal paws to their posts driving home the point. Even at 6,500 feet, it still gets hot here, and then I understood the rationale for the wagons. That said, I didn’t see one being used for its intended purpose.
I decided to finish my hike at Hidden Beach. Two miles in, I was consuming water faster than expected and realized this was a beautiful spot to spend some time. The cove showcased the best of the state park—rich, emerald waters and relatively few people on a late summer afternoon. It was the kind of place that could easily have kept me for another two or three hours, had I brought more water and chosen to stay overnight. Not wanting to leave my camera unattended on the shoreline or carry it back dripping with lake water, I returned to the truck to lock up my valuables before swimming closer to the park’s main offices.
Although the water at the central beach didn’t have the same clarity and beauty as it did further up, I still wanted to soak in a late summer swim.
By then, the wind had picked up, generating sizable waves along the shore. They were big enough to set every aching body part tingling in the 60° water, but not large enough for any sort of competitive over-and-under game—common on ocean beaches. The wind added to my warm-blooded reluctance to get in, but eventually I said “F it” and plunged into the cool water of Lake Tahoe. I really enjoyed the moment. My mind drifted back to Jimmy Buffett’s “When the Coast is Clear,” a song about early fall in Key West when the families and tourists leave, giving the island an eeriness and emptiness uncommon during peak season—something the locals relish.
I didn’t want to leave the lake and questioned my decision not to stay overnight, but as I made my way down the hill, I realized it was the right call. Caltrans had closed Interstate 80 through Sacramento for a massive paving project, rerouting traffic onto Highway 99, Interstate 5, and the Capital City Freeway. Saturday nights in Sacramento are usually tame when all the freeways are open, but the closure made things much more complicated. I was definitely thankful not to be navigating that mess with the rest of Lake Tahoe returning to the Bay Area on Sunday evening.
Sometimes experiences are ephemeral—fleeting, like this one. It was a late summer run to capture a quickly disappearing season in the alpine, and one I’m grateful for before the lake turns to winter.
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