Every mountain road has a last store, and on this one it's ours. South of the porch the pavement forks and starts to climb: Highway 89 to Monitor Pass, Highway 4 to Ebbetts. From that fork to the far side there is nothing to buy — no ice, no firewood, no cold anything — so whatever the day needs, it gets picked up here. Headed the other way, coming down off the grades, we're the first porch light you'll see.
One wall belongs to the river. Rods, reels, trays of lures and flies, nets on their pegs — and nightcrawlers kept live in the cooler, because the stretch out front runs under the general statewide rules and bait is legal on it. Buy a rod, walk it across the lot, and be fishing inside five minutes. If the fish truck came this week, the people at the counter know exactly where it stopped — and if you are headed up to Heenan Lake, check your box here: the lake takes artificials only.
The rest of the store is for staying comfortable at 5,530 feet: bagged ice, firewood at $12 a bag, propane for the camp stove, and shelves of snacks and camp staples for whatever the cooler forgot. The freezer holds ice cream for the hot drive; the cooler row holds every kind of cold drink for the riverbank. If you are passing through and want a shower without a stay, ask at the counter — it is $20.
There is a shelf for taking the place home, too — the resort's own mugs and tumblers, shirts and caps, and a crowd of carved bears with WELCOME burned into their bases, keeping an eye on all of it. The sasquatch tumbler is there with the rest — the ridge across from campsite 4 has its own page, and the legend has its own cup.
The wall behind the counter is the store's own guest book — letters, cards and photographs from the families who come back summer after summer, going back decades. The local paper's story on the resort hangs framed, Phil and the Brunes out front of this store; near it, in red marker on resort stationery, a standing brag: "Biggest fish at Carson River Resort… EVER!" — signed by a family that first checked in back in 1975. An old green sign over the window reads The Miner's Cabin. Come in for the nightcrawlers and give the wall a minute on the way out.
Both passes close with the snow, and cell signal ends at the resort — check road and river conditions before you count on the high country, and ask at the counter for anything the phone can't answer.
Next door is the pavilion — the long tables under the string lights, the grills and the fish-cleaning station on its covered patio, open to anyone who wants a place to sit and eat what they bought here.
The store is open to anyone driving Highway 89 — you don't have to be staying. If you are, the cabins, riverside sites and RV row book here, and everything on these shelves is a walk from your door.
