been there, done that, would do it all again

This incomplete list of trip favorites use to live in the side bar. She graciously moved to a post knowing that no matter how painful, it's time for the Owlhouse to move forward.

Cape Disappointment- Long Beach Peninsula, WA

Saturday Market- Eugene, OR

Crater Lake, Oregon

Barack Obama, 2008

Cowboy Poets- Elko, NV

Gilgal Sculpture Garden- SLC, Utah

Lazy Lizard- Moab, Utah

Mesa Verde, Colorado

Carver Brewing- Durango, CO

Taos Pueblo, NM

Georgia O'Keeffe Museum- Santa Fe, NM

White Sands, NM

Chiricahua Mts, AZ

Bisbee- Bisbee, AZ

Desert Museum - Tucson, AZ

Sonora Co-housing - Tucson, AZ

Sam's Family Spa -Desert Hot Springs, CA

Ghetty Museum - Los Angles, CA

Camp Ocean Pines - Cambria, CA

Pipestone Vineyards - Paso Robles, CA

Sacramento Valley School - Sacramento, CA

Guemes Island - Washington

Lake Okanagan - Kelowna, British Columbia

Lake Louise - Banff, British Columbia

Kaslo- Kaslo, British Columbia

Kamloops Farmer's Market - Kamloops, British Columbia

Touchstone Farm - Mayerthorpe, Alberta

Gaetz Lake Sanctuary- Red Deer, Alberta

Local Currancy - Calgary, Alberta

Tyrrell Dinosaur Museum - Drumheller (Badlands), Alberta

Glacier National Park - Montana

Coeur d'Alene Library - Idaho

Grand Coulee Dam -Coulee, WA

on the cape

Brad tells stories of childhood trips to the beach, tales of rain and wet dogs. Sometimes misery. Usually redemption. "If you tough out the crappy days, the heavy mist and rains, you always get the fantastic day. Clear sky, gorgeous sun. Usually." Lucky us, camping space and a dry day all in one. Aside from the wind carrying sand shards across our feet, occasionally into our eyes, Cape Disappointment couldn't have been more perfect.

Lewis, Clark and company's experience was a bit different. After 18 months navigating westward along rivers, through the wild, they hit the Pacific in November, 1805. After being trapped by a 6-day storm in Dismal Nitch, the party continued an unsuccessful attempt to find an appropriate site for winter camp. Eventually, an unprecedented vote of all party members led the captains back across the Columbia to a "most eligable" spot along the Netul River.

From the beach, the call of ships transitioning from the Columbia to the sea cuts across the surf, distracting Aslin from her wave hoping only momentarily.

Barnacles hang onto the bottom few feet of the rock walls. Inland a couple hundred feet, Sitka spruce have taken root in the seastack has-beens, moss masking any trace of barnacle colonies. We recommend shoes for climbing either.

Without a guide, you could watch the waves for an hour, and still be unsure the movement of the tide. The best castle sand is found mid range, where the natural water content allows a solid base, and keeps the towers from crumbling before their time.
The beach gods are with us, sending only stray waves to challenge the moat's structural integrity, carrying the bulk of the threat out to sea.
They've been through it all before, the grains. We suspect they lived to the fullest before the eventual crash and crush.

Tomorrow, we'll find our own dear Owlhouse still standing.

5 trillion gallons

of the bluest water ever. No rivers feed into or flow from Crater Lake. Yet. But geology has a way of shifting over time. Less than 8,000 years ago, Mt. Mazama stood tall in the Cascade range. After about a week of intense volcanic activity, it collapsed in on itself, leaving a caldera marked by steep and even walls. Centuries of precipitation collect, building the 7th deepest lake in the world, 1,943 feet.

The 2,600 mile 37 Pacific Crest Trail includes a 37 mile stretch through the park. In 3 separate hikes, we managed about 7 of those miles. The lake itself sits close to 900 feet below the rim, making the only "legal" (non-injury inducing) access an extremely steep mile hike along a pumice-dust trail. Swimming is allowed, but at a cozy sub-60 degrees, even Aslin limited her experience to toe-dipping.

Annie Creek, fed by springs throughout the canyon, is even more refreshing at 35 degrees. The well insulated Dipper, a chubby little blue-grey bird, seems immune to the chill, pecking through the rocks for caddisfly.

In the wake of Mt. Mazama's collapse, continued volcanic venting formed "fossil fumaroles," vertical columns where hot ash melded with solid rock. A series of 100-foot tall spires stand defiant where the surrounding cliffs have eroded.

Time at the lake and wandering the surrounding meadow and forest were a welcome change of pace after our travel through the southwest. Aslin earned her 6th(?) Jr. Ranger badge and between videos, interpretive trials and camp fire talks we took advantage of a dozen edu-tainment offerings. We are less appreciative of Xanterra, the private company managing the campground in partnership with the park. Apparently concessions are nothing new at the park, one of its original advocates quickly went on to aggressively market and supply gear to visitors, but I haven't seen an operation quite like this. The company that manages the lodge and on-site restaurant is either less capable of or less interested in caring for the camp sites. Sure, no soap and overflowing trash in the restroom is bad, but a lack of policy against collecting fire wood leads to a deficiency more problematic than that or the ridiculously slow site payment procedures.

We didn't come for the run like our neighbor in E-18. Have you seen the Oregon quarter? I can't picture it, but it inspired the man from New Jersey. He packed his tent for air travel and slept on the freezing (literally) ground the night before his second marathon. And speaking of quarters, our supply went towards showers and we were on our way to the ocean before we remembered our intention to get change and return to the camp store for pressed pennies. Bummer. Looks like we'll need to schedule a return. Maybe in the spring, when there's still plenty of snow on the ground.

ranchlands

Is it Montana that has the tourist slogan about a Big Sky? Because that's what I'd say about Nevada. Northwest Nevada, anyway. Last fall, the 800 acres at Touchstone amazed us, an expanse we could spend seasons exploring. The ranches along hwy 80 stretch endlessly, unimaginably vast. We met a herd on the move, stretched across miles of hwy 140. Nine female buckaroos to the one cowboy I counted.




If you're under 12 or over 65, you can fish the Dufurrena ponds for rainbow or cutthroat trout. You can't swim in the ponds, no matter your age. So, about 10 years ago, volunteers dug a swimming hole at Sheldon National Wildlife Refuge. The pool's fed by a warm spring and Aslin assures us it's quite comfortable. Courtesy of the Civilian Conservation Corps, rustic showers are a welcome addition in the dust of high-desert Virgin Valley campground.

Nine hundred square miles of wild habitat and the local feral burros seem to have chosen the area surrounding the camp for their nightlife scene. The fist time I woke, it took a minute for me to realize that the character from my book hadn't found her way to the van to give birth. The kids were breathing ok. There weren't any bears. Just donkeys, singing a call and response of several verses across the top of the van.


Between the frogs, burros and some guy who decided to cruise the area around 6am, it was a night of broken sleep. We carried our morning coffee up the hill, maybe 6,000 ft in elevation. Round, Catnip, Fishcreek and Badger Mountains share a line along the horizon, the mark of an ancient lake. Petroglyphs and petrified logs tell more of the past. It's pronghorn deer and fire opal territory. At seven pounds/per person, we could haul out 28 pounds of gemstones. Assuming we find them lying on the open ground. I suppose it's for the best that we leave empty handed. We don't really want to add to Buttercup's load.

It's not them, it's us

Arches is popular with the mountain bike crowd, but we recommend it for boldering. Concern of dusty butts or twisted ankles could not slow our scrambling. Aslin, in a skirt, prompted comment from a teen boy far below. "Do you see that little girl?!?" He would not let his daughter climb "up there." Clearly, he's never had a daughter to try and stop. Overhearing, Brad assured him of her experience and self-confidence plus her mother's assistance if needed. Half an hour later, the boy was asking us for the best footing up, calling to his friend that he would rate the climb a "4". Aside from the heat, we give a solid 9.5.

We didn't hike to the historic ranger station/tea room a few miles from Lake Louise. And we were just 5 hours from Yosemite when the transmission failed. The Grand Canyon is one the 7 wonders of the modern world, but we missed it. Along with Havasu Falls where life may have originated. Everywhere we go, everyone we meet has a suggestion. Not just a passive, "if you're going this way..." but a firm belief in a site that should not be missed. And we respect these opinions. To that point that we're keeping a journal on destinations for future trips.

But it's a big country. With big western states. It might be an entirely different adventure in a another car, but it's not. And our '84 Westy isn't the only member of our party who doesn't take well to the heat. By noon it's too hot to climb rocks that haven't been shaded since the evening before. So, we're doing what we can. And that's all right with us. Because we plan to travel in the future.



On the other hand, we did meet some women from Georgia who told of the bluegrass festival at Tulluride. And we have fond memories of the two weeks we sang Pete Seeger songs along with Mendel. And before that, we spent a couple afternoons trying toanswer Fabian's questions about our branches of government, specifically the question of Bush's re-election. Then there was the time we helped Gene orient a "juvenile delinquent" for his community service project. Experiences we'd never find recommended in a travel book and couldn't have been directed to, even by locals. Please recognize this as a convoluted justification for our missing the surely magnificent, Canyonlands.

(look closely)

This time around, we needed elevation, the water and cool that come with it. Little did we know that cool becomes cold some time after 10 pm. Not Joshua Tree in February cold, but freezing none the less. It seems unrelated, but Scofield Reservoir is home to about 3 billion prairie dogs. The kind of critter who was cute before we learned the potential nightmare of rodents in the van. With no door handle, we opt to keep the slider open as much as possible. We left the four inch gap to watch dragonflies at the wetlands and would have been back sooner if we hadn't lost shoes in the stinking, tar-pit, quick-mud around the lake. This gap comes to mind as I wake every 15 minutes, freezing to the soundtrack of all-night semi-truck traffic. A plague-ridden critter could be hiding in the van, looking for granola. The 9am sun finally brought comfort.


I'm not sure anyone (Luther?)specifically recommended Utah's Manti-La Sal Mountains, but we appreciate them all the same. Serene lakes, flowing streams, and a dozen shades of green have me considering taking up fishing.

"Best hike ever!"

Aslin's words. "You know I'm usually complaining by this far into a hike."


The rest of us confirm on both counts, Echo Canyon in the Chiricahua Mts is possibly the greatest day (morning) hike ever and she usually is complaining by the end of the second mile.


Before the hike details, you should know that we didn't make it out of Tucson with out one final visit with our mechanic, the moonlight voice of Liberty Radio. Marvel of the modern world, air conditioning, kept us cool the the Tucson city limit. I graciously thanked and declined the border patrol agent's (quicker to the scene than highway patrol) offer of water. Freedom fighter Mike was rock solid confident that the van wasn't actually overheating, that it was safe to drive into the shop. We were on the road again before my panic/despair mode even kicked in.

Eventually we made it to the campground- 24 sites in a wilderness area of 11,985 acres. Heading into Memorial Day Weekend, we failed our good intentions to arrive early, but still managed to find a beautiful (though excessively bug-filled) site.






From our base at Bonita Creek, dry except for a few hours a year, we hiked through the alligator junipers along a trail built by Franklin D. Roosevelt's Tree Army. The Civilian Conservation Corp's long abandon bake ovens stand alone at the edge of a meadow. Grateful for a distraction from blood hungry mosquitoes, we searched the tree canopy for the power-tool buzzing cicada. A mile away, at Faraway Ranch, we heard stories of Swedish immigrants and Buffalo soldiers.

The first sold fraudulent stories of battles with the Apache to guests looking for authentic an cowboy experience. The later, after securing watering holes from Apache who never attacked, built a 10-foot monument to President Garfield, who as a senator, worked to secure equal pay for African-American soldiers.











Reacquainted with our tent, we managed our earliest pack ever. Packed, fed and on the road to the trial head at 8:51.

Past the Sea Captain and China boy, Echo Canyon brings us up close and personal to formations whose names have not been published.

"It's like the rocks got too hot, they made bubbles and then, pop," Aslin.

Just past Ukiah's "pancakes,"

through the keyhole, the canyon floor comes into view.

Sure, it's called a "canyon" hike, but the view from Massai point doesn't predict the bird songs and the oak forcing it's way up from a boulder.

A friend suggested that the rock formations of the Chiricahua's rival those of the Grand Canyon. A don't have that point of comparison, but as Ukaih said, "amazingly beautious."

if you have an opinion on wyoming,

please share with the group.

We dug out the maps today, an attempt to make our departure plans a little more concrete. After sketching a rough travel route, circling possible stops and refering to my calender for some semblance of a time-line, I sent emails to New Mexico, Colorado, Utah and one in Oregon. Feeling quite accomplished, I turned my attention to cooking dinner, internet fishing and an attempt at a game of xeri complicated by a lack of complete instructions.

A touch more white wine, pinch of salt and I pulled the beans from the heat. Today's 97 degrees were no match for my lifetime of conditioning. I cleared the atlas, notebooks and earphones (our day's sprawl) from the living room, upstairs to the bedroom, convinced I'd need a sweater for our potluck picnic. The ceiling fan ushered reality my way. Plenty warm, even in the evening. So I skipped the sweater search and dedicated the two bonus-minutes to reviewing our freshly charted course through the southwest.

That's when it hit me. I've never been to Wyoming. Aside from Yellowstone, there appear to be rivers and the possibility of mouse-free camping. Plus, this could give Ukiah and Aslin some context for my seemingly inexplicable Yogi bear impressions. "Hey there BooBoo, what's in the pic-a-nic basket today?" Of course from there, it's really just a hop, skip and jump to the Dakotas. Next thing you know, my superb plan 'o the afternoon is facing more significant questioning than Alberto Gonzalez on his 437th day of testimony before congress.

Joshua Tree, the better half

Before the icy nights, before we caught colds, before the mouse took up residence in the van, we were loving Joshua Tree. We camped in the Mojave (high, western) half of the park and only explored a little of the Colorado Desert eastern side.


Jackrabbits and owls and gigantic rock formations in every direction, yee haw!


It's a remarkable horizon. (Even with no bathing facilities in sight.)


With vascular bundles spaced troughout their fibrous trunks, mature Joshua Trees and Mojave Palms often survive fires. This chared oak seems not to have been so lucky.


The visitor's center tells us that ten-of-thousands of climbers visit the park each year. Without gear or experience, we couldn't make it up Big Hunk, Poodles are People too or Sticher Quits. Instead, we scrambled a dozen unnamed granite forms to fantastic vantage points and the occasional resting area.


A bit of trivia- Legend has it that Joshua Trees were named in the mid 19th century by Mormon settlers who were reminded of the biblical Joshua, guiding them westward.


Skull rock can be seen from the road. We searched a couple miles of trail beyond it, no skeleton.

Love is an empty mouse trap

(all times are approximate)

5:30p The sun sets, the temperature drops
6:30 Barley vegetable soup for dinner, too cold for dishes tonight
8:45 Wrapped in blankets, we finish reading aloud ch. 12 of The Westing Game
9:00 Long sleeve shirts tucked into pants tucked into socks. Wearing hats, tucked in sleeping bag liners, tucked in sleeping bags, topped with every blanket and towel available. Tissues nearby as we all have colds.
2:15a Flashlight on, Ukiah up to use the bathroom
2:35 Ukiah, "Guys, did you hear that?"
2:45 Flashlight again. Ukiah, "I hear something, scratching... There it is! It's one of those little Pica things! By the front seat."
2:50 I'm up, van doors open, using empty water bottle to bat into darkness
3:10 No luck, back to bed
3:15 Sounds from inside dashboard
3:30 More sounds, Brad up and moving all food to tent
3:45 Ukaih, "Ahhhh, something ran by my face!"
3:46 Lights on, all up. Gather jackets, sweaters build nest-bed for kids in tent.
4:00 Tuck kids in again
4:10 Small sounds at back window
4:30 I think I feel something on my head. What if it tries to burrow into my sleeping bag?
5:00 Coyotes howl, I'm already awake
5:15 Kids talking, laughing in tent. A sign they're not frozen.
5:20 Coyotes, much closer/louder
6:00 I don't want to pull my head from the sleeping bag, so I can't tell if it's light yet.
6:30 Up making coffee
7:30 Almost getting warm
8:00 Find frost on backpack left out overnight
8:30 Pulling everything out of van, sorting and shaking as we go
9:00 Second cup of tea, ch. 13 of Westing Game
10:00 Monty Python inspired re-enactment of hilarious events of last night
10:30 Discovery of critter hiding in heater compartment under back seat
10:31 STRESS
10:33 It's not a ground squirrel, a mouse
10:35 Find sticks to push it out
10:45 Mouse moves to pocket between seat and van wall and returns to hiding under heater
11:00 Duct tape over all visible holes
11:10 Start car, turn on rear heater, hope mouse will not be hurt
11:12 Consider taking heater apart
11:15 Repeat above steps for a half-hour
11:45 Try peanut butter bribe
11:55 Face to face with trembling mouse, I realize it's more scared than me, talk to it, encougare it to find a new home, still try to prod it out with a stick
12:05p Mouse runs up seatbelt, trough crack in seat, out? No one saw the exit.
12:15 Semi-confident mouse has vacated
12:20 Heavy clouds overhead, rush to take tent down, pack
12:21 Aslin, "Is that snow?! Oh wait, it's just hail..."
12:40 Van packed in record time
3:30 Check into tiny, stinky, overpriced hotel in Blythe, CA. Empty van, check under heater
6:00 Go to store for mouse traps, discover oreo yogurt, worry about fate of humanity and planet
7:00 Set two peanutbutter mouse traps in empty van
9:00 Sleep, cough, sneeze...
7:30a Continental breakfast- frozen waffles and raisin bran
8:30 Find courage to check traps.
8:31 Rejoice in untouched traps, feel 95% sure we left the little critter back at Joshua Tree

Happy Valentine's Day!

Parting is such sweet sorrow...

Last week we said goodbye to our transmission.

Mechanic #1- Harry has lived behind the camp for 20-years. All this time, he’s had the same mechanic; a local shop just down the road from the historic Santa Rosa Cemetery, where his late 50’s Beetle engine was just rebuilt. We described the “squeaky” brakes and took a test drive with the mechanic. No one smelled death yet.

A couple hours later, we got the call. “Hey, have you been having any trouble shifting into reverse?” NO. An hour later, another call. “I drained some fluid. Looks like your transmission is full of metal… I don’t know where to find a new one …”

Mechanic #2- Back when we thought it was just brakes and were optimistic that we'd replace the pads and save the rotors, I searched craigslist for Volkswagen-loving mechanics, connecting with a really supportive at-home-dad/mechanic ready to help us out. Our new tranny would come from Hood River, Or, the same shop our mechanic at home uses. We got nervous. What if it's too big a job to have done by someone we don't know...

Mechanic #3- GoWesty, a resource
for every van owner I know, is about 30 miles south of our camp home. I’d heard a few nasty rumors about the management/ownership, but most of the stories are good and they have a warehouse full of every part imaginable, so we turned to the pros. On the way to the shop, we took a wrong turn off the freeway. Turning around, we confirmed Mechanic 1’s finding. Reverse was failing. In an ugly way.

They’re a big operation- shop, retail, sales, detailing… could be that the front desk is chaotic everyday. It took hours, three separate visits, to confirm the repair schedule and costs. Five days later, after the work was done, we’re told it won’t be warrantied. There was some confusion about the necessity of a working odometer as a condition of the warranty. Our frustration escalated over a series of phone calls including a “customer is never right” version of the blame game. Eventually the shop agreed to split with us the cost of replacing the odometer. Picking up the van, we made peace with the service manager, small talk of camping and Disneyland. Which eased the way when we returned an hour later with a non-functioning odometer.

Financial pain aside, we’re really grateful to the shop crew at GoWesty. They gave us a hands-on, behind-the-scenes lesson in transmissions/differentials, offering some comfort in the face of a major mechanical failure. We especially appreciate the sliding-door handle they replaced for us, making stumbling out to the bathroom in the middle of the night that much easier.




In other goodbye news, we left the acorns, science lectures, and otters of Camp Ocean Pines yesterday. After packing for Anaheim, Ukiah wondered if this past month, we might have already experienced the “happiest place on earth.” A beautiful environment topped only by the wonderful people. I’m tempted to quote the governor here, but I’ll just say we look forward to returning- sooner, rather than later.



Finally, at least some of us hope that Aslin will soon be saying farewell to her much-loved shoes.

Here's looking at you, kid!

With two bottles of sparkling cider, we rang in the New Year on the dunes of Morro Bay beach, where the people watching was fantastic. Some kids built castles, others drove remote-control cars and some took running leaps before belly-flopping in to the sand. The wind encouraged one man to attempt flying. In a wetsuit, he harnessed himself to a gigantic kite contraption. We squinted into the sun, watching him skim the sand for about 10 feet before rolling tripping back to ground. Birders with clipboards directed their binoculars at Morro Rock and we set our attentions on rock scrambling.

Atop the rock barrier, the crush of waves retreated to a tranquil sunlit aquamarine, only to cap white again. One lone duck went along for the ride. We tempted the spray to tag us, edging out until a swell prompted our common sense.



We'll close the first day of our New Year back at Camp Ocean Pines. From our deck, we watch the sea lions wake as the sun sets.

Health and Happiness,
Love and Laughter,
Peace and Prosperity,
and a dozen additional pairs of blessing for your New Year!