Wandering through Time and Place

Exploring the world with Curtis and Peggy Mekemson
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  • Category: Outdoor Adventures

    • A Grand but Insane Idea… The First Sierra Trek: Part 1

      Posted at 5:00 am by Curt Mekemson
      Nov 24th

      It’s Blog-a-Book Tuesday. Now that I have provided an introduction to my book, it’s time to start rolling out stories. I’ve chosen my first ever 100-mile backpack trek across the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range for my kick-off. Given that I didn’t have a clue about what I was doing was crazy enough, that I chose to take 61 people aged 11-71 with me as a fund-raiser for the American Lung Association was pure insanity. I was lucky to survive with my career and life intact.

      As promised, I am going to blog the book in bite sized pieces with each post ranging between 500 and 1000 words. Some of these stories may be familiar to you since I have written about them before in my ten years of blogging.

      The Black Buttes of the Sierra Nevada Mountains are lit up by the evening sun.
      Inspired by the beauty of the Five Lakes Basin found north of Interstate 80 in the Sierra Nevada Mountains of California in 1969, I started a lifetime of backpacking. Here, the setting sun lights up the Black Buttes.
      I was camping on this little lake when I was inspired by the idea of raising money for the American Lung Association of Sacramento by running a hundred mile backpack trip.

      During the early summer of 1974, my life took a dramatic shift. My friend Steve Crowle and I had used a long summer weekend to go backpacking into one of my all-time favorite destinations, the Five Lakes Basin, north of Interstate 80 in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. It’s a beautiful area with towering cliffs and jewel-like lakes that were carved out by glaciers some 20,000 years ago.

      We were lazing around our campfire on the last night and bemoaning the fact that we had to return to civilization and jobs the next day. Glowing embers provided warmth and pulled us closer to the fire while a full moon bathed the Black Buttes in silver light and focused our attention outward.

      “God, wouldn’t it be great if we could make money doing this,” Steve sighed. He had replaced me as Executive Director of Sacramento’s Ecology Information Center when I had become Executive Director of the American Lung Association of Sacramento. In addition to his boundless energy and intelligence, he was a bit on the wild side. He had hobbies like jumping off high bridges into shallow water and experimenting with various mind-altering drugs. But mainly he loved life and had a vast appetite for new experiences. One such experience was backpacking. 

      Suddenly my mind took an intuitive leap. The lights came on, the bells went off, and four and twenty blackbirds sang the Hallelujah Chorus.

      “We can, Steve!” I managed to get out as my thoughts played hopscotch. “Look, as Executive Director of Lungland, one of my main responsibilities is fund-raising.” It was a fact I was painfully aware of.

      The once Tuberculosis Association and now Lung Association had spent 70 years happily sending out Christmas Seals and waiting for the donations to roll in. While the Golden Goose wasn’t dead, it was ailing. We had conquered the dreaded TB and selling lungs wasn’t nearly as easy. Easter Seals had kids, the Heart Association the most appealing organ in the body, and the Cancer Society the scariest word in the dictionary. We had emphysema, bronchitis, asthma, the remnants of TB, and diseases with unpronounceable names such as coccidioidomycosis. Adding insult to injury, several non-profit organizations had added seals to their fund-raising arsenals. Competition for bucks to do-good was tough and the well was running dry.

      “What if,” I pondered out loud, “we ran a backpack trip through the mountains as a type of multi-day walk-a-thon with people raising money for each mile they hiked?” I liked walk-a-thons. They involved people in healthy activities as well as raising money. They gave something back to the participants.

      Steve’s attention jumped from low watt to high intensity. “When? Where? For how many miles and days? How can I be involved?” The questions tumbled out.

      “I don’t know, I don’t know and I don’t know,” I responded, laughing at his enthusiasm although mine was hardly less. “But,” I added, throwing out some crazy figures, “what if we made it for nine days and 100 miles?”

      That quieted us down. Neither of us had ever backpacked for nine days straight, much less 100 miles. A long trip for me had been six days and 30 miles. I threw out the nine days because it included a full week with both weekends and the 100 miles because it sounded impressive and might fire people’s imaginations. It did mine.

      “Why not,” Steve had finally said with more than a little awe in his voice as a new fund-raising program was born. It was an event that would keep me happily running around in the woods over the next 30 years and raise substantial funds and friends for the American Lung Association. But all of that was in the future; Steve and I just wanted an excuse to go backpacking. How to get from point a to point b was the question. As folks like to say, the devil is in the details.

      My first challenge was selling the event to a reluctant Board of Directors. Running a 100-mile backpack trip as a fundraiser was a huge leap from sending out Christmas seals. At 29, I was the youngest Lung Association Executive Director in the nation and I had already ruffled enough feathers to dress a turkey. For example, a research doctor on my Board was foaming at the mouth because I wanted our organization to focus on reducing the primary causes of lung disease: air pollution and tobacco use. What would he think of me running off to the woods on a backpack trip? Another Board member loved his pipe and was irritated at me because I had persuaded the Board that our meetings should be smoke-free. His irritation was nothing, however, in comparison to a number of California Lung Execs who were livid because I was proposing that Lung Association offices should be smoke-free as well. What a radical idea that was. I heard an older woman exec proclaim at a conference, “I am going to kick that young man in the balls!” She made sure I was within hearing distance. 

      “You want to do what?” with a decided emphasis on the first and fifth words is the best way I can describe the Board’s reaction. It was easy to translate: “Why would a 29-year-old executive director with less than a year of experience under his belt want to risk his career on such a harebrained idea?”

      I echoed wild Steve, “Why not?”

      NEXT POSTS: On Thursday’s travel blog we continue our back roads’ journey along Highway 50 across the Nevada Desert and camp out at the Hickison Petroglyph area with its strange petroglyphs and unique rock structures. Next Tuesday it’s back to blogging a book. The Lung Association Board approves the Trek, I hire Steve, and we begin a recruitment effort. People come out of the woodwork wanting to go…

      NOTE: Peggy and I are heading over to the Oregon Coast to celebrate Thanksgiving and our Anniversary, camping out in Quivera the Van at a site that may not have cellphone or Internet connection. If so, I will get back to responding to comments and reading posts next week.

      Posted in Outdoor Adventures | Tagged American Lung Association of Sacramento, Backpacking fund raiser, Blog a book, Five Lakes Basin in the Sierra Nevada Mountains north of Interstate 80, It's 4 AM and a Bear Is Standing on Top of Me, Sierra Trek
    • The 1908 Great Automobile Race from New York to Paris: Part II… Through Nebraska

      Posted at 4:59 pm by Curt Mekemson
      Sep 17th
      The race had barely started when the automobiles were caught in a blizzard that dumped 2-3 feet of snow on the roadway. In this photo, the Thomas Flyer breaks trail for the other racers. In the beginning, the various racers took turns leading.

      I ended my first post on the 1908 Great Race from New York City to Paris with the six competitors zooming down Broadway on their way out of New York City as a crowd of 250,000 roared them on. Their original route had already been changed by the organizers. Instead of driving half way across the US and then up though Canada to the Bering Strait, they would work their way across the nation and then take a boat up to Valdez where they would continue the Alaska portion of the race over dog sled trails and ice-covered rivers.

      But first they had to get across the US starting in winter, no small task considering no one had ever accomplished it. Roads would be rough to non-existent. There were no maps or gas stations, or asphalt— it had yet to be invented. In some areas the drivers would be forced to drive over railroad tracks, a guaranteed bumpy ride! Remember the ads when automobile manufacturers would show how good the shocks on their cars were by driving down railroad tracks with an egg balanced on a spoon? You would have to fast forward to the 60s and 70s for that level of suspension.

      Problems began immediately. The one-cylinder, small French Sizaire-Naudin dropped out of the race on the first day at mile 96 with a broken differential. The remaining five vehicles soon found themselves plowing through two feet or more of snow in a blizzard. Except in cities, no handy-dandy horse drawn snow plows were around to clear roads. George Schuster, the mechanic for the Thomas Flyer, walked ahead of his vehicle poking a stick into the snow to measure its depth. Or maybe he was looking for the road!

      The Thomas Flyer fights to get out of a snow drift.

      The slow progress came to a dead halt in Dismal Hollow outside of Auburn, New York. The name alone suggests a horror-story-level disaster. The cars became hopelessly bogged down as night approached. Fortunately, horses hired by the Italian Zust team came to the rescue of the automobilists, as they were known then, and pulled them out.

      The Italian Zust. Clothing suggests just how cold it was.

      At first, the teams worked together, taking turns at leading. That didn’t last long. It was a race, after all. You can imagine how the Americans, or the Germans or the Italians reacted when the driver of the French de Dion, St. Chaffray, ordered them, “When you wish to go ahead to a city, you ask me.” Right.  

      The Europeans were soon complaining that the Americans had unfair advantages. When the Thomas Flyer had a problem, dozen of patriotic volunteers jumped in to eagerly help out for free. When the European cars hit a glitch, they had to pay. “They even charge us to sleep on the ground,” one of the drivers whined. A more legitimate complaint in terms of the race outcome was that the railroad and trolley companies favored the Flyer in allowing track usage. Out West, the Union Pacific even scheduled the Flyer to use its tracks like it would a train.

      When roads were impassable or non-existent, the racers often resorted to using train tracks. The rules were that the riders couldn’t actually ride on the rails. They had to bump their way over the railroad ties.
      Trolley lines sometimes substituted for railroads in the cities.

      My sense is that the great advantage the Flyer had was George Schuster, however. For one, he had the ability to fix any problem the car had. Each night he would tune the engine and work on whatever else was needed to get the car ready for the next day. The competition complained to the race committee that Schuster had rebuilt the whole car. Possibly. But the complaint was rejected. One of the nightly chores that all of the car mechanics performed was draining the radiator so it wouldn’t freeze. Anti-freeze had been developed but it was used in making bombs, not protecting cars on cold nights

      Schuster’s support in keeping the vehicle operating went far beyond his mechanical abilities, however. If someone had to walk 10 miles in a freezing weather to get gas or a part, he did it. If the car needed rescuing from a snow drift or was stuck in a gully, he figured out how to free it. He was dedicated to doing whatever it took to keep the Flyer running.

      I suspect a fair amount of money exchanged hands when the racers reached Chicago. Many felt that the cars would be lucky to get out of New York and even E.R. Thomas, the manufacturer of the Flyer, never expected his vehicle would get beyond the Windy City. T. Walter Williams, the New York Times reporter assigned to the Thomas Flyer, bailed out when the cars arrived in Chicago. “It’s insanity” he proclaimed. And it was. But all five cars made it to Chicago and continued on. Snow continued to plague the drivers as they made their way across the Midwest. And when they finally got through the snow, they were faced with hub-deep mud. Lots of it. Tensions soared.

      When the De Dion got stuck in a snowbank and Hans Hendricks Hansen, who claimed he had piloted a Viking Ship to the North Pole solo, couldn’t get it out, St. Chaffray exploded. The men decided a duel was in order and went scrambling to find their pistols. Fortunately, they were buried deep in the gear and St. Chaffray had time to decide that it would be better to fire Hansen than to kill him— or be killed by him. Hansen joined the Thomas Flyer, pledged allegiance to the American flag it flew, and swore that he could walk to Paris faster than St. Chaffray could drive there.

      Our recent 8,000-mile journey around the US was bound to cross the route of the Great Race. It happened in Nebraska as we followed US 30 along the South Platte River. The racers had been following what would become Highway 30 through Illinois, Iowa and Nebraska. We joined the highway in Kearny and followed it on to North Platte where we stayed at Buffalo Bill’s ranch. Signs along the road proudly proclaimed it had been part of the Oregon Trail and the Lincoln Highway, America’s first transcontinental highway. Before that, it had served as a major path for Native Americans and mountain men. When the route had passed through Omaha on entering Nebraska, the Flyer team met Buffalo Bill who had invited them to stay at his ranch on the North Platte.

      I took this photo of US 30 on Peggy’s and my recent trip around the country. Take away the pavement and add a foot of mud, it might look similar to what the 1908 racers found in making their way across Nebraska.
      Whenever the racers came to a major town, the citizens would be out to greet them in force. This is Grand Island Nebraska. Only four of the cars made it this far.
      A high school student eager to shoot an action shot caught this photo of the race in the small town of Gibson, Nebraska. He even got a wave!
      Buffalo Bill invited the racers to stay at his home in North Platte. Pretty fancy digs for a buffalo hunter! The house was being repainted when Peggy and I visited it.
      Buffalo Bill’s barn, Scout’s Rest, would have been standing as well when the racers came through in 1908. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)
      The barn is packed full of memorabilia from Buffalo Bill’s road show which traveled the world featuring cowboys and Indians and personalities like Annie Oakley. This poster promoted his show in Australia. Note the fancy rope work! I got so excited…
      … That I lassoed myself a filly! Boy did she put up a fight!
      I’ll conclude today’s post with a photo of the Flyer making its way through hub-deep mud. Some fun!

      NEXT POST: On to the West Coast and up to Alaska…

      Posted in On the Road US, Outdoor Adventures, Wandering The World | Tagged 1908 Auto race from NYC to Paris, Buffalo Bill's ranch in North Platte Nebraska
    • Off to a Rocky Start: Arches NP… The Backroads Series

      Posted at 8:15 am by Curt Mekemson
      Jul 2nd
      It looked a bit like Snoopy at first glance, making a sarcastic comment to Woodstock. But it wasn’t Snoopy. It was the famous Balanced Rock of Arches National Park. Someday it will come tumbling down. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

      We’ve started our journey around America traveling over the country’s backroads while wearing masks like bandits. The beginning of the trip was in Fallon, Nevada, which might seem strange given that we live in Oregon. Getting to Fallon, however, involved traveling over I-5 and I-80, two of Americas busiest freeways. Freeways are to be avoided and ignored in this series— even though Peggy and I have to use them on occasion.

      It’s scary out here in America’s hinterland as Covid-19 makes its way from state to state. The lack of a clear national policy is apparent. Peggy and I, as well as our traveling companions, Bone and Eeyore, are all wearing our masks. So far, we seem to be the exception. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

      In Fallon, we climbed on Highway 50. Its claim to being the ‘loneliest road in America,’ gives it genuine backroad credentials. I’ll get back to it. There is much to tell about the legendary highway I grew up near. But given Covid-19, our two to three month backroads exploration is off to a rocky start— and there are few places in America rockier than Arches National Park. Peggy and I know. We took 572 photos of rocks there. Peggy promises you won’t have to look at all of them. But there will be quite a few. Grin. I love red rock country.

      Today, I am going to start with just one, the famous Balanced Rock. Its total height is 128 feet. The boulder on top makes up 55 feet of its height and weighs in at 3500 tons. If you have been to Arches, the odds are you have a photo. Millions of tourists have stood and stared up at it in awe.

      It stands as a testament to the fact that there is much more to see in Arches than just arches. A lot more. Geology is the reason for the park’s unique look. The rocks that make up Arches have been layed down over hundreds of millions of years under a wide range of circumstances ranging from deserts to seas. Their different makeup impacts how fast they erode and that leads to the fantastic rock sculptures and monuments seen through the park. There will be more on the geology in coming posts.

      In addition to its unique look and geology, the thing that fascinates me about Balanced Rock is how its look changes drastically from different angles as you walk around it. And that is the subject of today’s photos.

      The mushroom look.
      A more traditional look of Balanced Rock with a companion. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)
      A modified ‘Snoopy’ look.
      Side view.
      A long view including Peggy. She’s safe, but is she balanced. (Grin) Another rock stands behind.
      A more human look. Possibly a thumbs up with a thumb ring? (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)
      I’ll conclude with this view of looking up at Balanced Rock from its base. It gives a perspective on how massive the sculpture is.

      NEXT POST: We’ll start at the beginning of the park with Wall Street, the Organ, and the Sheep.

      Posted in National Parks, Outdoor Adventures | Tagged Arches National Park, Backroads America during Covid-19, Balanced Rock Arches NP, Travel in the time of Covid 19, Travel with Curt and Peggy Mekemson
    • Stop and Smell the Flowers: Part 1… Along the PCT

      Posted at 5:00 am by Curt Mekemson
      Mar 18th
      Penstemon. One of at least a hundred beautiful flowers I photographed on my 750- mile hike down the PCT two summers ago.

      Hiking the Pacific Crest Trail is serious business for those who decide to backpack the 2650 miles from Mexico to Canada in one season. Think of it as hiking a 26-mile-marathon each day while carrying your food, water and camping gear on your back over mountains, across deserts, through snow, and every imaginable kind of weather. As such, it is not an exercise in wilderness appreciation; it’s an exercise in human endurance. It is one of the toughest, most grueling physical challenges in the world. People involved in can be forgiven if they don’t have time to stop and smell the flowers.

      This isn’t to say they don’t have an appreciation for the incredibly beautiful country they are hiking through. It’s impossible not to. But this appreciation is limited. When Peggy and I were backpacking through the Three Sisters Wilderness of Oregon as part of my 750 mile trip, we met Big Red, a giant of a man who summarized it well. “I’ll camp on a beautiful lake,” he said, “and I’ll think, ‘Wow! I would love to spend a few days here.’ But I can’t. I have to get up the next morning in the dark and be on the trail by dawn. Otherwise I’ll never finish.”

      I felt the pressure myself, even though I was moving along at around 15 miles a day. At 75, my shorter days were the equivalent of the longer days being hiked by the 20-40 year olds. I was glad I had my camera along and was committed to recording my journey with digital photos. It forced me to stop and smell the flowers— and to admire the beauty of my surroundings. Plus it was one hell of an excuse for a break even though I rarely allowed myself more than a minute or so to capture a subject and had mastered taking my camera out and putting it away while walking. (Okay, some subjects required 15-30 minutes!)

      The flowers along the trail were gorgeous. I shared some of these when I blogged about the journey. I’ll be sharing more over the next few weeks as I use my photo-essay Wednesdays to feature pictures from the PCT. Enjoy.

      Yellow leafed iris
      Wild hollyhock
      Western bleeding heart
      Close up of Western bleeding heart flower.
      Washington lily
      Close up of Washington lily.
      Wallflower
      Siskiyou lewisia
      Shooting star flower
      Rein orchid
      Phlox
      Paintbrush
      Monkshood
      Monkey flowers
      Azaleas

      FRIDAY’S POST: My final rock art post for now featuring petroglyphs from Monument Valley, Canyon de Chelly, Petrified Forest National Park and northern Nevada.

      Posted in Outdoor Adventures | Tagged Flower photos along the PCT by Curtis Mekemson, Flowers of the Pacific Crest Trail, Flowers of the PCT
    • While Dead Men Tell No Tales, Dead Trees Do… The Wednesday Photo Essay

      Posted at 5:00 am by Curt Mekemson
      Mar 11th
      Dead men tell no tales, or so they say. But dead trees talk back to you. At least it seems that way to me. I was backpacking into the Marble Mountains when I came upon this face on a burned tree. Was it saying, “Go back!”? Or maybe it was standing in for Smokey the Bear.

      I’ve been hard at work on my next book: It’s 4 AM and a Bear Is Standing on Top of Me. In it I tell stories from 50 years of wilderness adventures ending with my 750 mile backpack trip down the Pacific Crest Trail to celebrate my 75th birthday. I’ve reached the point now where I am about to embark on the last section, my hike down the PCT. In preparation I’ve been going through my photos of the trip for inspiration as well as to jog my memory.

      As I reviewed photos, I was struck by the idea that they would make appropriate content for my Wednesday Photo Essays. Rather than follow my days, which I more or less did in the blogs I wrote about the adventure, I’ve decided it would be fun to do a categorical approach and look at flowers, trees (mainly dead trees that have unique personalities), rock formations including mountains, and streams and lakes. There may be other categories as well. Today, I am going to include trees and brush I found particularly interesting. (I have a lot more but will alternate with flowers, etc. to keep things interesting.)

      There is something almost heroic about this dead tree my nephew Jay Dallen and I found in the Trinity Alps. We both took numerous photos. I could imagine Michelangelo capturing this tree in marble.
      I captured this photo by using rocks as a frame. The rocks shared a similar tortured look.
      The tree encouraged close-ups and photos from several different angles. Jay and I must have been there for 30 minutes.
      Dead manzanita lends itself to dramatic photos. The rock that the manzanita had grown over creates a close to perfect backdrop.
      As you know, I have an active imagination when it comes to seeing faces in rocks and wood.
      This was one of the most interesting I have ever seen. I looked through a knot hole and this peered back at me.
      Just ducky.
      I’ve always liked this statement by Joseph Campbell. If you find yourself falling off a cliff, “Dive!” Why not.
      Are you a fan of “Lord of the Rings”? This sculpture that also led my nephew Jay and I to take numerous photos struck me as an Ent in search of Ent wives. Or maybe he was tearing out rocks to bring throw down at Sauron.
      A closer look at the sculpture in its dramatic setting.
      A black and white of the top of the ‘Ent’ sculpture.
      Of course most of the trees along the PCT are happily living. I always like crown shots like this.
      High altitudes with cold temperatures and high winds do their own unique job of sculpting trees. My father loved to paint trees like this.
      This manzanita bush had plenty of beauty on its own but it didn’t hurt to have distant mountains including Mt. Shasta as a backdrop.
      One should never discount the possibility of using a convenient tree as a chair! Peggy said it was quite comfortable.
      Moss often adds a bit of color to dead trees.
      Moss helped create this peep hole.
      And decorated this dead stump.
      Dance with me , honey!
      Show me what you’ve got!
      A tree eats a trail sign.
      Nothing tells a story like old trail blazes left behind by explorers and pioneers to mark their trails. It’s a good place to end this post. If you have ever heard the expression, “Where in the blazes are we?,” this is where it came from.

      FRIDAY’S POST: I am going to do a wrap on the petroglyphs from the Three Rivers National Petroglyph Recreation Area. (I still have two more petroglyph posts covering other areas we visited on our fall Southwestern tour.)

      Posted in Outdoor Adventures | Tagged Backpacking the PCT, Trees along the Pacific Crest Trail
    • When Large Furry Animals with Long Claws and Sharp Teeth Come to Visit

      Posted at 4:59 pm by Curt Mekemson
      Jan 21st
      Bear track and Peggy track. One of the animals here is a heck of a lot bigger and much more furry than the other!

      I know, I know… I promised to cover our train trip on this post but I got side-tracked (in more ways than one). On Saturday, I was diligently working away in our library writing about the cast of characters who ride the rails when I looked out the window and noticed three deer madly dashing around our yard with their tails straight up signaling “Danger! Danger! Danger!” They charged up the hill, jumped the five-foot fence into the neighbor’s yard, did a 180, flew over the fence again and disappeared into our canyon going all-out. If you’ve ever watched frightened deer running, you know how fast this is. Seconds afterwards they burst out of the canyon and repeated the process. I called Peggy in to watch.

      “Something big that likes venison must be visiting and the deer smell it,” I speculated and suggested that the local cougar might be back.

      A few minutes later the deer had hightailed it up the mountain. Our property, which is normally busy with deer, squirrels, numerous birds, and other wildlife, had become eerily silent. Even the ever-squawky jays that I depend on to tell me when dangerous predators— like the local cat— are about, were uttering nary a peep. 

      Since we needed to do our daily mailbox walk and a fair amount of snow from the storm that I featured in my last post hadn’t melted, I proposed we keep an eye out for cougar tracks. The walk is close to a mile with the mailbox being at the halfway point. We do a round trip, leaving by our back road and returning by our front road. There would ample opportunity to look for tracks. 

      We found them near the mailbox! I confess I felt a bit like the deer, ready to raise my tail and dash off. 

      We were on the homestretch, heading up the hill to our home when we saw the next set of tracks. They came out of the canyon and headed straight for our house. That added a bit of excitement (he noted in understatement). Peggy and I quickly checked around the house. Sure enough, the big cougar had wandered around in our backyard the night before and possibly onto the snowless section of our deck. If so, it would have been about six feet away from where we were sleeping. That’s Peggy’s side of the bed. (Grin)

      Things were more or less back to normal on Sunday. The deer were back, a bit jumpy, but none-the-less munching away. The bird feeder was a circus with six species contending over who got the sunflower seeds. And three squirrels were busy chasing each other in a row with love on their minds. They shot up, down, and around trees nose to tail, nose to tail.  

      Monday, Martin Luther King’s Birthday, had a slight twist.  There was no mail, so we decided to hike up into the forest where we had taken our snow hike. This time, however we would veer off to visit what we call the bear cave. Not that we’ve ever seen a bear; it’s an old gold mining operation. We named it the bear cave to give our grandkids more of a sense of adventure when they visited. I once took our grandson Cody up there when he was five on a bear hunt with our sling shots. He’d been excited to go on an adventure with Grandpa. The closer we had got to the cave the more reluctant he had become. We’d stood back from the cave and lobbed pellets in to scare the bear out. 

      This time, my lovely wife was the reluctant one.  She suggested we go for a walk on the road instead. Could it be that the cougar had her spooked?  I laughed and away we went up the mountain. We had made the cutoff when we saw a set of huge tracks heading in the general direction of the cave. Bear tracks. Peggy let me take a couple of photos before she insisted that we beat a hasty retreat.

      Following are some photos of the various tracks we came across.

      Cougar track in melting snow. Note four paws and a lack of claws. Cats keep there claws retracted.
      Dog track for comparison. Note the distinct claw marks.
      Tracks across our back yard.
      Final shot of the bear print.

      NEXT POST: The train trip! Unless, of course, someone else comes to visit. 🙂

      Posted in At Home in Oregon, Outdoor Adventures | Tagged Bear comes to visit, Bear track, Cougar comes to visit, Cougar track, dog track
    • The Rancho de Taos and Georgia O’Keeffe… Part 1 of O’Keeffe Country

      Posted at 6:01 pm by Curt Mekemson
      Nov 22nd
      The Rancho de Taos Church of San Francisco de Asis was painted by Georgia O’Keeffe and photographed by her friend of 50 years, Ansel Adams. This is a photo I took of the church from the back.

      It was in the fall of 1915 that I first had the idea that what I had been taught was of little value to me except for the use of my (art) materials as a language… I had been taught to work like others and after careful thinking I decided I wasn’t going to spend my life doing what was already done. –Georgia O’Keeffe in her autobiographical book on her art.

      Georgia is on my mind. I had stopped off in Reno to check out the city’s River Walk on my road trip down Highway 395 this past summer when I saw a poster that the Nevada Museum of Art was featuring an exhibit on Georgia O’Keeffe titled Living Modern. There was no question in my mind. I had to go. O’Keeffe had been a favorite artist of mine ever since the 60s when I had been a student at Berkeley and first encountered her paintings of flowers. The exhibit in Reno was excellent, including several of her well-known works, but it also looked at her life, right down to her unique style of dress and the camping gear she carried when she made her painting expeditions into the remote parts of New Mexico.

      Georgia O'Keefe's Jimson weed painting used for curt Mekemson blogs on Georgia O'Keefe
      Georgia O’Keeffe’s paintings of wildflowers are recognizable world-wide. This 1932 painting by her of Jimson Weed was bought in 2014 for 44 million dollars by Alice Walton, the heiress of the Walmart fortune. The painting had hung in George Bush’s dining room at the White House. Funds generated are being used by the Georgia O’Keeffe museum in Santa Fe.
      To supplement a painting by Georgia O'Keefe
      Like Georgia O’Keeffe I have found Jimson weed, or Datura, to be a beautiful plant. I took numerous photos along the American River Parkway in Sacramento. Besides its beauty, Jimson weed is a highly toxic hallucinogenic plant that was used by the the shamans to aid their journeys to other worlds. (More on this when I do my posts on petroglyphs.)
      This is some of her original camping gear. Beyond my white gas Coleman stove, it doesn’t look much different that what I used on hunting and camping trips in the early 70s.
      Here’s a picture of O’Keeffe on one of her many photographic expeditions in the backcountry of New Mexico. She called this the “Black Place” because of the color of the rocks and did several paintings of the area.
      A painting by O’Keeffe of the Black Place that was featured at the Nevada Museum of Art.

      One thing that surprised me at the museum was the number of photos of O’ Keeffe. Starting with her husband, Alfred Stieglitz, and including her friend, Ansel Adams, a number of world class photographers were enticed by her unique looks. It might be argued that she was the world’s first super model.

      Alfrd Steiglitz met Georgia O’Keeffe in 1916 and was immediately taken by her art— and her. Steiglitz who was 24 years older than O’Keeffe was already famous for his photography and for his support of modern art. He would eventually marry Georgia and would continue to photograph her for the rest of his life.
      This is another photo by Steiglitz that is a favorite of mine.
      Arguably the most famous photo of Georgia, this was taken by Ansel Adams.
      The 80-year-old O”Keeffe continued to attract renowned photographers as she aged. The English photographer Cecil Beaton captured her with a skull, contemplating it like philosophers of old. Or maybe she was contemplating the feather she had stuck in its eye. Her necklace, BTW, was made for her by Alexander Calder.
      Photo of Curt Mekemson contemplating skull used to compare with Georgia O'Keefe contemplating skull.
      Alas, poor Bucky, I knew him well. (Apologies to Shakespeare.) Seeing Georgia’s photo, I couldn’t help myself. Bucky once hung out in our neighborhood until he met his unfortunate demise down on the road. Peggy wanted me to go cut off his head. Being reluctant (I wonder why), she bribed our neighbor, Jim the hunter, with a can of beer to do the job. The skull now guards our garden, warning deer of their possible fate if they eat our plants. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

      My visit to the Nevada Museum of Art started me thinking about our planned visit to the Southwest this fall. We would be traveling through O’Keeffe Country, as they call it in New Mexico. I —along with Peggy’s enthusiastic support— decided to make where she lived and what she painted one of the focuses of our trip, which we did. We stopped by the O’Keeffe Museum in Santa Fe, went to Taos where she was first introduced to New Mexico by Mable Dodge Luhan, and then visited her homes in Abiquiu and Ghost Ranch. Today, I am going to start at Taos with a post on the Rancho de Taos and the Church of San Francisco de Asis. Its considered a must stop for photographers and painters who visit the town.

      Like most photographers and painters who make the pilgrimage to Taos, O’Keeffe painted the historic and beautiful adobe church of St. Francisco de Asis. This perspective is from the back.
      Ansel Adams photographed the church from the back.
      And from the front..

      Naturally, Peggy and I had to wander around Rancho de Taos and take our own photos. I included one of mine at the top of the post. Here are a few more.

      I was fascinated by the soft angles of the church.
      Here is another example.
      If a church could be said to have feet, the Rancho de Taos church seems to. Big guys!
      Walking around the church, I came on an interesting sculpture of Joseph, Jesus and Mary.
      And peeked in a window.
      A sideview of San Francisco de Asis including the sculpture and window.
      While I was working my way around the church, Peggy focused on the front. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)
      Playing with Peggy’s photo, I gave it more of an Ansel Adams look.
      Peggy also stood back beyond the arched entrance way and took a photo focusing on the left side of the church. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)
      Shooting up, she caught this shot of the belfry… (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)
      And noticed a pigeon, which I thought made an interesting photo considering the backdrop. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)
      I took a shot lining up the front of the church and its crosses with the archway.
      And two photos looking up at the front of the church.
      I also caught a photo of people walking into the church for a Saturday service, a reminder that San Francisco de Asis is still a very active church.
      Peggy took this photo of an adobe ruin on the square surrounding the church. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)
      And this very red building. It’s for sale in case you are interested! (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.
      I’ll conclude my post on Rancho de Taos with a final photo I took of the back of the San Francisco de Asis church.

      Next Post: I’ll write about the unusual patron of the arts, Mable Dodge Luhan, who brought the likes of Georgia O’Keeffe and D.H. Lawrence to Taos. Peggy and I will visit the Taos Pueblo that was also painted by O’Keeffe and photographed by Ansel Adams.

      Posted in Outdoor Adventures | Tagged Ansel Adams in Taos, Rancho de Taos, the San Francisco de Asis church in Taos
    • An Incredible Support System Is Discovered… Peggy’s Perspective on the PCT Adventure

      Posted at 11:58 am by Curt Mekemson
      Apr 3rd
      We met Jeanine (center) when we backpacked into Seiad. She had just hiked in from Castle Crags. In addition to being a PCT hiker, she is a ‘Trail Angel’ providing support to through hikers. Here, she makes Bone’s acquaintance.

      The Trekker Telegraph

      There were times that communication with Curt was critical. For example: Circumstances sometimes required that I change my location from where we had agreed to meet.  That’s where the trekker telegraph came in handy! Curt was hiking north to south while most through-hikers were traveling south to north. This meant that the majority of hikers I met at the trailhead would pass Curt along the way. Much to my delight, I could send messages with them.  They had a true appreciation of just how difficult the hike was and were more than supportive of Curt’s adventure. They were also used to sharing information with fellow hikers. (It didn’t hurt that I bribed them with apples, apple juice, fresh water, peanut butter, scones and beer.) I’d give them his card with his photo and away they would go. The more worried I was, the more hikers I gave the message to. Curt laughingly told me when he came out at Burney Falls that he had heard I was in a new location some 13 times! Good thing, since I was several miles away from where he was expecting me. Laugh all you want, Curt.

      I truly enjoyed getting to know the through-hikers. I was amazed at the variety of ages, genders, nationalities, repeat trekkers, segment trekkers, first timers, and seasoned hikers. They all had stories to tell and were glad to share.  They also wanted to hear about Curt. We had a sign on the back of our van that featured his adventure.

      The sign on the back of our van often led curious people to ask me what the story was. These included through-hikers as well as people in campgrounds and towns along the way. Here the tale is a bit different. The photo includes our friends Tom and Leta. Tom helped Curt create the first Sierra Trek in 1974 and they have been causing mischief ever since.

      More Support

      The sign also drew people in at campgrounds and in the small towns where I shopped along the way. They would stop by to visit, ask questions, share personal or family stories about the PCT, and often ask how they might help out. I distributed lots of Curt’s cards.  

      Trail angels are people who volunteer to support trekkers by providing water, food, lodging, and transportation along the way. We met a great one in Seiad Valley. Jeanine had hiked the PCT, as had her son. She lived near Burney Falls and regularly supported through hikers on the 30-mile section south of the Falls where there wasn’t any water. She immediately offered to help Curt, becoming a friend to be cherished! I saw her again near Burney Falls where I had a fun lunch with her and her friends. Later, she and her husband joined both of us for pizza in Burney. Her information about the trail was invaluable. The lack of water combined with 105 F temperatures ultimately persuaded Curt to save the Burney section for another time, however. 

      Other people jumped in to help whenever help was needed. My friend Barbara and her husband Carl, long time hikers, gave us a ride to Mt. Ashland where we started the TMT. Tim and Sandra Holt in Dunsmuir, friends from Curt’s past, offered to let our nephew Jay leave his car at their home when Jay joined Curt for a 100-mile segment. My own trail angel activities paid dividends. One couple I had given a ride to, drove all the way to Sonora Pass just to check on me and to see if there was any news from Curt!

      RV Angels is a new category! I made that one up but I have a few stories of campground hosts and RV Park hosts who helped me out. I was traveling without reservations for most of the trip as I needed the flexibility to be where I was needed most. The challenge was finding space. One host (in Chester) who had no open spaces heard my story, told me to wait a moment, made a call, and then returned to tell me she had a spot. That night she returned and said I could stay as long as I needed! Another host (in Burney Falls) offered her private phone number for emergencies and her private internet server so that I would have consistent service. Another host (Lake Tahoe/Truckee) squeezed me in between some big rigs and said she would find a spot for me if I needed to stay longer.

      Several friendships were made. Some will continue to grow over the next few years. A favorite story is about Linda. I had just returned to Quivera (the van) and saw Linda with her quilting supplies, sewing machine, and materials spread out over the picnic table. Yes, I love quilting so, of course, I had to introduce myself and rave about her skill! Next thing I know we are sharing a glass of wine and just having a great time talking a mile a minute! She and her husband Pete were part of a local group that RV together. The men would go fishing and the women would quilt. Then all would party in the evening. Turns out she grew up in the Lassen NP area and still had a summer home. We agreed we would tackle Lassen Peak next summer. When we finally returned home in September, Linda had sent me the quilt that I had so admired. What a gem!

      Then there was the homemade coconut cream pie. Jeanine and her friends had recommended a restaurant in Falls River. It was known for its coconut cream pie. Curt was excited; he loves coconut cream pie. Bad news, they were out. Good news, when the baker heard Curt’s story, she headed into the kitchen and made another pie!! Little things mean a lot. Curt claimed it was it best he has ever eaten. (I wonder if that had anything to do with eating backpacking food for weeks?)

      The Falls River Hotel where Curt got his Coconut Cream Pie.

      Other Thoughts

      Family connections:Yes, I worried about Curt on the trail. That is who I am. Our kids were great about checking in regularly. They were also receiving the evening messages from Spot, the GPS tracker, letting them know where Curt was and that all was well. What was best, though, was that our 13-year-old grandson Ethan joined Curt for one segment and Jay, our 30-year-old nephew, joined him for another. Now I could relax. A bonus came along with Ethan. Our daughter Tasha and her other son, Cody, joined me and we were able to play for a week. 

      Jay and I just before he and Curt took off to hike the hundred miles to Castle Crags.
      Here I am with my grandsons Cody and Ethan and my daughter Tasha above Emerald Bay Lake Tahoe after Ethan had come out from his hike with Curt due to a sprained ankle.
      We had introduced Tasha to backpacking several years earlier. She’s shown here just north of Yosemite on a trip we were on.

      Birthday at Castle Crags:Believe it or not, I have never spent my birthday alone! I LOVE birthdays and have turned mine into a day per decade celebration. So, this summer was a bit different. However, there were a few surprises. Of course, the kids called. Then I received a phone call from Jay and Curt who stopped on top of a mountain and discovered a cell signal. I had answered concerned about an emergency and was greeted by a stirring rendition of Happy Birthday to you! What fun! To celebrate, I then called our friend Sandra Holt and invited her to join me for train-car dining at the Railroad Park where the wait staff spoiled me rotten. OK, I really was not alone.

      On being by myself:One afternoon I was enjoying a beautiful spot at my campsite in a forest campground about ten miles from Sonora Pass. Shaded by pine trees and enjoying incredible mountain views, I pulled out my guitar and softly sang and played my favorite folk songs (Think 60s-70s.) I noticed a father and daughter standing behind the van and listening discretely. When I picked up some artistic word searches I had been designing, the two of them approached. The father said his daughter had a question: Was the TMT sign on the van true? Yes. Then what did I do with myself each day?

      It was a good question. I had never really traveled on my own in the RV. There was plenty of down time while I waited for Curt. My day included reading (lots), playing the guitar, writing a daily journal, creating artistic word searches (the daughter got quite excited about this and offered to test them for me!), following the news, keeping the RV resupplied, researching campgrounds, hiking, and supporting Curt. I used social media when I had an internet connection to keep up with friends and my responsibilities as President of the Friends of Ruch Library.

      Hiking alone in the woods by myself was also a first. Walking 2 to 3-miles daily on local trails wasn’t a problem. Longer hikes presented a bit more of a challenge. First, I had to get used to the quiet. Then there was the expectation of encountering large, furry animals on my own. Deer fine.  The mama bear and her two cubs was another story— especially when they decided to walk toward me. Being directionally challenged, I am always concerned about getting lost. I paid real close attention every time the trail split, carried a whistle, and loaded up with water and snacks. My conclusion, I love hiking but I prefer to hike with Curt. (Grin.) We finished off our adventure by backpacking together in the Three Sisters Wilderness of Oregon.

      While waiting for Curt I hiked up the trail toward Castle Crags. It was one of several longer hikes I took.

      This wraps up my observations. I was reminded that being back in nature does rebalance the mind. The think time and quiet time when wandering in the woods cannot be matched. There is a good reason that Curt and I are soulmates. So, here’s to our next adventure. I am thinking the PCT in Oregon deserves much more of our attention!

      Here I am on the PCT in the Three Sisters Wilderness of Oregon.
      Posted in On the Road US, Outdoor Adventures | Tagged Backup support for hikers on the PCT, Hiking the PCT, Peggy Mekemson, travel blog, writing
    • Planning for the unexpected along the PCT… Peggy’s Perspective: Part II

      Posted at 12:09 pm by Curt Mekemson
      Mar 29th
      Smoke along the PCT near Chester, CA in the summer of 2018.
      Curt’s extensive experience backpacking, didn’t prepare him to deal with the smoke and fires along the PCT last summer. This photo was taken near Chester, California.

      Curt knew I would be nervous without detailed planning of trails, mileage, rendezvous points, and alternatives. With 50 years of backpacking experience including planning, organizing and leading backpack treks for 30, he is something of an expert on the subject. Having a GPS/Spot Gen 3 tracker along was a new experience for him, however. He could upload his location each night via satellite and I could track his progress on my maps. He could also use Spot to signal for emergency help if needed and carried a cell phone, which he could use in the rare times he had cell service or if he had to hike out for some reason.

      Then there was the unexpected— lack of water, smoke, fire, and possible injuries on the trail plus my challenges on the road of finding campgrounds and spaces near trailheads, power outages, limited cell service, and RV repair issues. 

      The first part of the trek introduced us to water shortages! Following mountain ridges over much of its length, the PCT is noted for its limited supply. The mild winter of 2017-18 with its lack of snow fall in the Siskiyous, Cascades and Sierras made it worse. Streams that would normally have been running through July were dry. Springs were sometimes a mere trickle. Even though we had downloaded the most recent information from the PCT site on water sources, the situation was changing rapidly. Our first day on the trail from Mt. Ashland proved the point.

      We had planned a 10-mile day since it was our first day out. There had been sufficient water over the first seven miles. It wasn’t the case when we came to our planned camp site. Curt parked me in a pleasant location and took our water bottles down into the canyon where a stream was located. And came back empty. The stream was dry. “The map shows that there’s a spring in about a quarter of a mile off on a side road,” he announced. “We can camp there.” I loaded my pack and away we went. The spring was also dry. Have I mentioned that I was getting grumpy? Our options now appeared to be hiking three miles back or three miles ahead on the trail. “Let’s try farther down the canyon,” he suggested as a third alternative. I dutifully followed along. Fortunately, we hit water in a half mile. Curt’s experience with all-things-woodsy had paid off. The creek, by the way, was the headwaters of the Applegate River, which runs past our front yard.

      We had just set up our tent when crashing thunder announced a deluge. I made it inside dry. Curt came in soaked. Mother Nature was having fun at our expense!

      The greatest surprise and challenge was fire and smoke. The thought of making a fast exit ahead of a fire was always on our minds, but smoke was the main problem. Curt’s many years of working with the American Lung Association had educated him to the danger. “Wildfire smoke can be extremely harmful to the lungs, especially for children, older adults and those with asthma, COPD and bronchitis or a chronic heart disease or diabetes,” ALA warns. “I resemble one of those categories,” Curt said. Older people are to stay inside and avoid strenuous exercise. Ha!

      Fires started to impact the plan as soon as Castle Crags and smoke changed the trail plan totally in Chester when we couldn’t see a hundred yards into the forest. As Curt has shared on his blog, he had to alter his journey to avoid the worst of smoke and fire. Was I worried? Yes! The most difficult situation encountered was at Sonora Pass. I awoke the morning I was to meet him there to learn that a new fire had started on the far side of the pass. As I waited, I watched the smoke billowing from the fire grow larger and larger. When Curt hadn’t arrived several hours after I expected him, I became quite concerned. Fortunately, a long skinny fellow with the trail name of Bone came hiking up to our RV.

      Sonora Peak as seen from Sonora Pass where I was waiting for Curt. He’d be coming around the peak to the right.
      I hiked up the trail for a couple of miles hoping I would meet him along the way. No luck.
      My worry about Curt being late increased substantially as smoke from a new fire filled the air.

      “You must be Peggy,” he said. When I responded yes, he told me that he had passed my missing buddy on the trail. Curt had asked him to pass on the information that he was fine and should be along in an hour or two. Much relieved, I settled in to wait and invited Bone to charge his cell phone in our van and have a cold beer. After Curt’s safe arrival (he tells the story in his blog), we drove to an RV campground for the night and learned that the pass and the PCT trail had been closed after we left! 

      Bone wearing his Portland Blazer T-shirt with a small guitar attached to the back of his pack. Note how skinny Bone is, thus his trail name.

      While Curt was facing challenges out on the trail, I also had my share doing back up. As I mentioned earlier, I’d had lots of experience in camping with the RV. But I was a newbie at camping alone. Fires and lightning caused outages at campgrounds and RV parks, cell phone service was often spotty, And Quivera, our RV, demanded attention.  Internal lights, the awning, and the air conditioning unit all had issues. 

      Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem. We’d just find a shop that serviced RVs. But the local shops had a common response: “If you have a problem, call 30 days in advance for a reservation.” Does anyone else see a problem here? Repairs were up to me. Fine. The awning jammed, my solution? U-tube! I fixed it. Internal lights out? I read the manual, rewired the one I needed to read by and decided to let the other three go. AC servicing:  well, other than pumping out playa dust from Burning Man— a forever problem— it was still working. Why worry? 

      There was a good ending to my efforts to find an RV service shop. I stopped by Camping World in Rockland near Sacramento and talked with the service staff. One of them walked out with me, confirmed that I would need to replace the awning eventually but told me bungee cords were a great temporary solution. He then replaced all the lights for me. Last but not least, he told me how to flush the AC with a hose. There was no charge for his good advice and help! 

      Next up: I will talk about the help that was generously offered to me along the way and a unique way of communicating with Curt: The Trekker Telegraph. Bone was a good example. 

      Posted in On the Road US, Outdoor Adventures | Tagged Back up support for hikers on the PCT, Peggy Mekemson, photography, Smoke and fire along the PCT, Sonora Pass, travel blog, writing
    • Our Trek along the PCT… Peggy’s Perspective: Part I

      Posted at 9:55 am by Curt Mekemson
      Mar 26th

      I

      Curt and I had just started down the PCT when we came across this sign near Mt. Ashland

      In the beginning:  lots of questions!

      When Curt first shared that he wanted to celebrate his 75thbirthday hiking on the Pacific Crest Trail, I was not surprised. He has 50 years of backpacking experience and loves wandering in the woods. Then he added the 1000-mile goal. That surprised me! There were so many questions. Reading about the challenges faced by Bill Bryson in A Walk in the Woodsand Cheryl Strayed in Wildadded more. Their combined ages when they started their adventures was less than Curt’s. The conversations and planning began.   

      The first question was, can we (yes, we) physically do this? I had every intention of joining Curt on the trail whenever possible. He had introduced me to backpacking in 1980 and I, too, had fallen in love with the sport. But there was this age thing— for both of us. I’m 68, a child bride perhaps from Curt’s perspective, but not in the reality of miles traveled in life. Off we went for a week’s backpacking trial run on the 40-mile Rogue River Trail. Other than Curt falling down a cliff (well, only 20 feet head first) after his trekking pole collapsed, suffering minimal damage to his arm, and bouncing back on the trail, it was a beautiful adventure and a confirmation that we could still backpack longer distances with a bit of practice and preparation.

      Here I am in the late 90s above Lake Tahoe. When Curt introduced me to backpacking by hiking through the Desolation Wilderness, he brought his 87 year old friend Orvis Agee along for inspiration. Plus, how could I complain?
      Peggy Mekemson hiking along the Rogue River Trail.
      We trained for our trip by backpacking along the Rogue River Trail in southern Oregon. Not 30 minutes after this Curt’s trekking pole collapsed and he went off the cliff. I thought he had a heart attack and charged over the edge myself. Ten minutes later we had washed the blood off his arm, slapped on antibiotic cream and were back on the trail.
      Crossing over a creek on the Rogue River Trail.
      Usually, our backpacking adventures have us wading across fast flowing streams or balancing precariously on logs. The Rogue River Trail provided beautiful bridges. My kind of river crossing!
      Hiking down a steep, narrow trail covered with loose rock to reach camp at the end of a long day was not my idea of a picnic, however! (“You, want me to hike down there!?”)
      A ranger cabin along the way provided a photo op for us.

      The next question was how much could I backpack with Curt and still provide support along the way? I was to be his ‘trail angel’ in PCT lingo. I’d be driving our 22’ Pleasure Way RV/van as the support vehicle. We had been traveling in it for years sharing driving responsibilities, so I was confident I could manage. It was to be my first solo trip, however! My job included carrying three months of food and other backpacking necessities and resupplying Curt between trail segments. There was the fine print of course— and other duties as required (grin).One was that I’d greet Curt with a big smile, a hug, and a cold beer when he came off each segment. Given that my young/old husband had survived another 70 to 100 miles of backpacking through the wilderness over challenging terrain, the smiles and hugs were really easy! My presence would also offer a comfortable break from the trail and provide the flexibility of changing mileage, timelines, and length of breaks if needed. It was an advantage that few PCT hikers have. Curt is spoiled rotten, what can I say. 

      We used our 22-foot RV Quivera for back up. (Quivera was a mysterious Native American city that was supposedly full of treasure but was always moving around so no one could find it.) I’ve had plenty of experience driving it. We always take turns, but there is more. When Curt and I retraced his 1989, 10,000 mile solo bike trip around North America a couple of years ago, I drove the whole way so he could take notes and photos.
      A #10 can of Mountain House freeze dried food. The back of our van was packed to the brim with food when we began the trip. Each time Curt finished a segment of the trail, I would help him put his next resupply together.
      This will give you an idea of what Curt looked liked when he came off the trail: Skinny, disheveled and sweaty! (Here, he had just covered 16 miles in a little over four hours.) And I was supposed to hug this guy and give him a cold beer? Yep.
      Ah, the things that love will do to you.
      In my role as ‘Trail Angel’ I provided many a through hiker with a cold beer, which Curt fully supported… as long as I saved one for him!

      Realistically, I would not be able to backpack much of the way without someone moving the van from Point A to Point B. However, we could backpack the first segment together from Mt. Ashland to Seiad Valley which would be a great confidence builder for both of us. The rest we would figure out on the run! Once we hiked into Seiad Valley, 6 days and 60 miles later, I was assured Curt could do anything he put his mind to! (So could I.) Still, waving goodbye to him as he left Seiad Valley on his first solo segment up through the Marble Mountains was hard. “If you don’t come out, Curt, I am coming in after you,” I told him and meant it. He had looked nervous and said, “Call Tony first.” I am geographically challenged when it comes to finding my way around in the woods. Tony is our Coast Guard pilot son who has participated in numerous rescue operations.  

      Our journey along the PCT from Mt. Ashland to the Seiad Valley brought us to the Oregon-California border. It is a major objective for the majority of through hikers who travel north. For Curt, it was just the beginning of his journey.
      While we were only hiking 60 miles, there were plenty of challenges. Here, I am hiking up the back of the Red Buttes. We can see the other side of these mountains from our home.
      A picture of the now snow-covered Red Buttes taken from our patio this morning.
      Of course there were occasional breaks. I couldn’t resist this convenient chair.
      Here we are celebrating at the small campground where we had left our RV in Seiad Valley. It appears that I was to get one beer and Curt five. Not.
      My emotions were mixed as Curt turned to wave goodbye before heading up into the Marble Mountains. For one, I was proud of him, proud of both of us, for undertaking this fantastic adventure. On the other hand, this was the first section of the trail he was hiking by himself. So many things could go wrong out there. He was no longer the 20, 30, 40, 50, or even 60-year old of his earlier backpacking days. Would he come out of the mountains at the place and time he had planned? I smiled bravely and waved goodbye.

      NEXT POST: When the unexpected happens along the PCT. Peggy’s perspective: Part 2.

      Posted in Outdoor Adventures | Tagged adventure travel, Hiking the Rogue River Trail, Peggy Mekemson as PCT trail angel, Peggy Mekemson hiking on the PCT, photography, travel blog, writing
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