Newly Updated Cluck Truck Adventures: Always and for Never

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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

Days 11-20: A Change of State

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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.

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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

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

Lezise, Courmayeur, & the Italian Alps – Oct. 9-13, 2012

More pictures here!

Having only 17 days left with Salt & Pepper in the European portion of the Aventura (we have a glorious month in a Paris flat to look forward to while S&P are shipping home) we have decided to focus on what we love:  Wine and mountains.

So we left Levanto and headed north-east to Lezise, Italy, near the heart of the Valpolicella wine region.  We only lasted two nights at Camping du Parc on Lake Garda (why is everything still so crowded in October?  With children no less—what happened to school?) but two nights was long enough to take a delightful car tour of the wine region and a short hike to the self-proclaimed longest natural bridge, you be the judge (that is River on the path):

Unlike wine regions in France and the USA with their prolific “free tasting” signage, Italy has not learned how to attract a non-Italian speaking tourist.  The map we picked up at the very helpful tourist information site should have led us to the doors of at least three vineyards but we only found our way to one:   The perfect Fratelli Vogadori.  Run by three brothers and their father who still works in the field; all the grapes are grown completely naturally, no pesticides or chemical fertilization and their wines are produced solely from their own grapes.  SP was in heaven with their two types of Amarone and I loved their Ricioto, a dessert wine much like Port but made 100% from grapes.

Wine in hand, we headed north to Courmayeur, at the base of Mt. Blanc.  What a gorgeous spot!  And Camping Arc en Ciel was a slice of heaven; two of the three nights we were completely alone in our long row of thick green grass.  You know how I love green grass!  I hardly ever go into detail on campgrounds in the posting (remember, you can see more campground details on the Campground page) but this was a lovely spot and the hosts were as helpful and charming as they come. 

We hiked twice; a short one to Lake Arpy which was beautiful even on a cloudy and cold day and a longer one up Val Ferret.  Let me tell you, if we spoke the language we would have bought our farmhouse right there in that valley—it was stunning:  Flanked by the Alps, centered with a river and to each side slightly rolling hills highlighted with trees blazing in their fall colors.  Delightful! 

Italians have been the most profusive when it comes to appreciating Salt & Pepper often sounding a joyful honk followed by a hearty wave and thumbs up as they pass us.  So one evening, as I was leaving the grocery store, I was not surprised to see a Crusty standing outside gazing toward the Pepper, slowly shaking his head and repeating, “Bella, bella, bella.”  I prepared my knowing (and hopefully gracious) smile as I approached the car only to look just beyond Pepper to Mt. Blanc, angelic and massive, posing in the sunset.  I turned to the Crusty who again shook his head and repeated, “Bella, bella, bella.” 

Bella, indeed.  I have seen a lot of mountains, and even Mt. Blanc from France, but nothing compares to Mt. Blanc as seen from Italy.  No wonder these Italians are so happy.

-K

DITL - Cinque Terre Hike, Italy - Oct. 8, 2012

Well we did it:  We visited two other Cinque Terre towns and saw one from a boat, so that makes four out of five.  They are interesting but crowded; if you are ever in the area and miss an American accent, just hop into one of the towns and you'll be happy.

By far the highlight was the hiking from Corneglia to Manarola, up and through and down the hills.  (The coastal route remains closed due to landslides.)  For this we have a Day in the Life video - a little long, but there was so much beauty it was difficult to cut.

-K

PS:  This posting finds us in Courmayeur, Italy at the base of Mt. Blanc awaiting the first snowfall of the season!

Levanto, Italian Riviera – Sept. 30 - Oct. 5, 2012

More pictures here!

They say you find what you are looking for when you stop looking; this proved to be true for us in Italy.  Giving up on finding charming, out of the way places we headed to Cinque Terre and discovered . . . the rest of the tourists.   Luckily, sometimes the restrictions of Salt bring about unexpected joys:  Unable to drive Salt down the roads leading into the five townships that comprise Cinque Terre (contrary to Wikipedia, Trip Advisor and Lonely Planet internet reviews, you can indeed drive into these towns, albeit with a car and not a caravan) we opted to camp just north along the coast in Levanto.

As it turns out we discovered our own little heaven.  There are some tourists here, but not nearly the hordes that converge along the five Cinque Terre towns.  Indeed, our one day at the northern-most town, Monterossa, was more than enough for me:  Having to dodge tour guides hoisting their herding flags as they led their slow-moving groups from photo op to photo op and over-paying for under-flavored “Italian” food was more than I could bear.  Thankfully, this memory was displaced by our hike home to Levanto which proved to be long, but wonderful, along the edge of the sea.

What promised to provide the largest portion of the Cinque Terre charm for us, the coastal hike connecting the five towns, was closed due to landslides and continued rainfall.  One section, the Via Dell’Amore, has been closed since 2011; the other four more recently, and hopefully, temporarily.  You can still drive to all the towns as well as train or ferry but having seen the one and, more importantly, having found our own coastal dream towns (yes, there are two!) we saw no need to drive, train or boat in order to enjoy what this coast has to offer.  (Note that you can also still walk between the towns, just not on the coastal route; these other trails often involve sharing roads with automobiles not making for a very enjoyable outing.)

So Levanto . . . larger than Monterossa, filled with great little shops (local wine, cheese, bread, fish and non-local Armani), and topped off with a good dose of Crusties, we are in heaven.  Include in the list hill walks through olive groves and a gorgeous coastal walk to the even more charming town of Bonnasola, and I believe we have discovered how the Italians enjoy Cinque Terre:  From anywhere else along the Riviera.

There is one downside to this lovely spot; the bell tower goes off 24-hours a day on the quarter hour; with chimes for the hour as well as the quarter hour it is quite the bell-fest.  So, even at say, 3:30 in the morning, you get three chimes in one note (Ding, Ding, Ding) indicating the hour and then two chimes in another note (Dong, Dong) indicating 2x15 minutes.  Nothing keeps me awake more than laying there listening to my life chime away 15 minutes at a time.  No pressure.  The worst is 12:45—it barely finishes before the singular chime of 1:00; it is difficult, however, not to enjoy the classic Ding, Dong chime of 1:15—although I much prefer hearing the PM rendition.  They make up for this annoyance by having the most inviting Cocktail Chime promptly at 5:00 p.m. (coming soon to a DITL Video.)  Now The Noses and I all begin to salivate at 5:01.

Other than that, this is the location we thought all Aventura locations would be like.  It is an easy walk from Camping Aqua Dolce into the town for groceries and each afternoon one of us will make the journey, finding something to make for dinner.  As previously mentioned, hiking is in abundance as is swimming in the sea and two lovely tennis courts.  SP has rented a bike on two occasions and I’m not sure who is more happy, he or River.  River’s new joy is to run along beside the bike—something we started her on in Slovenia; unfortunately not as convenient here due to the increase in bicycle and pedestrian traffic.  But when she can she does and when she can’t she cries as he peddles away.  (He, and I for that matter, can walk away all day long and she won’t bother to lift her head [as long as Rosco is with her], but get SP on the bicycle without her and you’d think she was about to die.)

SP would like to visit one more Cinque town because he just can’t believe the amount of hype surrounding what seem to be five not un-common towns along this coast and I would like to see them from the sea, so perhaps we’ll get on that ferry after all.  Until then,

Ciao!

-K

PS:  You may notice in the campground pictures the abundance of trees and the lack of space; we had quite a time parking Salt and may not have succeeded without the help of our neighbors.  We will need their help again to get out as we cannot leave unless the camper next to us vacates his spot.  Even at this “low season” time of year, the campground is filled to capacity each night—often with a great amount of daily turnover.   Timing will be essential.  

Dobriach, Austria Part 2 – Sept. 5-11, 2011

More pictures here!

It is not often that we find ourselves in one spot for three weeks.  In order for this to happen the stop has to either have in-pitch drainage (known over here as a comfort pitch) or be so stunning that moving Salt out and back for dumping is not considered a chore.  It turns out that Camping Brunner am See in Dobriach, Austria offered the perfect combination:  Stunning comfort.

We had no preconceived notions about this area; as previously reported, we headed up to Austria to escape the heat of Slovenia and took the first campground claiming a comfort pitch.  Maybe it was due to the lack of preconception but the area’s beauty stunned us into a languor that suited our vacation-mode attitudes.  Really, you can get quite spoiled (and fat) when you hardly have to move in order to see an awe-inspiring view.  Thankfully the area offers easy access to tennis, hiking, biking and swimming otherwise my waistline would be in much worse shape.  (Have I mentioned my addiction to the local pretzel bread?)

Also as previously reported, the crowds initially diminished after the third week of August.  We had almost a week during which we thought the campground would remain half-full and thus we didn’t worry about turning Salt around (remember, we are still parked in such a way that, if people moved in across the drive from us we would not be able to get out.)

To our dismay, starting around the first of September, the leisurely unemployed (or just the smart European vacationers) starting filling up the campground; with an average age closer to 70 than 7, they are, thankfully, a much more peaceful group than the young families.  However, watching the pitches fill, we quickly realized that our inability to move Salt had returned.

So one day during the Great Migration (the incoming and outgoing of the motorhomes during this time was tremendous:  Every day at least a dozen came and went) we spotted an opportunity to turn Salt around.  We hitched her up (much to the delight of many watchful eyes), drove her further down the row, turned left, pulled through two spots, backed up into another spot and completed our three point turn; pulling back into our pitch with Salt’s nose facing toward the exit.  We could now leave at will.  Well, just as soon as SP had the caulking done.

The supplies arrived, the weather cooperated (day after day of lovely 23/76 degree sunshine!), SP had us patched in a day and we had the hideous blue tarp back on the ground where it belonged.  With our return to the USA looming ahead, we felt pressure to resume the Aventura and decided to head back south to Slovenia. 

On the designated driving day, I woke up and took The Noses for a long hike up into the woods and then down along the lake, two hours in total.  Arriving back later than usual with the warm sun shining I wondered why we were leaving this heavenly spot, voted for one more vacation day and so talked SP into staying another 24 hours. 

Topping my morning hike with a quick swim, some sunbathing while SP waxed Salt, and another epic tennis battle in the afternoon, it was a perfect last vacation day.  Happy and tired, we settled into our camp chairs with chips and gin to watch the final parade of people by Salt.  (She must be, by now, in more home movies and pictures than most children.  Some people try to take pictures in a nonchalant manner, “Hey, I’m just out here taking pictures of all the caravans” and others are more direct often just standing right in front of us staring, photographing and filming without saying a word [in any language.]  The latter are not my favorite people; the former I often invite in for a closer look.)

Staying so long in one spot always makes us a little soft:  The stressors of towing on small, windy roads to another unknown location (will we even be able to fit in the campground?) weighed heavily on our minds as did leaving Austria; what a lovely place.  We are trying to come up with one descriptor for each country and Austria’s effortlessly became “Elegant.”

Having no joy for the back roads of Slovenia, we opted to use the Motorway down the eastern side to Bled.  It was a short drive, so short in fact that I voted to keep heading south unless the area and campground really rang our bell.  But the bell tower was rocking when we pulled into Camping Sobec and became deafening upon our first view of Bled.  

-K

Bovec, Slovenia – Aug. 14-20, 2012

More pictures here!

It was simply too hot to enjoy, but we will be back.  Slovenia, as I tweeted before, is the Colorado of Europe:  A rugged and mountainous space with happy, healthy people outside all the time.  Prior to our arrival in England, we had never heard of the country but on three separate occasions, when we asked a European where their favorite place was, they mentioned Slovenia and thus the tiny country made it to our list.  (The Aventura, if I haven’t mentioned it before, is all about visiting towns [and now countries] that we ordinarily wouldn’t have picked out as vacation spots from the comfort of a non-rolling home.)

Fortunately the snow was off the peaks as we drove through the valleys leading from Udine, Italy  through Kobarid and up to Bovec, otherwise we may have driven off the road the beauty was so intense.  If you can peel your eyes from the road, you will glimpse the aqua waters of the Soca River far below, the color of which cannot be believed; even my pictures look unreal to me now. 

However, we quickly learned that it is not a country built for caravanning:  Small, windy roads whose unprotected edges drop precipitously down the mountainside and ne’er a full-service (comfort) pitch to be found.  Indeed, most campgrounds we checked out, including the one that found room for us, Kamping Polovnek, had the smallest pitches imaginable (or, worse, no defined pitches at all) with matching small roads leading into them.  Salt and Pepper could barely fit down the access paths let alone park in most of the spaces. 

The campgrounds are filled with small RV’s (motorhomes) and tent-campers.  Multi-colored tents popped up side by side across the fields in Kamping Polovnek transforming the fields into psychedelic mushroom farms, no pun intended.  Being one of the largest outfits around, we crammed Salt between two trees and tried our best to enjoy the four feet directly in front of our door; the only “private” space we could garner.

In an effort to escape the stifling heat at camp we sought out higher elevation (yet another gondola ride although at half the price of Switzerland) and hiked to a point where, clinging to the sides of rock, you area able to gaze through a giant hole into Italy.  It was definitely cooler up there but still hot and the gondola ride back down was almost more than we could bear; with the sunshine streaming into the glass-enclosed bucket and only a small window to be opened it quickly became an oven. 

Despite three competitive tennis matches (SP is consistently winning now, but not without a fight) by far our best experience was the day we did the Bryant Soca River Tour and stopped at two of the pull-out spots on the (ahem) highway, walking down to the river.  It was deathly cold in the water, but it felt so good we all jumped in multiple times.

Between the heat and the lack of an in-pitch dumping site, we simply had to leave.  We couldn’t leave our tanks with anything in them for more than three days without Salt starting to smell (it was over 90 every day) and pulling in and out of the pitch to access the dump area was a nightmare.  As a friend of ours wrote we “need[ed] a vacation from our vacation.”  (Incidentally, we could have used the clean and functional facilities at the campground—and I did most of the time—but with the campground full to over-loading, that was not a pleasant experience either.)

SP had the great idea to go directly to the closest full-service pitch available but try as we might, we could not locate one in Slovenia.  The closest we found was in Austria, a short 100 KM drive, and thus Austria made it onto the Aventura list (although, unlike Slovenia, prior to this we may have been able to place Austria on a map.)  We landed at Camping Brunner in Dobriach, a small town on a gorgeous lake with temperatures in the low 80’s and a nice fresh breeze.  It was time to find some tonic, open the Mt. Gay Rum and start pouring those T&C’s! 

Nothing says vacation like a full-service pitch.

Cheers!

-K