Newly Updated Cluck Truck Adventures: Always and for Never

More pictures here!

You would think after traveling to and from Evergreen, Colorado to the San Juan Islands in Washington, by truck, with chickens, three times we would have it down; and indeed, we had most of it down.  Particularly the new batch of chickens who proved to be fantastic travelers due mostly to their great early-life training (if I do say so myself.)  Nonetheless, we still managed to pick up one Never Again to offset our two Always Agains.

Our first day driving was short due to having to lock up our little log cabin and leave by ferry from Lopez Island so we planned a short 70 mile drive to Marble Creek Campground outside of Marblemount.  (Campground reviews can be found on Campendium.com.)  After our stressful days leading up to leaving, we decided to start the trip off right by staying two days; allowing one full day for hiking.  What a treat and our first Always Again.

We pulled in and I was desperate to get the chickens out of their travel crates.  I set about getting the roaming tent up (a 10x10 bug tent with an open floor for pecking and, apparently, taking dirt baths) while Alan secured Salt and the dogs. 

With seven chicks at six weeks old, we had them riding three in one dog crate (adapted for chickens of course with two perches at varying heights and lots of pine shavings on the ground) and four in another.  Even with such space, they were happy to get into the tent and fly around, chase bugs and, in the case of Dove and Ocean, hop on my back. 

In the morning we let them into the tent again until it was time to go hiking.  Then a quick “Chicken Chicken” call with pieces of corn on the cob brought them back into their travel cases.  Coming when called was a major part of their early training and now the “Chicken Chicken” call works much better than Opus’ “Come Opus”, “Now Opus”, or “Don’t you dare run the other way Opus.”  But I digress…

The host, Steve, mentioned a nice 5-mile hike along the river (FSR 1590) that we thought would be a great way to warm up our hiking legs and it was perfect.  It was the first time we left the chicks alone in the truck but it was a cool day with no sun and when we set off they were all roosting quietly—probably thrilled that the truck wasn’t moving.

Back at camp, the chicks tucked into their exercise tent, and we tucked into some gin.  Come nightfall, the ladies dutifully filed into one crate (all by themselves) leaving the second crate empty.  I thought this was a good idea as the nights were about to get cold and seven nestled on the perches seemed like a cozy start to camping.

Day three was a long, long, did I say long? LONG driving day and our only Never Again of the trip:  We stayed on Highway 20 through Winthrop then dropped down toward Spokane as quickly as we could.  But there was nothing quick about it.  And if I ever see the Grand Coulee Dam again I will vomit.  Just not a pretty part of Washington.  Slow and hot.  So Never Again will we take Highway 20 unless we plan on staying on it until Idaho.

Tired, hot (84 degrees and we do not have down like the poor chicks), in need of a dump site so we can shower (hopefully) and wanting to be settled to watch the presidential debate, we opted to stop earlier than planned.  I found Liberty Lake Campground, a Washington County Park that had a dump site and water at the pitches.  Serviceable is all I can say.  That, and thankfully we were the only camper that night as it was basically an RV parking lot.  Even the lake at that end of the road was dried up.  But we managed to shower and get a bit of reception (the old fashioned way with an antennae) to watch the debate.  Mission Accomplished (every pun intended.)

The next day we took off down I-90, one of the prettiest Interstate drives.   You can go fast and still enjoy scenery; exactly what we needed after the previous day. 

We hopped off I-90 and headed down Montana 359 to 287 (love this drive!) and camped for two nights at Harrison Lake—utilizing our Always Again, again.  I was really looking forward to the following days' hike but before that, fishing!

After about four casts into the lake, I landed a huge something.  It flopped around and bent my pole nearly in half before my line snapped and he took off with my favorite lure.  Never caught another.  Alan too had one on the line the following day and his line snapped.  I guess it’s time to get better line!

Speaking of the following day, I threw together some bread and we left it to rise as we headed out to hike.  It was a hot day so after the chickens went into their crates, I loaded them into Salt so they could enjoy the shade and fans. 

We hiked up North Willow Creek Trail just outside of Pony.  A really nice trail, particularly after 1.75 miles where it narrows a bit.  I would say the 10-mile round trip to Hollow Top Lake is quiet do-able but not when you are as out of shape as we are; we opted out after four as we were pooped and I was worried about the chicks.

Back at Salt, we baked the bread, released the chickens into their exercise tent, watched as the sunset changed the color of the distant mountains and noticed a hunter in the brush going after quail (we think.)  So not quite as peaceful an ending as we were hoping.  On the plus side, at least he didn’t shoot at the chickens.

We got an early start the next morning as the day would involve driving through Yellowstone and in our experience, you can never give this stretch enough time.  But our tanks were in need of freshening so we stopped at the Ennis RV Village.  This lovely spot (for an RV park) had me invent the “full hook-up lunch break” which will become an Always Again but doesn't classify as one at this point; we didn’t stop for the full hook-up, merely a dump and run.  We hardly spend money on campsites so spending $40-$60 for a few hours of cleaning out during the middle of the day seems like money (and time) well spent.  No one says you have to stay the night!  Anyway, back on the road…

As luck would have it, we sailed through Yellowstone in record time; hardly any traffic on a rainy Thursday in late September.  Popped out the other end and turned up my second favorite highway in the area, Highway 26 toward Dubois.

As Friday was my birthday and I wanted to hike for the Big Day, we stopped for two nights at Falls Campground which was officially closed for the season but the Forest Service (thoughtfully) leaves the gates open until snowfall.  There were no facilities and no trash service, but also very few people.  (Friday evening it picked up a lot with hunters coming in for the weekend.)

We enjoyed our first thunder and lightning storm in a long time on Thursday night (Opus and the Ladies were unimpressed, River huddled near the bathroom) and Alan took advantage of being inside to bake my birthday cake.  Normally he does a pineapple upside down cake from scratch (yes scratch!) but due to being in Salt we thought an old-fashioned boxed one would be ok.  Everything tastes better in Salt anyway.  But although it was delicious, it wasn’t close to the scratch one.  Being the great guy he is, he will make me another.  But baking the cake the night before gave me my second “Always Again”: Birthday Breakfast Cake.  Oh yeah, great way to start (and end) the day.

We tried to hike a trail in the Teton Wilderness that starts at Brooks Lake and goes up the valley to Upper Brooks Lake but after two miles we gave up; the mud was so thick it was coating our boots and clinging to the sides so that eventually we had to walk with our feet wider than normal.  Sticky, awful stuff.  But a lovely sunny day at a gorgeous lake and creek as the pictures can attest (the picture at the top of the post is of the creek coming into Brooks Lake.)

Unbelievably, the next day we drove almost 500 miles and made it all the way home to Evergreen.  Let me just say, if you are going to be gone for six months and want house sitters, make sure they are German.  The house was spotless, the yard delightful and, best of all, the chicken coop was stocked with fresh straw and shavings—not that the ladies appreciated it right away.

You see, we bought them as chicks while on Lopez Island so their life to date had first been the brooder box, then a small 4x4 enclosure for the daylight hours outside before filing into their travel crate for the night and sleeping out in the truck.  This is what they thought life was like.  So when I put them into their 8x10 Safe Zone with access to their coop, they ran around, flapped their wings (particularly after the grueling 500 mile day) but refused to go into the coop at night; they crowded into a corner of the run waiting for their travel crate to appear.  Eventually, I went out and picked them up one by one and placed them inside the coop.

The next night they managed it on their own.  They know a good thing when they see it.

-K

The Cluck Truck Returneth

More pictures here!

It was a (miraculously) sunny, fast and fun couple of weeks on Orcas Island and we weren’t sure we ever wanted to leave.  Then the weather turned back into Northwest Gloom, a hawk attacked Louise, Rosco’s nose started bleeding and River fell into a depression.  So it was with nine happy hearts that we all packed up, jumped on the ferry and headed back to Colorado.

Let’s start with all the drama:  Before we had the chicken coop erected, The Ladies were hanging out in their travel tent when a hawk zoomed down from the sky, talons out, and attempted to grab Louise through the netting.  Louise has not laid an egg since and, in expected solidarity, neither has Thelma.

Rosco, poor guy, had two long pieces of grass stuck up his nasal passage for days, causing an infection and a bout of bloody sneezing the likes of which I never need to see again.  Late one night he was sneezing so fiercely we had to hold one of his diaper sleeping pads in front of his face for a good ten minutes after which it looked like a Pollock painting.

The following day yielded a quick trip to the vet where, while waiting in the exam room, Alan noticed something hanging from Rosco’s nose, he gently began pulling it out and it just kept coming:  At least 6” of bloody grass.  Once the first one was out, Rosco sneezed out the second blade so the vet walked in to find two bloody lengths of grass, a mess of blood on the floor and more dripping from Rosco’s nose.  But mystery solved.  I am happy to report Rosco is feeling fantastic now.

As you will see in the pictures we managed to get the Gypsy Chicks coop erected, thanks to Alan and the folks at Urban Coop Company.  Amazing service from that company and they send everything you need except for a screwdriver and hammer.  I thought it would take two weeks, Alan thought two hours, it turned out to be two days.   The Ladies, however, never quite felt right on the island.  First the hawk attack, then eagles would soar overhead almost constantly waiting for their chance for a chicken dinner.  Dom could be heard quite often emitting a throaty growl alerting all chickens to take cover.

So when the drama hit the sky in the form of sunless days, we hit the road.

Already being in northern Washington, we decided to start our drive over the North Cascade Highway (Highway 20 is closed in winter but opened this year in early April.)  I had forgotten how beautiful that drive is although I disagree with their characterization of it being the “Alps of America”.  It in no way resembles the Alps but is a gorgeous drive in its own right.

We spent our first night in Alta Lake Campground, a Washington State Park on the other side of the mountains.  A fire had ripped through the campground last year so it was quite barren of trees, but due to all the spring rain, green sprouts were emerging, making it appealing.  The chickens went into their travel tent and we went fishing.  Alan caught two trout and we enjoyed them for dinner.

The next night we made it to Fish Creek, Montana, about two hours east of Couer D’Alene, Idaho, on I-80.  I had read about the area and the abundance of dispersed camping options and we were thrilled to find it absolutely true.  More details on how to find the spots can be found here. 

Our spot had so much space around it we decided to let the chickens out of their travel tent for some real free-ranging.  What a blast!  They ran around and ate a ton of bugs and only occasionally ended up inches from River or Rosco’s teeth. 

I worried about how to get them back but one of the greatest things about chickens is that they like to go to bed.  So as darkness began to fall, they easily returned to their tent and then we helped them into their travel cages for the night.

Our third night was spent five miles down a dirt road at the Cliff Lake Campground off the beautiful Highway 287 in Montana.  (Next to Wade Lake.) It was a long, slow, dusty five miles but it paid huge dividends in that we were completely alone.  (There are only seven campsites anyway but it was still nice to be all alone.)  What wasn’t so nice was the howling winds which made it difficult to put up the chicken tent.  But we muscled it up and pinned it down and set The Ladies inside.  They hated it.  With the wind blowing so hard, they just wanted out.   But we wanted to fish and the dogs were running free so I made them tough it out.

Until I heard Alan call, “Chicken loose!” 

I ran from the lake back up to the tent to see that JJ had gotten out and was hiding under the truck.  Thankfully, River and Rosco were completely unaware. Good thing it was JJ; she is the only one that will come when called.  And so I did and she did and I picked her up and listened to her griping about the wind as I put her back into the tent.  (Yes, chickens have a lot to say.) 

Day four on the road was Rookie Mistakes Day—two Rookie Mistakes in one day. 

We headed into West Yellowstone to get some gas and then entered the park with the intention of scooting around the western edge and out the southern entrance as quickly as possible.  

Hello?  When doing my route planning did I even check whether Yellowstone was open?  No.  It was open but the only way out was the way we came in or exiting even further to the north.  We turned around and promptly created our now favorite saying, “If you aren’t going to be smart, you better be adaptable.” 

So adapt we did:  Unfortunately, we had had so much fun with our short drive days and long fishing afternoons that we still had over 800 miles to go and only two days in which to do it.  So we opted for a long highway drive-day.   It started out nicely on Highway 20 in Idaho through the Targhee National Forest, a spot at which we will stop next time, but ended with hours and hours (and hours and hours) along Interstate 15 south through Utah.

Not long after Salt Lake City we jumped on Highway 6, found our way to Scofield State Park, hooked up to water (hot showers!) and power (electric tea kettle!) and promptly made our second Rookie Mistake:  We left the hose attached all night and the weather dropped below freezing.  How easy it is to forget the small stuff!  Thankfully the sun rose to shine on our hose and after about an hour we were back to flowing water.  (Equally thankfully Salt didn’t burst any pipes.)  The Ladies enjoyed extra time free-ranging around the (again empty) campground.

And so we made it to I-70, home so close we could taste the martinis.  But it was a long haul; we got stuck in construction traffic for over an hour, had temperatures up to 81 degrees and down to 39 degrees (with snow!), and totally pissed off dogs and chickens who had spent two long days in the car.  We pulled into our sweet spot in Evergreen around 5:30 p.m., after eight hours in the car. 

The Noses hopped out, we carried The Ladies’ travel cages to their Country Club and set them free.  They had a good two hours of running around their quarter acre yard before climbing their familiar ladder and putting themselves to bed.

-K

PS:  Sadly, Thelma and Louise are still not laying.  The most consistently laying chicken turned out to be Goldie Hen who, as I first posited, enjoyed the privacy and peck-free environment of her travel cage.   Dom and JJ are close to back on track.

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

Bourg St. Maurice, French Alps, France – Oct. 14-18, 2012

More pictures here!

It was our first return stop on the Aventura and it felt like home.  What a difference it makes to an experience to be surrounded by the familiar; everything seemed so easy.  Automatically we knew where to find our favorite bread, groceries, phone recharging stores and hiking maps. 

And we knew just where to stay; our favorite campground, L’Eden de la Vanoise.  Unfortunately they had closed for the shoulder season (between summer and winter) preparing to reopen in mid-December.  So we parked Salt at the near empty Camping Le Versoyan and enjoyed the ability let the Noses run free right from the door and into the miles of hiking paths just outside the gate.  This campground also has the benefit of being right in Bourg; walking to town took only 15 minutes.

And what a treat to see our beloved French Alps changed into fall colors!  The bright green up the alpine pastures had moved into a lovely gold with the trees at lower elevations showcasing various colors from bright yellow to deep red.  It was beautiful particularly after the first snowfall which arrived on our first night and stayed for three days in the higher elevations.

Having spent so many glorious hours in the mountains last July we were anxious to get back up there.  Opting for a new valley, we headed toward Val D’Isere stopping at Bon Conceil to begin our hike to Le Monal, a protected hamlet delightfully set in the most stunning valley we have yet come across; a Must See if you are in this area.  (You might be relieved to know that our back country trips are now over so you will no longer have to read the phrase, “the most stunning valley we have yet come across”--at least until we arrive in Colorado.) 

We spent our second hiking day driving all the way to Val D’Isere, a ski town much like all the others throughout these valleys, but striking once you leave the town and head toward the Vanoise National Park.  Sadly, dogs are not allowed in the park so we failed to get much hiking done, but we did stop at the Lac du Chevril on the way home and pulled out four (yes four!) trout-looking fish (their aqua blue backs when in the water almost instantly changed to midnight blue when on land making me think they might be Artic Char.)  I simply labeled them Delicious.

With our Paris flat beaconing and the burgundy wine region still ahead we could only stay four nights.  Next stop Beaune, and the various wineries surrounding the area.

-K

Chateau D’Oex – July 31-Aug 3, 2012

(Featuring The Day of the Effusive French-Swiss)

  

More pictures here!

Switzerland is a great hiking spot for people traveling without their own transportation:  The trains, although expensive, run frequently and on schedule to even the most remote locations, often dropping you within walking distance of a gondola.  The gondolas make it easy to enjoy the mountain peaks without a lot of effort and are, therefore, quite crowded this time of year.  This is not our idea of hiking.

Having our own transportation and knowing that we enjoy our hikes more when we are in the less populated areas, we have spent numerous hours pouring over hiking maps trying to find destinations that you can only reach by foot—not gondola or car.  Ideally, we would drive Pepper to the jumping off point with no bus or train station in sight as we often did in France.

We thought we had discovered one, a hike to Lac Liosin via a short drive up from Les Mosses.  We parked and began the hike with optimism, only seeing one other car in the area.   After an hour of uphill climbing, we came to the bright, clear lake so crowded with fish they swam by in groups, alas the same could be said about the people.  It turns out there was a road right up to the lake, obviously not depicted on our map.  We stayed for a brief lunch and I tried some fishing before we headed up the other side to continue our roundabout hike.

Having climbed over the pass and down the steep, rocky terrain to the valley on the other side, we were ready to stop for a coke at the tiny snack shack.  Run by a small man with an abundance of energy and eyes that sparkled with a knowing answer to the mystery of life, we were first greeted with a hand shake and then promptly served.  I glanced into the shack then did a quick double-take as I was sure I saw a baby grand piano inside.  I asked if he played and he replied, “Bien sur!” and, assuming we were British, offered to play the British National Anthem; I quickly requested something American which promptly garnered us the ability to see everyone else’s faces, albeit with mouths open.

He invited us all into the shack for the performance and expertly launched into some ragtime.  Ragtime at 6500’, on a baby-grand piano in a wooden shack, smack in the middle of the Swiss Alps; it was incredible and, I thought at the time, would be seared into my mind as my favorite Swiss memory. 

Since the remaining people were all Swiss, he continued into the Swiss National Anthem (it also happened to be Swiss National Day – celebrating the signing of the Federal Charter in 1291 bringing together three cantons to form the country) and the small crowd proudly belted out the words. That little shack was rocking!  I wish I had Bloggie going at that point.  I didn’t want to interrupt the singing by taking their picture, but I did snap one of a baby being held up for a view through the window, whose joy-filled face mirrored those of the people around her.

Back at Salt we had just settled in for some TV when the fireworks started so we rushed outside.  The campground had a bonfire going (open pyre just flaming away like we saw in Ax Les Thermes) and the small village of Chateau D’Oex was putting on quite a show!  Rarely have we seen such varied fireworks back home, they were gorgeous.  Two French (or French Swiss) children adopted us, a boy of about 5 who sat as close to us as he dared and a girl of about 7 who stood next to me, wrapping her long arms completely around my middle, hugging me tight with every burst.  They made the night complete with an awe-inspired whispered, “Ooo La La!” from the boy and, on another rally a, “Mon Dieu!” from the girl.  Now tied at first for my favorite Swiss memory.

Then Mother Nature stepped up the show with amazing lightening and the longest peals of thunder I have ever heard.  When the rain started coming down, we headed in.  (Incidentally, this was the second time a young French-speaking person has tried to talk to me and, when I eventually run out of my meager phrases, replies with, “Ce n’est pas grave” in a voice very much grave indeed.)

This post was written while at our next stop, Fiesch in the famous Wallis Valley.  We have managed to play tennis twice in-between tumultuous rain storms but haven’t seen any of the peaks.   Trying to outrun the crowds at the gondolas, one day we attempted to drive up to a lake for some hiking and fishing, but between the incredibly windy, one-lane two-way traffic roads and the low fog we gave up on touring ourselves around.  The next hiking attempt will start at a gondola station.  

-K

PS:  The link to Lac Lioson information indicates that the lake is only accessible via foot or bike.  But we saw numerous cars at the restaurant and could see the road when we were hiking out.

DITL - Backpacking (Wild Camping) Etang de Comte, French Pyrenees

Spend two days with us on our backpacking (wild camping) trip to Etang de Comte in the French Pyrenees. Gorgeous scenery and some almost-wild horses!


June 15-16, 2012

-K

Ax Les Thermes, France, Part Deux – June 17-24, 2012

More (stunning) pictures here!

Fearing that the memory of a place is often better than a renewed experience, it was with some trepidation that we returned to Ax Les Thermes; but it was only the tug of the Aventura that made us pull away after sixteen days.  Our final days here were filled with awe, in particular the hike to Etangs Noir and Bleu off of the Col de Pailheures and a chance bonfire celebration in the town center.

The hike, well documented in the picture link above, was simply stunning.  I sat at our first break, gazing across the valley to the numerous peaks and said to SP, “Surely this is one of the most beautiful spots on Earth.”  We have seen some stunning scenery on our various hikes in various countries, but for me, none tops the view from the pass down to the Etangs Noir and Bleu.  Definitely a Must See if you are in the area and in reasonable shape.  (The hike from the parking area to an excellent view spot is only 1.5 miles but took us an hour—I am a slow hiker.)

Our second awesome experience started as a long-hike day but sadly we couldn’t fulfill that goal as the Orlu National Reserve does not allow dogs on the trails.  Heading back through town, we noticed a stage being constructed and some chairs being set outside in one of the main squares.  So that evening, too lazy to make dinner, we opted to head back toward all that activity.  It turned out to be the Feu de la St. Jean, clearly a festive occasion for the locals.

When we arrived for dinner, there was a DJ playing great dance music (at least half of which was American, including Prince [!] and MJ) and we watched as people cut loose.  In particular, we watched one couple who was clearly doing the Texas Two-Step to a number of songs (and, amazingly, tempos.)  At a break, we approached them (OK, I dragged SP over) assuming they were from Texas and we might actually be able to have a conversation.  In addition to the Two-Step hint, they had on blue-jeans (real ones, not the faded, lined and ripped “fashionable” ones), the lady sporting cowboy boots and the gentleman wearing a Route 66 t-shirt.  I was giddy with anticipation.

Turns out they were from Paris.

Fortunately, their English was much better than my French and we learned that they had visited various places in America, including Texas where they learned to two-step.  On a holiday themselves, they were thrilled to have happened upon this celebration and a chance to work out their moves.  They were a delight.

During dinner we also made note of the numerous men walking around in long-sleeved black shirts, occasionally sharing nips from a leather wrapped flask.  But during the dancing, they were nowhere to be found.  When the DJ music ended (or so we thought) people began moving toward the Casino and, thankfully, SP suggested we head over. 

Turns out there was a giant pyre being prepared for lighting and, lo and behold, the men in black were at the top of the stairs singing glorious spiritual songs.  (Yes, my French is bad, but my Italian, which is what it sounded like, is even worse.)  All I know is that they sounded wonderful.  There was a short break in the singing while they lit the pyre and the bonfire shot sparks up into the dark night.  What an incredible sight!  You would never see this in California (where most towns don’t even trust the people with sparklers on the 4^th of July); a giant open fire with children playing not 20 yards away, and only a flimsy barrier to separate.  The fire was so large and so hot that I had to keep backing away.  The chorus returned to singing as we all gazed at the flames, a short video of which can be seen here:

Thus ended our last weekend in Ax-les-Thermes; it was one of the towns that we discovered during the Great Recon Mission (see previous postings for more details) and one that made us sure we wanted to do the Aventura so we could “stay as long as we want in one spot.” 

How wonderful that occasionally new experiences outshine even great memories.

-K

Backpacking to Etang de Comte, French Pyrenees – June 15-16, 2012

More pictures here!  (Plus a DITL movie of this adventure will be coming when I can get a strong internet connection.)

Having found a safe spot to rest Salt (the aforementioned Le Malazeou campground) we decided to test our backpacking endurance with a two night trek into the French Pyrenees.  Usually our well-planned, well-stocked backpacking trips end early due to weather; they have never ended early due to a mammalian attack.  But I am getting ahead of myself.

We parked at the Etang de Comte parking area just outside the town of Merens-les-Vals and commenced the gorgeous two-mile hike to our camping spot above the lake.  Having done a portion of this trail as a day hike a few days ago, we were well prepared for the almost vertical first ½ mile.  But the effort pays off nicely when you reach the alpine meadow and take in the sparkling river tumbling around brightly colored wildflowers.  Rosco upped the enjoyment by jumping in for an early swim.

We arrived at the Etang around 5:00 p.m., carefully herding The Noses around a group of wild horses grazing at the shoreline, and selected a tent spot on the hill overlooking the water.  There were four or five other tents around the lake, their occupants already out fishing.

I set about getting our tent, the North Face Minibus 2, up while SP gathered wood for our fire.  Yes!  A camp fire!  We haven’t had one since the Shasta/Trinity area of Northern California last November.   With the fire going, SP went down to the shore to try a few casts while I kept an eye on The Noses who, thanks to being upwind, had yet to discover the proximity of the horses.

Unfortunately, backpacking food (i.e. dehydrated) is difficult to come by out here; I doubt the French language  includes a phrase for “rehydrate your dinner in a tin cup, sit on the ground and eat while balancing the cup on your knee.”  It sure wouldn’t be their cheery, “Bon Appetit!”  But eat we had to do, so we reheated some spaghetti bolognaise and reconstituted packages of instant mashed potatoes and asparagus soup for dinner.  Unbelievably, SP had discovered marshmallows at the store so we ended the meal with fire toasted marshmallows.  (Can’t recommend the pink ones as they tasted like strawberry, but the white ones tasted like home.)

With the weather due to be clear for three days, we opted to crawl into the Minibus without the rain fly so we could gaze at the stars.  However, we were so tired we couldn’t wait for the complete dark (at 10:00 it was still light) and promptly fell asleep.  Much later we awoke, put on our glasses, and gazed up in wonder; The Noses contentedly snoring away in the corner. 

Near dawn River’s snoring turned to growling and I peeked out to see the horses at the edge of our camp and moving in.  We managed to shoe them away (literally, by smacking SP’s thongs together) and they trotted up the hillside.  Once they were far enough away, or so we thought, we let The Noses out.  River, who never forgets a nasty smell, charged right up the hill after them.  They didn’t take kindly to her obnoxious barking and moved further up to the ridge where they took a stand and spent the morning looking down on us.  River kept them in line with an occasional Charge and Bark, but clearly they were just biding their time.  

The weather was as lovely as promised so we set about preparing for our day hike up to the Etang de Couart.  Putting the rain fly on the Minibus, we stored our extra food, clothes, and the stove inside for safekeeping and headed up the mountains.  What a grueling hike!  After two hours and over a mile of rocky uphill (some steps higher than my knees!) we were exhausted and stopped for some lunch and fishing.  Fishless no more; I landed a Brook Trout quite quickly and SP managed to land a Brown.  So we cleaned the fish, packed them in some icy water and headed back down to camp.

Coming down the mountain we had a clear view of the Etang and our campsite.  To our dismay we could see that the horses were over for a visit.  We scampered down as quickly as we dared, hoping the herd was not destroying our site.  Tired, we stumbled into camp to find our beloved Minibus ripped open.  Somehow the fly wasn’t damaged--merely tossed to the side, but the netting was ripped in two places and the stench of manure and urine was overpowering.  My clothing bag had been dragged out, the deodorant crushed (do wild horses think everyone should smell as badly as they do?) and the dog packs were strewn around.  Maybe they had been after the dog food?    

In any event, staying another night was out of the question.  The stench, the additional flies and the lack of tent netting would have made sleeping impossible.  So, tired as we all were, we packed everything up, put the fish in fresh icy water and headed back to the Pepper.

We made it back to Salt by 7:00 p.m., still plenty of light in these long, gorgeous days of summer; we showered and headed to the campground’s restaurant (La Marmotte) for a delicious and easy dinner with a good dose of house wine.

I have long championed the virtues of day hiking over backpacking.  It will undoubtedly take us awhile to find a new Minibus; until then, we will get in as many day hikes as possible, preferably without horses. 

-K

PS:  We thought the horses were wild until we noticed two of them sporting  bells around their necks.  Clearly they are free to range all over the mountains, but also clearly, someone wants an occasional update on their whereabouts. 

Ax-les-Thermes, France (Part One) – June 9-14, 2012

More pictures here!

During the The Great Reconnaissance Mission of 2010 we spun down the mountains from Andorra and discovered Ax-les-Thermes peacefully nestled along a river and boasting a number of hotels that fit our budget (for that trip under €100/night)--not to mention a number of patisseries.  Being so close to the plentitude of dog-friendly hiking in the area it immediately made our list as a Must Return with Salt.  (Note that dogs are not allowed in the French National Pyrenees Park further west.)

So we did our due diligence and visited a number of local caravan parks, discovering one just west along N20, Le Malazeou, with a lovely, one-mile pedestrian path along the river linking it back to Ax.  (I am hoping a two-mile walk to my daily pain au raisin may just keep me from gaining too much weight.) 

This is where we find ourselves today; pitch 612 (not that there are 600 pitches), with the river along the front door and just steps from the satellite shower block which, it turns out, plays an important role in our stay.

First, the practicalities:  We have discovered only one campground with full hook-ups in the area, a municipal camp, 1 kilometer or so from the town of Merens-les-Vals, on the N20.   As you know by now, we would have chosen a full hook-up pitch over everything had we known it existed (we didn’t find it on our prior Recon Mission), except that you cannot walk into Ax.  You can walk into Merens, but it is decidedly not a cute town. 

We have electric at our pitch and they offer a motor vehicle waste disposal area (no hoses which we find quite odd) the use of which would require us to hitch up Salt, drive to the top of the campground, dump then try to turn around and bring her back down.  Not an impossible chore but not an enjoyable day out either.  Luckily, just a few kilometers up the N20 is a Carrefour with an Aires de Service area, including hoses (usually €6 per use.)  So when the time does come we will pull Salt up there and clean her out—at least turning around will be easy.

However, to minimize our trips to the dump area, we decided to try utilizing the shower block for more than just showers.  It turns out I quite enjoy doing the dishes over there (for vegetable prep I still prefer Salt—it’s just faster.)  But the dish washing area is quite the social spot.  I often learn a new French word or two but more often get to hear the praises of Salt.  She is quite a hit here, appearing, I am sure, in many people’s pictures of their family vacation in Ax.  The [very helpful and bi-lingual] office staff mentioned that “everyone” wants to talk about Salt when they visit the office.  I think this has helped us secure our pitch for almost a month, even when it is approaching the "Must Have a Reservation" time in France.

But back to the fun!  We have had two incredible hikes, the scenery is even better than we imagined it would be, although the weather (and then often the scenery) changes on a dime.  During our first hike toward Etang de Compte we had glimpses of wildflower filled meadows leading up to icy peaks before being rushed out of the valley by the rain.  On our second hike, our breath was taken away twice:  Once when hiking above 2001 meters near the Col de Pailheres (must get in better shape!) then again when struck by the view down to the Etang de Noir, just moments before the clouds rolled in. 

Both areas are on the list for upcoming backpacking trips.  (That’s “wild camping” to my European readers.)  I recorded a short video of the overlook with the clouds rolling in but will need to locate a stronger internet connection before I can upload it.

  

Speaking of backpacking, we decided we had better set up our tent as we purchased it just prior to leaving Laguna (September 2011) and haven’t used it once.  So back at camp, we managed to get it up in record time even while constantly pushing Rosco back—he loves a good tent nap after a long hike.  

Our North Face Minibus 2 is just as cute as ever, so cute that I looked at SP and said, “I think I’ll sleep out here tonight!”  And so it happened:  Our first night under different roofs in nine months.   The Noses, of course, were with me in the tent; Rosco because he would have been devastated to have missed out and River because I didn’t trust that SP would kick her off our bed in Salt.  A dangerous precedent as we both slept so well we might be hauling out the tent more often than not!

And so we settle into what might be our favorite spot so far.  There will be many more pictures coming (hopefully starring some fish!) and at least one DITL hiking video.

-K

PS:  We dropped into a sports store to ask about fishing and ended up purchasing our licenses.  The already helpful man became indispensable when he brought out his laptop and we commenced to converse via Google Translate.  (By the way, a fishing license for me was only €30, but SP’s was €85—I guess they don’t think women will fish as often.  Or, perhaps, as successfully.)

DITL - Fishing Ingleside, TX, USA

Finally a look at our fish!  A Day in the Life of Salt & Pepper Adventures brings you to Ingleside Cove in Texas for some fishing (and catching!)

Hope you enjoy - it is a bit long, but covers three days and three fish!


-K

(More) Fishing Ingleside, TX, USA - Jan. 8, 2012

"You won't go hungry in Texas", Captain Joe said as he hauled six netted Mullet onto his dock; and we sure won't.  Between our newly acquired ability to actually catch rather than just fish and the Texan hospitality evinced when our neighbor introduced himself by bringing over two pounds of freshly killed wild boar loin, not only will we not go hungry, but we might get a little hefty while we are here.  (Don't forget it all started with Michelle's rum cake!)


Our host, Clark, was concerned that our lack of catching was going to give his bay a bad name.  So despite being on a cruise ship, he asked Captain Joe to  stop by and see if he might be of some assistance.


Captain Joe is one of those people who inspire you to live a healthy life as long as possible:  A former marathon runner (raced all over the world) he has taken up bicycle riding (to the tune of 30 miles at a pop) in order to help his 74 year old knees last longer.  He is also the local fishing expert (and gardening expert--I warned him that when we were done with the Aventura, we would be back to have him teach us how to farm) so when he stopped by with an offer to give us some pointers, we paid heed.


We headed off in the boat armed with Joe's instruction and our own learning experience with regard to large freighters (see previous posting.)  Both came in handy.


We headed to a part of Ingleside Cove that I call the "pretty area".  Any fish in their right mind would want to live there.  After about 20 minutes Alan landed a barely legal (14.5") Spotted Seatrout.  We plopped him in the bucket (see how much we are learning?  We brought a bucket this time!  No more smashing the fish into the live bait box) and kept on fishing.  


A storm was blowing in and it was getting quite rough so we decided to head back across the cove to an area that Captain Joe had mapped out for us, using his oar handle, in the dirt of our driveway.


As we were turning around, I noticed a large freighter coming right toward us.  We were quite sure we could outrun it and cross in front but we had to get a move on! So we put the pedal to the metal and headed across.  We did make it, although it was a bit close for my comfort (plus, with the choppy water Rosco and I got drenched again.)


In Joe's spot, just before we were going to call it a day, I landed a (also barely legal at 14") Flounder!  Again with the ugly looking fish, but this time I knew it was going to be tasty:  I had seen it many times on fish house menus.


Feeling quite proud of ourselves, we headed in for our celebratory sun-downers.  As we were passing by the marina, a dog ran out to bark at us and River, who we all know isn't the sharpest terrier on the boat, decided to chase him.  Right off the front of the boat.


Everyone was startled, including River as she plunged under the water and came up sputtering.  I was trying to stop the motor before she got sucked under the boat and (ahem) suggested to Alan that he jump over to rescue The Roo.    I'm sure being in thigh-high water helped with his quick decision and over he went gathering up the dripping 30 pounds and plopping her back into the boat.


And we thought life in a 19' Airstream was a challenge with two terriers!


-K


P.S. Due to the aforementioned drenching of the Nikon D90, there are no pictures of our first edible fish.  But they will be in the Fishing movie, coming out soon!

Fishing Ingleside, TX, USA – Jan. 3-7, 2012

More Pictures Here!

I believe there are boating people in the world; people who have an innate knowledge of the wind, tides, the steering of a boat and don’t seem to mind the lack of control. We are not two of them. But since that didn’t stop us from renting a boat in Switzerland and boating across Lake Lugano into Italy (by the way, there is a universal language and you don’t need to hear it to understand—but that’s another story) why should it stop us from taking out a flat-bottomed outboard for a little fishing in Corpus Christi Bay? We were hesitant at first but after two days of fishing from kayaks we did what any self-respecting almost-fisher-people would do and blamed the lack of fish on our vehicle. So off we went in the boat.

The first day went well enough, we even managed to dock at what we thought was the bait shack and pull up onto a small island for the dogs to stretch out a bit. We enjoyed a picnic lunch, lots of fishing but no catching.

The second day, however, became one of those times that, although I am thrilled to have Bloggie to record our Day in the Life videos, I am grateful we are not being filmed all day long.

It started out nicely enough, floating around Ingleside Cove casting out and drifting our lines along. I even saw a fish follow my line once, so that gave us hope. Then a stand-up paddler came by and said he had seen all kinds of fish just outside the bay in the Corpus Christi Channel and suggested we head that way. Off we went, stopping briefly on the island for a quick dog run.

We got out into the channel and enjoyed watching a giant freighter cruising out of Corpus Christi—not close at all, but I did admire the giant white-capped wake it was leaving far behind itself. He blew his horn a few times as he headed up the channel but, just like in Switzerland, we did not recognize the sound as something that mattered to us. So we continued fishing.

Soon, however, it became apparent that the freighter’s giant wake was about to overtake us. So Alan turned us back toward the cove and we tried to outrun it. No such luck, the waves were approaching too fast. So we slowed down, turned around, and faced the on-coming waves as bravely as possible. I had a dog in each hand as we went over and down the first wave. Not too bad. Unfortunately, the nose of the boat didn’t quite make it back up before the next wave hit us, so it came right over the top. Oh. Yes. It. Did.

Our backpacks (including our fancy Nikon HD camera) and the lunch cooler got washed to the floor of the boat where they were floating (and sinking) into 12” of water. The dogs and I got drenched. River, who was becoming quite a good boat dog before The Incident, retreated underneath Alan’s legs. Rosco hung tough with me in the front as we rode out the next few waves.  (Sometimes I imagine Rosco on a talk show where they are showing Stupid Human Tricks – he would certainly trot out this as an example.)

Eventually the waves lessened to the point where we could turn and high-tail it out of the channel. I made my way to the back of the boat where I unplugged two holes so the water could drain out. (For the life of me, I cannot understand the two holes at the back of the boat: If left unplugged, the boat fills with water when you aren’t moving forward. So I MacGiver’d them with some dog bags to keep the water out.)

And this was only the first time that day I had been thankful we weren’t constantly filming the Aventura.

After many deep breaths we gained enough control to start fishing again. So we started in an area that looked quite promising, keeping a look-out for any more freighters. We weren’t having any luck so Alan suggested we try another spot. As I reeled in my final cast, I fealt a dead weight at the end and said, quite despondently, “Well, I have something – probably a piece of wood.”

As it got closer, it looked almost round and quite white so I thought it was a shell. As it came up to the boat, Alan said, “You caught a fish!” and sure enough, there was a fish at the end of my line. His many, many fins were spread out as far as possible making him appear almost round. He had the ugliest face I have ever seen on a fish; a large, fat head with bulging eyes, bumps and little horns out the side. He was so unsightly I whined, “But I don’t want to keep him, he’s so ugly!”

And that’s the second time I was glad we weren’t filming all day.

-K

P.S. The local expert reports that the fish is a Searobin, “either big head or barred.” I couldn’t decide if “big head” or “barred” fit him better, he has so much of both.

DITL - Hiking Potholes State Park, WA, USA

A Day in the Life movie!

Potholes State Park, Othello, WA, USA – Nov. 28-30, 2011

Click here for more pictures!

Well we traded in the rain and wind of Western Washington for the sunshine and wind of the Eastern side.  The temperature only reached about 45 during the day and dropped to below freezing at night, but we loved the sun and the blue sky of Eastern Washington.  We stayed three nights at the Potholes State Park Campground which promised water, sewer and electric, although the foremost was missing at the pitch.  (Water is available at the main gate during winter.)

We were nice and toasty with the electric hook-up keeping our heater humming (yes, it looks like we’ll have to use electricity until we are out of the below-freezing area of the country—not even our solar can keep up with the demanding heater) and we celebrated being one of only three campers on the lovely grounds, letting the dogs run free and having a campfire each night.  It felt great to be out of an RV Park!

The area is filled with hunters during the day (duck, apparently this time of year, evidenced by a very calm, nice-sized deer wandering through our camp one morning.)  We did our own hunting trying to find a hiking trail, but the one we found only yielded only a couple miles worth of hiking—not nearly enough to justify the chips and Manhattan’s from the previous night.  So Day 2 found us hiking the Potholes area where we wandered until the fenced and posted “Wildlife Refuge” area stopped us.  (Truth be told, we did consider crawling through the fence, but River had already crossed over and was barking at something in the bushes.  We thought it wouldn’t be much of a refuge if terriers were allowed to terrorize, so we turned back.)  

It was an enjoyable hike, sunny but cold—a short DITL movie will be posted soon.  We stopped to fish twice in Corral Lake on the way back but caught nothing (I have yet to catch anything with my new rod—its ROI is going to take forever!)  A quick stop at the creek near the campground on the way back to Salt left us defeated and without fresh fish for dinner. Man, were we spoiled in the Eastern Sierras! 

A special note:  This was written on November 30, the three-month mark in our Three Months No Matter What Deal with each other.  So far we are still on.  I’m not saying it as has all been easy, and I will say it’s much easier to live in a trailer in 72 degree weather than in the rain or cold.   So come late January, watch out Texas:  We’ll be shedding Polartec and wool socks all the way to the Gulf!

-K 

PS:  If it is not warm at the Gulf in February, would someone please warn us?  Otherwise I fear we’ll be shedding more than just clothing.