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

You Say Alaska, We Say Lopez

The trouble with pausing an Alaska adventure with a month on Orcas Island is at some point you have to make yourself leave the island.  With decent weather, the boat in the water and a full hook-up site with a gorgeous view, it gets harder every day.

And time does seem to fly here on the island, with the exception of when you are looking for your blind and nearly deaf dog.  Then it crawls to a dead stop.

 

Coming back from fishing one day, Rosco was anxious to get out of the boat.  So as soon as we were near the dock, I jumped out, helping him onto the dock.  I removed his life jacket and then watched as he made a bee-line down the dock and up the ramp.  Since the ramp ended at a locked gate, I just assumed he would wait for us up there and set about tying up Boatie.

A few minutes later, I looked up the ramp and was startled by the absence of Rosco by the gate.   I began walking down the dock, then, as my heart began to pound, running down the dock, River & Opus in tow.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw a white form swimming in the boat channel and thought, “Oh, a baby seal.”  Then my stomach dropped as I realized it was Rosco out there. 

Blind, nearly deaf, and 15 years old he was also entirely wet—he must have gone completely under when he fell off the dock.  He was swimming in circles with a panicked look on his face.  I yelled down to Alan who came running with the boat hook.   Desperately trying to get Rosco’s attention, we were yelling and clapping like crazy (for some reason, he can hear a loud clap on occasion.)  Our yells combined with Opus and River scratching at the dock and barking, brought out all the look-i-loos from the condos lining the marina.  (Being new to boating, we are almost always a cause for entertainment when we return but that day they really got their money’s worth.)

Rosco was still swimming in circles as Alan began to clear out his pockets in anticipation of jumping in.  Then something got through and Rosco headed toward the dock; Alan laid down and grabbed Rosco’s halter just as he was headed under the dock, hauling him up to safety.

Man was Rosco proud!  He ran around like he had visited the waters of Lourdes rather than those of Puget Sound.

But not all days bring such excitement; some just cause you to rethink the entire next stage of your life.

Strolling around Eastsound one day on our way to getting some coffee, we stopped and looked at listings posted in the window of real estate office.   There sat a 10-acre, waterfront parcel, reasonably priced on Lopez Island.  What we didn’t say is, “We have no time to shop for real estate, we are headed to Alaska in a week.”  What we did say was, “Let’s go!”

Two days later we were on the ferry headed to Lopez, “The Friendly Island” as it is called.  The 10-acre parcel didn’t ring our bell as we thought it might but we stopped in at the local realtor’s office, met a very nice agent, who asked us a few good questions and then said, “I think I have just the spot for you.”

And she was right:  Four acres, 250’ of waterfront, with a small log cabin looking down the green, open field to the water.  (The picture above was taken on the land.) At the time of this writing, we are still negotiating—with the sellers and with ourselves.  Time will tell but we do have to leave Orcas on June 12^th as our spot is rented from then until August 20^th.  One way or the other, we will be on the road but we may not make it to Alaska at this point; for sure we will make it into B.C. and up the Cassiar Highway.

-K

Days 11-20: A Change of State

More pictures here!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But good lord not the state of the camping.

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

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

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

And rain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Prince had changed his state of being.

-K

Cluck Truck Adventures: Smoked Chicken

(This post, being written four weeks after the happenings, is ancient in the world of blog posts and I was considering not writing it at all.  But then this happened, “Alan, where did we eat that giant slimy fish?” And since it took us at least 20 minutes to figure it out, I thought chronicling these trips, even tardily, is good for the memory bank.)

As is our usual, a good two weeks prior to our return from Orcas to Colorado, I had planned our complete trip:  It consisted of some favorites (North Cascades Highway in Washington, Fish Creek in Montana) with some soon to be favorites (meeting up with my cousin, hiking in Grand Teton) and was to be our longest return drive yet at six nights; providing us that one delicious all-hiking-no-driving day.  But just under two weeks before our departure, Alan, hearing of the fires raging across eastern Washington, suggested that we should have a Plan B.  Little did we know that we should have continued further down the alphabet.

The decision was made three days prior to our departure when Washington State Highway 20 was still closed in many places (and all the places we needed it) we set out on Plan B:  South by Southeast.

Days that start or end with a ferry ride don’t make for good long driving days, so our first day was a short drive over Steven’s Pass to the USFS Nason Creek Campground near Leavenworth.  It was closed (despite not mentioning it on that website.)  Apparently it has been closed for years.  Luckily, adjacent to the closed campground was Lake Wenatchee State Park.  We found a nice pull through spot (no unhooking!), put the chickens in their run and set off for a short walk along the river. 

This park, made up of two campgrounds, is quite lovely, although clearly has room for a ton of campers.  But in the off season it was great; allowing for solitary and easy hikes along the river and lake.  (Most pitches had water and electric and there is a dump station on site.)

Our first goal for Day Two was to not leave Washington until we packed up a box of peaches.  We found a great little stand just off Highway 2 and gathered them in before heading toward Orofino, Idaho.  More and more, we aim to travel less and less on the interstates; enjoying the American backroads whenever possible.  This usually makes for longer days but almost always more interesting scenery and our route on Day Two was no exception on either score.  After a long driving day we pulled into McKay’s Bend, a BLM campground next to the Clearwater River on Highway 12 in Idaho.  (Highway 12 is delightful; a definite new favorite.) 

McKay’s Bend turned out to have about 15 sites, all pull-through or back-in and looked more like a KOA (i.e., not more than 10’ between pitches) than any BLM sites we had ever seen.  Even though we were hot and tired staying there just wasn’t appealing (the last pitch available backed up to the bathroom.)  So we opted to continue down Highway 12 to Pink House, another BLM site, about 20 minutes away.  So glad we did!  Lovely spot and we were one of three in the campground.  Pull-through, a full hook-up and right on the river for $15/night.  Unbelievable.  (We still didn’t have to unhook Salt!)  We halfheartedly attempted fishing (Clearwater River is quite large and we were equally unprepared for casting that far out) before sitting back and enjoying a quiet evening.

Our goal for Day 3 was Pettengill Campground, outside of Wise River, Montana on the Pioneer Mountains Scenic By-Way, but first we had to make it off Highway 12, skirting multiple fires sometimes with smoldering logs just barely off the road.   What would have been gorgeous scenery was almost unrecognizable in the smoke-filled haze.  We gasped our way out of those fires and headed southeast across the Bitterroot Natonal Forest.  

As we dropped down toward the town of Wisdom, Montana, we could see billowing clouds of smoke on the other side of the valley, right where our campground was due to be.  We stopped in Wisdom for some gas and received timely information from the lady behind the counter:  All the campgrounds along the north part of the Pioneer Mountains Scenic By-Way were closed due to the fire--not that we were in any danger of continuing on that path anyway. 

Now, we hate to go backward on such a long drive, but after much debate we did indeed opt to head back to May Creek Campground up in the Beaverhead-Deerlodge National Forest which we passed about 20 minutes prior.  It turned out to be a nice little campground, more full than usual with all the detours happening, but pitch #3 was delightful and we set the Ladies to roam in their tent while we crossed the street to fish.

After much bushwhacking we made it to the river and Alan almost immediately pulled in a Brook Trout.  Although small, they are one of our favorites as their meat is very sweet and tender.  I was worried about the Ladies so I returned to camp and let them free-range while I relaxed.  In no time at all, Alan returned carrying two fish; the original and another that was the biggest Brook Trout we had ever seen.  Was this going to be tasty!

Not. 

Although campfires were (amazingly) allowed at May Creek we opted not to light one as it just didn’t seem right when there were people putting their lives at risk less than 50 miles away.  So we fired up the oven, wrapped the trout in foil and baked them with some butter and lemon.  Oh we were ready to open those packets up and dive in!  And this, my friends, is when we ate the Giant Slimy Fish.

We have never seen the likes of it, but the big Brook Trout emitted a slime while cooking that was simply disgusting.  I could not get past it to eat the flesh but Alan did.  Unfortunately, it didn’t get any better; the flesh was tough and not flavorful at all.  Ahh, old age gets the best of all of us.

So with our plans shot to hell for Day 4 (no going up and around Wise River to join I-15 and cut down to West Yellowstone) we opted to head south, pick up I-15 at a different spot and try a cut-off back road to get to West Yellowstone.  (I had two primary objectives at this point:  (1) Make it to our reserved campsite at Wapati Campground on the outskirts of the Grand Teton National Park and (2) do not stop in West Yellowstone, a town that is more un-navigable when towing than many small European villages we had visited.)  So off we went with a full lunch packed and stopping for gas often to ensure we would not have to fill up in my least favorite town.

We took the appropriate exit off I-15, turned left and came to an abrupt stop.  Dirt road.  Dirt road for miles and miles and miles.  Although disappointing, that was an easy decision to make; miles of filling Salt with billowing dust was simply not going to happen.  So with me driving in a general south/southeast pattern, Alan set about finding us yet another detour.  At this point, hiking in the Grand Tetons was out of the question, as was making our reservation which, being the Thursday and Friday before Labor Day Weekend was made to ensure us a camping spot.  We were now officially One of Those People:  The people who take off on one of the busiest camping weekends in the country without reservations anywhere.

But Alan’s patience (and ability to read maps and Google without getting car-sick) found us a lovely drive:  We crossed Idaho on Highway 26 which was beautiful (and finally no smoke in the air!) and then turned up to Hoback Junction locating Hoback Campground along the same-named river and finally stopped moving. 

Everyone except for JJ.  

All the chickens were in their free range tent but JJ just wouldn’t stop trying to get out.  So finally we let them all out for some real free-ranging.  After a few minutes of dutiful pecking, JJ jumped up into the back of the Shaker.  Alan brought over one of their travel cages, opened the door and in she climbed.  She spent a good hour making a lovely nest but no hours actually laying an egg.

The other Ladies joined her at the normal bed time, little did they know it would be awhile before they got out again:  The morning dawned with ferocious winds, the kind that, our experience has shown, knocks over free-range chicken tents and sends the chickens running for the truck.  So we opted to leave them in their cages with me reaching in and freshening the cages as best I could before hitting the road.

But Louise had a different idea:  She thought she would enjoy some free range time and, when I opened the top to clean out her cage, she jumped right out and ran off.

We still had a lot of packing up to do so we just left her alone.  She didn’t move far from her friends in the truck.  But holy chicken did they all talk about it!  What were they saying? 

“I heard Louise, that skinny hen, got out!”

“Where did she go?”

“No idea, but I imagine it wasn’t to the donut shop.” 

Yes, chickens can be catty.

Eventually we had to get Louise back in and potato chips proved the best lure.  We placed a chip inside her cage and she willingly hopped into the Shaker, then on top of her cage.  At this point, I managed to grab her and, let’s just say, encourage her to get inside.  After such rude handling, she refused to actually eat the chip until much later in the day.

At this point we were four nights on the road and 500 miles from home with no plans on the Friday before Labor Day Weekend.  Two of Those People.

So we set out to see how far we could get.  We knew of some boondocking sites south of Walden, Colorado on Highway 125 and set our sights there, which would make it a long drive day of over 400 miles.  But alas, what is one more change of plans at this point?  Of course all the sites were taken so we just kept going and going and eventually pulled into our driveway after every one of those 500 miles were done.

I closed the gate and opened the back of the truck and one by one the Ladies hopped out of their cages and ran freely in their yard; a just reward for having spent 24 hours in their travel cages.

Well, everyone but Louise who took just a second to polish off that chip.

-K

The Cluck Truck Continue-ith

More pictures here!

Sitting in Evergreen, Colorado preparing for our second trip to Orcas Island with the chickens, we were priding ourselves on how easy it all seemed the second time around:  We had the travel cages, the free-roaming tent, and chickens who are clearly prepared for anything.  We thought we couldn’t be surprised by anything chickens might do the road, but The Ladies proved us wrong.

Due to the time of year (July) and fear of how hot The Ladies may become in the back of the truck (Shaker), we set out on the most northern route possible; making our first stop almost due north at Sinks Canyon State Park in Wyoming.  It was scheduled to be our longest drive day of the trip—it is good to get the long one out of the way first—but long drive day took on a new meaning come Day 4, more on that later.

None-the-less, it was a long first day and driving up Sinks Canyon the temperature reached 85 degrees.  The Ladies always have plenty of air flow in the back of Shaker’s new canopy (verified by me riding back there one hot Colorado day while Alan drove around in the comfort of the cab) but plenty of air flow only matters when it is cool air.  This was hot, blasting, humid air.  So on Day 1 we engaged Rule 4: When the temperature gets over 82, we drop the rear window on Shaker’s cab, turn up the A/C and let the cold air flow all the way back to the hens. 

This makes for a very loud drive, but not as loud as my howling should we arrive with five dead hens.

We quickly chose a spot at the Popo Agie Campground right next to the middle fork of the Popo Agie River.  Whew!  We thought the drive was hot and loud!  The weather became even hotter (Alert!  There is no A/C outside!) and the beautiful, large rocks that run up and down the river made a cacophonous roar of an otherwise peaceful site.

Dripping in sweat, we quickly set up the chicken roaming  tent and placed them inside.  The poor things were holding out their wings and actually panting it was so hot.  Then Thelma just sank to the ground.  She wasn’t moving and JJ and Louise were making sure by pecking her tail feathers until they bled.  Thelma was still alive, just unwilling to move.  We cannot stand seeing a chicken being pecked when she is down so I went in, picked her up and we took turns holding her on our laps for hours.   When we put them to bed that night she was walking only to get a drink; much like the humans.  We made plans to drive on Day 2 with her in the back seat area with The Noses.

Thankfully we did not have to test a terrier’s reaction to sharing the backseat with a chicken; Day 2 dawned with Thelma moving around, eating, drinking and chattering with the others about her hours of being held on human laps.

Day 2 brought us through what is now my favorite part of the drive, Grand Teton National Park.  Oh how I wished we had time to stop for an extra night!  What a gorgeous area; we are sure to stop there on our way back and enjoy it more.   But our goal for the night was west of West Yellowstone at Rainbow Point Campground on Hebgen Lake.  Being already tired, hot, dusty and deaf from having the windows down, we didn’t think there was anything Rainbow Campground could throw at us that could make it worse.  With that, the gauntlet was thrown.

First of all, the campground was at the end of a three-mile dirt road.  Then we realized none of the (many, many, full) campsites were actually on the lake.  But we were tired so we found a nice spot at the back and were pleased to find it level and deep enough that we didn’t have to unhook Shaker.  We jumped out and set up the chicken tent all the while being bitten by mosquitos.  Oh it just kept getting better.

Needing some time away from the menagerie, I jumped on my bike for a ride to the registration box and then the lake.  While fishing, I heard River barking maniacally and over and over again.  I figured something must be wrong with Alan so I jumped back on my bike and rode to the campsite.  

Turns out River was barking at the camp host who was there telling us we had to move sites; the one we were in was booked for the next few nights.  Alan pointed out that the reservation card on the pole stated that the reservation ended today, at which time the host reached down and pulled it off revealing another registration card for the next few nights.  If you are not an RV’er let me tell you, there is nothing worse than having to RE-pack and move after unpacking from a long days’ drive.

But re-pack we must:  Still hot, still dusty and still being eaten alive by bugs, we packed everything up and prepared to move to the site next door.  It was only 30 yards or so away so we thought, “Heck, why don’t we just walk the chickens over?”  Did I mention we were tired, hot and dusty?  Apparently those combine to make you crazy as well.  Yes, let’s just walk the chickens through the campground to the new site.  I can hear Basil from Faulty Towers saying, “Yes!  Grand!  Marvelous idea Sybil!  Let’s just walk the chickens through a campsite!”

Alan moved the chicken tent over while I kept The Ladies occupied in the original site.  Then I started in on my “chicken chicken” and walking toward the new site.  They would only come part of the way then they would run back underneath the Shaker.  Eventually, with Alan shooing from the back and me cooing from the front, we corralled them into the new spot. 

For a few minutes anyway.

Then we set to moving Salt & The Shaker, talking on our walkie-talkies, me in my usual outside position attempting to direct Alan’s driving.   Usually this goes without a hitch (oh yes I did) but this time I was having trouble as Louise kept escaping from the chicken tent and running toward me.  She was behaving very oddly and seemed only comfortable when she jumped on my back.  So, hunched over so she didn’t scratch her way to the top of my shoulders, I continued on the walkie-talkie directing Alan into the spot.

Once parked, Alan helped me get Louise back into the tent.  But she and Thelma were still in a panic trying everything to get out.  Eventually, I sat inside the tent for a few minutes and that did the trick; they both went into a travel cage to lay some eggs (both ladies in one cage—those two are like that.) 

Believe it or not, this is not the most intimate chicken/human interaction of the trip.

Goodbye Day 2!!!

Day 3 took us to an old friend, a boon-docking  site along Fish Creek Road in Montana.   With the dogs off leash, the chickens free-ranging and the humans with refreshments in their hands, we were nine happy hearts.  Alan went off fishing, bringing back a nice sized trout and a large sized tale about the one that got away.  I went fishing for 45 minutes, had a few bites but no catches (actually, this suits me fine since without Alan next to me, I would have had to kill my catch myself—not  my favorite thing.)  It was lovely just being by the river.  I returned to camp for cocktail hour and to another tale I found difficult to believe:  Dom decided she needed to lay her egg in the camp chair next to Alan.  See?  An even more intimate human/chicken interaction.  Good thing we got a picture.  

Alan went back out fishing and guess what?  He caught his large tale:  A 16 inch beautiful rainbow trout.  Apparently all the animals wanted to be near him that night.

We decided that on Day 4 we would scrap all original plans and take back roads through northern Idaho and Washington hoping for cooler weather.  The drive was lovely (mostly Highway 20) but it certainly wasn’t cooler.  We dropped into Okanogan around 5:00 PM, stopping for gas in the 95 degree heat.  I opened the back window for The Ladies who promptly wanted to know why the A/C was turned off.  Poor things were panting and holding out their wings again.  I would have cried for them but I was busy trying not to cry for myself:   I do not enjoy the heat, nor the loud noise, and most of all I do not enjoy being on the road after five without knowing where we were going to stop.

But as luck would have it, we stumbled upon a lovely spot just off Highway 20, Sweat Creek Campground.  Once the temporarily stationed firemen left (they were on fire-watch duty), we were all alone with the Noses and Ladies roaming free and wild.  (So much happened on Day 3 I forgot to mention that we let the chickens loose without tying up The Noses and it was a huge non-event.  A couple of sniffs and a few half-hearted chases and that was the end of it.  Now they all ignore each other unless the chickens try to drink out of the dog bowl at which point River, let's just say, encourages them to move along.) 

We had such a quiet, peaceful evening we could hardly believe it when the logging (!!) began at 4:00 AM, yes that is true, with diesel engines roaring, trees falling and dust clouds billowing right through Salt's open windows.  Good morning Day 5!

Never have we packed up so quickly.  But it was a short, beautiful 180 miles to the Anacortes ferry and, since we were up so early, we had plenty of time to take a hike up to Rainy Lake in the North Cascade National Park.  From now on we will plan on leaving time for much longer hikes in that wonderful area.

We knew traveling this time of year would be a challenge with the heat and it was.  But we all made it and now The Ladies and The Noses are all running around our lovely Orcas Island RV spot together.

-K

PS:  For those of you wondering what Rules 1-3 are: 

Rule 1:  Carpe Campem - If it reaches 4:00 pm and you are still on the road you take the first camping opportunity that turns up (we obviously broke this one Day 4);

Rule 2:  Carpe Marriagem - Remind each other that you love one another before attempting to direct the parking of Salt;

Rule 3:  Carpe Ginem - Pour a refreshing drink immediately upon parking Salt, take a nice, 10-20 minute break before continuing the set chores.

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.

Cluck Truck: Days 6-9

Notice those tall shoots coming off the bushes just in front of our chairs?  They play an important part of this tale.

An inquiring mind wanted to know, “What happened on Day 6?”  Well, not much other than a great hike up Mt. Constitution in Moran State Park.  Every day finds us anxiously awaiting the arrival of our coop and me fighting off feelings of claustrophobia brought about by living on an (albeit gorgeous) island.  (“What if you miss the ferry?  What if there is no ferry when you want to leave?  Want to leave, hell, have to leave, must leave . . . “  You get the idea.)  But Days 8 and 9 turned out to be much more exciting.

Day 8 finds us all settled in our lovely full hook-up site on Orcas Island, chickens in their 10 x 10 pen, Rosco running free because running freely is really just a vague idea to him anymore and River, sadly, tied to Salt on a long but annoying (to her) run cable. 

The weather has cleared and we are making our way through the over-growth, getting the yard back in shape.  Alan decides it is a good day to see what the chickens would do with a lizard.  He has found one while digging around and takes it over to the bug tent.  JJ, of course, knows exactly what to do with it:  She grabs it by the neck and runs around in circles as the other four each grab a leg and literally, rip the poor lizard apart.  Fortunately, I only saw the end of this massacre.  I was inside preparing dinner, looked outside and thought, “What is that thing dangling from JJ’s beak?”  Turns out it was the head and what was left of the body.

Day 10 started in the usual way with River and I taking a long walk to a public open space park wherein lies a sunny field perfect for morning yoga.  I set about my yoga stretches while she waited patiently under my legs knowing at some point the forward bend would yield a hug to a very expecting upward facing dog.

But Day 10 is special as it is the much anticipated arrival of the chicken coop.  For those of you who read the chicken postings of years past, you may recall that it took us an entire summer to build our coop from scratch in Colorado.  We started on the July 4^th weekend thinking the long weekend would be a perfect amount of time in which to build a coop and, indeed, did finish on a long weekend; Memorial Day Weekend.  So when it came time to think of a coop for our second home, we opted to have one shipped from Urban Coops.  It comes flat packed (like Ikea stuff) with excellent directions and all the hardware you need.  (Alan thinks it will take 2 hours to put together, I say 2 weeks, the next posting will cover the result of that debate.)

But back to Day 10:  We absolutely did not want to miss the FedEx delivery so planned our day making sure one of us was always home.  When it was Alan’s turn to leave for errands, I decided to continue on the hedge/blackberry yard work.  Starting on our upper level and working my way down the (very rocky, very steep) bank to the lower yard. 

I’m chopping away nicely when I find myself in a free fall.  My thoughts are alternating between, “Flying does not feel light, I feel like a brick.” to “Shit, this is going to hurt.”  When I open my eyes, I am lying beneath the giant (7’ tall) boulder on which I had been standing (or so I thought) in a deep den-like cavern with smaller rocks to my left, and my body in a position for which my morning yoga did not provide adequate preparation.

I wanted to cry.  But realizing that the only thing really hurt was my ego, I summoned the strength of my 99 year old grandmother and hauled my butt up to a standing position.   Wow, I thought I was claustrophobic before;  The giant boulder is still above me, the smaller rocks to my back (now that I am facing up the boulder) and beyond the smaller rocks, nothing but blackberry bushes.  I am about half-way down the hillside.  Not sure when Alan is going to be back, can’t go up over the boulder and can’t go down through the blackberries.  I really wanted to cry.  But it was a nice sunny day, so I brushed myself off, clambered onto a sharp rock just big enough for my left foot and stretched up the boulder to reach the very tip of my lopper. 

Lopper in hand, I set about cutting blackberry bushes and using the hardened stems to build a nest beneath my feet so that I could gain some purchase outside of my den like arrival area.    After about an hour, I had built enough of a platform to gain a couple of feet.  Then I heard a truck coming up the drive!  Alan!  No!  FedEx!  Crap!

My first concern is not getting out but fear that they might need a signature for the coop and drive away thinking no one is home.  I call and call up but she does not hear me.  I can hear her motor still running and doors opening so I am hopeful, but still trying my best to clamber up the boulder which is not working at all.

Another truck!  Alan!  Yes! 

I can hear him talking to the FedEx driver:

“Hi, this is good timing.”

“Yes, no one else seems to be home.”

“My wife hasn’t come out?”

“No one around but the dogs.”

Alan knows how strange this is; two dogs out and one running (in his mind) freely around.  So he wanders over to the ledge and hears my call.  After making sure I am ok, he returns to the FexEx driver.

“My wife is stuck on the hillside.”

“Is she ok?”

“Yes, she suggested I make sure to get the coop before coming back and helping her out.”

“OK, you guys new around here?”

“Yes”

“Lovely weather today . . . “

Yada yada yada, Hello?  Your wife is still stuck on the hillside.  They finally part and the FedEx driver waves to me as she heads down the drive.

After handing my 6-8 foot long cuttings up the boulder to Alan for burning, I eventually hack my way out heading downhill.  Overall, it was about a three hour ride.  A three hour ride.

-K

The (much anticipated) Cluck Truck Hits the Road: Evergreen, CO to Orcas Island, WA

More pictures here!

I always wondered why I never bothered to separate the Salt & Pepper Adventure blog from our Backyard Chicken Extravaganza blog, and now I know why:  The day has come to combine traveling in Salt with our love of chickens.  Voila, the Cluck Truck Adventures.

To be clear, though, we are not back on the road full-time.  We are starting a new business, privatecamping.net, and in doing so need to be out on the road some of the time to locate new properties.  For this trip, we packed up the dogs and chickens and headed to our prime RV rental location on Orcas Island, WA. 

After doing some research on traveling with chickens, we determined that they would be happiest and safest in their own individual traveling crates.  Thus we purchased five wire crates with plastic bottoms and decked them out with individual water, food, grit, and oyster-shell eating areas all with individual perches.  The chickens hate them.  Of course, we lined the bottom with a few inches of pine shavings and plenty of straw which, every single day, Thelma pushes right out of her cage.  (I long suspected Thelma of being the nest-wrecker in the coop back home and now I know for sure.)

Chickens, being social creatures despite their almost incessant desire to peck each other, were not thrilled with the separate cage arrangement; the exception being Goldie Hen who, as soon as she heard of the plans, began her own rendition of MC Hammer’s “Can’t Touch This” in anticipation of days without being hen-pecked by her coop mates.

Preparation done, it was time to set out.  We had a little more than 1,400 miles to go from Evergreen, Colorado to Orcas Island, Washington but wanted to make sure The Ladies had time in the morning and evening to run in their free-range travel cage (a 10x10 netted bug tent with an open bottom—sets up in seconds and was perfect!) so planned only a little over 300 miles per day.  We also found out of the way places to stop, assuming most KOA’s would not relish the idea of a free-range chicken tent in their yards.  Here we go:

Day 1: 

Goal:  Jim Bridger Recreation Area, WY

Actual Stop:  BLM Land off of WY-84.

Egg Count:  4 (All the Single Ladies except Louise.)

Kit’s Chicken Stress Level:  5 (out of 5.)

Loaded up the chickens from (what must now look to them like a country club) their ¼ acre free-range, worm filled yard and plopped them into their travel cages.  Everyone went in willingly enough (once they saw the scratch being tossed inside) except for Louise whom I had to chase around for a good ten minutes, finally trapping her between the cage and the fence and physically putting her inside. 

During the drive, I worried every time we hit a bump or took a sharp turn.  “Those poor chickens!” was almost a constant lament.  I checked on them at every stop and they had all hunkered down and gone into a bit of a dazed state.  But they were still laying eggs which is always a good sign.

A side note:  If you are ever west of Cheyenne, WY on I-80, there is a gorgeous National Forest, Medicine Bow Routt National Forest, with plenty of campgrounds.  I would have loved to stop but we needed more miles, baby.

We kept on cluck-trucking toward our first choice for the night, the Jim Bridger Recreation Area (near the Jim Bridger Power Plant in Wyoming.) Unfortunately, it turned out to be a day use area which is really too bad as there were a couple of small lakes and lots of picnic tables with no one around.  Deciding to obey the No Overnight Camping signs, we opted to head over to some BLM land off of Black Buttes Road (WY-84), along Bitter Creek (which is close to bitterly dry.)  We backed Salt up a side road, jumped out, set up the chicken tent, unloaded the crates from the truck to the inside of the tent and set The Ladies free.  They were thrilled and did not seem to mind the sandy, desert soil at all but jumped right to hunting and pecking around.  We unlatched the bikes and took a short ride along the dirt roads.

Nearing dusk The Ladies were getting anxious to bed down for the night but chose not put themselves to bed in the crates (damn!  A human can hope, can’t she?)  It took a bit more scratch, and, of course, chasing Louise, but I managed to get them all loaded in and the crates back into the truck for safety overnight.

When morning came I ran out there and reversed the processes, giving them at least an hour of free range time before we packed them back in for another 300 mile day.

Day 2: 

Goal:  Lake Wolcott, Idaho.

Egg Count:  2 (Thelma & Louise)

Kit’s Chicken Stress Level:  4 (The Ladies’ egg production of Day 1 providing some hope that they weren’t fairing too badly back there.)

On the drive we had everything from rain to sleet to snow but arrived at the lovely and serene Lake Wolcott by 3:30 PM.  There are only 18 RV sites, most with a nice amount of space between them with lovely grassy areas (chicken heaven) and level, asphalt pitches (Kit heaven.)  The lake, however, we have declared fish-less.  (To our defense, it is rather early in the year.)

Of note:  The water at the pitches was turned off (not sure if this was a seasonal thing or they are permanently turned off) but if you have a long hose, you can pull over to the day use parking area and fill up via the red faucet near the bathrooms.  I pass this along as we only noticed it by watching our neighbors drive over, the whole time thinking, “What in the world are they doing?”   Electricity was on at the sites.

While in their free range tent, JJ and Dom set about feuding over two of the crates, each chicken going in and setting up a nest before the other one came in and chased them out.  This went on for at least an hour.  JJ finally won (no surprise there) and laid an egg overnight in one of coveted cages. 

Day 3:

Goal:  La Grande, Oregon (343 miles)

Actual Destination:  Farewell Bend, Oregon State Park (250 miles)

Egg Count:  3  (JJ, Dom, Louise)

Kit’s Chicken Stress Level:  3 (They seem to be getting enough free run time as they are often just milling around cleaning their feathers after a couple of hours outside the crates.)

We got a late start due to hot showers!!  Yahoo!   (Drove over to the aforementioned day use area at Lake Wolcott, hooked up to the faucet and showered like there was no tomorrow.)   We also opted to stop twice on the road to attempt to catch some fish.  Still nothing.  Still too early in the season.  Still our story.

When the clocked passed 4:00 PM and we were still on the road with about 100 miles to go to La Grande, we carpe campem’d when Alan noticed a sign for Farewell Bend, an Oregon State Park just after crossing the border from Idaho on I-84.  Ahh, those Oregon State Parks!  Never disappointing.  Lovely (and large but empty this time of year) campground along the shores of the Snake River's Brownlee Reservoir.  Lots of pitch types to choose from and we opted for one in the back with lots of area for the chicken tent.

Up went the tent in record time (it was a long, hot day back there for The Ladies) and out they popped and almost immediately began a dirt bath extravaganza.  The first one of the trip and they were really digging in.  With The Ladies so happy, we poured a cocktail and nestled near the campfire for some quiet time.  Before I had finished my gin, I noticed people trying to take pictures of the chickens from afar; I invited them over for a closer look.

They were four Canadians heading home from Arizona and amazed that we were traveling with chickens.  (They might be the first on the trip to even notice we had chickens along.)  Lovely people (as most Canadians are) and they departed with eight fresh eggs for breakfast.  I am betting that is a camping story that will get told!

Day 4:

Goal:  Cle Elum, WA

Egg Count:  2  (Thelma & Dom)

Kit’s Chicken Stress Level:  2  (When Louise, of all chickens, jumps up on your back for a ride, you know things can’t be that bad.)

In preparation for the trip, I had done a ton of research to find out-of-the-way places in which to camp; one such place was the Red Mountain Campground (USFS) outside of Cle Elum, WA.  Although it is technically closed for the winter, it is one of the few campgrounds that allow you to dry camp for free.  Winding along the Cle Elum River, it is a beautiful spot.  Being very off season, we expected the campground to be empty and were disappointed to find that at least three other vehicles had found the place before we did. 

None-the-less, it was a nice spot and Alan scouted out a site that I reserved by standing in while he drove ahead to turn Salt around.  During his drive, he found an even better site in one of the dispersed camping areas.  So he came back to get me and we set up camp just down the road.   Chickens ranging in their tent, we set about fishing the river to no avail.  But the sun was mostly out (“mostly” being a good percentage for the Pacific Northwest) and the evening was delightfully complete with Manhattans and a campfire.

Day 5:

Goal:  Orcas Island and our own Private Camping spot!

Egg Count:  4 (All the Single Ladies but Dom)

Kit’s Chicken Stress Level:  0

Packed up in the light snowfall and were on the road extra early.  Delightful to be driving in an area we know almost by heart!  We stopped at a couple of new favorites in Mount Vernon:  The Calico Cupboard for bread and a Mexican grocery (can’t find them on Google maps but they are on the corner of Freeway Road and I-5) for marinated meats and one old favorite, Compass Wines in Anacortes, before getting into the ferry line.  We had hours to spare so I used the time to collect eggs and clean out Salt.

We arrived at the site while it was still light out (a must if you are going to rent this site!) and with the sun shining, it was gorgeous.  Our intention while here is to get it ready for rental on Private Camping and we have our work cut out for us:  We forgot how mossy things (drives!) become when in the Pacific Northwest so we will be adding “Gravel Drive & Pitch” to our list of to-do’s (which include “Erect Chicken Coop” and “Build Shed”.)   In between work, we plan on hiking, biking, tennis and finding all the other fun things to do on the island which I will write about on our Privatecamping.net blog.

-K