Days 11-20: A Change of State

More pictures here!

When I last left off we were just north of Big Sur, California enjoying a full hook-up spot in Marina, CA.   We took a good two weeks to go from that location to our home site on Orcas, and during that time experienced changing three states, one state of mind and one state of being.

There are some folks who swear by the beauty of the Big Sur area of California and I cannot complain about what we saw there:  The amazing drop of the mountains down to the sea and simply the incredible-ness of feeling so remote while being only 200 or so miles from either San Francisco or LA is a feeling not to be missed.  But my money (or so I wish) is on the Sonoma Coast, just north of San Francisco and Salinas.  There, the green, empty hillsides slide gently down to the crashing waves and every other second there is a portion of the Sonoma Coast State Park, just waiting to take your money.

No kidding.  Even the picnic areas charge a day use fee.  Now, I don’t have a problem with that, California is an expensive place, however, when you are driving up this part of Highway 1, pulling a trailer on curves so sharp that Simon, our GPS system, thinks they are actual turns (“Turn left in 100 yards”), there is precious little area in which to pull over and give everyone a break—pee or otherwise.

But nature was calling and provided no choice but to pull into a State Park day use area.  We stopped at the gate and explained that all we wanted to do is let the dogs out to pee; the man said he would have to charge us anyway.   $10 to pee. Many things about California I do not miss and this strict adherence to the rules is one of them.  We crossed sixteen legs and left.  

And what happened to hiking with your dogs in California?  Or enjoying the beach with them?  Trying to find camping or hiking near a beach that allowed dogs was growing more and more frustrating.  We eventually found Wright’s Beach; an unappealing campground (unless you have a choice ocean-front pitch) but on one of the most beautiful beaches I have seen in California.  And where, to spite the rules, we let the dogs run off-leash.

Growing weary of the fruitless search for dog-friendly hiking trails in California we set our sights on Oregon, a state we know loves dogs to the extent that they are welcomed on the majority of beaches and you would have to search hard to find a trail excluding them.  Only one thing stood in our way:  Mendocino.

Now, let me just say I have had a long, long, love affair with Mendocino.  Almost everything about it:  The natural beauty; The vibe (Southern California Beach crossed with Northern California Intellectual); and the utter coolness of just being there.  

But good lord not the state of the camping.

We checked out two State Parks, Van Damme and Russian Gulch.  The former being in a tight, small valley filled with mosquitoes and the latter being tiny and cramped and down a one-lane road barely large enough for Salt.  The state of Oregon was really calling now; prior experience with their State Parks had us ready to keep on driving past Mendocino.   But the state of our laundry was demanding a washing stop.  So we parked for the night at the Caspar RV Park which was a typical RV park, way too much like a parking lot, but had the required laundry facilities (albeit in such bad shape that I feared dropping a freshly washed item on the ground lest I had to start the cycle over.)  Life on the road.

We did go into town for groceries and a great dinner at The Flow, where we discovered Russell Henry, a great local gin, and Thackery & Company wine.  A night out was just what was needed to restore my love of Mendocino.

But time to get to Oregon as quickly as possible, changing to a state of less frustration and more love of dogs.

And rain.

We stopped for two nights at Alfred Loeb State Park.  On our full day we set out hiking in a drizzle and came home drenched to the bone.  All of us except for Rosco who, due to his advanced age and occasionally brilliant mind, slept peacefully in the warm, dry truck.

Soaking wet dogs and pouring down rain don’t mix well in 19’ but it is nothing that a local beer and some fish and chips can’t solve:  We headed to the marina with our tablet to get the weather forecast and to plot out the camping plan.

Turns out it was about to be gorgeous.  Not wanting to waste any sunshine, the next day we drove less than 100 miles up the coast to Bullard's Beach State Park, where we grabbed a full-hookup site in a sunny pitch and immediately threw everything outside to dry out.  Que the Beverly Hillbillies theme song--nothing looks as tacky as a sunny campground after a full day's rain.

A great campground (state run again—can’t say enough about Oregon State Parks), where we enjoyed a two mile walk to the beach (dog friendly, of course) and a six mile bike ride to the lighthouse.  My kind of biking!  You know, where you take your high-end mountain bike and turn it into a low-end beach cruiser.  Nice and flat.

Next stop was a bit further up the coast at Cape Lookout State Park.  More beach, more sunshine and what should have been a great hike.  Much recommended, the hike out Cape Lookout was way too crowded and narrow for our enjoyment.  But it was a sunny Sunday and, having lived and worked in the Pacific Northwest, I know the value of that combination.  But between having to carry Rosco, Opus joyfully jumping on anything that moved and River anxiously eyeing anything that moved, we didn’t get anywhere near a hiker’s high.

Time to say goodbye to Oregon.   Ahh well, until next time wonderful State Parks.

Continuing on our coastal route, Alan found us a great spot at Kalaloch Campground in the Olympic National Park, right on a dog-friendly beach.  We drove in around 3:30 PM and found the last pitch with any kind of a view of the water.  Parked Salt at a jaunty angle, opened the door and breathed in the fresh smell of wet trees and salty air.

Being this close to our spot on Orcas Island was making us antsy so despite having landed at our favorite stop so far, we hit the road the next day and tried to make a the 3:30 Port Townsend ferry over to Whidbey Island.  No such luck.  Next available was 6:45 so we opted to spend the night at Fort Worden State Park where we enjoyed a quick bit of tennis (you can really hit the ball hard at sea level!) and a nice private picnic area.  In the morning while Opus was running freely on the beach, I was doing my best to ignore the naked 60-something lady coming out of the water.  But Opus was not having any of that--I think he just saw extra flesh that might be useful in a petting experience.  There was freedom of every sort on this sunny, warm morning. 

Finally ferry day.  I think we only drove 60 miles but we were on two ferries and eventually pulled Salt up to our gorgeous Orcas site.

Orcas, for me, is one of those places where you can’t remember if you have been here an hour, a day, or ten years.  It is like a warm bath, comfortable, soothing and it completely changed my state of mind.  I went from being driven to just sinking in, in less than a day.

And glory be, my favorite laundromat!  Odd to love a business that much, but I could have cried I was so happy to see the gleaming machines and bright, clean floor.  Then I saw the TV and, indeed, cried. 

Prince had changed his state of being.

-K

Days 1-10, UT, AZ, CA – From the snow to the sea.

More pictures here!

It felt like forever for our day of departure to arrive; when it did it brought snow.  But that is one good thing about having some sort of plan—you get up and get out no matter what just to keep your three day reservation, encompassing a weekend, in California.  An eventful first nine days with friends and family, hiking, driving within three states, and a perfect day that started with a dead baby rabbit and ended with Opus frothing at the mouth.

Our first stop was the Moab area in Utah.  It being so close to home, we had only ever driven by quickly—always anxious to return to our little cabin in Evergreen.  So heading out for six months this seemed like a great way to start:  Two nights at Hittle Bottom Campground, a BLM campground nestled between the Colorado River and the Fisher Towers.  This was the first time we decided to stop for two nights on the first night out and it was a treat.  The hassle of packing up Salt and leaving the house for six months melted away as we relaxed with a full day of hiking and reading in the sunny, warm, dry air.

Then we began the family and friends portion of the tour; first stop, Prescott, Arizona to visit with my Mom and Step-Father while staying at Lynx Lake.  A great camping area with few sites, lots of trees and hiking trails that begin right from the campground.   Already our new portable solar panels came in handy:  I managed to direct the parking of Salt to just the right spot so our roof-mounted solar panel was under a large pine branch.  Alan hooked up the portable panels, moved them into the bright sunshine and they worked their magic.

Our one full day there was lovely, starting with a 4.8 mile hike in the forest with views down into Prescott Valley followed by Alan and I working our lists:  Mine was focused on making my life prettier (everyday earrings and sandals) while enjoying some Mobom time and his was focused on making our lives easier (a third tie-down for the dogs and wiper blades that didn’t risk falling off) while enjoying the Prescott area traffic routes. 

Next stop the California beaches!  Our primary goal was to get south enough to visit Alan’s daughter and a couple of my dear, don’t you dare say old, friends.  (But since “old” describes over 30 years of friendship, old has never looked so good.)

We camped at San Mateo Campground, part of the San Onofre State Park, just on the other side of Interstate 5 at San Onofre.  An ok camping spot…Campendium asks if you would stay there again “Yes” or “No”, and this is one time I would need a Maybe.  Not the greatest campground and the “1.5 mile nature walk to the ocean” runs across the I-5 (only southern Californians would consider this a nature walk) but it was quiet and peaceful and where we wanted to be.

Odd as it might sound, this spot brought me an absolutely perfect day despite an auspicious beginning and end.

Opus tends to be shy about his toileting, often heading as far away as he can into bushes for a little privacy.  So when I was walking him and he dove under a bush, I didn’t think anything of it (other than, of course, “How am I going to get that bagged?”)  But Opus had other bagging ideas; I heard a loud squeak and out pops Opus with a present for me.

Then there was another loud squeak, ok, truth be told, more of a scream.  I thought I was going to vomit.  Opus was proudly presenting a baby rabbit, delicately draped around his jaw. 

Tragically, the baby rabbit was still moving--requiring action of the non-vomiting variety.  So I got it out of Opus’ mouth only to see that its right shoulder was crushed; he could only slightly crawl.   Not left with a lot of options, I let Opus have it again to finish the job in the fastest way possible.  It took but a second and, since Opus didn’t have any use for the non-animated version, I bagged the bunny. 

After my crying spell, we set out to find the San Onofre Bluffs Hike.  We asked multiple State Park representatives how to get to the trailhead and the third person was able to direct us (given the blank looks when asking about hiking I surmised that this is a surf-centric area, hiking is only done as a means to get the board into the water.) 

Once we found the trail, or what we thought was the trail (at the end of the Bluffs Campground, Trail #6 allows dogs)  we were delighted to find miles and miles of gorgeous beach, high bluffs and only a few people.  The dogs ran around like crazy, even Scrunch got into the water.   I could have spent all day down there just smelling the salt air and listening to the waves but our skin is as white as the snow we left behind so we thought it best to leave after a few hours.  (Although not before taking off the hiking boots and dashing through the shallows with the Noses.)

A quick clean-up and then we headed to La Jolla to have dinner with friends—I still can’t believe we didn’t take a picture!  But a great time at Puesto’s.  There is something so easy about having friends for that long in life; for friendships to last like that you have to either have a lot in common or a lot of respect, I have enjoyed over 30 years of both.

Back at camp, Alan, coming in from Opus’ evening constitutional, said “Something is wrong with Opus.” 

I guess so:  Gobs and gobs of frothing spit was flowing out of his tiny mouth.  Apparently his second foray under a bush allowed him to meet, and attempt a bunny, on a frog.  Having no cell service at the site, we bundled him up and drove up the hill.  By the time we got the number for pet poison control (recommended by the 24-hour vet service) and waited on hold for a few minutes, the frothing had subsided to the point where we thought he might live.  So we brought him back and, as usual, he did not disappoint. 

Morning brought me a breakfast with my BF at a 50’s diner off the I-5; the inverse of the day before, this was a lovely start to a pretty hideous day.

We had about 240 miles to go to Oceano Dunes.  If any of you have read the blog from the beginning, you know that this is the spot two software executives decided to take their brand-spanking new Airstream for their first night out.  A great area where you can camp right on the sand--our main blog photo is the shot from that first night about five years ago.  We earned that picture by first getting stuck in the sand, attempting to dig ourselves out, being hauled out (Pepper, our Cayenne and pull vehicle back in the day, and Salt being pulled out together by a nice couple in a Dodge Ram) trying not to hyperventilate about the rising tide, building a fire and collapsing into the chairs.  (Note that I am balancing a beer on top of my head.)

Do we learn?  No.  But to our credit, this time we have Shaker, Pepper’s replacement, a Tundra with nice big tires and four-wheel drive.  We thought we had this down.  It was only 3:00, we were cruising down the beach in the afternoon sunshine.  Then our tires began to spin.  And spin.  And then spin and dig.  And we were stuck.  Local lore said to lower the tire pressure, dig out around the tires (as well as our hitch which was also buried) and just pull ourselves up.  We did all that except for the last part.

Second local lore stopped in a Jeep to offer assistance; two great guys.  They hooked up their Jeep and, backing up, pulled us up to a harder area.  Yep.  One Jeep pulled up a fully-loaded Tundra, a 19’ Airstream, two chagrined people and three disgusted dogs.  (At this point we had been on the beach for over an hour yet there was no sand on their paws.)

The guys unhooked us, and the following conversation ensued:

               I said, “Hey, we would like to give you something for helping us, your choice; beer, cash or, if it is not too weird, pot--you might have noticed we are from Colorado.”

               John replied, “Well, you might have noticed we are from LA.”  Much laughter ensued.

They tried to refuse everything, but I plopped some cash into the driver’s hand so at least we could buy them a cocktail or two.

Then we drove away.  For a second.  And got stuck again.  Oh ya baby.

Thankfully, John and friend had not gone far.  This time they hooked us up so they could drive forward and we drove like that for a good mile before we could finally get the rest of the way out ourselves.  And out we got.  $10 camping fee, $30 towing tip, learning a lesson twice?  Priceless.

Never again.  That is my title for the Campendium review of Oceano Dunes.

We spent the night at the North Pismo Beach State Campground.  Perfectly delightful, asphalt pull-through spot (having been towed twice by a Jeep within the last two hours, the last thing either of us wanted to do was to look at our hitch.)   The pitches are nicely spaced with a short walk over small dunes to the beach. 

Woke to rain and followed it right up the coast into the Big Sur area.  Stopped along the way for a 4.8 mile hike (delightful way to travel with three dogs—a mid-day hike) up Salmon Creek before pulling into Plaskett Creek Campground, site #19A.  Beautiful, small campground right across the street from the ocean and one of the few dog-friendly beaches.  It being the weekend, we booked three nights well in advance and settled in to keep a wary eye on our solar panel (no electric, no sun and no threaded water spigots—very close to boondocking except for the abundance of kids.)

Day two at camp we hiked 5.5 miles up to Villa Creek and did enough fishing to catch the bug again.  Finally a spot of sunshine in the afternoon which lead to a few hours of light cleaning (Salt was a mud-pit following all that rain on dirty paws) and reading in the sunshine. 

Day three we woke to rain which made for a delightful morning of writing this blog.  At around 11:30 I mentioned it might be time for lunch and Alan suggested we drive 30 miles up the coast to Nepenthe, a restaurant recommended by a friend of ours.

Every once in awhile you get to know someone who is always right.  I don’t mean they think they are always right like an obnoxious party guest, simply that they are just always, simply, quietly, right.  Our friend, who wouldn’t want to be named so let’s call him Joy, is such a guy.  We have learned that when Joy suggests something, it is likely something we will enJoy.  So when Joy heard we were traveling up Highway 1, he suggested a campsite (sadly, Salt wouldn’t have fit down the road to the site) and a lunch stop at Nepenthe, a restaurant hanging on the edge of the cliffs.

For us, stopping while towing Salt for lunch almost never happens:  First you have to find a parking area able to hold 40’ of living and driving machines and then you have to want to sit again for an hour or more.  So we knew stopping with Salt on the way out of the coast was not likely to happen.   The rainy day and lazy morning, however, gave us the perfect excuse to head up in a Salt-less Shaker.

What a delight!  We were sorry to miss what was obviously a stunning view in less socked-in weather, but thrilled to enjoy the grilled shrimp BLT with fries and two glasses of delicious red wine.  The ambiance was so relaxed I only had a brief feeling of inferiority around all those northern Californians.  (When Northern California was only the street-chic capital of America I could hold my own, I do, after all, own a black leather jacket, but when they added all the brain power of Silicon Valley I had to respectfully bow out of the competition; thick black plastic glasses only get you so far.)

After our delightful lunch, with the rain still socked in, we opted to leave Plaskett Creek one night early and drive 60 miles further up our route.  If you are going to sit around, you might as well sit around behind the wheel.  Camped for the night at Marina RV Park, full hook-up spot #49 (clean-out! clean-up!), less than 40 yards from the entrance to the dog-allowed state beach.  Perfect for a rainy night.

-K

PS:  What Opus has learned so far:  Some days the only way to stretch your legs is laying upside down in your car bed; other days the best way to stretch your legs is to clear the creek by a good two feet; most days frogs don’t want to be kissed and every day rabbits are more fun when alive.

Mammoth, McGee & Convict Lake, CA - Oct. 9-12, 2014

More photos here!

Many experiences are worth repeating on this trip (luckily!) and the Westin in Mammoth was certainly one of them.  As we were celebrating our 14^th wedding anniversary, we treated ourselves to two nights in a Heavenly Bed and dinner out at The Tamarack Lodge.  Both proved to be as exceptional as our first experience of them. 

These two nights involved a lot of sitting in a Jacuzzi, gorging on NY style bagels from The Old New York Deli & Bagel Company and dogs sleeping on their own Heavenly Dog Beds.  But we did do one hike:  Up from Horseshoe Lake (half dry) to Mammoth Pass (not as scenic as you might imagine) and over to Lake McCleod (gorgeous.)  A short hike day, but enough exercise to completely enjoy an entire bottle of wine during dinner! 

Having eaten fresh-caught trout every night since we arrived in the valley, we ignored all the fish options on the Tamarack Lodge menu and opted for Venison Osso Buco and Angus Ribeye.  Delicious.  And prepared by someone else.  And cleaned up by someone else.  (And, let’s face it, killed by someone else.)  A perfect treat.

                                                                      

But soon enough we were ready to hit the open road; we hitched up Salt (the Westin graciously allowed us to park her in front of their hotel in the Valet Only area) and drove a whopping 20 miles back south on 395 to McGee Creek.

The USFS McGee Creek Campground is lovely, each pitch with a built in shade shelter and asphalt pitches!!  Yahoo!  I forgot the thrill (and cleanliness) of having Salt perched on asphalt rather than dirt.  The creek behind the campground is a lovely fishing area (even better than Rock Creek in my opinion) with a lot of pools and, now, a few less fish (Alan, of course, caught dinner each night.)

We hiked up McGee Creek Trail which was enjoyable for its incredibly colorful mountains (rivaling those found in the Artists Palette in Death Valley) as well as the fall leaves.  Sadly, the trail did not follow along the creek as we had hoped and it was terribly hot.  So we kept it a short two miles in and out.

The next day we upped the ante heading up Convict Lake Trail and attempted to make it to Mildred Lake.  After about four miles of a gentle but constant climb and a half mile of scrambling straight up over rocks, we threw in the towel.  No Mildred Lake for us.  The best views on this hike are about one mile passed the trailhead at the back of Convict Lake.  So stop there if you are after a scenic hike and not a strenuous one.  We figured our total hiking mileage to be over eight miles that day.  Rosco did about half of that (which is great for him.)

Next stop is the June Lake area; despite having been up and down Highway 395 numerous times in our past, we have never even driven the June Lake Loop.  Here goes!

-K

Return to Rock Creek (Owen's Valley, CA)

More pictures here!

I was going to label this, “Return to Paradise” but realized I have to leave that title open in case we ever get back to the French Alps.  Back in 2011, Owen’s Valley in California and specifically the Rock Creek area was our definition of paradise. Revisiting a dreamland is not always the best idea so it was with some trepidation that we aimed The Shaker (replaced Pepper in 2013) west, three years (and, as some of you who have been reading along know, a lot of experience) later. 

There are plenty of differences between this trip and the last, the largest being that now we are on vacation and in 2011 we were beginning a life on the road.  What remains the same is the beauty of the Eastern Sierras, near empty campgrounds and lots of off leash hiking—or riding in a backpack as is Rosco’s version (he is now 13 and can’t keep up all the time.)

This year, the weather is warm (started in the upper 80’s but has dropped to a comfortable upper 70’s now) with no rain or snow in sight; a big difference from three years ago when a snow storm in October chased many people out of the valley and closed most campgrounds.  Unfortunately, due to the almost chronic draught of California, many streams are barely flowing and, much to our dismay, some alpine lakes have dried up.  (Not what you want to see after hiking uphill for two miles—more on that later.)

We were anxious to get to our first hike; up Onion Valley, a spot missed back in 2011.  We opted to stay two nights at Upper Gray’s Meadow campground, in the same pitch as three years ago.  We arrived nice and early at the trailhead and started the relentless uphill climb toward Lake Gilbert.   While you hike the well maintained trail, the sun shines almost continuously on you and the scenery is not great:   The trail winds up the hill, your only view being back down to your increasingly smaller car in the parking area.   But make yourself continue past the small backwater known as Pothole Lake and you will reach Lake Gilbert, a gorgeous alpine lake full of trout.  We fished, and Alan caught his usual two fish. 

That hike not being as wonderful as we remembered for the area, we opted to leave after two nights and head to French Camp at Rock Creek.  We have fond memories of staying in a rare full hook-up site there and drove in hoping against hope that it would be available (this particular pitch is not reserve-able.)   Indeed, there is one full hook-up site (not the same one as years ago, this time number 62 ½) but it was taken.  We opted for the lovely pitch #65, dropped Salt, then hustled over to the creek where Alan caught two Rainbows before we lit a campfire and settled in for two nights.

In 2011, one of our greatest joys was hiking to the Little Lakes region of Rock Creek.  Hoping that was still as gorgeous as ever, we opted to leave that location for a day and try a new hike up the valley to Kenneth- and Dorothy Lake.  It was at Kenneth Lake, after hiking uphill in the hot sun for two miles that we discovered the depth of the California draught; Kenneth was bone dry.  Sharing our water with The Noses, we continued on to Dorothy Lake where we happily discovered the lake half full.  We enjoyed a lovely lunch but did not fish as we figured any fish left in that lake should be left for the few water fowl diving around.  Rosco was having a hard time on the way back (after three miles) so we put all Alan’s gear into my backpack and Rosco into Alan’s and set off back down.  (Rosco was quite content to bob around behind Alan; his eyes halfway closed the entire time.)

And so the day came:  To relive the Little Lakes hike.  On October 7, we set off and were not disappointed.  As gorgeous as ever, although much drier than our last visit, the lakes and hiking up that valley are amazing.  The hiking is quite easy (hiking at elevation has become even easier now that we live at 7,800 feet back home in Colorado) and the views phenomenal.   This remains a hike not to be missed if you are in the area. 

Also not to be missed, but we keep doing so, is the homemade pie at the Rock Creek Lakes Resort across the road from Rock Creek Lake.  Three years ago it had closed by the time we discovered the area (they close mid-October) and this time we stopped in twice to no avail:  The first time they were sold out and the next day we came too early (10:30.)  Pies aren’t available until 10:45 or 11:00, one never knows exactly when.  Personally, I have found these pies to be a little high maintenance (with their highfalutin names like “Cheddar Pear”) but since one still has not crossed my lips, I cannot fairly judge.

Upon arriving home to pitch 65 (I was so desperate for a shower!!) we were over-joyed to find that the people in the full hook-up site were leaving the next day; we immediately hunted down the host and asked to move over for two nights.  As if a shower the next day wasn’t enough to make me sing out loud, the fact that we were moving over in the morning meant we had plenty of space in our grey water tank to shower that night.  With a razor.  Ahhhh.

Now the part for which you all have been waiting; the major difference between 2014's vacation and 2011's life.  For one, our current life in Colorado looks an awful lot like camping:  Wide open space around us, a gorgeous valley with views of mountains, small cabin, wood fires on demand, only seeing people when we want to, dogs running free.  Compare that to what we left in 2011:  A 4,000 square foot house in Laguna Beach which, despite its size, offered zero privacy from your neighbors (a mere 10’ away) and constant noise and traffic from the busy PCH below.  Not to mention our stressful software jobs . . .

And so it looks like we discovered our true selves back in 2011 and, after a year and a half on the road, returned to build that paradise in Colorado.  For now, it is two more weeks of vacation; more fishing, more hiking and enjoying the 70 degree weather.  By the time we get back to Colorado, it will likely be snowing.

Heading north . . .

-K

Home for Now – Dec. 31, 2012

As they say, the grass is always greener on the other side; a thought that edged into our minds as we sat in dog beds on the floor of our new rental home; driving day chips balanced on one knee and a Manhattan on the other.  We were in such a hurry to stop living in Salt we thought anything would be better—including an entirely empty rental home.  

Entirely.  

Empty.  

Yes, after our cocktails, we ate off of plastic plates, standing at the kitchen island and then crawled into our sleeping bags for the night.  (The Noses could not have been happier with this sleeping arrangement, although Rosco does prefer a tent be included.)

Amazing the amount of comfort that Salt could pack into 19’. 

We did indeed make it from Florida to Colorado where we dropped Salt and all the way out to Laguna Beach, California and back to Evergreen, Colorado before Christmas.  (For those of you keeping track, this amount of driving, done in less than two weeks, almost surpasses what we drove during our nine-month tour of Europe.)  It was a lot of driving but well worth it as we were able to see friends and family along the way and coordinate the shipment of our meager belongings from our 10x15 storage shed. 

While in Laguna, we opted to stay at the Casa del Camino Hotel.  Although comfortable and with excellent service, it is loud and rambunctious late into the evenings, so I don’t recommend it if you are looking for a quite seaside escape.  It is, however, perfect if you enjoy the hustle (every pun intended) of the Laguna Beach scene.

Back in Evergreen, Colorado, we are slowing adding to the comforts of home as the snow softly falls outside.  We are enjoying a fire in the hearth and The Noses staring up at the plush comfort of our new (to us) sofas; having just arrived today, we’ll see how long we can keep the dogs off.   Personally, I was sprawled out reading a book on the one we placed in a sunny corner within 30 minutes of their arrival.

Can this really be the end?  I think there must be one more Musings in me somewhere . . . perhaps for 2013.

-K

PS:  SP and I had a deal that the first one to get a job got to pick their in-home office.  I moved in yesterday, first day of work:  January 3, 2013. 

Redding, CA, USA - Nov. 15-16, 2011

A brief stop in Redding for an SAP demo before heading up to the Pacific Northwest.  


We had one night at the Fairfield Inn which was a good deal with their friendly staff, laundry facilities, free breakfast, welcoming dog policy and the ability to park Salt outside.  Our second night was at the Redding Premier RV Resort, selected because it advertised a new area with good Wifi.  The new area is nice with large cement pitches and lots of grass in-between, but the Wifi promise was not fulfilled.  


I was delighted to find a fantastic (and award-winning) walking trail along the Sacramento River of which we took advantage on a sunny afternoon.  There is a cafe near the Turtle Bay entrance serving hot and cold sandwiches and some of the best smelling fries we have ever had the mis-pleasure of sensing.  (Due to a recent weight gain, we are off the fries for awhile.)


We ate out only once at Janya Thai Kitchen, discovered and reviewed on Yelp.


The demo went well and I find myself without an appointment on my calendar for the first time since the Aventura began!  True freedom at last!


Off to the Oregon coast now, we have to skip Crater Lake due to an approaching snow storm.  So it will be hiking in the rainy sand dunes of Oregon instead.


-K

Movie Time: Rosco (WFT) Fishing the Trinity River

Filmed on location on November 10, 2011, Trinity River, Lewiston, CA, USA

Shasta/Trinity National Forest & Trinity Lakes Wilderness – Nov. 9-14, 2011

More pictures!

Thinking about taking up fishing in California?  My advice is to begin in Northern California and then head south to Owen’s Valley in the Eastern Sierras (see postings from October) this way you can be fishless as a beginner but end like a pro.  Although you can see the fish everywhere up here, they are focused on mating and not eating (this is November, after all.)  Such is the setting for our almost fish-less week.

We came here because it was the wildest looking area around Redding, California, and we only had six days before I needed another demo stop.  Most of the government campgrounds are closed this time of year and, afraid of it dropping below freezing at night, (ok, only Kit is afraid of it dropping below freezing!) we decided our first stop would be at the Trinity River RV Park in Lewiston, CA.  It is a funky little place.  So far my experience of RV parks has been that they are either too fancy (including swimming pools and golf cart rentals) or too funky (mostly filled with people living there full time with a few open spots for those of us on the road) with a few charming parks in between (the previously reported Mono Vista RV Park in Lee Vining, CA, being one of them.)    

But the folks at Trinity were welcoming and upon arrival we were offered two choices, a full hook-up spot for $35/night or dry camping along the Trinity River for $25/night.  Gazing across an open meadow to the shores of the river while contemplating these options, we both knew there was little chance that we would start our visit anywhere but at the river’s edge.  The solitude of the wide open meadow and campfire rings were joyous indications of fresh air and freedom after nearly 300 miles in the car.  (Clearly, this was an emotional, not financial, decision—a $10 difference between dry camping and a full hook-up?  Normally that would have been a no-brainer.)

It was lovely down along the shore. The dogs running free and all of us watching the salmon jump up the river (watch the movie of Rosco fishing here – the fish were bigger than he was!)  We also tried our hand at bringing in one of the giants, and Alan had one on his line for a brief period of time, but we never got one to shore.  The weather was sunny and not too cold at night, so we managed to get two nights of dry camping out of our batteries before pulling Salt up to the top for an additional two nights in a full hook-up pitch.

We tried a hike in the Trinity Alps – aptly named for their incredibly high peaks.  Sadly, almost every hike we could find started low (3,500 feet) and then climbed up through the trees to the alpine meadows (and I mean climb!) to above 7,500 feet.   Unlike the trails in the Eastern Sierras which started high and went a little higher, all the altitude gain here is to be done by the hiker.  We went two miles almost straight uphill on the Boulder Creek trail before turning around – it was like 1.5 hours on the StairMaster and we had enough!  Back down to some fishing in Coffee Creek.   (Of note here, Coffee Creek, the town, is a must see if you are in this area.  It’s like a little fantasy land with a narrow windy road, leafy trees, little farms and a running creek.  Delightful, but don’t arrive in a big rig.) 

Fish caught:  0.

Perhaps the best thing to come of this day was the discovery of Ackerman Campground (Shasta-Trinity National Forest) – open all year (but without water or dump after October) and just gorgeous with large deciduous trees (all in color right now) and grassy open pitches right along Lewiston Lake.  We arrived at pitch #44 the very next day. 

Being the only campers at Ackerman we let the dogs run free and they had a blast for a while (cue the Music of Doom.)  We were leaving for our second attempt at lake fishing when I called to River and watched her stumble out of the bushes.  It looked like someone had shrunk the skin on her face:  Her eyes were shut and her teeth were showing, like she was stuck in a permanent sneeze.  And she was pawing the air like she couldn’t breathe.  (She is a bit of a drama queen.)  I ran to her, calling for Alan and we found that she had gotten herself into some kind of a sticker bush which not only has incredibly small and spiky stickers, but also excretes a sticky substance.  She had hundreds of them in her, around her nose and eyes and up her legs.  After about 20 minutes Alan had the stickers off her face and most of them off her legs so we headed down to fish.

Rosco, who by now was as impatient with our lack of fish as we were, decided that he had waited long enough for a fish.  While I was reeling in my cast, he decided to jump out and eat my hook, planting it firmly into his upper lip.  I ran to him, calling for Alan.  (See a pattern here?)  Using his fish pliers (not the true name), Alan worked on the hook while I held Rosco as still as possible.  He’s a tough dog and doesn’t complain about much, but a couple of pulls had him squirming around like crazy.  Alan eventually removed the hook and he was up running around seconds later.

Fish caught:  0.  "Others" caught:  1.

We had a great campfire that night, me sipping Port while Alan held each dog in succession doing the final sticker removal.  Perhaps I had sensed an end to our fish catching on our last grocery trip; I had purchased some chicken and stuck it in our freezer.  We cooked that (marinated in olive oil and Herbs de Provence) over the campfire with some corn on the cob and my Flax Seed Bread right out of the oven. The night was about 40 with a clear, starry sky and the fire kept us toasty until bedtime.

The following day we drove to Rush Creek, having given up on lake fishing.  Alan caught two – one keeper at 10”, the other he let go.  I am still fish-less but at least we are not totally skunked coming out of this National Forest!

We had a quiet afternoon until sticker removal time at which point we discovered three ticks on River.  So instead of watching Episode 2 of Downton Abbey on the last bits of our battery juice, we pulled ticks from the Rivlette.  Just one more way I can tell we are no longer in Orange County.

-K

DITL: Boondocking in Monitor Pass, Hwy 89, CA, USA

Our second DITL is ready!  Hopefully with better narration - I know the transitions are better . . .

-K


P.S.:  Hopefully this copy doesn't have any adds in it!  Sorry about inflicting those on you before.

Yosemite/Lee Vining, CA, USA, Oct. 28-30, 2011

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Some of you already know our plan:  Our goal is to live like this for two years, including at least a year in Europe, but we promised each other to do this for three months no matter what in order to give this life a fighting chance.  (Set your clocks with a start date of September 1, 2011.)  But this stop had the Night Kit Almost Called It Off – Three Months Be Damned.

We arrived at the Lower Lee Vining campground having been assured by the Ranger that, yes, it has no drinking water on site and yes, it is the only campground open on Highway 120 (the eastern entrance to Yosemite), in time to fish for dinner.  Alan caught a nice 11”er in the creek alongside the camp and we had a lovely evening with the dogs running free (we were almost the only campers), a great fire with lots of free wood and, of course, the trout.

Having known about the water situation, we had filled up the fresh tank before arrival.  The Ranger mentioned that there was an “RV Filling Station” just two miles west of the campground, which we saw on our way in, so we figured what the heck, we’ll just take our 5 gallon jug and fill it up every day at the filling station.  What we didn’t know was the state of Salt’s batteries:  Having been dry camping the night before in Mammoth (New Shady Rest Campground, NFS), in a true-to-its-name shady spot, Salt’s batteries were not at 100% when we pulled in. 

Unconcerned with the batteries at this point (thinking the sun would charge them up during the day) we took off the next day for a nice hike around Saddleback Lake (unattractive) to Greenstone Lake (gorgeous) up in the Twenty Lakes Basin.  We did a lot of fishing but no catching until the very end of the day when Alan caught a trout, too small to keep.   We arrived back at Salt tired and too cold to go back outside for a campfire.  (Yes, the time has come for me to stop being fashionable in my ¾ length hiking pants, and start being warm in some full length ones!)   Knowing we had to use the heater all night, we checked on Salt’s batteries:  Not good, they were only at 60%, so we sat in the near-dark eating left-over soup before crawling into bed. 

Thus began The Night Kit Almost Called It Off.   I could not sleep which, lately, is nothing new for either of us.  (You can often hear loving comments like, “Your elbow is in my eye socket” or, “Don’t punch me in the throat”, coming out of our tiny bed.)  But this night was even worse:  The heater is very loud and every time it came on I woke up.  Add to that my fear that the heater would completely kill the batteries and we would end up frozen to death in the no-water campground and you can almost hear my panic approaching.  Somewhere in the dark, cold night, with two terriers on the bed (Rosco underneath a spare pillow he was so cold), unable to move my limbs, I thought, “Three months be damned, I am not living in this dark, freezing capsule another minute.”   Having made my declaration, I promptly fell asleep.

Morning dawned sunny, but not enough direct sun was hitting our panels; they started the day at only 9%.  I plugged in the Pepper for a while so we could have some light for breakfast before we took off for Yosemite, saying to Alan that if we returned and Salt’s batteries were below 75% that I would vote for going to the RV Park back down on Highway 395.

After all the freedom and beauty of the wilderness areas surrounding Yosemite, the park itself was a bit of a let-down for me.  First of all, coming from the east is surely not as grand as coming from the west (at least I hope.)  But also, although they will take your money at the gate, there are no services open inside the park this time of year (the west side might be an exception.)  The Visitor Center was closed, there were no restaurants (we didn’t pack a lunch, thinking we would be basking on a sunny patio eating fries and drinking beer), not even a vending machine was to be found.  So by 1:00 we were starving and, (ahem) simply to keep from passing out, we opened two bottles of Mammoth Brewing Company’s Double Nut Brown Ale which fortified us enough for some fishing.

By 3:00, Alan had caught five Brookies (two went back in—exceptionally small even for a Brookie), and we headed down the mountain.  Too hungry even to stop at Salt, we buzzed right on by and right on into the Whoa Nelly Deli, recommended by Bobbie (the delightful former occupant of Site 86 in French Camp) at the junction of Highways 120 and 395.  Alan had the baby back ribs and I had the famous lobster rolled tacos—both delicious, but not nearly as good as the chocolate layer cake which tastes like heaven and feels like mousse.  (The deli is closed now for the season, our luck having led us there on their last day, but worth a stop next April if you are in the area.)

We stopped at the RV filling station for water only to find that it too had been closed for the season.  No more fresh water for us!  (Neal, are you laughing yet?)  Returning to Salt and finding the batteries at only 50%, we knew we’d be heading to the Mono Vista RV Park for the night.  But not before some fishing!  Within an hour we each pulled out a nice sized trout (10-11”) which were cleaned and refrigerated with the Brookies to be had for dinner some other time (we were still too full from that late lunch.)

Packing up Salt in record time, with the motorized hitch barely running enough to connect to the Pepper, we arrived at the delightful Mono Vista RV Park by 5:00 p.m.  Showers!  Laundry! (Fully dried, I might add) And a delightful and helpful host in a pretty RV Park.  (Closed now for the winter.)

So where did I change my mind about calling it quits?  Not quite sure . . . somewhere between the drive through Yosemite, the river fishing on the way home, or catching my own dinner, the Aventura spirit caught up with me again.  Good thing, as the next day promised to be our biggest adventure yet:  Heading out to boondock “somewhere” in Monitor Pass . . . a DITL coming soon to a computer screen near you!

-K

Our First DITL (Day In The Life) Movie!

Here it is folks!  Sorry for my poor transitions and really bad narration, I promise to get better at both!

Can also be found on our Movie Page . . . 

Rock Creek, Little Lakes Basin, CA, USA - Oct. 24, 2011

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I guess the time had to come:  We must leave Rock Creek.  If it wasn't for another SAP demo, we would probably be here until the day French Camp closes--November 1st at 10:00 a.m. (so say all the warning signs.)


For our last full day we decided to hike up Little Lakes Basin again--we just can't get enough.  I put some bread on to rise, we drove up to the trail head and set out for Long Lake at a little over two miles.  


Although the hike was as wonderful as ever (I dare anyone who claims not to be a hiker to go one mile down this trail and see if it doesn't change your mind about hiking), the day was a whopping 20 degrees colder!  The wind was gusting and cutting right through my clothes but Alan and the Noses seemed just fine.


We had a quick lunch and mini fishing expedition at Long Lake, Alan catching one little Brookie that we set free.  By now, I had put on all the clothes I had in my pack:  Five layers on my top including three hats--I kid you not (there are no photos of this fashion extravaganza.)  We headed back out as the clouds gathered, making it to the car by 3:00 or so.


Fish-less, but determined not to remain that way, we stopped at what Alan calls The Fish Market (formerly reported as Alan's Lucky Fishing Hole) on the way back to camp.  Indeed, it is like a market for him, he barely puts more energy into fishing there than he would pointing through a glass case and saying, "I'll take two of the pan-sized trout, please."


Sure enough, he almost immediately caught an 11" trout and I was immediately glad that I had put some bread on to rise.  I have been lax in my fish catching and felt I wasn't pulling my Hunting & Gathering weight.   We have been so prolific in fishing (well, Alan has) that we decided a few days ago to stop fishing when we had enough for dinner, no matter who had caught what.  So the pressure was on, would I catch one before Alan caught another, thus calling an end to the day's fishing?


"I'm going to need the net!", we both exclaimed in unison, as I flung my 9" trout up to the bank just as Alan was reeling in another 11"er.  We kept them both and ate all three for dinner with fresh baked Parmesan Herb Bread.


As a follow-up and to tie up all the pieces of these lovely nine days:  On Sunday we were fishing the creek that runs through the campground, Alan had (as usual) caught two 11"ers and set about cleaning them.  He gutted them and then took them to the water's edge for a washing.  When he returned, his knife was no where to be found.  We looked in the creek (memories of the camera anyone?) and around the shore, but finally found it about 20 yards into the woods.  Taken there by You Know Who.  Does anyone doubt she took the camera now?


Off to the Westin Monache in Mammoth for two glorious nights and one (hopefully) glorious SAP demo.  Then we are high-tailing it up to Lee Vining and Yosemite before our lucky weather runs out!


-K

Mono Pass, CA, USA – Oct. 22, 2011

More Pictures!

Well we did it!  Fighting fear (Kit) and knee recovery (Alan), we hiked eight miles to over 12,000 feet at Mono Pass!

The first portion of this trail can be found on Trails.com, so for specifics on condition, etc., please check there.  As for our specifics:  It was a lovely day with a long uphill (2+ miles) to our lunch spot at Ruby Lake.  We started near 10,000 feet and Ruby brought us to 11,000 something.  I was feeling nauseous but forced myself to eat my sandwich and drink a ton of water.  Alan’s knee was doing great and, since we didn’t see any fish in the lake, (and I was afraid I’d lose my nerve), we started up the pass without much of a break.

I was fighting the memories of my altitude sickness on Kilimanjaro (and in Machu Pichu for that matter) with each step up the steep last 1.5 miles.  The trail is good, about 2’ wide but cuts into a mountainside of loose rock—one step off the trail and you could slide right on down.  River, being new to the concept of switch-backs (but always in the lead), would simply continue to walk straight when the trail switched back on itself--walking right into the loose rock.  If I had any heart-beat to spare it would have pounded even more at the sight of her trying to negotiate a u-turn on the slippery, sandy, rock slope.  But she worked her four-wheel drive, and, I am proud to report, she didn’t miss a switch back all the way down.

We stopped half-way up and I coughed a little which freaked me out as this was the first indication of my breathing trouble on Kilimanjaro.  So I said, “Let’s keep going.”  The trail was freaking me out a little too:  Too much space between your little trail and the bottom of the mountain.  I was much relieved when we turned the corner on that mountain and ended up between two more.  One on each side was very comforting.

My coughing didn’t get any worse and we made it to the summit around 3:00 p.m. – a little later than we had hoped.  We didn’t stay long as it was already cold and, with the sun sinking, becoming colder by the minute.  Quick snack, quick drink, lots of pictures, and we started back down.

It was a slow return, taking us 2.5 hours to do the four miles back as our joints were stiffening quickly and the rock steps on the lower half of the trail seemed to have grown a good foot and a half during the afternoon.  

We made it home, took a nice hot shower (oh so thankful Salt has a shower and we have a water hook-up!), ate grilled cheese sandwiches with soup (Oreos for dessert) and hit the sack soon after. 

It is now 9:00 a.m. the next day and the dogs have barely moved yet.  Alan had to ask them twice if they wanted to go out for a walk this morning.  Looks like a great day for a little creek fishing and not much else.

-K

Rock Creek, CA, USA - #2 - Oct. 16-24, 2011

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This might be two out of three entries for Rock Creek.  As previously reported in "Rock Creek, Tom's Place . . . ", we actually Drove Backward to reach this  recommendation from Dave & Lisa and haven’t been able to make ourselves leave yet!

We did manage to move to the full hook-up site, #86, at French Camp (NFS), although no tactics were necessary (not that we have any.)  We walked over the morning of the 19^th and met the charming tenant.  Living in Florida, she has traveled out to California every year for 20 years—sometimes twice a year.   Clearly a dog lover, she had a nice talk with River about the difficulty of being Irish.  She also gave us a recommendation for Florida:  St. Joseph’s State Park, so we’ll be adding that into our itinerary.  Turns out, she was expecting us (the camp host mentioned that we would like to move in) and she was heading out that day.

Although nirvana awaited us at #86, we were sad to leave site #25:  A delightful site in its own right--maybe my favorite so far.  It just didn't have any hook-ups and, as we can only dry camp for four nights at a time, we were in need of a cleaning out if you get my drift.  And wow, unlimited water is such a luxury!  There is nothing like a nice hot shower after a long day of hiking and fishing, even if you have to hold the shower nozzle yourself.

On the 20^th, I set some bread to rising and we set off up Little Lakes Basin hoping to find the camera (that I am sure now) River took off into the woods.  But it was nowhere to be found.  A delightful hike none-the-less, and we added some distance making it past Heart Lake to Box Lake.  We saw the most enormous fish swimming by but couldn’t get them to bite anything.   (I guess that’s how they got to be so big.)  Alan caught one little Brookie, who sadly, didn’t survive the hook removal.

After a great hike (there is a movie coming – A Day in the Life:  Rock Creek Hike, I will post it on the Movie tab next week!) we stopped on the way back down the valley at (what is now referred to as) Alan’s Lucky Fishing Hole.  He promptly pulled out two “good sized” (over 11”—six months ago we would have labeled those "whoppers") trout for our dinner.  Thankfully, my bread came out delicious even after seven hours of a second rising, so dinner was fire roasted trout and yams, fresh baked Flax Seed bread and a bottle of Malbec. 

No wonder we can’t bring ourselves to leave.

Tomorrow, Saturday the 22^nd, we are going to head up to Mono Pass and just see how high we can get.  We met a couple coming out yesterday who had just done it so they are my inspiration.  If Alan’s knee and my lungs can make it, we’ll be looking over all of Little Lakes Basin from over 12,000 feet!  You can bet there will be more pictures.

-K

Rock Creek, Tom's Place, CA, USA - Oct. 16-?, 2011

As if we didn't have enough to thank Dave & Lisa for after that wonderful going-away meal, they also told us about Rock Creek!  


We have been here for 3 days so far (French Campground, NFS) and have no idea when we will leave.  I took some awesome pictures up at Heart Lake yesterday, and two movies (with a small Nikon, not the Bloggie) which were, undoubtedly, going to be the best yet.  However, when time came to leave, I could not find the camera.


Alan and I had heard something fall into the creek while we were fishing and thought nothing of it.  But once missing the camera, we thought, "Ugg, it must have been the camera that fell into the creek!"  So Alan lays down and bends over the edge of the creek, digging his hands through the rocks and mud to no avail.  I am frantic as I know the beauty hiding in that video card (including a film of Rosco fishing!), so I take off my boots and wade into the knee-high, freezing creek.  I dig around, disturb some egg-laying Brookies, but all I gain are 10 blue toes.  It was after 3, so we had to start heading home.  I begrudgingly walked away.


But . . . walking out on the trail, I thought, "What if River took the camera?"  This might sound odd to you folks who haven't met her (or had your electronic device eaten by her), but she loves to take small electronics and make them a chew toy.  I bet she took the camera off into the woods!


We are going to hike back up there again in a couple of days -- great fishing and I need to get more pictures.  You can bet I'll be walking through the woods where we were fishing.   Stay tuned:  The pictures will be well worth waiting for, I promise!


Now we have to run by site #86 and try to scare them off:  They have a full hook-up site in a National Forest Campground!


-K