Our son Tony, his wife Cammie and our grandkids are visiting from Florida and wanted to go skiing, so we took them up to Mt. Ashland, which is where I started my journey south on the Pacific Crest Trail this past summer. It was a gorgeous day with lots of fresh snow so I thought I would share some of the photos.
NEXT POST: A wrap up on Burning Man’s mutant vehicles.
The climate here in Southern Oregon along the Upper Applegate River is worth crowing about, however. Mild winters are hemmed in by colorful falls and warm springs. The summer can get a tad warm at times, but they are mainly tolerable. Only the seemingly endless fires of August and September are a royal pain in the derrière. Pardon my French.
What snow we do get is always an invitation to go for a walk. I like to see what animals have left their tracks for me to peruse and to admire the beauty of the freshly fallen snow. And, of course, my camera goes along. It insists. As a result, you are pretty much guaranteed to get my annual snow post. I feel obligated. (grin) So here it is!
NEXT POST: I’ve been working hard at going through and categorizing and culling out my umpteen thousand Burning Man photos. Assuming I finish, it will be fun to go through and highlight some of the better ones. I’ve created 12 different categories!
One of the does that hangs out on our property brought her baby by for a visit yesterday. The small Canon Powershot camera I am taking on my backpack trek makes a small ding noise when it focuses. The deer were trying to figure out what the noise was.
The deer know we are taking off on our thousand mile backpack trip. They have been checking in on us regularly here on our property on Oregon’s Applegate River. We’ll be sitting in our living room and a head will pop up in our window. It can be disconcerting until you get used to it. I think they are eager to reclaim their territory. “Haven’t you left yet?” Last time Peggy and I were gone for an extended period of time, we came back and found them living around our house, using it for shade. They had even settled in on our back porch. This year they will be in for a bit of a surprise, my brother Marshall will be house sitting for us. They like Marshall, however. He’s almost as wild as they are. He sits outside and talks to them, buys them apples, and keeps the bird bath full as a deer ‘watering hole.’
We are used to deer peering in our back window, but not our living room window. So, we were a little surprised when this gal started coming by to see whether we were home.
Yesterday, one of the does brought her week old baby by for a visit. I thought you might like some of the photos I took. Enjoy.
Hi there. I am your new neighbor.
Are you talking to me?
I’m all ears.
We both are, in fact.
Low bridge.
I think I’ll go prancing.
You won’t believe what i discovered, Mom. It has two legs.
It’s just the human, dear deer.
How about a bit of motherly love?
TUESDAY’S POST: Wrap up on preparation for the thousand mile trek.
FRIDAY’S POST: Wrap up of my MisAdventure series for now. It’s not smart to cuss out the chief of police of a town whose historical name is Hangtown.
Peggy and I weren’t expecting to find beautiful waterfalls along the trail, but there were several. This is Flora Dell Falls. The pool of water really looked inviting. Peggy took off her shoes and soaked her feet.
It’s countdown time! My thousand mile backpack trek starts in two weeks. Our guest room is filled with gear. Peggy’s office is buried in food. Maps have taken over the library. Miscellaneous other stuff is found in every other room of our house! I have a to-do list that would send Superman flying off-planet. Theoretically, it is getting shorter. One way or the other, on June 17th, I am out of here…
Needless to say, there isn’t much time for blogging or reading blogs. My apologies. I do want to conclude the Rogue River series and put up one more post in the MisAdventure series. After that, I will try to get up one more post before hitting the trail. Then there will be a break until my first posts from along the route start arriving.
Given my time constraints, I am turning today’s post into a photo essay. Enjoy!
The Wild Rogue Wilderness started a few miles after we left the Rogue River Ranch featured in my last post. The trail snaked along the edge of the river providing great views. The narrow canyon here provides some exciting rides for rafters! There is even a whirlpool.
This gives you an idea of what the trail looks like. We hit this section in the afternoon and it was hot. The rocky cliffs sucked in the heat and threw it back at us.
We were looking forward to Inspiration Point, and we weren’t disappointed. Stair Creek Falls was just across the river. More inviting pools!
A close up of the falls.
We called it a day at Blossom Bar. (That’s a river bar, not one where you can find a cold beer. Darn! I really could have used one.) We didn’t find any blossoms but Peggy found this pool above the rocks. When I came over, she had waded in with her clothes on and the water was up to her waist. She was taking her soapless bath and washing her clothes at the same time. Of course, I had to join her. The water was icy!
The next day we hiked by the Brushy Bar Forest Service Station that is now run by volunteers in the summer. James and Cammie, a couple out of Southern California, had done a search for opportunities to volunteer on the Forest Service site and found this. (The PCT runs right by their house but it is in the desert section that I won’t be hiking.)
We took advantage of Cammie to have our photo taken! I’d say we were looking quite chipper. My beard caught the sun!
Tate Creek had another spectacular waterfall. We decided to photograph down it since getting to the base involved scrambling though poison oak!
In case you are wondering what poison oak looks like, Peggy is pointing some out. The three leaves are distinctive. As careful as we were, Peggy brought some home. Adding insult to injury, she spread her poison oak from her hands to some bug bites she was scratching.
The flowers along the trail continued to impress us. This is yet another variety of Iris.
And another. This time a Douglas Iris.
And more of another variety.
Another wild, white rose…
And wild lilacs. While they couldn’t match the roses in the heavenly smell category, the had a subtle, pleasant smell.
Finally. these cheerful members of the sunflower family.
Old mining equipment had been left beside the trail in a number of places to remind hikers of the area’s history.
The Flora Dell camp site, located down stream from the Flora Dell falls featured at the beginning of the post, provided us with another attractive river side location.
I really enjoyed the large rocks beside the river.
The next day had some challenges. (Grin) This is always fun with a loaded pack! My knees were having a discussion with me.
I had little difficulty picturing myself out on the deck of this lodge with a good book and a cold brew… but you had to have reservations. Sigh.
There weren’t a lot of big trees along the trail, so I had to take a photo when we found these.
And use Peggy as a model.
She also volunteered for this shot. No, she isn’t practicing her skiing technique. She is showing a switch back trail. The map showed our last few miles running along the river. Instead it headed up the mountain, not once but twice!
Somehow, at the very end, we managed to get off the trail and hike through a cow pasture that included this rather unusual cattle guard. Normally they are flat and don’t squish down as you walk across them!
The end. I hope you enjoyed our backpack trip down the Rogue River. The next adventure: My thousand mile backpack trek down the PCT. I’ll be posting as I go!
A view of the Rogue River from our camp on Quail Creek.
Today marks the second of my three-part series on hiking down the Rogue River Trail. It’s a beautiful 40-mile hike, best done in the spring or the fall. Peggy and I made a leisurely six-day backpack trip out of it, both to enjoy the beauty and to condition our bodies for our summer of backpacking where I will be hiking 1000 miles from Mt. Ashland to Mt. Whitney. Peggy will be joining me for parts of it plus doing back-up, a true trail angel!
Dark skies were suggesting rain when we rolled out of our tent at six. ‘Rolling out’ is a good description. My sore muscles and creaky joints were complaining about our first two days of hiking down the Rogue River Trail. They refused to cheerfully jump up; they threatened to go on strike. I told them to behave or I would double the number of miles they had to travel and cut off their Ibuprofen. They whimpered— but the Ibuprofen got their attention.
I have yet to tell them that they are going on a thousand-mile backpack trip this summer. And I may not, at least until the first 500 miles are over.
Things began to morph. My down pillow of the night before became my down jacket. My Thermarest air mattress changed into a comfy breakfast chair. Fifty years of backpacking have taught me that anything that can serve multiple purposes is a good thing. Routine is also good. I had packed my sleeping bag, clothes and personal items before leaving the tent. Now they were waiting to be packed into my backpack. Right after I put my chair together, I went to gather our food.
It was dutifully waiting in the middle of the ranger-built, electric fence enclosure. No bears had made a feast of it. Either they hadn’t been by to visit or they truly don’t like being zapped. I suspect that a tender nose coming in contact with a live wire is not a pleasant experience. If I were a bear, I’d skedaddle out of there on all fours and look for a ranger to eat.
Breakfast was next; I’m the camp cook. My job description is to boil up two 32 ounce pots of water per day, one for breakfast and one for dinner. Takes about five minutes each. Peggy arrived from doing her chores about the time the pot began to boil. We sifted through our food bags and pulled out instant oatmeal, breakfast bars, Starbuck’s instant coffee, and dried apricots. The latter are to help keep us digging cat holes. “Meow.” Or maybe I should say, “Purr.’” Being regular out on the trail is important.
The literature had promised an outhouse at Horseshoe Bend, but it had been decommissioned, i.e. filled up. The same is happening with the other ‘bathrooms’ that the trail maps promote along the river. Be prepared. Rafters are expected to carry their own port-a-pots. Backpackers are left with digging cat holes. We are used to it. Watch out for the poison oak. (grin)
With breakfast over, we took down the tent and packed up. A few drops of rain encouraged us to put on our rain jackets and pack covers. It promised to be a cool day, which was welcome after the heat of the first two days.
The trail continued its ups and downs, starting with the very steep up we had hiked down the evening before. At times our route dropped almost to the river. The closer we got, the thicker the poison oak and blackberries grew. Peggy and I stopped and laughed at one point. The blackberries were occupying a third of the trail and the poison oak the other, leaving only a few inches for passage. It was like the plants had an agreement to drive you toward one or the other. We chose the blackberries on the theory that it is much better to suffer a few scratches than be covered in an itchy rash.
We also crossed several recent slide areas where the trail was minimal, about a shoe wide. Careful attention was called for and looking down not recommended. On one slide area, a tree trunk was stretched across the trail, forcing us to balance precariously while climbing over. It was not for the faint-hearted, or for people with a fear of heights.
Beyond that the trail was quite pleasant; passing through woodlands, providing dramatic views of the river, and crossing over brooks and streams on attractive bridges. Once again, cheerful flowers kept us company.
We found that the bridges along the trail were well built and fit in with the environment. This is Meadow Creek Bridge.
Another view of the Meadow Creek bridge.
Peggy on the Kelsey Creek bridge looking down at the water. A rain cover is on her backpack. It never did rain.
Our views of the river ranged from raging rapids…
…to more tranquil scenes.
A number of flowers were found beside the trail, including this wild rose…
This Pretty Face brodiaea…
And a Columbine.
A snack at Ditch Creek provided this view of several small waterfalls tumbling down the hill. Zane Grey’s cabin was a mile or so down the trail.
We missed Zane Grey’s cabin. The trail to it wasn’t marked and we weren’t paying attention to our map. Too bad. I had been an avid fan of his cowboy books during the Western phase of my youth. Such classics as Riders of the Purple Sage had kept me glued to my seat as good triumphed over evil in the Old West of six-gun justice. Grey had used the cabin as a fishing lodge in the 1920s. He even wrote a book about the area, Rogue River Feud.
Our campsite that night on Quail Creek made up for missing the cabin. Located on the edge of the Rogue River, it provided the striking view that is featured in the photo at the beginning of this post. Geese, buzzards, rafters and lizards provided entertainment. The buzzards seemed to be following us. “Maybe they think we are old,” I suggested to Peggy, which elicited a snort. The lizards were just curious, checking out all of our gear and climbing up on convenient rocks to watch us.
Rafters waved at us from the Rogue as they passed our camp on Quail Creek.
And a pair of Canadian Geese kept their offspring in a careful line.
The morning part of our hike the next day took us in to the Rogue River Ranch, which is a gem. Now on the National Register of Historic Places and operated by the Bureau of Land Management, the ranch was established in the early 1900s by George and Sarah Billings, becoming a lodge for travelers, the post office, and a social center for a small but growing community. In 1927, Billings sold the house to Stanley Anderson, the builder and owner of the Beverly Hills Hotel in Los Angeles. The Andersons upgraded the property and used it to entertain their friends from Los Angeles and Hollywood up until 1970, when they sold it to the BLM.
An old barn on the Rogue River Ranch. One of the volunteer caretakers, Sally, can be seen raking up grass the old fashioned way. It went with the barn.
A close up of Sally.
Looking toward the river from the ranch.
Sally and Frank, the volunteer caretakers for the ranch, took a break from raking up grass and gave us an overview of its history. Peggy and I then visited the main house that had been turned into a museum. I was amused to find this description of the one room upstairs lodge provided by an early visitor:
When the place was full at night, it was a nightmare. There was almost continuous coughing, snoring, grinding of teeth, urinating in a can or out the window, and other night noises. There always seemed to be someone walking around the room or to the window or stairways, which shook the floor and building. Sound sleep for any length of time was impossible.
Not quite as fancy as the modern lodges that are found along the river today. But then again, three meals and a bed for the night could be had for a dollar, a far cry from the $150 plus per person charged today by the resorts.
A view of the main house at Rogue River Ranch. A single large room upstairs provided lodging for early travelers.
The ‘Tabernacle’ is located behind the house. This building served as a barn for horses and mules on the first floor and a meeting hall, dance floor, and church on the second floor. Today the building houses a number of artifacts.
Such as this old coffin…
A pot bellied stove…
And cooking stoves.
I’ll close today with a view of Mule Creek, which flows beside the Rogue River Ranch. The creek was named after a mule named John who wandered off and became lost. The story has a happy ending. Several years later his owner found him. I assume they lived happily ever after.
FRIDAY’S POST: What does a skunk have to do with my first date in high school. The MisAdventure series.
TUESDAY’S POST: I’ll wrap up my Rogue River series.
Woohoo! Peggy and I looked outside and the snow was coming down. We haven’t seen much in our neck of the woods lately. The D word is making the rounds again. The D stands for DROUGHT. We try not to use the word in case we might invoke it!
New snow means we have to go out for a walk. And you are invited. Please join us. We have to go out soon. The snow normally doesn’t last long here— a few hours at most! This view is from our patio looking west.
We will start on our patio…
We may have all of two inches! But beware, danger lurks…
Peggy simply cannot resist new snow…
Moving around the house the sun breaks out briefly. I’m not sure Cockle Doodle is as happy about the snow as we are…
Nor are the daffodils who are about to burst out in bloom proclaiming it is spring.
Big Red was disgusted…
…that Quivera the Van was protected in our pole barn while he was forced to sit out in the open.
The walk up our road takes us past this Douglas fir lightly dusted with snow…
And past its cousins.
Soon, we have entered the Rogue River National Forest that backs up to our property.
A piece of quartz has retained enough heat to reject the snow and reminds us that “Thar is gold in them thar hills!”
Several miners’ cabins once stood above our home. All that remains is a cave and this old auto body. Our son-in-law’s dad, Doug Cox— who knows about such things— says that this is likely a 1919/20 Essex.
Gnarly oak limbs have a way of pulling me in to admire their beauty in fresh snow…
As did this Ponderosa pine reaching for the heavens.
A madrone showed off its unique bark by forming a V.
I thought these trees deserved a black and white treatment.
Peggy insisted that I photograph this manzanita.
Manzanita leaves decorated with snow.
A slight detour gave us a view of the Upper Applegate Valley and Sanctuary 1, a home for farm animals that don’t have a home. Blackberries have a front-row seat.
Normally fresh snow provides a whole world of animal tracks for us. This time, all we found were a few bird tracks. These were made by an Oregon Junco. Peggy and I wondered if the local cougar was hanging out in our area again.
Blue skies suggested that our snow storm was about over.
Peggy insisted that I pose in front of an old oak. We call it the Hobbit Tree because it looks like it would fit right into Fanghorn Forest or the Shire.
It’s a tough old coot. Wait, was that why Peggy insisted on photographing me there.
“Why don’t you let me take a photo of you under the Douglas fir limb, Sweetheart?”
Whoops! 🙂
Later, when it was time to go on our newspaper and mail walk, the snow around our house had pretty much melted but was hanging on in the surrounding hills and mountains…
While the Applegate River had returned to looking spring-like.
My last photo for the day. On Monday we return to our trip down the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon. Thanks for joining us on our walk today!
Bone has travelled twice to the base of Mt. Everest.
Since Bone played a prominent role in our raft trip down the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon, I decided to republish his history and an interview he did. This is mainly for the folks who follow my blog and aren’t familiar with his exploits. Many of you will have read today and tomorrow’s posts.
Sometime in the 1900s Bone started his life as part of a horse wandering through the Sierra Nevada Mountains. The horse was allegedly eaten by a bear. Bone ended up in a high mountain meadow practicing Zen and being nibbled on by a miscreant rodent.
1977: He was ‘discovered’ by two lost backpackers (Curt Mekemson and Tom Lovering) on the Tahoe Yosemite Trail above Lake Tahoe and launched his career of wandering the world.
Normally, Bone likes to hang out in our library at home. His favorite section is travel.
He also has a fondness for George, the Bush Devil who is on the cover of my book, “The Bush Devil Ate Sam.” Here, the two of them share a laugh.
1980-81: Bone commenced his first World Tour with Tom. He visited Asia including Japan, Hong Kong, Bombay, Delhi and Katmandu where he trekked to the base of Mt. Everest. He then wandered on to spend spring and summer in Europe stopping off in Greece, Spain, Portugal, France, Italy, Austria, Liechtenstein, Luxembourg, Germany, Belgium, England and Ireland. Getting cold, Bone headed south and hitched a ride in back of a truck through Algeria, Niger, Chad, Nigeria, Cameroon, Central African Republic, Zaire, Sudan, Kenya (where he crossed the Equator), Tanzania, Zambia, Zimbabwe, Botswana and South Africa. He signed on with Tom as crew of a sailboat in Cape Town and headed north to Mallorca, stopping off on the islands of St. Helena, Ascension, Cape Verde and Madeira. Back in Europe he explored his possible Viking roots in Sweden, Norway and Finland.
1983-86: Bone assumed Cheechako status and moved to Alaska with Curt where he was stalked by a grizzly bear on the Kenai Peninsula, explored Prince William Sound by kayak, learned to winter camp in 30 degree below zero weather while listening to wolves howl, backpacked in the Brooks Range north of the Arctic Circle, and discussed the finer points of eating salmon with Great Brown Bears in Katmai National Park. He escaped briefly to the warmer climate of Hawaii and participated in New Orleans Mardi Gras.
One look at this fellow and Bone decided that he wanted to be elsewhere.
The big guy was playing with a distant cousin of his.
1986: He backpacked the Western US for five months with Curt exploring the Grand Canyon, the Gila Wilderness of New Mexico, the Rockies, and the Wind River Mountains of Wyoming before returning to his beloved Sierras.
1989: Bone went on a six month 10,000-mile solo bike tour with Curt around North America visiting 18 states and 4 Canadian provinces. He ended his journey by meeting Peggy.
In the spring of 1989 I left Sacramento on my bike for a 10,000 mile solo trip around North America. Everything I would need to survive for six months on the road was packed on my bike, some 60 pounds of gear. It wasn’t totally solo. Bone was riding in my handle bar bag.
1990: The International Society of the BONE was formed at Senior Frogs in Mazatlan, Mexico, where Bone spent the afternoon being pickled in a pitcher of margaritas and being kissed by lovely senoritas.
1991-97: Various members of International Society accompanied Bone on numerous adventures. Highlights included a White House Press Conference with Bill Clinton, being blessed by the Pope in St. Peter’s Square, visiting with Michelangelo’s David, going deep-sea diving in the South Pacific and Caribbean, doing a Jane Austin tour of England, and exploring the Yucatan Peninsula. A group adopted him as a good luck charm and took him back to visit the base of Mt. Everest one year and to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro another.
Bone loves high places. Here he is on top of Mt. Kilimanjaro in East Africa. (He’s with MJ, fourth from right, standing.)
Bone went diving in the Pacific in 1997 with Jose and Barbara Kirchner, visiting a Japanese ship sunk during World War II and receiving his diving certificate.
1998-99: Bone embarked on 40,000-mile journey in the van, Xanadu, through the US, Canada and Mexico with Peggy and Curt, visiting over 30 National Parks, driving the Alaska and Baja Highways, checking out Smokey the Bear’s and Calamity Jane’s graves, kayaking in the Sea of Cortez, leaf peeping in Vermont, jetting to the Bahamas, pursuing flying saucers in Roswell, New Mexico, and completing his visits to all 50 states, etc. etc. etc.
Bone was quite impressed with the size of his ancient relatives. Here he rests on dinosaur toes at the Dinosaur National Monument Visitor Center.
2000-02: Bone journeys up the Amazon, returns to Europe, cruises to Belize, Cancun and the Cayman’s, and goes to New Zealand where a misguided customs agent tries to arrest and jail him as animal matter.
Peggy and I found this mudstone concretion in New Zealand on a South Island beach. Bone, who likes strange things, insisted on having his photo taken with it.
2003: Bone undertakes a 360-mile backpack trip in celebration of his discovery and Curt’s 60th birthday. They begin at Squaw Valley near Lake Tahoe and end by climbing Mt. Whitney. Various friends join them along the way.
Bone got a little high when he helped me celebrate my 60th birthday, which isn’t surprising considering he is a California bone.
2004: Bone visits Hemingway’s grave in Idaho, goes horseback riding with Australians and Bahamians in Montana, and makes his first pilgrimage to Burning Man in Nevada, a very Bone like type of place. He also jets off to Costa Rica.
Bone has a love for anything ancient. Here, he perches on a Mayan sculpture in Costa Rica.
2005-2007: Bone returns to Burning Man twice and revisits Europe twice including special stopovers in Portugal, France, Holland, Germany, and Belgium. He also revisits Mexico.
2008 – 2011: Bone commences another exploration of North America. This time he travels in the van, Quivera, along with Curt, Peggy, and Eeyore the Jackass. His journey takes him over 75,000 miles of American Roads. In May of 2010 he helps Curt initiate his blog, and rafts 280 miles down the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon.
2012-2017: Bone goes into semi-retirement in Southern Oregon. Please note the semi, however. He continues the exploration of the West Coast ranging from Big Sur to Vancouver Island, where he kayaks for a week in search of Killer Whales. He wanders through England and Scotland helping Curt find his roots and spends a week traveling by Canal Boat. Later, he returns to Europe again, traveling through the Mediterranean visiting Turkey, Santorini and other Greek Islands, Dubrovnik, Venice, Rome, Pompeii, Florence, and Barcelona. He returns to Burning Man several times. On one trip, he is married to the lovely Bonetta, who he met while exploring a swamp in Florida. Rumor has it that it was a shotgun wedding. This past year he traveled with Peggy and me on our 10,000 mile trip around North America retracing my bike route and with fellow blogger Crystal Truelove to visit with Native Americans of the Cherokee Nation in Oklahoma.
Burning Man is one of Bone’s all-time favorite activities.
Bone and Big Nose Bonetta are married at Burning Man 2013. Bone’s kilt was made for him by an 80-plus year old woman from Kansas. Bonetta is wearing a designer wedding dress with very expensive plastic jewelry to match.
Bone got a wee bit jealous when I snuggled up to this mammoth of a bone when Peggy and I were re-visiting by van my 1999 10,000-mile bike trip last year.
TOMORROW’S POST: You won’t want to miss the interview with Bone!
Who’s your daddy?
I always think that Christmas letters deserve a little humor. Here’s how I started out this year’s:
Santa Claus is threatening to stay at the North Pole this year. Apparently, we’ve been naughty. We’re not high on his brotherly love charts. But the jolly old elf is the forgiving type. He’s seen a lot during the last thousand or so years he’s been practicing his trade. The good times come and go. Regardless, I’m pretty sure he will be here at our house. Not that we’ve behaved so well (“Speak for yourself,” Peggy says), but his reindeer have developed a thing for the does that hang out on our property. Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner and Blitzen will be by— with or without Santa. And Rudolph will be here with or without any of them! He is particularly enamored with one of our beautiful brown-eyed girls. Apparently, it’s mutual. It will be interesting to see if any of next year’s kids can fly, or have shiny red noses.
Okay, okay. Peggy just pointed out I am being bad again and may very well end up with lumps of coal in my stockings. “Santa’s tolerance only goes so far,” she warns! To forego that possibility, I’ll leave you with some photos from our winter wonderland we’ve taken over the last few years.
This is the view from our front window when it snows.
The road down to our home.
One of the Douglas Firs in a snow storm.
Two of our Ponderosa Pines.
A white oak.
A manzanita bush.
The national forest that is in back of our property.
And the Applegate River that runs in front.
WE WOULD LIKE TO WISH EACH OF YOU AND YOUR FAMILIES THE VERY BEST OF HOLIDAYS THIS YEAR AND A HAPPY AND HEALTHY NEW YEAR.
Curt and Peggy
Raising cattle to produce dairy products is big business in the Tillamook area. Peggy and I found this T-shirt at the Tillamook Cheese Factory.
I am going to get to the cows and their four stomachs, but first I want to cover our stay at Rockaway Beach, which is about 15 miles north of Tillamook on Highway 101. Our suite looked out on the ocean. We could watch the waves roll in and hear the continuous roar of the ocean. Wintry skies brought rain but the clouds were also great for beautiful sunsets. We headed out whenever there was a break in the weather, and even when there wasn’t. We walked the beach, visited local shops, and ate out at the town’s restaurants. Thanksgiving dinner was at Grumpy’s and Mrs. Grumpy hovered over us to make sure we ate our veggies. How much more down-home can you get? The complete meal, which included all of the Thanksgiving favorites, cost a whopping 12 bucks. “I want it to be affordable for everyone,” Mrs. Grumpy primly informed us.
The ocean was shallow and produced a long line of waves that created a roar as opposed to the sound of single waves crashing.
We were treated to several beautiful sunsets looking out from our suite at Rockaway Beach. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)
Small shops had the usual touristy stuff found in coastal tourist shops everywhere. “Go to Flamingo Jims,” we were urged. As to why it was named Flamingo in an area where the tropical bird would freeze, I didn’t have a clue. But we went. And we weren’t disappointed; it was filled to the brim with cheap souvenirs. We wandered around and checked out T-shirts, mermaids and sea shells. We could have bought a sand dollar for a dollar, but Peggy prefers to find her own. I was reminded of this old tongue twister. Try saying it as fast as you can without a mistake.
She sells sea shells by the sea shore.
The shells she sells are surely seashells.
So if she sells shells on the seashore,
I’m sure she sells seashore shells.
Any good tourist souvenir shop on the ocean has seashells to sell.
And mermaids. A twist for the Northwest is Bigfoot(s), or is that Bigfeet? You can see some up in the righthand corner.
The beach seemed to go on forever. One end was dominated by the sea rocks that Rockaway Beach is famous for; the other by a forest covered mountain. If you look at the rocks from the right angle, they make an excellent sea dragon. Welcome to Oregon, Nessie! A creek divided the beach about halfway along. Sea gulls patrolled the waterfront, checking out both the ocean and tourists for possible food. A small boy threw out a couple of pieces of bread and was suddenly surrounded by 50 of the birds, in seconds! They seemed to materialize out of nowhere. How do they do that?
Looking north up the beach at Rockaway. Our suite was on the second floor of the building on the right. Our footprints lead down to where we took the photo. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)
The sole rocks of Rockaway Beach look very much like a sea serpent with its head under water searching for tasty fish. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)
A creek flowing across Rockaway Beach limited how far we could hike south.
A seagull steps out on his gull-friend at Rockaway Beach.
When we ran out of things to do in Rockaway, we drove 15-miles south to Tillamook. I’ve already done posts on Cape Meares, Munson Creek Falls, and some very wet alpacas. On our way, we decided to check out a small county park in Barview and found the Coast Guard practicing air to sea rescue missions by helicopter, which is what our son Tony does.
And here, a seagull joins us in watching the Coast Guard practice rescue operations at Barview, just north of Tillamook.
Part of this practice included dropping a man down on to a rocking boat to help in a rescue effort, which was a operation our son was involved with several times while flying helicopters over rough Alaska waters.
In Tillamook, it is almost required that people stop off at Tillamook Cheese and Ice Cream factory. The cheese is good and can be found throughout the US, but the ice cream is to die for. Our refrigerator is always stocked with a half-gallon. I should probably weigh 300 pounds but we limit our consumption to Date Night, which falls on Wednesday, as it has for the past 27 years.
The visitor’s center at the Tillamook Cheese Factory included a number of exhibits on the dairy industry, from beginning…
…To the end.
I was particularly interested to learn that a cow has four stomachs, which were two more than I was aware of. I also learned that when a cow chews its cud it’s know an ruminating, is case you ever wondered about where the word came from. So, next time you find yourself ruminating, you might want to break out some gum.
When we were out and about and lost, we also came on the Latimer Quilt and Textile Museum where I found the alpacas. Peggy’s love of quilting demanded a visit. We found numerous quilts, a doll collection, looms, and a lot of history.
You will probably remember the alpacas. Check out the blue eyelashes on this gal.
As might be expected, the Latimer Quilt and Textile Center was filled with quilts. The Center was preparing for a big sale. These are more traditional quilts.
And this one a more modern version.
A number of other textile products were offered as well, including this dress. We assumed something would be worn under it, but possibly not at Burning Man.
A number of looms were available for weaving.
There was even an extensive doll collection. I picked this one out for her reading material.
I’ll conclude today’s post with this gorgeous quilt that Peggy made for our bed using a vintage Singer Featherweight sewing machine that her grandmother bought in 1933.
WEDNESDAY’S PHOTO POST: Join Peggy and me as we explore the Greek island of Santorini.
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The upper section of Munson Creek Falls.
Peggy has been lobbying for a tour of Oregon waterfalls for quite a while. So, when I read that Munson Creek Falls was near Tillamook, I knew we would have to pay a visit on our recent trip to the coast. We drove over to Tillamook from Rockaway Beach where we were staying and then south for seven miles following Highway 101. Along the way, we passed the giant blimp hangar built during World War II that now serves as an air museum. I visited the hangar a couple of years ago when I was passing through the area. Close to the turnoff, we also passed the campground where I had stayed. At the time, I wasn’t aware of the falls— I’d been too busy counting rabbits.
A view of the blimp hangar during World War II. The blimps were used for spotting Japanese submarines off the coast. (Photo from Tillamook Air Museum.)
A photograph of the Air Museum I took on my previous visit. The airplane in front is known as a guppy. The house provides a perspective on size.
This lovely creature was one of over a hundred rabbits wandering around freely at Pleasant Valley Campground near the exit to Munson Creek Falls.
A sign along 101 told us to turn inland for the falls. We followed a narrow, pothole filled road that became narrower as we went, making it more difficult to dodge the potholes that were simultaneously becoming deeper and more numerous! The short three and a half miles felt like twenty. We finally reached the parking lot, however, and discovered that we had entered a rainforest. Trees covered in moss gave a magical feel to the area. An easy, quarter of a mile trail led off toward the falls. More moss-covered trees and rocks, the dashing Munson Creek, brightly colored fallen leaves, mushrooms and ferns lined the trail.
Moss covered trees gave a magical feeling to the path leading to the falls.
A close up of the hanging moss. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)
And another. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)
The damp conditions added to the colors of the leaves that had fallen along the trail.
A close up. This is from a Big Leaf Maple tree. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)
These reddish mushrooms caught my eye.
Munson Creek dashed along beside the trail, keeping us company. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)
A moss-covered rock decorated with fall leaves sat in the middle of the creek.
Moss, ferns and fallen leaves on a tree had a Christmas look.
A view of the trail.
Our first view of the falls assured us that we had made the right decision to make the trip. Water shot out from the top and tumbled some 319 feet to the bottom, making Munson Creek Falls the highest on the Oregon coat. Halfway down a log jam gave testimony to the power of the stream. The rainforest provided a dramatic backdrop. We wandered around seeking various vantage points to appreciate the beauty, and finally, being satiated, hiked back to the parking lot. The drive out went much faster, or so it seemed.
The 319 foot tall falls. The log jam with its large logs spoke to the power of the creek. I also like the moss-covered tree to the right.
A final look at the falls above the log jam. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)
Photos: Most of the photos I use on this blog are taken by either Peggy or me. Photos without attribution are taken by me. I always note any other sources such as the Air Museum above.
NEXT POSTS: Almost everyone I know who tries to maintain a blog while writing books runs into a challenge with time. There isn’t enough. Solutions range from dropping out of the blogosphere for a while to limiting blogs. I am going to try something else for the next month. If it doesn’t work, I’ll have to a move to a more dramatic solution. Here’s what I am going to try: On Mondays I will do my usual travel blog; on Wednesdays I will put up photos from my collection of 76,000; on Fridays, I am going to blog my book on MisAdventures. The theory is that this will allow me most of the week to work on the book. We’ll see.
WEDNESDAY: We will drop down to the South Island of New Zealand and visit the beautiful Milford Sound.
The Bush Devil Ate Sam is an important record and a serious story, yet told easily, and with delightful humor. This is one of the most satisfying books I have ever read, because it entertained me thoroughly AND made me feel better informed. —Hilary Custance Green: British Author... Click on the image to learn more about my book, the Bush Devil Ate Sam, and find out where it can be ordered.
