I was admiring this puffin on Coquille Point in Bandon when I heard about the missing dog.
I was up on a cliff studying one of Washed Ashore’s sculptures made out of ocean trash when I heard the statement. It was a classic. The perfect senior moment! “Excuse me ma’am,” the young woman called, “do you know there is no dog on your leash?” I turned quickly. At 76 going on 77, I take notes on such incidents for future reference. Yes indeed, a bent, elderly woman was walking down the pathway holding a leash that was strung out behind her— without the dog. She turned, glared at the leash, muttered something, and stared back down the trail like Clint Eastwood on steroids. There came Fido (the name has been changed to protect the innocent), who was equally old in dog years, about 30 feet down the path, tottering along with no obvious desire to catch up. I could almost hear him chanting “Free at last, free at last,” as he stopped to smell the dog pee and dream of his puppyhood days.
Once Fido was captured and leashed again, he dutifully walked off with his mistress and the young woman, waiting patiently for the moment when he would once again slip his leash.
With the help of the young woman, Fido was soon recollared and the three went on their way. As did I. But I wanted to write down the story down before it wandered off like Fido. And since I was still hanging around Bandon, I decided to show you more rocks today instead of the American River flowers I promised. I am sure you are excited. Plus, Friday is Valentine’s Day, the perfect day for flowers.
A rock.A bigger rock.A really big rock. There, are you satisfied. No? Well how about a rock with a hole in it?I think the hole was supposed to represent an elephant’s eye. I had an uncontrollable urge to go down and photograph waves crashing through it.The stairs to the beach. I’ve included this photo for my WP friends who are into perspective.The hole showed great promise.The spume, blown by a hard, cold wind, was gorgeous. But it wasn’t what I came for. I wanted big waves crashing through the hole. I quickly leaned that there was a problem…Yes there were big waves, but they blocked the light, making photography difficult. But you get the point. I headed on…And found some chubby seals sunning themselves on a rock. Fat is beautiful from a seal’s perspective. A layer of blubber keeps them warm when they dive up to 500 feet in search of food. It’s so dark, they use their whiskers to check out lunch. The whiskers operate independently and are apparently quite sensitive. “Ah, I feel lobster is on the menu today.”After checking out the elephants eye and the fat seals, I moved on to the Face Rock Wayside. Can you spot the face?Here’s a clue. BTW, I did a post on Bandon a couple of years ago, so some of these photos may be familiar.There are many other impressive rocks on the beach at the Face Rock Wayside. You are free to name them whatever you want. I thought of these as a pointy headed mom with her pointy headed kids.The sea stacks, as they are called, were once part of a massive cliff stretching out into the ocean. The forces of erosion— wind, rain, sun, ice, and waves— had worn them away to their present status. Existing cliffs are sea stacks in waiting.I hiked along the beach merrily naming rocks. Behold the turtle who only makes progress when it sticks its neck out.I thought this sea stack seen from a cave might be up for the ‘Fickle Finger of Fate’ award Rowan and Martin used to give out on their TV program. Boy could we use that today. I’m not sure that there are enough fingers to go around, however. Before your time? Google it.What does this sea stack resemble to you? Inquiring minds want to know.I decided this rock was decidedly frog-like with its bulging eyes and shiny white teeth. It was grinning like the Cheshire Cat.A seal, perhaps, with its head up barking.I’m thinking naked Hindu goddess, here. But it takes a stretch of the imagination.Of course there were lots of sea stacks that I was happy to admire for their beauty alone.This one had a halo and a reflectionA sea stack bathes in the late afternoon sun.Certainly, there were other things to admire down on the beach, like this cave.And this lone seagull with its massive perch.And water flowing across the beach leaving behind unusual tracks.This was one long piece of driftwood!In line with my theme, I’ll close with this dog that ran across the beach in front of me. Remember when I mentioned the wind? The dog pretty much says it all!
NEXT POSTS: I promise flowers for Valentine’s Day. On Monday we will visit the Devil’s Kitchen. Scary? We’ll see.
Actually, I am in Bandon, Oregon, one of my favorite towns on the Oregon Coast. I would like you to meet Natasha, the sea trash turtle. The Washed Ashore Organization is dedicated to cleaning up our oceans and creates whimsical creatures out of trash its volunteers clean up along the shoreline.
I dropped Peggy at the airport in Medford on Friday. She’s off to spend a couple of weeks in Virginia on grandkid duty while their parents make a quick escape to Mexico. “Please come Mom,” Tasha had requested while Clay had sent her first-class tickets. Hard to ignore that appeal. I was invited as well, but having just spent Christmas and New Year’s back east, I opted for a solo trip in Quivera the RV over to the Oregon Coast with plans for making my way south to Redwood National Park in Northern California.
That’s what I am up to now as I put this post together. I decided what better time to write about our coming travel/blogging plans for the year than when I am out traveling. I’ve just spent the past three days in the small coastal town of Bandon, which has some of the most impressive rock formations on the Oregon Coast. They make up several of the photos for today’s blog.
Travel-wise, we have a full year planned. 2020 started with our trip home on Amtrak from Washington DC, which I’ve already blogged about. This is trip number two. (Although it’s sans-Peggy, I’m counting it.) In late March, we are taking off for a 16-day cruise focusing on the Panama Canal. Peggy lived down there in 70’s for a while in her life before Curt. It is where Tasha was born. She has been wanting to get back there for a very long time. When I mentioned the possibility of the cruise, she jumped on it. Peggy’s sister Jane and her husband Jim are going along. In addition to Panama, we’ll be making stops in Costa Rica, Columbia, Nicaragua and Mexico.
We plan to kick off our backpacking season with a 40-mile trip down the Rogue River trail. It is beautiful in spring and makes an ideal beginning of the season hike. Peggy turns 70 this year and wants to make sure she celebrates properly. She also wants to explore more of the Pacific Crest trail through Oregon this summer as well. I’ll plan a 70-mile trip to go along with her years and my 77. We also have a 7-day kayak trip planned.
The biggie in celebrating her 70th, however, is a 7-day Rhine River Cruise from Amsterdam to Bern. We’ve invited our children and grandchildren along and, needless to say, they are excited. We will be in the middle of our trip when Peggy has her birthday on July 5th. Afterward, we will pop over to France to spend several days with Peg’s brother John and his wife, Frances.
We have tentative plans to return to Burning Man this fall. That, of course, depends on our ability to get tickets in the BM lottery, never a sure thing. Throw in the fact that we will be in the middle of the Panama Canal with iffy internet connections when the lottery takes place, I am not optimistic.
Peggy is off on another cruise in September, this time with her sister Jane from San Francisco up to Victoria, BC, a girls’ trip. I’ll take advantage of it to drive Quivera south down through Santa Cruz, Monterrey, Carmel and Big Sur. I love that area and have been escaping down there since the 60s and 70s, when I used to camp out along the road in my VW van. It’s as close as I ever got to being a hippie.
Quivera and I are staying at the Bandon Wayside Motel plus RV Campground in Bandon. It’s a small but charming, beautifully kept up property that dates back to 1949. If you look to the left, you will see a small sign featuring a 60s-type VW Van.A close up. Made me feel right at home. I was never a surfer, but I sure identified with the peace concept! Still do, as hard as it is in this era of nation-states rattling nuclear weapons.A photo of the motel.And this is Nicole, the co-owner of motel and RV campground along with her partner David. She’s an absolute bundle of energy and friendliness. If it weren’t for the all of the hard work she puts into the place, I’d be a little bit suspicious that she has some modern-day hippie in her. She told me “David and I decided to marry the motel instead of each other.”
October will be time to jump in Quivera and do another month-long exploration of the Southwest. This time we want to include Death Valley NP, the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, Zion NP, Bryce NP, Capitol Reef NP, Canyonlands NP, and Arches NP. (This may be news to Peggy, grin.) After that we will be traveling east to spend the holidays with our kids. We are contemplating using Amtrak again, following different routes. Does that sound like enough for the year? Do you think I will have adequate material to blog about? Heck, I still have lots from last year? I never seem to catch up. Do you? And then there is the book I am writing…
I’ll conclude with a note of parental pride, if I may. Our son Tony just received the Coast Guard’s second highest award for coordinating the massive rescue effort the Coast Guard undertook in the Bahamas during Hurricane Dorian. The storm was a devastating category five hurricane with record-setting winds of up 175 mph. He and his fellow Coast Guard helicopter pilots spent 5-days more or less without sleep on the ground and up in the very dangerous air. The Commander of the Coast Guard and the Secretary of Homeland Security awarded Tony with the medal.
As I mentioned, Bandon has some very impressive rocks or sea stacks. It was low tide and I did a long beach walk. The day was beautifully clear but cold! The ocean was showing off with some very impressive waves.I was hiking toward the mid afternoon sun, which can be challenging for photos. So I decided to go with it rather than fight it. From here, it looked like the two rocks might be holding a conversation.Up closer, the rocks revealed colorful turquoise water left behind by the receding tide and rippled by the cold breeze.Speaking of backlit, the sun absolutely robbed this photo of all color. That’s driftwood on the beach, left behind by recent storms. I quickly named the piece on the left Bugs Bunny to give the strange scene a sense of familiarity. The gate-like structure on the left suggests a portal into some mysterious realm. Or maybe I was already there. Did you just see the driftwood moving? Turning around toward the end of my hike, the sun was more cooperative. I may have found Big Foot. Check out the toes!Another perspective of the Big Foot.I liked the way this driftwood seem to flow into the sea stack.I didn’t capture this two inch deep, two foot wide stream flowing into the ocean quite the way I wanted to, but still I found it interesting.If you hang out with me much on this blog, you know I have a thing for dead trees, and that includes driftwood. The beach at Bandon was full of it.This fellow, looking out to sea was also licking his lips. I know, I know; it’s a stretch. BTW, does the orange hairdo seem a bit familiar.Now here is a hunk of wood. Many of the pieces of driftwood on the beach were old stumps left behind by logging operations and eventually washed out to sea.Here’s another one with its logging history on display for the world to see, or at least for anyone walking the beach in Bandon.When you are surrounded by scenic vistas, it’s hard to look down sometimes. Still beauty is everywhere, including in this small rock. And check out the patters in the sand.And here’s another.I thought his rock was the most interesting, given the sun, shadows, and hole.And one should never ignore the blown spume. I watched a little girl gleefully chase a large piece across the sand. She caught it and grabbed it. Of course in crushed into nothing. “Grandpa!” she yelled.I’ll close today with a few photos I took while wandering around Bandon’s Old Town. I loved this magnificent octopus.It had one of those faces that only its mother could love.I found this beautiful octopus mural nearby.This seahorse sculpture with its stern face also caught my attention.I’ll close the post the way I started with a photo of one of Washed Ashore’s marvelous creations made out of beach trash. Meet Henry. I wouldn’t suggest sticking your hand in his mouth. Henry seems like he has an attitude.
NEXT POST: It will be time for my Wednesday Photograph Essay. This time it will be mainly flowers I photographed along the American River Parkway in Sacramento, California.
Amtrak Train backing into LA station under the watchful eyes of an engineer.
He was a large man in his 50s with a tattoo covered body, an ex-con who had found the Lord, a smoke jumper with a serious twitch who seemed to have made a few too many jumps. She was a petite, attractive, college graduate going for her PhD in economics with a desire to work for the federal government. It would have been hard to find two more opposite people. They were our dinner companions on Amtrak one evening. Amtrak’s policy is to seat four people to a table. If there are four of you traveling together, fine. If not, you are seated with strangers based on when you arrive. The smoke jumper had arrived first, and then us. The student last.
She had been seated next to the smoke jumper and eyed him nervously every time he made a serious twitch in her direction. With reason. He told us one of his twitches had caused him to dump a pint of beer on the man sitting next to him at dinner the night before. He liked to talk and we were a captive audience. Not that I objected, he had interesting stories to tell, but Peggy and I did what we could to involve the student in our conversation. She’d manage a few words before he jumped back in. She was just returning from an economic conference in Washington and was on her way home. Turns out she lives in Medford and works during the summer at an up-scale restaurant in Jacksonville, one we like to go to.
Given Amtrak’s policy, we never knew who our meal companions would be. Dinners were more formal and we had to sign up for specific times. There was even a real table cloth! It was paper for breakfast and lunch and you could show up any time during meal hours. The seating policy remained the same, however. Usually, we ended up seated with couples. Once we spent a delightful meal with a lesbian couple. Another time it was with a Russian who owned shoe stores in New York City and was on his way to set one up in LA. “I have too many brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles and other relatives in New York,” he told us. He was looking to escape. To keep the conversation going during another meal, I started telling stories about my encounters with bears. Soon, all of the surrounding tables and two of the waiters were listening in.
I have to say the food was quite good. One of the items on the evening menu was a small, tender steak, cooked to perfection. It became my go-to meal. I had steak for every dinner! Since all meals were included for those of us who had sleepers, why not? Had I been paying the $35 Amtrak was charging for the steak, I’d have been down in the less formal café car eating hamburgers and hot dogs along with most of the coach passengers.
While meals took care of our social life, going up to the observation car and staring out the windows at the passing scenery (or sitting in our rooms watching the passing scenery) was our major entertainment. We also read and I got some writing done. I had a horrendous cold on the way back and isolated myself most of the time. I’m glad we were traveling pre-coronavirus; Amtrak might have kicked me off the train or my fellow passengers stoned me.
The windows on the observation car. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)
As for the future of Amtrak; it seems bright. They had their best year ever last year in terms of passengers and revenues. Train travels seems to be on the upswing. No surprise there, given how much fun air travel is. One of the folks I follow in Europe told me that some European trains were going to add sleepers, which they had dropped a couple of decades ago.
A disturbing trend on Amtrak is that the company may be taking lessons from the airlines. We were served prepackaged airline food on our trip between Chicago and Washington DC. It had the same bland, inedible quality of something you eat to avoid starvation.
I had a disconcerting conversation with our car attendant on the Coastal Starlight. The train was famous for a club car that came straight out of the glory days of rail travel. People would take the train just to experience it. Amtrak still has the car, but they no longer include it on the Starlight. The attendant told me that Amtrak was trying to standardize the service on its various trains. Apparently, the car was too special. With the airline food in mind, I had replied, “Ah, you mean increasing profits by reducing service.” Were narrower seats and added costs for everything in the future? He hadn’t commented but did get a strange look in his eyes.
Regardless of what Amtrak might do to its service, the relaxing feel of train travel combined with its unique view of the world as it passes by and the fun conversations with strangers will bring me back to experience the clickety-clack of the rails again and again.
Today I will feature photos Peggy and I took on our return trip across the country. The trip took us from Washington DC to Chicago, Chicago the LA, and then LA to Sacramento.
My cold discouraged photography and programmed a coughing fit each time I wanted to take a picture. We were well past Chicago when this silo caught my attention. The middle of our country features vast flatlands where a single tree can add interest.Being the western boy I am, I confess that the mountains of New Mexico put my cold on hold.Trains require lots of switchbacks when crossing over mountains to maintain a relatively flat grade. It’s one of the few times you get to see the train engines.Having returned to the Southwest, we were once again treated to colorful rocks. It got dark after we passed through Albuquerque. We went to sleep…And woke up making our way across the San Gabriel Mountains approaching the LA basin.And then dropped into the LA basin.This photo taken at the LA train station went along with the photo at the top of the post. It provides a perspective on the height of Amtrak’s double decker trains. The added height gave us great views from our roomette.As you might well imagine, there was no lack of graffiti along the tracks as we left LA.The Coastal Starlight soon had us passing by rich farm lands and nurseries as we cut toward the coast.And we were soon looking out on the Pacific Ocean. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)Views of the Pacific Coast near Santa Barbara are one of the highlights of traveling the Coastal Starlight. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)We were impressed during our journey by the photos you can now take with an iPhone. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)A final coastal shot by Peggy. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)As we left Santa Barbara, the Coastal Starlight began to make its way inland through the Coastal foothills.Eventually bringing us to the incredibly rich farmlands of the Salinas Valley, the land of John Steinbeck. The sun would soon sink into the West. Peggy and I arrived back in Sacramento around midnight, having completed our 5000 mile journey, tired but excited to share our tales of train travel. We hope that you have enjoyed this series.
NEXT POSTS: On Monday I am going to write about our travel plans for this year, which translates into what I will be blogging about. There are fun things like cruising up the Rhine River and going through the Panama Canal. Wednesday’s photo essay will be on the beauty of the American River as it flows through Sacramento. Hiking and biking its many trails are what kept me sane the years I lived in the city.
This shows the width of our roomette. My suitcase is perched next to me and against the wall. It had picked up a hitch-hiker: Peggy’s purse. The suitcase had to come down when Peggy climbed up to her bunk bed. Our window is on the other side. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)
The last time I slept in a bunk bed I was sharing a one bedroom apartment with two classmates, Cliff and Jerry, at Berkeley in 1964/65. I was on the bottom bunk then, as well. My memory includes one particularly wild night. It was our first weekend back at UC. Cliff had brought home a small wooden barrel of tequila from Mexico where he had spent the summer in a Spanish language immersion program. For some insane reason, the three of us decided we had a solemn responsibility to drain the barrel to kick off our senior year. It was not our best decision.
Jerry promptly fell asleep and started snoring. Loudly, if I remember correctly. He had the regular bed. I spent 30-minutes staring at myself in the bathroom mirror in a semi-hallucinatory state fascinated by the fact I couldn’t stop drooling. When I returned to bed, Cliff, who had the top bunk, talked unceasingly. He wouldn’t shut up. Since neither Jerry nor I was listening, I assume he was talking to himself. I’d grunt on occasion. Finally, I lifted up my leg and kicked his mattress. Down came Cliff, mattress and all on top of me. After we had untangled ourselves, we laughed until we were hoarse and then put Cliff’s mattress on the floor for the rest of the night. I think he was still talking when I fell asleep. Damn, did we have headaches the next morning!
Fast forward 56 years to now for my second bunk bed experience. This time on Amtrak. Peggy had top honors. Our tiny sleeper was about five feet wide and seven feet long. It started as two comfortable chairs facing each other. Large windows provided great views from our double decker roomette. There was barely, and I do mean barely, room for our two day packs and two small suitcases. When we were ready for bed, the car attendant came to our room and set it up. Our two chairs became the lower bunk and the top bunk was released from its attachment to the ceiling. The whole process took about three minutes.
Peggy shows off our windows. Reflecting sunlight distorted the view in this case.Our roomette bunk beds are set up for us and waiting for us to crawl in. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)
The bottom line of all this, of course, is how did we sleep. There were three factors. The first was the comfort of the beds. No problem there. The second was their width. Given all of the times that Peggy and I have slept in small backpacking tents, they felt roomy. The real challenge was adapting to the moving train. First there was the clickety-clack of the wheels passing over the joints in the rails. It was repetitive, however, and soon disappeared into the background. I thought of it as noisemaker to lure me sleep.
The train’s swaying was another issue altogether. We didn’t have a problem coming across the Sierras. Trains go slowly when they climb and go down mountains. It’s on the flats that the engineers put the pedal to the metal. It’s where they make up for lost time. I can imagine one engineer boasting to another, “I made it across there in an hour!” with the other responding, “Ha, it only took me 59 minutes.” For the most part, the swaying is like the clickety-clack. You get used to it. But there were instances when I was reminded of being on a ship during a really bad storm or hitting heavy turbulence in a jet. There were three particularly bad situations: when the train was traveling over rough tracks, when it went over a poorly maintained road crossing, and when it went around a corner faster than it should.
During the day, it wasn’t much of a problem, assuming you had something to grab onto if you were out and about. Sleeping was a different issue, as we learned our first night. The attendant had worked his three-minute magic and we had settled down for a long winter’s sleep across Nevada when the train hit some rough track, traveled over a poorly maintained road crossing, and went around a sharp curve— all at the same time— fast. Wham! Peggy was thrown into the netting designed to keep her from rolling off the bed and I was thrown into the side of the train. “That does it!” I head Peggy mumble loudly as she scooted across the bed, climbed down from her bunk, and slipped into mine. Remember how I said the bunk was roomy. That’s for one person. There was simply no room for the two of us. We had to sleep head to toe. I slept with Peggy’s feet and she slept with mine. I’m not sure which of us got the better deal.
Traveling between Chicago and Washington DC we were upgraded to a bedroom. It came with a double-sized bed that was comfortable for the two of us, a sink, and its own bathroom! We didn’t have to use the communal facility. While our bedroom wasn’t large by any stretch of the imagination, it felt palatial in comparison to our roomette. A small shower even provided a bath assuming you didn’t mind washing off the toilet at the same time. Recommendation: Choose a time to bathe when the train isn’t swaying.
Our bedroom even came with an extra chair. The wide couch became our double bed. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)
We had one other configuration. Amtrak had supposedly upgraded its roomettes with a restroom. We had one returning home on our route between Chicago and LA. The toilet that snuggled up to the bottom bunk, sort of like you might see in a prison cell. It was inches away from my head when I was is bed. That was not okay. To add insult to injury, Amtrak had removed the communal restrooms from the car. We had to go on a three-car hike to find a real bathroom. Our attendant told us that the company had realized the error of its ways and was no longer building the roomette restrooms. What a surprise.
All in all, while I’ve had a bit of fun with this post, we slept in relative comfort, especially if you compare it with trying to sleep on an airplane. Even the coach seats on Amtrak are wide, comfortable, and fold back far enough to create a half-way decent night’s sleep.
My photos of the trip today include our journey from Sacramento to Washington DC, minus, of course, the pictures we took while crossing the Rocky Mountains that I shared in my last post. Enjoy.
It seemed appropriate for our journey to start in Sacramento since it served as the terminus for America’s first Transcontinental Railroad, as shown in this mural in the train stationLeaving Sacramento, we began to work our way up and over the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range. These are the foothills near Colfax, about 30 miles away from where I was raised and a thousand feet higher.Crossing the Sierras provided numerous views of the mountains. The track parallels Interstate 80, our usual route across the mountains. You can see it edging around the side of Red Mountain.We were also treated to closer looks at the snow. Here it quite beautifully covers rocks. I had been hoping for and expecting more snow. I’d spent several winters sharing a cabin about ten miles from where this photo was taken where the snow was often 10-20 feet deep.The train comes out of the Sierras at Donner Lake. The Donner Party spent its tragic winter down near the end of the lake. Thus the lake’s name.After passing though the small town of Truckee, the tracks follow the Truckee River down to Reno. I took this photo shooting up from the river as the sun was setting.And this one.The sun sets on the Truckee River, ending our first day of train travel.We woke up the next morning to some impressive eastern Utah scenery.It was the type of country that Peggy and I have come to associate with the southern part of the state.Crossing into Colorado, I snapped a picture of a farm with its long rows of grapes.I will feature one photo of our Rocky Mountain crossing taken with our iPhone and not included in my last post. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)Having gone to sleep for our second night after crossing the Rocky Mountains, this was more typical of the views we had when we woke up. My great, great, great grandfather James Mekemson and his wife, Mary, plus lots and lots and lots of Mekemsons are buried in eastern Illinois, a few miles away from this tree.Chicago’s Union Train Station is truly grand. And since Christmas was coming, it had a grand Christmas tree.Peggy stands in front of the tree for perspective. In addition to the large Christmas balls and small lights, the tree was appropriately decorated with signs from America’s different railways.We went for a short walk which was supposed to be longer except for the 8 degree F weather. We entertained ourselves by taking shots of skyscrapers reflected in skyscrapers.Having gone to sleep again outside of Chicago, we woke up in the Appalachian Mountains.And were treated to views of snow covered trees. We weren’t in the Sierras or Rockies anymore, Dorothy. Grin.When we passed through Harper’s Ferry we were an hour or so out of Washington. So I’ll end my photos here today.
For my next post, I am going to experiment with a photo essay. (It’s called what do you do with your 80,000 plus photos.) The post after that I’ll feature our Amtrak trip back to the West plus eating on the train, which is all about meeting strangers.
Our journey through the Rocky Mountains followed the Colorado River up toward its source.
Peggy was making travel arrangements to fly back east to spend Christmas and New Year’s with our kids in Virginia and Florida when she emerged from her woman cave like a grumpy bear saying not-nice things about the airlines. Unlike her husband, she never curses (well close to never), but her tone of voice says it all. The industry was practicing its usual Christmas spirit by doubling prices and eliminating perks like earned miles and companion fares. Joy to the world. Isn’t capitalism grand.
I suggested that she check Amtrak. We quickly discovered that we could travel across America by train with our own bedroom and three meals a day for less than the airplane tickets would cost. And the meals would actually be edible. When was the last time you had a delicious, freshly-cooked steak dinner and crab cakes for dinner on an airplane? Since we are retired, time wasn’t a factor. We would see and experience America in a way we never had before! It was a no-brainer.
Our plans were to drive down to Sacramento from our home in Southern Oregon in mid-December, visit with family and friends, and catch the California Zephyr heading for Chicago. (All Amtrak trains are named.) From there, we would take the Capitol Limited to Washington DC. Returning, we would reverse our journey on the Capitol Limited to Chicago and then take the Southwest Chief to LA. Our final leg would be to ride the Coastal Starlight back to Sacramento. The total trip would take nine days and 8 nights. In between, we would celebrate Christmas and New Year’s with the kids.
We quickly found that there were three aspects to train travel. The first was the actual experience of riding the train ranging from sleeping arrangements to shared meals. The second was admiring the country the train traveled through. (That’s what got me the most excited.) The third was meeting your fellow travelers. Given Amtrak’s policy of seating you with other people at meals, you meet a lot of strangers. And most of them really seem to enjoy train travel.
That’s a major difference with modern airplane travel. While first class might still be tolerable, traveling coach is a trial to get through. Narrow seats where leaning back is severely limited (there’s no room), cramped leg room where you pay premium for a few more inches, minimal food service, and the policy of charging you big bucks for anything extra are all factors. Not to mention kids kicking the back of your chair and people sneezing out who knows what diseases at a 100 miles per hour mere-inches away from your head. There is no ‘it’s the journey that counts’ in air travel. It’s all about destination.
People who travel by train have destinations in mind as well, but the journey can also be an important part of the experience— one to be repeated over and over. Take Paul, for example. We had first met him in the passageway of our car on the trip back from Washington DC to Chicago. He sat down opposite us in the first-class lounge of Chicago’s imposing Union Train Station and struck up a conversation. (You obtain first class status by having a sleeper.) He was a tall, slightly overweight man with a ready smile who was close to our age.
We soon learned that he was a graduate of Oberlin College who had spent his life working for one of America’s intelligence agencies, a career that had begun with his service in Vietnam. He had enjoyed the work, but his true passion was playing in an informal blues band for fun. The group had been together for over 30 years. Paul and Peggy were soon into a deep discussion over whether her guitar playing and singing should include the blues. He suggested she start with Kate Wolf. I am a fan of Kate’s. In fact, my friend Tom Lovering once hosted a birthday party for her at his outdoor/wilderness store in Sacramento. When she passed away, he had taken her daughter on a river trip.
As usual, the conversation turned to where we were going and what our Amtrak experience had been like. Paul had traveled on Amtrak a number of times, including traveling with his blues band. This time he was heading for Portland by himself, but here’s the fun part. He would arrive in Portland, spend one day at Powell’s Bookstore, and then climb back on the train for his return trip to Washington DC!
Peggy and I understood Paul’s desire to spend a day at Powell’s. It’s the largest independent bookstore in the world and one of America’s premier bookstores. Whenever we are in Portland, we make a point of going there. You can spend hours perusing its shelves. I doubt we have ever left with less than a hundred dollars-worth of books. Traveling four days by train to get there and then turn around and travel four days back to Washington was a tad more difficult to comprehend. You would really have to love train travel. Still, we were really enjoying our trip. We could drive over to Klamath Falls, climb on the Coastal Starlight and be there in a day. Hmmm…
As for my photos today, I want to share one segment of the journey with you: our trip across the Rocky Mountains. It was spectacular including snow, beautiful views of the river and gorgeous red rocks. Starting at Glenwood Springs we followed the Colorado River up toward its source and then dropped down into Denver. The photos speak for themselves. Enjoy.
I’ll wrap up our Journey across the Rocky Mountains with a photo of Peggy enjoying the trip.
NEXT POST: I’ll cover what train travel was like for us, introduce you to more passengers and and show more photos of our journey.
I am taking a brief break from the desert Southwest, today. Peggy and I just returned from a three day trip over to the Oregon Coast and explored the interesting town of Charleston near Coos Bay.
This toothy fellow greeted us at the Marine life Center in Charleston, Oregon. I think this was a smile, assuming moray eels smile. Maybe it was contemplating what I might taste like.
That we ended up in Charleston, Oregon was a complete happenstance. Peggy and I wanted to make a quick trip to Shore Acres State Park on the Oregon coast. The park puts on an annual Christmas display of over 300,000 lights that feature coastal themes focusing on Pacific Ocean wildlife. Normally we take Quivera, our RV, and camp at Sunset Bay State Park, which is just down the hill. This time we were motelling it and I found one named Captain John’s in Charleston. The town is three miles away from Shore Acres. It was just a convenience— until we went for a walk.
The Marina, that serves as both a center for sports fishing and a port for commercial fishing is quite attractive.A seagull photobombed a picture I was taking of a ramp down to the fishing boats.Calm waters made for excellent reflection photos.The harbor was packed with boats.Huge piles of oyster shells served as a reminder of how important the fishing industry is to Charleston.And these cormorants, which were perching on the bridge across the bay, also make their living off of fishing! Peggy and I had watched this flock of excellent divers hard at work while we ate dinner the night before. (I liked the washed out grey backdrop. It creates a water-color effect.)This mural was featured on a shed next to the Davey Jones Locker restaurant. Humorous, yes, but still a reminder that fishing is a dangerous business. A powerful memorial to fishermen lost at sea in Charleston looks out toward the ocean. The many fishermen from Charleston who have lost their lives at sea are listed at the Memorial. “To the sea they turned for life; to the sea they gave their lives.” It was the beginning of crab season and the crab pots were lined up and ready. Peggy shows how high they were stacked.Crab fishermen have different colored floats to avoid confusion about who owns what.The jewel of Charleston, however, is the Marine Life Center. It has the good fortune of being located next to and is operated by the Oregon Institute of Marine Biology.The giant head of a humpback whale resides outside of the Center. Peggy stands in front of a portion of the skull. I couldn’t help but think of Georgia O’Keeffe and her love of bones. She would be jealous.A number of interesting sea creatures were living in salt water tanks inside, including this unique starfish. (Peggy took this photo with her iPhone.)Another perspective.A great volunteer was manning the desk at the Center. She loaned Peggy a magnifying glass that attached to her iPhone and Peggy dashed around taking weird photos such as the butt of a sea cucumber. So, here’s a fun question. Do you know what this is? And no, it isn’t the butt. We asked our grandkids the same question. I’ll provide the answer in my next post.A sea anemone.And a closeup.I was fascinated by the eyes on this fish.How’s this for weird? You are looking at a snail.A beauty here. Why am I thinking ermine?A pair of sea cucumbers share a moment.Check out the camouflage of this rock fish.And now for some serious bones. You can see why most sea creatures give orcas a wide berth. Just look at those choppers.A “belly of the whale” look. And here’s another toothy fellow. This time a dolphin.But when it comes to teeth, nobody can beat a shark!One of my favorites. I love the feet on this seal!And on this turtle.This guy was crabby.And this fish was scary. I had a nightmare that featured a guy pounding on my door that had a similar look. Most dogs would find the fellow exciting, however. If you have ever cleaned up your dog after it has rolled in dead fish, you know what I mean.I’ll conclude with another photo of the smiling fellow I started the post with. Looks like a trip to an orthodontist might be in order.
NEXT POST: Back to Georgia O’Keeffe at Ghost Ranch and Abiquiu in New Mexico.
With over 1,000 years behind it, the Taos Pueblo is the oldest continuously inhabited community in America. The Pueblo had already existed for 500 years when Columbus sailed for the New World in 1492. When Spanish explorers arrived in 1540, they thought they had found one of the seven golden cities of Cibola. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)
Mable Evans Dodge Sterne Luhan, whose long name represented her husbands, lived a soap opera kind of life. A wealthy socialite born in Buffalo, New York, she devoted her time to supporting art and bringing together the artists and intellectuals of her time: Gertrude Stein, Alice B. Toklas, Andre Gide, Lincoln Steffens, Walter Lippmann, Pablo Picasso, Arthur Rubenstein, D.H. Lawrence, Ansel Adams, Willa Cather, Aldous Huxley, Greta Garbo and Georgia O’Keeffe to name a few.
Her efforts at creating artistic gatherings began in Florence, Italy where she and husband number two, Edwin Dodge, lived in a villa that had been built for the Medici. In 1912 she moved on to New York City and established a salon hosting both artists and leading radicals who espoused causes ranging from free love, to Freud, to anarchism. When she heard about the beauty of New Mexico, she sent husband number three, Maurice Sterne, west in 1917 to explore the possibilities of moving there. He wrote back, “Dearest Girl–Do you want an objective in life? Save the Indians, their art and culture. Reveal it to the world!” That was enough for Mable. She was on her way.
One of the first Indians she met in Taos was Tony Lujan, a member of Taos Pueblo. Tony persuaded Mable to buy several acres of meadow land and then helped her plan and build a four-room adobe house that continued to expand until it reached 21 rooms. The story is told, and it may be apocryphal, that Tony set up a tent in her front yard and drummed away in the night to win her love. Maurice bought a shotgun. Whether it was to eliminate the competition or do away with the infernal nighttime drumming and get a decent night’s sleep, I can only speculate.
Anyway, Mable sent Sterne packing and married Tony, her fourth and final husband. With a large house and a Native American husband, she could now focus on her plan to bring artists, writers and movie stars to promote Taos and help save the Indians and their culture. One of her major successes at recruitment was D.H. Lawrence of Lady Chatterley’s Lover fame. Another was Georgia O’Keeffe.
A young Mable Dodge Luhan looking like the weathy socialite she was.The Luhan House/Hotel in Taos as it looks now. Dennis Hopper stayed here when he was filming “Easy Rider” and proceeded to buy it in 1970. For seven years it was more or less a “hippie hangout.” It is now operated by a non-profit as an historic hotel and conference center. Visitors can rent the room that Georgia O’Keeffe stayed in if they wish.A large rooster with his chest puffed out perches on top of the house and serves as a weather vane. Apparently, there was a south wind blowing when we visited.This fellow ruled a lower perch and was one of several brightly colored ceramic roosters that decorate the house.Smaller members of the bird kingdom live here as well. Lots of them. They had all flown south for the winter, however.They likely perch in the magnificent cottonwoods that tower over their homes when they are in town. I can easily imagine O’Keeffe painting the trees.Peggy and I found this interesting stairway at the back of the house…And a sculpture by Ted Egri out front.
Luhan met O’Keeffe in New York City through Georgia’s husband, Alfred Stieglitz, and immediately initiated a campaign to persuade her to visit Taos. Stieglitz, a leading photographer of the time, was instrumental in persuading the art world that photography could be art. Among his projects was photographing Georgia nude and hanging the photos in his famous modern art gallery at 291 5th Avenue. The exhibit was quite controversial. He also hung original art from Matisse, Picasso, Rousseau, Rodin, and Cezanne— introducing Americans to avant-garde European artists. He produced show after show of O’Keeffe’s paintings, adding to her credence as a world-class artist, not to mention selling her paintings for hefty sums.
In the summer of 1929, O’Keeffe finally took Luhan up on her offer and journeyed to New Mexico, partially because Stieglitz was having an affair with the young wife of an heir to the Sears and Roebuck fortune some 40 years his junior. But the bottom line was that O’Keeffe was introduced to Taos and fell in love with New Mexico. She brought her friend Rebecca ‘Beck’ Strand with her. Beck’s husband was Paul Strand another top photographer and, like Georgia, a protégé of Steiglitz. During a visit at Luhan’s in 1930, he met Ansel Adams and persuaded him to pursue a career in photography. Adams had been trained as a concert pianist.
Today, I will focus our remaining photos on the Pueblo, Taos and the surrounding country.
Georgia O’Keeffe’s painting of the Taos PuebloA photo I took of the Pueblo shows how little it has changed in the 90 years since O’Keeffe painted it. The round structures in front are ovens. Peggy and I ate some pie cooked in one. Quite tasty.Here’s a close up of one of the ovens. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)A photo by Ansel Adams of the Pueblo. Note the Taos Mountains towering in the background. They are part of the Sangro de Christo Range, or as translated, the Blood of Christ Range. It seems like a strange name for mountains.Possibly the early Spaniards noticed the mountains in a fall sunset like I did from our campsite.Georgia O’Keeffe’s painting of Taos Mountain. Our guide told us that the early Indians would post a lookout on the granite outcrop to the right overlooking the Pueblo and could see enemies approaching from miles away. The ruins of the San Geronimo Church, destroyed in 1846 by American forces can be seen on the left. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)The ruins of the church overlook the Pueblo’s graveyard. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)A close up of the ruins.The Rio de Taos Pueblo flows through the center of the Pueblo, separating the North House we have been looking at from the South House. The creek was looking a bit cold when I photographed it. Our guide told us we were not to swim in it. No problem.Peggy took this photo of the South House with its colorful doors and still melting snow.I don’t know if the inhabitants regard the numerous ladders used to negotiate between floors as photo-worthy, but we did. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)Peggy and I learned about adobe maintenance and repair when we visited the Pueblo. The adobe structures need to be recoated annually with a mud and straw mixture. More serious repair work requires these mud and straw bricks. I lifted one. It must have weighed close to 50 pounds.As I thought of all the work involved in maintaining these structures, I came to appreciate that we only have to paint our house every ten years or so and replace the roof once every 20 years. (Not that I ever lived anywhere long enough to replace a roof.)The Catholic Church at the Pueblo reminded me of the San Francisco de Assi Church.Here is a front view of the church that I rendered in black and white.Heading downtown for lunch after visiting the Pueblo, we were treated to a colorful Native American dance…And lots of interesting art such as this sculpture. Taos is still a haven for artists and writers.I conclude today’s post with another perspective on the Pueblo. This is close to the angle that Ansel Adams photographed it.
NEXT POST: We will explore Abiquiu and Ghost Ranch, New Mexico where Georgia O’Keeffe lived and painted.
A sandhill crane catches early morning sun on its wings at the Bosque Del Apache NWR. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)
Necks straight out with feet trailing, hundreds of sandhill cranes took to the sky as they began their early morning launch in search of food in the middle Rio Grande Valley of New Mexico. Later in November, their numbers will be climbing to the thousands at the Bosque Del Apache National Wildlife Reserve just south of Socorro. We had watched long lines of the cranes flying back to the reserve the night before, burbling away in long lines, and were eager to witness the phenomena.
The night before, we had watched long lines of sandhill cranes flying into the reserve after a day of feeding along the Rio Grande. Enlarging this photo, I counted close to a hundred cranes in this picture alone.Even when the sky seemed empty, we could hear the burbling, almost magical call of the cranes.In addition to the wildlife, we were attracted to the beauty of the area. This windmill caught my attention.As did this tree outlined by the setting sun.The nearby Rio Grande River decorated by fall colors. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)
The owner of the RV campground that sits on the edge of the reserve told us we should be at the observation point about a mile from our campground by 6:30 a.m. to witness the early morning action. Peggy and I made it, barely, and jumped out of the RV into the icy air without coats, hats, or gloves to witness one of nature’s greatest shows. Numerous much smaller Ross’s geese joined the party while shoveler ducks ignored all of the hullaballoo and went about their business of eating breakfast.
We were greeted by shoveler ducks, sandhill cranes, Ross and snow geese, and more sandhill cranes. While my camera lacks the close-up capabilities of Peggy’s telephoto lens, it was capable of showing quantity!Peggy provide a much closer perspective on the sandhill cranes. Note how most of them are facing forward, which is the direction they will soon be flying. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)The light changed rapidly from 6:30 to 7:00. The cranes are all moving forward, long legs stretched out. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)We watched as the cranes took flight, using their powerful wings to thrust them into the air. The geese seem to have decided to let the cranes clear out first. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)In fact, the geese didn’t quite get the program and were landing instead of taking off. They would soon join the cranes in flying off, however. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)I caught this photo just as the sun hit the reserve, turning the remaining cranes gold.A wider perspective of the reserve caught in the early morning light.Peggy thought that this cottonwood was a nice addition to the scenery. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)Looking down the length of the preserve.This fellow seems to be saying, “Hey, where did everyone go? Was it something I said?” (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)The true thrill of the morning was catching the birds in flight. Again Peggy’s telephoto lens was best suited for this. The following photos are taken by her.The one in front is chatting.Even my Canon Powershot could catch the silhouettes!And I was pleased with how I caught this sandhill crane with a line of Ross’s geese above the mountain.And this flock of sandhill cranes caught in the sunlight.Peggy was fascinated with how the sandhill cranes bunched up, apparently working out leadership issues. (grin)I’ll conclude with this shot of geese flying out at sunrise. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)
NEXT POST: Peggy and I will visit Taos where Georgia O’Keefe began her long association with New Mexico.
We expected to find impressive stone monuments in Monument Valley and weren’t disappointed. A convenient stump added to the magic of this scene. Many a Hollywood star ranging from John Wayne to Johnny Depp saddled up here and made Westerns.
Peggy and I are sitting in our van on the edge of the Bosque Del Apache National Wildlife Reserve on the Rio Grande River in central New Mexico. It’s supposed to be a major winter gathering place for numerous species of waterfowl, even the close to extinct whooping crane. We are watching as sandhill cranes return to the reserve in long lines after a day feeding along the river. At least a thousand have flown by so far.
We were greeted by a road runner when we came into the campground. The owner told us to watch out for wild pigs. I wonder if he meant peccaries. They are nastier than pigs and come with razor sharp tusks, great for rooting up food— or doing serious damage to pesky tourists. Here piggy, piggy, piggy. We saw lots of fresh tracks this morning when we were hiking up a desert wash near Los Lunas looking for petroglyphs, but there were no peccaries.
Other than the train that just roared by and the sound of sandhill cranes settling in for the night, it seems extraordinarily quiet here. If you travel 30 miles due east from where we are, however, you come on the Trinity site where the first atomic bomb was blown up on July 16, 1945, forever changing the world. A bit farther east, Smokey the Bear was discovered in a tree hiding out from a wildfire in 1950, and Billy the Kid practiced his fast-gun draws in the Lincoln County War of 1878. Continue on and you come to Roswell where UFO fans will forever declare that flying saucers crashed in 1947 and the government hid the fact. Traveling the opposite direction into the Rockies some 60 miles, the Very Large Array of radio telescopes searches the skies for alien life and other astronomical wonders. Lots has happened in this quiet place.
I rode my bike through here in 1989 as part of my 10,000-mile bike trek around North America. I crossed the Rockies in one day, bicycling 100 miles. If that seems a bit daunting, like it did to me at the time, the second 50-miles were all downhill. Woohoo!
We have just completed a delightful few days of exploring Taos, Abiquiu and Ghost Ranch following in the footsteps of Georgia O’Keefe and her friend Ansel Adams. It should make a fun blog. But that is all in the future. Today I want to share a few of the photos we took at the Hubble Trading Post, Canyon De Chelly and at Monument Valley. (Written a few days ago.)
Sheep are important to the Navajos, both for their wool and meat. This four horned fellow, looking down his nose at me, decorated the walls of the Hubble Trading Post. He was joined by…A buffalo and…A magnificent elk.Hubble provided the Navaho with a means of making a living by encouraging them to make rugs and then buying them to sell. I was amused to find this one in his home, which is now part of the National Monument. The face reminded us of petroglyphs that are found throughout the Southwest, which we will feature in a later post.Rugs continue to be made and sold at the post in the traditional way.A view inside the Hubble Trading Post, which is still open for business and looks very much like it did a hundred years ago. We bought post cards to send to the grandkids.Navajo made baskets cover the ceiling of the Hubble Trading Post.We left the Hubble Trading Post and drove on to the Canyon de Chelly (pronounced shay) National Monument which is jointly operated by the Navajo Nation and the National Park Service. We were driving along the south rim of the Canyon when we came on a herd of handsome Navaho sheep. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)Visitors are welcome to drive along both the South and North rim of the National Monument. Several overlooks provide gorgeous views into the Canyon. Fall cottonwoods added a splash of color. Navajo still live in and farm the canyon.A number of ancient cliff dwellings are also found in the Canyon. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)As might be expected, prominent landmarks are incorporated into Navajo mythology and beliefs. The monument is Spider Woman.The power of erosion on various types of rocks creates marvelous land forms in the canyon. Check out the face on the right!Shamans of Native American tribes were known for the other-worldly journeys they took. Peggy and I thought this eroded rock looked like a window or door into such a world. Stare at it for a few minutes and you may see other beings looking out at you. Grin. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)As we returned to our campground, we were treated to a sunset that lit up the canyon walls.If you wish to journey into Canyon de Chelly, you have to have a Navajo guide. I highly recommend the experience. While you can appreciate the beauty from the rim, being inside provides a totally different perspective! (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)Even the well traveled tracks that your guide takes you over provide a unique look.The views in the canyon went on and on, enhanced by the fall colors as they were from the rim.We visited a number of petroglyph sites. The fellow lying down is Kokopelli, known for his mischief and playing his flute, which he used to seduce women. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)Our guide, James Yazzie Jr., added considerably to the enjoyment of our experience. In addition to being a guide, he was a horse rancher, welder, Native dancer, and movie extra. His grandfather had been a ‘Navajo Talker’ during World War II.Monument Valley is also part of the Navajo Nation like Canyon de Chelly and once again we went on a Navajo guided tour. This monument is a beauty but somehow I couldn’t help but think of Rowan and Martin’s Fickle Finger of Fate award. Those of you who were around will probably remember the award that was given out weekly on the TV show. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)My imagination jumped to petrified Tyrannosaurus Rex claws when I saw these rocks!While I was focusing on ‘Rex’s claws,” Peggy captured these rocks in their golden setting. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson>)Monuments come in many sizes and shapes in Monument Valley.Peggy and I both took photos of this monument reaching for the sky.Our tour took us to the appropriately named “Big Hogan.” One of our tour group provided a perspective on just how big it is. The hole in the “Hogan” was quite colorful. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)Our guide, Roz, broke out her flute and played while we were admiring the ceiling of the “Hogan.” It was quite haunting. Kokopelli would have been jealous. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)I found the “Eye of the Sun” rock very dramatic.I am not sure the Ancients who created petroglyphs had a sense of humor, but I often find their petroglyphs humorous. This was in the Big Hogan and Eye of the Sun area.I’ll conclude this post with a view of the sunset in Monument Valley. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)
NEXT POST: The New Mexico world of Georgia O’Keefe and Ansel Adams.
They called them Badlands. Early settlers couldn’t farm or ranch them, so what good were they? In time, however, people would come to see their beauty. This is a photo taken from the Blue Mesa in Petrified Forest National Park. One reason I liked it was because the outcrop on the right resembles an early American. (Or possibly George Washington on a bad day? Maybe he was off to a rocky start.)
Note: I wrote this post over several days as we wander through the Southwest. We are now between Santa Fe and Taos, New Mexico— and the temperatures are still freezing!
It’s snowing outside and icy cold. The windchill factor is pushing the temperature to around O degrees F (17.7 C). Quivera the Van is not happy. I bought chains for her yesterday with the fervent hope that I won’t have to use them. I’ll do almost anything to avoid that nasty chore. Right now, that suggests heading south, even if it means skipping Mesa Verde National Park where we were going today. Getting there involves climbing up steep mountain roads that are now obscured by dark, threatening clouds. We aren’t terribly disappointed. We’ve already been there twice and we’ve seen a number of Anasazi ruins perched on cliffs over the past week (although not as impressive as Mesa Verde).
Even heading south from Colorado into New Mexico won’t avoid the freezing temperatures. A record-breaking blast of arctic air reaches all the way to the Mexican Border.
In my last post I shared a few of Peggy’s Grand Canyon photos. From there we went to Flagstaff, Arizona where we bought a new iPhone for Peggy and house battery for Quivera. Peggy was holding her warped, 6-year-old iPhone together with a plastic clip. The house battery was refusing to last longer than a few hours. While Peggy was busy playing with her new toy, I was left out in the cold changing the battery. It wasn’t hard. I just had to make sure that the positive and negative cables were hooked up to the right posts. But I tend to regard fixing things mechanical right up there with putting chains on in a freezing snowstorm. The good news is that I didn’t electrocute myself or burn up Quivera. More to the point, we now have power when we aren’t hooked up to electricity. I was quite proud of myself. Peggy was amazed.
Here’s Peggy with her clipped together iPhone. It really was time to buy a new one.
Flagstaff is a pleasant town with good restaurants and bookstores. It is nestled at the base of the San Francisco Mountains that are regarded as sacred by a number of Native American tribes in the area. Kachinas (Navajo spirits) are said to wander the mountains and do bad things to folks who find themselves lost up there, especially in snowstorms. I once spent a week by myself camping and hiking on the 12,000-foot Humphreys peak which is part of the range. I was quite careful. It isn’t smart to irritate a Kachina.
Our son Tony and his wife Cammie spent some time living in Flagstaff while he was flying tourists by helicopter over the Grand Canyon and into the Havasupai Indian Reservation down inside the Canyon. He flew Peggy and me into the reservation like the former multi-tour Marine pilot he was and put on the theme to Star Wars for inspiration. Imagination runs wild in this family.
Most of the areas we have visited so far on our Southwest journey deserve blogs on their own and will get them. For now, here is a sample of the photos Peggy and I have taken over the last few days of the incredibly beautiful and often intriguing Southwest. For example, have you ever sat on a hundred foot petrified tree? Think of these pictures as hors d’oeuvres. The main course and dessert will come later. Today I am going to feature Walnut Canyon National Monument, the Painted Desert, and the Petrified Forest National Park.
If you look way down toward the end of this 100 foot petrified tree, you will see a tiny me straddling the log. It wasn’t the softest seat I have ever had. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)
Walnut Canyon National Monument is a few miles east of Flagstaff, Arizona just off of Interstate 40. I’ve passed by it a dozen times over the years on my way somewhere else and never stopped. I was always curious, however. Peggy and I made it a priority, this time.
What I didn’t realize was that Walnut Canyon features cliff dwellings of the ancient Anasazi people of the Southwest who made their homes here around 1100-1200 CE. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)The varying erosion rates of different limestones provided a convenient shelf for the Anasazi to build their homes complete with ceilings and floors. By following the shelf around the canyon you can see a number of more homes. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)Peggy and I climbed down 273 steps to reach the cliff dwellings. This is a view of Walnut Canyon. below where the cliff dwellings were located. Trees added a bit of fall color.We were amused at this sign located at the head of the stairs going into the canyon.Here, I am sitting inside of one of the dwellings. This was more likely a storage room where things like water would be stored in large jars. The Anasazi had to climb down the steep walls of the canyon to fetch water. During the dry season, they had to store enough to last up to 100 days. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)This provides a view of a larger room that could accommodate a family. Weather permitting, it is assumed that people were outside a good deal of the time.A number of families might share a section of cliff in Walnut Canyon as this picture demonstrates. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)We had a pleasant walk along the trail while we were checking out the cliff dwellings. Then it was time to climb back up the 273 steps! Another visitor slipped into this picture. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)
A hundred miles east of Walnut Canyon on I-40 we came to the Petrified Forest National Park. The road takes you through the Painted Desert, which is part of the Park. As we drove in, we were greeted by a raven. They seemed to be following us around. We’d met several up at the Grand Canyon. Actually, they gather where there are tourists, hoping for a hand out.
Ravens are clever birds. Had this guy figured out to wait where people had to stop? Plus he was doing what the Grand Canyon ravens do: Provide a photo-op and expect payment in food. I told him “No snacks” and he flew away in disgust, croaking a Poe-like “Never more!”I took this photo of the Painted Desert in the morning about 11:00 as we were driving into the Park.When we came back through in the afternoon, there was more color but still not as rich as it would be at sunset.The Petrified Forest National Park is the only national park that historic Route 66 passed through. This 1932 Studebaker in the park commemorates the highway.Ancient Americans also made their home in the Petrified Forest National Park. This one is known as the Puerco Pueblo since it is located along the Puerco River. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)Peggy caught these cottonwoods growing near the Puerco Pueblo, a tell-tale sign of water in desert country.We consider finding and photographing petroglyphs something of a hobby. This one of a large bird with a frog speared on its beak is almost iconic. It was located along with a number of others next to the Puerco Pueblo. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)This rather charming couple that caught our attention was found just down the road from the Puerco Pueblo on what is known as Newspaper Rock. (There are other newspaper rocks.) I also liked the skinny coyote off to the right. He reminded me of Wiley Coyote about to take off after Road Runner. Known as the Teepees for their structure, the various colors represent different environments down through the ages from deserts, to seas, to rivers and tropical forests.Driving off of the main road and up onto the Blue Mesa in the Park is a real treat. Seeing massive petrified logs resting on rocks would be reason enough to make the detour. A dry wash works its way off into the desert. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)I was captured by the beauty and unusual land formations of the area.Peggy and I followed a trail off of the Blue Mesa and into the canyon where I took a photo of her hiking for perspective. She was hoofing it. Peggy has always hiked fast and I don’t see any sign of her 69 years slowing her down!Peggy found this stump of petrified wood on our hike that provided a shark contrast to the blue grey of the canyon.I always enjoy slipping in a black and white rendition of a photo on my posts. This one was from the rim of the Blue Mesa looking down into the valley that Peggy and I hiked through.People primarily come to Petrified National Forest to see the petrified wood. No surprise there. And they aren’t disappointed. It is everywhere and in large quantities as this photo with Peggy demonstrates.This photo provides another perspective of how much petrified wood there is in the park. We were along a trail that leads through what is called the Crystal Forest. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)I was fascinated how faithfully the the bark was preserved on these ancient trees from millions of years ago.I’ll use this final photo by Peggy to wrap up our visit to the Petrified Forest National Park for now. The natural way that petrified wood splits provides beautiful views of the inner wood. And every one is different! We have several photos to prove it.
NEXT POST: I will feature photos from our trips into Canyon De Chelly and Monument Valley. And since I am finishing this post on Halloween, I decided to post this photo I took in Monument Valley.
I thought this monument looked skull-like enough to make it into my Halloween collection of rocks. Hope you enjoyed your ghostly encounters.
Wandering through Time and Place 