I’ve always thought that my affinity for Mother Nature’s seasonal fury stemmed from growing up on the doorstep of northern Quebec’s untamed wilderness. I remember feeling a mix of excitement and trepidation as rolling thunderstorms with electrifying lightning fractured the blackened skies releasing drapes of rain and buckets of hail pellets while I watched from the banks of the swift St. Maurice River. At the other end of the climate spectrum, I reveled in the blinding blizzard gusts as I trudged home from school across fields of hip-deep snow drifts.

Living on the Monterey Peninsula’s enviable temperate climate for over 40 years has often left me feeling in Canadian weather-drama deficit. Little did I know that my recent stay with my husband David in the Greater Palm Springs Area would lead to the portal back into the weather tumult I craved. Although I have zero affinity for hot arid climates, at first there was a pleasantness to the desert’s warm winter rays. David was thrilled to run in shorts and T-shirt while I swam laps without the hint of a shiver. Kulu, our 7-month-old Siberian husky, adapted to early morning hikes followed by afternoon rests served with a bowl of crunchy ice cubes on the shaded patio.

It was all fun and games until the thermometer began its spring spike that triggered my flashbacks of a long ago time building a home in the Cachagua Valley’s hellish summer heat. KSBW’s Jim Vanderzwaan was the rock star of meteorologists back then and I felt like a groupie never missing his evening forecast hoping for news of an onshore flow to push the fog’s cool moist air up the valley to our house perched above the Ventana Wilderness.

David saw my PTSD heat panic rise with the temperatures knowing that by 90 degrees I was a gone girl out of the desert. The heat wave was a good excuse to turn our journey home into an excursion through Mammoth Lakes for my annual snow fix.

Our cool down trip began with a stop at Palm Desert’s Santa Rosa and San Jacinto Mountains National Monument Visitor Center for more information about the Palms to Pines Scenic Byway along Highway 74 to the rustic mountain village of Idyllwild sitting at a refreshing 5,413-foot elevation. A few winding miles past the visitor center we parked at the Cahuilla Tewanet Vista Point for a panoramic view of the Santa Rosa and San Jacinto Ranges. Twenty-one interpretive panels educated us about the Cahuilla people’s ancestral and ongoing connection to the land along with geological history related to the Colorado River and Salton Sea in the Coachella Valley. The air continued to cool as we climbed to 4,900 feet where the PCT (Pacific Crest Trail) crosses the highway before stretching up the backbone of the San Jacinto Mountains in the San Bernardino National Forest. We veered off the highway onto a dirt road to a small parking area and inhaled our first whiff of pines. We followed a meandering section of the PCT past prickly pear cacti, manzanita, juniper and pines until the view opened to a panorama of clustered granite and sandstone rock mounds. On the way back to the car we crossed paths with a few congenial thru-hikers eager to pause for some Kulu contact before carrying on along the next leg of their 2,650-mile trek to the Canadian border.

We continued the scenic drive toward Idyllwild making a couple more curiosity stops. The Paradise Valley Café, a remote and dog-friendly refueling outpost known as a “modern stagecoach stop” caters to PCT hikers picking up packages. The café’s hearty menu also satisfies bikers, horseback riders and stray tourists on their mountain wanderings. David and I soaked up the thrill of the PCT adventure vicariously as we socialized with a group of young trail pilgrims from Germany, Canada, Holland and Oregon taking a break on the patio.

Further up the highway, I finally put a place to the name “Lake Hemet.” Camping and fishing are the main attractions around this dammed water storage reservoir. The most interesting fact about the 1895 dam is the construction with Belgian cement and how it stood as the largest solid masonry dam in the world before the Roosevelt Dam in 1911.

We reached mile-high Idyllwild’s comfortable 70 degrees late morning with enough time to explore some of the local parks tucked beneath Tahquitz Peak and Suicide Rock, two granite monoliths rising up to 9,000 feet. Max III, a local golden retriever had made news as the town’s unofficial mayor so we tested Idyllwild’s dog-friendly reputation at lunchtime.

The Red Kettle Restaurant couldn’t have been more accommodating to Kulu on their primo people-watching deck. Mountain-sized veggie burger and fries later, it was time to continue up to the Mammoth Lakes Basin for a dose of high Sierra winter air.

Typically, April brings sun-warmed spring skiing temperatures with just enough white fluff for snowshoe forest hikes at 8,500 feet. This time we rolled up to Twin Lakes’ Tamarack Lodge as the wind and flurries were ramping up ahead of a 48-hour blizzard with below average temperatures and a forecasted 3 feet of new snow. I was ecstatic, Kulu was exuberant and David was his usual good sport self in the adventure of the moment. We set out for a couple hours every morning in full tempest gear feeling deserving of our studio cabin’s fireside coziness in the afternoon as we watched the trees bend to the will of the 50-mph gusts. On the slightly less blustery day, I set off from Tamarack’s Nordic Center into solitude with my skis gliding silently under the canopy of pines that hushed the wind’s tantrum.

As I packed for the journey home the next morning with a feeling of relaxed exhilaration, I finally realized that nature’s volatility is both a tonic of serenity for my soul and a Red Bull for my spirit.

Carmel’s Linda and David Mullally share their passion for travel, outdoor recreation and dogs through articles, hiking books and photography at Falcon.com