Wandering through Time and Place

Exploring the world with Curtis and Peggy Mekemson
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    • “His Dong Goes All the Way to His Knees,” Orvis Told Me in Wonder

      Posted at 5:00 am by Curt Mekemson
      Jan 25th

      In my last blog-a-book post from “It’s 4 AM and a Bear Is Standing on Top of Me,” I wrote about finding our ‘lost’ Trekker and declaring a layover day. It was just what we needed. Feeling refreshed and rested, the group was ready to hit the trail. Today, I cover our 4th and 5th days. And the dong.

      At the end of a long, hot day on the trail, a lake like this provides a powerful incentive to jump in— with or without clothes.

      We hit the trail early. I took over leadership since we were now covering a section of the route I had previewed. It was where Sparky and I had the bear encounter. I was glad to leave the grueling chore of bringing up the rear to Steve.

      It felt good being up with the hotdogs, all younger than I was by a decade. The miles sped by as we maintained our three to four-mile an hour pace. Of course, we were egging each other on. As the old man of the group at 29, I had to prove that the kids couldn’t outrun me. My only problem was blisters. My feet were still doing battle with the new Lowa boots, and the boots were winning. Since I couldn’t ignore the blisters in the same way I was ignoring the piteous cries of my fat cells, I kept slapping on moleskin. There wasn’t much bare skin left.

      Camp that night was at an old mining area called ‘Last Chance.’ Obviously, some disgruntled forty-niner had named it as his dreams of wealth were fading. The area was a major checkpoint on the 100-mile Tevis Cup Horse Race. Veterinarians checked horses to see if they could continue on. I wandered around and carried out a similar effort with the Trekkers, paying special attention to their hooves. There were a couple of people I assigned to the jeep for a day and several whose feet I patched up. I was becoming quite the expert on blisters.

      People were in an amazingly good mood. I set up camp next to Charlie, which involved unrolling my ground cloth, ensolite pad, and sleeping bag. We were sleeping out in the open at the time, which I almost always did unless weather forced me into my emergency tube tent. We lay there, looking up at the sky and contemplating the myriad of stars the clear Sierra night made available.

      “What an experience,” Charlie offered. “I can’t believe I am out here. Someday, people will be doing these Treks all over the nation.”

      My thoughts were more along the line of “Thank God we made it through another day.” But things were definitely getting easier as Steve and I adjusted to our group and the group adjusted to its long hiking days. The next day even found several of us trotting along the trail in sheer joy with Orvis trotting right along with us. We still had our share of challenges though.

      Food was one. I spent a lot of time listening to complaints about Ham Cheddarton, which the Trekkers were eating every other day. They had even composed a little ditty about the meal and what I could do with it. I don’t think Lipton would have found it useful as a marketing song. Nor did I find the suggestion of where I might put it particularly enticing. At least the Trekkers were developing a sense of humor.

      Three young teenagers from Auburn, a girl and her brothers, had the most legitimate gripe. I discovered they had broken their stove and were eating the goop with cold water. I turned down their ‘generous’ offer to sample a bite and loaned them my stove. We had three in our cook group so it wasn’t a problem. (The stove never quite recovered from the experience, however.)

      Keeping the troops clean provided another interesting challenge. Some people simply didn’t bother. I suspected our Four Mouseketeers weren’t overly concerned about missing a bath or eight. But nobody was squeaky clean. People have a way of deteriorating in unison on the trail. Even the most conscientious develop a certain look, a certain patina. You don’t really recognize this state of deterioration until you arrive back at civilization and meet disgustingly clean people at trailheads. They smell so good…

      Probably the easiest solution to bathing in the woods is to jump into a convenient lake or river. The major drawback here is that one can’t use soap because it damages the water supply. Truly lazy or tired Trekkers may jump in with their clothes on, thus rinsing their clothes as well as their body. I’ve used that option often. By now, I am sure the reader is beginning to grasp why backpackers gradually (quickly) become scruffier as the trip progresses.

      One issue that is always present is the question of privacy. Do you slip off into the woods by yourself and take a sponge bath or do you shed all of your clothes and jump into the lake. The latter range from folks who jump in and make lots of noise, to more shy folks who quietly slip in business like. Our first Trek, a true 70’s type adventure, incorporated all types. I already mentioned the woman and her coterie of the Four Mouseketeers. She would have preferred a private bath but had to put up with her youthful admirers.

      Two of our Trekkers, who I will call Y and Z, were definitely of the Hippie Generation when it came to bathing. Y was an amply endowed woman who floated in a most interesting way, but it was her boyfriend Z, who drew the most attention. Orvis, at 70, still had a fine appreciation of the female body and could be depended on to check out the action at the local swimming hole. We were camping on the middle fork of the American River when he came up to me with an impish grin on his face.

      “Did you see Z, Curt?” he asked with wonder in his voice. “His dong goes all the way to his knees!” I just started laughing and couldn’t stop. I couldn’t help myself. But I also made an innocent trip by the swimming hole. Sure enough, Z had equipment that would have sent a mare running in the opposite direction.

      NEXT POST:

      Blog-a-book Wednesday: Now that I am well into my book on wilderness adventures, it’s time to start re-blogging the book on my experiences as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Africa, The Bush Devil Ate Sam. I’ve been making major revisions in the book: rewriting some chapters, adding chapters, updating my section on Liberia’s history since I left the country, and expanding the section on the Peace Corps in Liberia today. Perhaps you were around when I first blogged the book or maybe you have even read “The Bush Devil Ate Sam.” If so, much of this will be familiar to you.

      Travel Blog Friday: We return to my ‘backroad series’ and journey down highway 191 through Utah and Arizona.

      Posted in Outdoor Adventures | Tagged Blog a book, It's 4 AM and a Bear Is Standing on Top of Me, Outdoor Adventures, Sierra Trek
    • The Beauty, the Geology, and the Weirdness of Sunset Bay…

      Posted at 5:00 am by Curt Mekemson
      Jan 21st

      A couple of weeks before Christmas, Peggy and I made a trip over to Cape Arago on the Oregon Coast. The waves featured in my January 7th post were from this trip as is today’s post on Sunset Bay State Park, which is located at the beginning of the Cape just outside of Coos Bay.

      Sunset Bay at sunset with the tide out.

      The tourist and real estate industries of the Oregon Coast prefer to ignore the next BIG one, or put it off to sometime in the distant future. The folks involved in predicting earthquakes have a different perspective. The sheer number of tsunami evacuation route signs along the Oregon coast speak to their concerns. The Cascadia Subduction Zone is real. A massive 9-point something or other earthquake known as a mega–thrust is in our future. They happen every 300 to 600 years. The last one was in 1700. The oceanic Juan de Fuca plate is diving under the North American continental plate and it will not be denied. It’s stuck right now. Small earthquakes near the surface are creating pressure on the trapped area, however. When it gives, all hell will break loose.

      I, for one, pay careful attention to the evacuation routes whenever Peggy and I visit the coast. If the earth shakes, we will be out of there! So what if we leave our welcome mat behind.

      Sunset Bay State Park is a geological wonderland when it comes to featuring various aspects of what can happen when a massive earthquake strikes. The most fascinating to me are the stumps of ancient trees. Twelve hundred years ago, a forest stood above the ocean where Sunset Bay now stands. An earthquake caused a subsidence in the land, drowning the forest. At low tides, the remains can still be seen.

      I was fascinated by the different shapes of trunks left by the ancient trees.
      Octopus like…
      A different perspective…
      This ancient tree stump at Sunset Bay State Park bears a strong resemblance to a man doing jumping jacks.
      This tree has roots on roots. A genealogist would be impressed.
      Incoming tide surrounded the tree trunk and reflected the fluffy clouds in the sky.
      Peggy stands in front the ancient tree trunks to provide perspective. Her Covid-19 mask serves as a scarf.

      Faults, fractures in the earth’s surface along which the blocks of crust move relative to one another can be seen among the tilted and layered rocks of the Bay at low tide. The rocks, BTW, also provide an excellent area for tide pools that feature sea life loved by kids and adults alike. 

      Low tide at Sunset Bay. You can see a number of tide pools to explore, but it also shows a clear fault running from left to right. A second fault can be seen behind it. The crust between the faults moves when earthquakes strike.
      We spent a few minutes peering into tide pools.
      We were impressed by the sea anemone. The slit is the anemone’s mouth, and, for convenience, its anus as well. The tentacles contain stingers filled with a toxin for stunning dinner, which is then transported to its mouth.
      For fun, I rendered the anemone in black and white.

      While the bay represents an earthquake caused subsidence, the Whiskey Run terrace surrounding the Bay represents uplifts and folding also created by tectonic activity related to the Cascadia Subduction Zone. The wave-caused erosion taking place in Sunset Bay operated on the terrace when it was at sea level. It’s estimated that the land rises approximately three feet every thousand years. 

      The terrace above Sunset Bay was once at sea level. Like the Bay, waves created the flatness of the terrace.
      A close up of the Whiskey Run terrace. The sedimentary layers have been tilted down to the right by tectonic forces and then eroded away by wave action. A layer of dirt/rock has since been laid down on top, providing soil for the forest.

      And finally, I would like to feature a strange, non-tectonic feature of Sunset Bay: concretions. Peggy and I first came across these round, rock-like structures on the southern coast of the South Island of New Zealand. They are created when groundwater triggers extra amounts of ‘cement’ around irregularities in the rock such as shells, creating a round structure that continues to grow as more cement is added. The hardness of the covering makes it harder to erode than the surrounding rock. 

      This is a concretion.
      And these are concretions apparently marching out to sea. Why, I haven’t a clue.

      I’ll conclude with a few other photos from Sunset Bay that I found interesting.

      An orange rock with ripples…
      A ghost tree…
      Sea grass in the late afternoon sun…
      Peggy walking through the tunnel that connected our campground to the bay.
      And finally, I’ll wrap up this post on Sunset Bay with more waves.

      NEW BLOG SCHEDULE: I’ve been working on revising the book on my Liberia Peace Corps experience— adding a few chapters on my experience working for the Peace Corps after I was a Volunteer and updating the chapters I wrote about modern Liberia. Several of you have read the book and a few of you may have even been around when I first blogged it several years ago. Anyway, I am going to reblog it again, adding it to my schedule. On Mondays I will continue to blog my book, It’s 4 AM and a Bear is Standing on top of Me. On Wednesdays, I will blog The Bush Devil Ate Sam. On Fridays, I will continue my travel blog.

      NEXT POSTS:

      Blog a Book Monday: Will you believe I actually have a good day on the Sierra Trek?

      Blog a Book Wednesday: Introduction to the Bush Devil Ate Sam

      Travel Blog Friday: I return to my Backroad series following Highway 191 through Navajo country in Utah and ending up in Arizona’s Lyman State Park.

      Posted in At Home in Oregon | Tagged Cascadia Subduction Zone, Concretions at Sunset Bay State Park, geology, Juan de Fuca Plate, Sunset Bay State Park Oregon, The ancient trees of Sunset Bay in Oregon, travel blog, Whiskey Run Terrace at Sunset Beach in Oregon
    • May It Fly Freely and Proudly

      Posted at 1:00 pm by Curt Mekemson
      Jan 20th

      I watched the presentation of colors today at President Biden and Vice President Kamala Harris’s inauguration. I listened as Lady Gaga sang an incredible version of the Star-Spangled Banner. I noted the flags from our history that dated back to our very beginnings. I looked out on the 200,000 flags flying on the National Mall and the flags flying in the breeze on virtually every building.

      And while I am not by nature a flag waver, I was proud, prouder than I have ever been of the flag.

      Two weeks ago, my vision was totally different. I watched as an American Flag was used to beat a policeman whose only crime was protecting our Nation’s Capital from a band of thugs whose goal was an assault on our very democracy. I watched as they claimed they were patriots, wrapped themselves in flags, waved them from the ramparts, and carried them as they ran through the capitol corridors breaking windows, spray painting walls, and threatening the lives of Republican Vice President Mike Pence and the Democratic Speaker of the House, Nancy Pelosi. 

      That vision has now been wiped out of my mind.

      May we now move forward to solve the very real problems this nation faces— from the raging pandemic that has killed 400,000 Americans to the racism that continues to haunt our lives, from the environmental degradation that has led to global warming to severe economic depression that has destroyed thousands of businesses and thrown hundreds of thousands of people out of work, from denying citizens the right to vote to governing with mistruths and conspiracy theories.

      And finally, may we return to our role as a positive, responsible partner in addressing the problems of the broader world.

      May our flag once again fly proudly.

      Posted in Uncategorized
    • How Could It Be Only Day Three… The Sierra Trek

      Posted at 5:00 am by Curt Mekemson
      Jan 19th

      In the last blog-a-book post from “It’s 4 AM and a Bear Is Standing on Top of Me,” I had split the Sierra Trek with two thirds of the participants following an easy, jeep-supported route into Robinson Flat. My task was to follow the group that had gone on a much more difficult route without water and without leadership. I arrived in camp to find one Trekker lost and the others in a state of rebellion against the leader. Me. They had discussed hanging but thankfully decided on giving me the silent treatment instead…

      After two days of trekking, I was beginning to feel like this twisted tree trunk. Old. What would day three bring?

      Before going to bed, I insisted that the Trekkers gather around so I could learn what I could about the missing person, Dick. Silent treatment or not, I needed to think through an action plan for the next day. Dick was the school teacher who had claimed he could carry his weight in booze. He had been hiking alone and hadn’t talked to anyone about leaving the route. The Trekkers could only give me an approximation of where they had last seen him.

      I decided to get folks up in the pre-dawn hour of around 5 the next morning. As soon as I could see the trail, I would high-tail-it the two miles into Robinson Flat and see if Dick had made an appearance. If not, I would check with the ranger station and help organize a search party. Two of my strongest hikers would stay behind in camp in case Dick showed up there. Charlie would bring the rest of the Trekkers on to Robinson Flat.

      I was exhausted and couldn’t go to sleep but somewhere in the wee hours I must have dozed off because I woke with a start as a rock pinged my head. Charlie was lobbing pebbles at my sleeping bag. I was up and packed in a zip. The troops had made a miraculous recovery over night. After a few encouraging words, I was bounding off up the trail like a hare with the hounds of hell in hot pursuit. Just as I came into camp at Robinson Flat, Dick came hoofing in from the opposite direction. I didn’t know whether to kiss or to kill him, but he was too ugly for the former and possibly too tough for the latter.

      I settled for, “Are you okay, Dick?”

      “Sure,” he replied in a why-wouldn’t-he-be tone.

      “What happened,” I demanded, allowing my irritation to surface.

      “I got thirsty,” Dick explained. “I could see French Meadow Reservoir at the bottom of the ridge so I hiked down to get a drink. When I got there, I was tired so I set up camp.” And, I am sure, dug into his booze reserves. Why worry?

      My irritation boiled over.

      “Why didn’t you tell someone you were leaving? Didn’t you realize we would be worried sick and mounting a search and rescue effort?” I was on a roll and Dick was on the receiving end of a great deal of frustration I was feeling. Fortunately, guilt had driven him to get up before dawn and make his way to Robinson Flat as quickly as he could. It might have been worse, much worse.

      The crisis was over, but I still had chores. First up was to go back and collect the rearguard I had left at Duncan Creek. I could have sent Steve but I needed time to recover from my anger. As I hiked, I made my second command decision of the day. Even though we had only hiked for two days, the group could use a layover day. Hell, I could use a layover day. In fact, I needed a layover day. I deserved a layover day. The next day could wait for its turn. What else could go wrong? Hah! Along the way I met the rest of the Trekkers and told them that the lost Dick had found himself.

      “I am beginning to understand what it means to be a manic-depressive,” I told Charlie. My life over the past three weeks had been one constant roller coaster. I allowed myself a slight glimmer of hope that we had made it beyond the low point of our adventure.

      The other Trekkers had made it to Robinson Flat the day before without a hitch and I now had everyone back together again. A layover day gave all of us, including me, a chance to recoup. People were able to wash clothes, take baths, read, and just lounge around, swapping lies about their terrible ordeals.

      Even the Four Mouseketeers were back in high spirits. I came over a hill and found them gathered around one of my older female participants as she sat in the middle of a tiny stream without a stitch of clothes on. They were struggling to appear cool and carry on a conversation while she bathed. I sent them scampering back to camp. At least I had answered my earlier question as to what kind of babysitting services we were providing.

      Nan, one of my staff members from the Lung Association in Sacramento, showed up with resupply about midday, including food, cold beer, sodas— and Jo Ann. It was good of her to come, but we were uncomfortable. Still, I was glad to share my adventures and frustrations to date with her. I left out any references to hiking and holding hands with Lisa. After Nan and Jo departed and I had people settled in for the evening, I headed over a hill, loaded my pipe with Balkan Sobranie pipe tobacco, and settled in for a smoke. I hadn’t totally abandoned my pipe (adult pacifier). At that point, I needed the solace it provided. I must have sat there for an hour staring up at the stars, alone in my thoughts, sad.

      By the end of day three, I was still in a funk…

      But the sun was shining the next morning, as it usually does in the summer Sierra. I felt glad to be out in the woods and happy to be alive. My body was beginning to tone up and I could almost hear my pampered fat cells screaming in protest.

      NEXT POST: On my Thursday Travel Blog I will take you over to the beautiful, geologically interesting, and slightly weird Sunset Bay on the Oregon Coast.

      A note on photos: Since I don’t have any from the first Sierra Trek, I am using other wilderness photos I have taken from over the years. I found the two stumps on my 700 plus mile trip down the PCT two years ago.

      Posted in Outdoor Adventures | Tagged Blog a book, It's 4 AM and a Bear Is Standing on Top of Me, Lost in the Sierra's, Robinson Flat, Sierra Trek
    • Can Sunsets Get Any More Dramatic?

      Posted at 7:57 am by Curt Mekemson
      Jan 14th
      I was writing in our library when Peggy urged, “Curt, you have to come in here and check out the sunset.”

      Four or five times a year we get dramatic sunsets at our house. It is always a time to stop whatever we are doing and watch as the sun lights up the clouds with gorgeous red, orange, yellow and purple colors. The front of our house, which faces a westerly direction, provides front row seats for watching the show. These photos don’t require any description. Enjoy.

      As the sun completed its evening show, the Red Buttes took on a dark blue look. The show was over.

      NEXT POSTS:

      Blog-a-book Tuesday: I contemplate killing the ‘lost’ Trekker who had decided to go on a detour but failed to tell anyone. The Four Mouseketeers discover a new pastime at Robinson Flat that their mothers definitely would not approve.

      Travel Blog Thursday: Sunset Bay: Beauty, weirdness, and geology

      Posted in At Home in Oregon | Tagged Sunset in Oregon's Applegate Valley
    • 16 Miles without Water, a Huge Rattlesnake, and a Lost Trekker… The Sierra Trek

      Posted at 5:00 am by Curt Mekemson
      Jan 12th
      Panamint Rattlesnake in Death Valley.
      Lacking a photo of the rattlesnake, I’ll substitute this one that Peggy and I found in the mountains above Death Valley. Different in color, it was similar in size. Note the pit viper head. When I spotted the snake, Peggy was driving. Since it was on her side, she took several photographs. I decided to get out to take more. My lovely wife floor-boarded it. No way was she going to let me get up close and personal with the monster the way I normally do with rattlesnakes! (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

      In the last post from my book, “It’s 4 AM and A Bear Is Standing on Me,” I related how a doctor out of Sacramento had accused us of running ‘a pot smoking orgy’ in the mountains and threatened to go back to Sacramento and tell the press. While the “pot smoking orgy” was a figment of his imagination, the threat had been real. In today’s post, I am faced with the toughest day of the Trek: 16-miles without water. To meet this challenge, I arranged to have a jeep filled with a water resupply meet the Trekkers on a dirt road that crossed our trail at the half-way point.

      After my ‘sermon on the mount’ to defuse the doctor, I sent the Trekkers back to camp to pack up before calling them together for a final briefing. They stood with their packs on as I reminded them of how difficult the day would be and gave them very specific instructions:

      “A road crosses the trail eight miles from here. Steve Locke will be there with the jeep and water. If he isn’t there when you arrive at the road, wait for him. Otherwise, you will have a long, thirsty hike.” It would not be the last time in Trek history my directions would go unheeded.

      As per plan, I sent Steve Crowle on ahead as trail leader while Charlie and I provided rear guard support. In retrospect, I should have recalled that this was the section of the trail that Steve claimed a hawk had ‘chased’ him for miles, apparently all 16. Far from being a gentle ridge walk, we were climbing in and out of small canyons over hot, dusty trails. By the time we had covered five miles, I was beginning to worry. By six, I knew I had to come up with an alternative. Otherwise many of our folks would be making a dry camp out on the trail.

      I pulled out the walkie-talkie from Bob-of-No-Name and pushed down the talk button. The large, unwieldy device came with a long aerial that had to be extended. “Steve, come in please,” I requested— and was greeted by static. I tried again, and again. Nothing. It didn’t work because of all the canyons. My only alternative was to hustle up to the front of the line and catch the Trekkers before they left the jeep. I dubbed Charlie as primary rear guard and took off moving as fast as my legs would go, passing the majority of our group along the way. When I arrived at the jeep, Steve was there with 15 people. “Damn,” I thought, “some of the Trekkers have already gone on.” Maybe I could catch them.

      “Hey Steve,” I jumped in as he greeted me, “it’s time for Plan B.”

      “Which is…?” he asked grinning.

      “We need to send the Trekkers by road into Robinson Flat with jeep back up. It’s only about 5 miles plus the jeep can provide water along the way and shuttle people if necessary. But first, how long ago was it when the rest of the Trekkers left the jeep?”

      “I don’t know,” Steve confessed. A group of Trekkers had been walking on his tail and he had let them pass (thus breaking one of our cardinal rules). Even worse, Steve Locke didn’t know either. Apparently 15 of the Trekkers had arrived before the jeep and chosen to go on. Another five had actually waited, loaded up with water and then taken off, approximately 30 minutes before I arrived.

      “Oh shit,” I had responded. Thanks to Steve letting people go ahead, we now had 20 people out on the trail in front of us without a leader— and 15 with limited water! I was beginning wonder whether my friend was part of the solution or part of the problem.

      Day two, which had started with the doctor and his ‘pot smoking orgy’ had gone from bad to worse. I made a command decision. Steve would continue on with Plan B. I would hike along Red Star Ridge and provide backup for the group who had chosen to hike another 8 miles without water. I had little doubt about what type of foul mood my wayward charges would be in when I caught up with them and who they would blame for their predicament. It certainly wouldn’t be themselves for failing to wait for the jeep. We would camp on Duncan Creek as planned and hike the two miles into Robinson Flat the next morning. (It was five more miles by trail than by the jeep road.)

      “No one is to budge from Robinson Flat until I get there,” I instructed with the fervid hope my instructions would be followed this time.

      First, however, I had to go back and retrieve Charlie. I wanted to personally be sure that all of our other Trekkers made it to the jeep. I asked Crowle and Locke to hold everyone. I found Charlie a mile or so back on the trail with another broken pack. Boy, were we having fun. If my learning curve got any steeper, I’d need a climbing rope.

      “I’ll hike on with you, Curt, to provide support and company,” Charlie insisted.

      I knew I was tired and could only imagine how he must feel given his extra 25 years and 50 pounds. I was beginning to realize that older people are often tougher than younger people half their age with twice their strength. The journey we were on was as much psychological as it was physical. Maybe more so.

      We initiated phase two of our journey around 2:00 p.m. In a little over 30 minutes Charlie and I caught our four eleven-year-olds, who we had nicknamed the Four Mouseketeers. They were crawling along at a pace that a turtle would have found embarassing.

      “Joe is really slow,” one of the urchins informed me.

      Yeah, I thought to myself, and you guys are so glad he is because it provides all of you with an excuse to move at the same pace.

      After about an hour of moving along at ‘Joe speed,’ Charlie plaintively informed me he wasn’t going to make it into camp if he couldn’t move faster. Having determined that three of our Mouseketeers really were better hikers, I assigned them to Charlie and took Joe on as my personal challenge. The experience was similar to moving my Basset Hound, Socrates, down the trail after he spent a full night of digging up imagined gophers in granite and had raw feet. Joe would go a quarter of a mile and stop, plopping down onto the dusty trail. We had managed a mile of this when I came on Charlie again, standing beside the trail and pointing off to the left.

      “Careful, Curt,” he began, “there is a huge timber rattler coiled up there.”

      Adrenaline gave me a spurt of energy I didn’t know I had. Huge was hardly an adequate description. The snake was as thick as my wrist and about six feet long. Joe, either out of exhaustion or not caring, came to a shuffling halt mere inches away from the poised pit viper and kicked dirt into its face. Visions of all sorts of bad consequences danced in my head.

      “Um, Joe,” I whispered trying to sound calm and not wanting to frighten him or the snake into precipitous action, “if you will look down to your left, you will see a snake. Don’t move.”

      Had I received such instructions, I would have been 20 feet down the trail in one prodigious leap. Joe, on the other hand, looked down at the huge, coiled rattler, said ‘oh,’ and shuffled on down the trail. The snake didn’t budge; Joe was neither food, friend or foe. We left the snake guarding the trail.

      Charlie went on ahead with his three charges and I continued to herd my half dead companion. It was after dark when I heard the stream that I knew meant camp. It was an extremely welcome sound; Joe and I had been traveling for at least 30 minutes by flashlight. Charlie was waiting for us outside camp.

      “We have a problem Curt…” he began for the second time that day, although the day had already stretched out forever and I hadn’t known one minute when the ubiquitous problem did not exist. As supportive as Charlie had been, I had thoughts of killing the messenger.

      “What’s it this time,” I asked, struggling to keep the grump and whine out of my voice.

      “One of the Trekkers is lost and the rest of the Trekkers are ready to string you up from a tree,” he reported matter-of-factly. But then, it wasn’t his neck. “I’ve calmed them down by telling them all you have done today,” he went on. “Now they are just going to give you the silent treatment.”

      I am not a praying type of person but I looked up at the sky and said, “God, get me back to Sacramento and I promise I will go back to running Christmas Seal Campaigns with my 80-year-old, lady volunteers and be perfectly happy.” The odds against any future Trek program had just hit 1000 to 1…

      Travel Blog Thursday: I travel no farther than our deck to record a gorgeous sunset.

      Blog–a-Book Tuesday: The lost Trekker finds himself; I declare a layover day at Robinson Flat; and babysitting the Four Mouseketeers takes on a whole new meaning.

      Posted in Outdoor Adventures | Tagged Blog a book, Confronting a Timber rattlesnake, Hiking without water, It's 4 AM and a Bear Is Standing on Top of Me, Lost in the Sierra's, Sierra Trek
    • Making Waves… No One Does It Better than the Pacific Ocean

      Posted at 5:00 am by Curt Mekemson
      Jan 7th
      Wave watching along the Oregon coast can be quite exciting when the big winter storms roll in from across the Pacific Ocean.

      Oregonians are known for flocking to the coast when winter storms rile up the Pacific Ocean and send huge waves crashing ashore. Local media can be depended on to report the when and where. Peggy and I escaped to one of the best locations on the coast a few weeks ago, Cape Arago near Coos Bay. Both of us were kept busy with our cameras.

      Hundreds of seals were hanging out on the beach here and up in the rocks. I am always amazed by how they can climb.
      It’s best to appreciate the waves from a safe distance. Every year people are washed out to sea by getting too close! Your chances of survival are slender when one of these monsters grabs you. BTW: More seals on the rocks.
      And then there are those who live for the next big wave! This one was a little guy.
      It doesn’t hurt to have gorgeous scenery to back up the wave action! This photo is from Sunset Beach State Park where Peggy and I were camping.The next five are south of the state park along Cape Arago.
      I’ll finish our visit here with a shot of the churning ocean after a wave hits, which I find almost as amazing as the wave itself.

      NEXT POSTS:

      On Tuesday’s Blog-a-Book: The next chapter in the Sierra Trek. Sixteen miles without water and a Trekker is lost… or goes awol. And a humongous rattlesnake presents a unique challenge.

      On Thursday’s Travel Blog: We visit the very strange but beautiful Sunset Bay.

      Posted in Uncategorized
    • No, We Were Not Running a Pot Smoking Orgy in the Mountains…

      Posted at 5:00 am by Curt Mekemson
      Jan 5th

      In my last blog-a-book post about the Sierra Trek, we survived day one. Barely. Hiking over the mountain from Squaw Valley, our Trekkers had numerous gear problems, especially the witch. I arrived at our first campsite to discover that no one was there and had to hike on another two miles. Charlie, Lisa and I rounded up our slowest, most tired participants and pushed them down the trail. Eventually, we arrived at Hodgkin’s Cabin. We had survived day one. I could hardly wait to see what day two might bring.

      Years of backpacking and wilderness travel have taught me that a burbling brook makes an excellent sound maker to lull you to sleep. It’s even more valuable when you have noisy companions that like to party late or a sleeper whose snores could make the ground shake.

      Steve, Lisa and I set up camp on the opposite side of a small stream from our Trekkers at Hodgkin’s Cabin. I am not sure why. Maybe Steve and I were subconsciously escaping from what we had created, but I suspect we just wanted a good night’s sleep. The Trekkers were noisy and the burbling brook served as nature’s sound maker.

      I made my evening rounds before turning in. We had divided the Trekkers into food groups of four and I went from group to group checking for problems. Overall, people seemed in good spirits. There were a few sore ankles and knees, but blisters were the problem that elicited the most complaints. I dispensed sympathy and mole skin. I also gave everyone a preview of the next day and warned that it was going to be tough. Really tough. My last words were to remind people that 9:00 PM was quiet hour. I wanted everyone fresh for the next challenge.

      If there was noise, we didn’t hear it. We were zonked out from exhaustion. Early the next morning we were up in the dark, wolfing down our quick breakfast of instant oatmeal, instant coffee, and apricots. I was putting my pack together when Charlie arrived. He looked serious.

      “We have a problem, Curt,” he started without preamble. God, I hate those words. My vivid imagination had a stove blowing up, or a Trekker cutting herself, or one of Steve’s migrating rattlesnakes finding a warm sleeping bag. Or maybe the IRS had arrived to grab Charlie or the FBI to bust Bob and we were to be held as accomplices.

      “What’s up?” Steve threw in, cutting short my growing list of possible disasters.

      “We had a doctor from Sacramento come in and camp next to us last night,” Charlie reported. “He says he is going back to Sacramento and tell the press that the Lung Association is running a pot-smoking-orgy in the mountains.”

      “Oh hell,” Steve said. My words were much more colorful. A blown-up stove I could deal with. A cut I could bandage. A rattlesnake I could chase off, and frequently have. But what do you do with a physician who has infected his butt with his head? Beg? It took absolutely zero imagination to figure out what the Trek’s future and my career with Lungland would look like one day after ‘pot-smoking-orgy’ made the headlines.

      “I tried to reason with him but it was impossible,” Charlie threw in as if he were reading my mind and wanted to dash any hope I had. Just then Orvis came tramping into our camp. Uh-oh I wondered, is the other shoe about to drop? Orvis could backpack at 70 because he had never consumed alcohol or smoked in his life. He was almost as pure as his white beard that decorated his chest. I couldn’t imagine him being very tolerant of misbehavior.

      “The man is lying,” Orvis said angrily and forever earned my undying love. “I was there the whole night and no such thing happened. If he goes back to Sacramento and talks to the press, I’ll go back to Sacramento and talk to the press and we’ll see who they believe!”

      I wasn’t quite as sure about Trekker behavior as Orvis. It was the seventies after all and we had recruited some interesting characters. I had heard the teenagers giving each other a hard time the night before during my rounds.

      “Hey Suzy, why don’t you come over here and check out my sleeping bag?” But the response had been, “Why don’t you take your sleeping bag and stuff it?” I had also had a discussion with our younger kids about the Trek not being an appropriate place for tobacco. Who knows what the doctor had seen or had thought he had seen? My guess was that he was irritated because the noisy Trekkers had kept him awake.

      “Look, I have an idea,” I said to the small crowd that had gathered around our cook stove.  “I want you to go back to the camp and tell everyone to gather near the rock which is about ten yards away from the Doctor’s camp. Tell them I am going to read them the riot act and I want them to look dejected and apologetic, whether they feel that way or not. It’s show time.”

      My helpers dispersed to do their job and I carefully thought through what I was going to say. At the appropriate time, I marched over to the rock looking like my dog had just been run over and climbed up on the rock. It was Sunday morning and ever after my lecture was known as the ‘sermon on the mount.’ Sixty-one expectant but properly humble faces looked up at me. I could see that the doctor had also stopped his activities and glued his attention on what we were up to.

      “Last night we made a serious mistake,” I started, making sure the doctor could hear me. “It has come to my attention that there was misbehavior in camp which may have included the use of marijuana. I want to apologize to all of you for not being in camp myself and to let you know I will be from now on. I also want you to know that such activity jeopardizes not only this Trek but the possibility of any events like it in the future. I know that you have all worked hard to be here and that you have worked hard to raise money to fight lung disease and support medical research. I want your word that no such further activities will take place on this Trek.” I’d decided that throwing in the bit about raising money for medical care and research made a nice touch.

      Charlie, Steve and company had done their work well. “We’re sorry.” “It won’t happen again.” “You have our word on it,” and similar statements were heard from all sides with everyone looking more serious than I have seen any Trekkers look since. I then dismissed the group to break camp.

      As I walked away the doctor made a beeline for me and held out his hand.

      “I am Doctor so and so,” he announced. “Although things were out of control last night, it appears you have them under control now and probably won’t have any more problems. Good luck on your trip.”

      I thanked him for his concern and breathed an audible sigh of relief. He wandered back to his campsite, undoubtedly pleased with his power and influence while I moved away to avoid expressing my thoughts about his ancestry.

      A bullet had been dodged. The next challenge was how we were going to get our Trekkers through the day. It promised to be a doozy— sixteen miles with very limited water. It left little time to contemplate what might have happened had the meddling medic carried out his threat.

      NEXT POSTS:

      On Thursday: Peggy and I take a trip to Cape Arago on the Oregon Coast and watch monster waves come crashing in.

      On Tuesday: After surviving the doctor and his ‘pot smoking orgy,’ day two of the Trek goes from from bad to worse as our Trekkers face a long day with limited water, one of our 11-year-olds kicks dirt on a six foot timber rattler, and a Trekker goes missing.

      Posted in MisAdventures, Outdoor Adventures | Tagged adventure, Backpacking across the Sierras, Backpacking from Squaw Valley to Auburn, Blog a book, It's 4 AM and a Bear Is Standing on Top of Me, Sierra Trek
    • When Alpacas Eat Alfalfa: It Isn’t Pretty… Welcome to 2021

      Posted at 5:00 am by Curt Mekemson
      Jan 1st
      Look at this handsome fellow. Check out the fine grooming and immaculate mustache. Or maybe it was a stiff upper lip.

      What better way to kick off a new year than with a bit of humor. Especially given 2020. Our daughter Tasha, her husband Clay, and their two boys, Ethan and Cody, live near a farm store that occasionally features alpacas. They are handsome animals with a unique look. When Tasha suggested we pay a visit, I quickly agreed. So off we went: Tasha, Peggy, Cody and me.

      Cody, Peggy and Tasha at the Butterfly Hill Farm Store.

      We walked over to the alpaca pen and this is what we found.

      They were dumpster diving for alfalfa. As every one knows, the best alfalfa is at the bottom of the bin. Right? The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence.
      So much for the handsome, dignified look. You get the picture.

      Actually, I took lots of pictures…

      The cast of characters.
      Another fine photo of the guy above. Looking ferocious here— “Stay away from my alfalfa,” he seems to be saying.
      “See my teeth.”
      The ‘dumpster diving’ guaranteed that the alpacas were covered in alfalfa.
      A nose close-up. Looking smug in spite of his ‘decorations.’
      I thought this girl was rather pretty, and being lady-like in her consumption of alfalfa…
      Until she stuffed her mouth with it.
      Mmmm, mmmm, good.
      And the prize for diving the deepest goes to…

      While the alpacas loved their alfalfa, they quickly abandoned it for alpaca treats that Cody got from a nearby dispenser with a quarter.

      The alpacas joyfully (and gently) ate their treats out of Cody’s hand.
      When Cody ran out, he teasingly held up his empty hand…
      And got this look. “Watch out Cody,” I warned. Too late. “Yuck, he spit on me!” Cody yelled. It’s not nice to fool an alpaca… 🙂

      I was lucky, in comparison. All I got were weird looks.

      I’ll conclude with this shot of the weirdest look of all. I stuck my tongue out in response. May your year be filled with fun as well as the serious stuff!

      NEXT POSTS:

      On Tuesday I present the next chapter in my book about backpacking. I am awakened by Charlie at 6 AM on our first day out who says, “We’ve got a problem, Curt.” It’s a refrain I was to hear over and over during the Sierra Trek.

      On Thursday, I return to my travel blog and feature some monster waves Peggy and I found at Cape Arago on the Oregon Coast.

      Posted in Miscellaneous, Outdoor Adventures | Tagged Alpacas, Alpacas eating alfalfa, Alpacas spitting, The Butterfly Hill Farm Store
    • Happy New Year… The Final Calendar Photos

      Posted at 5:00 am by Curt Mekemson
      Dec 31st
      Monument Valley. Can you find the wild horse?

      It’s time to make New Year’s resolutions! Assuming Covid-19 is brought under control, Peggy and I highly recommend that you resolve to spend time in the Southwestern US and visit the National Parks. Here are a few final photos that Peggy and I took this past year and included in our family calendars.

      Arches National Park
      Grand Canyon
      Capitol Reef National Park (Very recent blog.)
      Arches National Park
      And a final photo from the Grand Canyon of the Desert Watch Tower.

      HAPPY NEW YEAR TO YOU AND YOUR FAMILIES. –Curt and Peggy

      NEXT: Blog a Book Tuesday. Orvis comes to the rescue and forever earns my gratitude. We have an 18-mile day with only one water stop. A Trekker loses himself. One of our 11 year olds kicks dirt on a timber rattlesnake bigger than he is. Charlie saves me from being hung.

      Posted in Uncategorized
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