The Sand Dunes of Death Valley… The National Park Series

/ Curt Mekemson / 4 Comments

The sand dunes of Death Valley National Park provide a striking contrast to the surrounding mountains.

I was in my lowest gear, out of the saddle, and moving at three miles an hour. It would have been easier to get off the bicycle and push, but I am stubborn.

Three days before I had climbed over Greenhorn Pass in the Southern Sierra Nevada Mountains during a blinding snowstorm. I wasn’t going to let the Panamint Range of Death Valley National Park defeat me

There was ample time as I struggled up the mountain to question the sanity of doing a six-month, 10,000-mile solo bike tour around North America. I’d prepared for the journey by increasing my beer ration. Of course I paid for my folly. I usually do.

I started my 10,000 mile solo trip around North America out of Sacramento California. Every thing I would need to survive for six months on the road was packed on my bike, some 60 pounds of gear. It wasn't totally solo. The Peripatetic Bone was riding in my handle bar bag.

By the time I reached Death Valley, however, I was two weeks into the trip and my body was toughening up. I succeeded in making the nine-mile climb out of Panamint Valley to the top of the 4956 Towne Pass even though it took me three hours and burned half of my carefully acquired beer calories.

Euphoria was the result. Looking back, I count the climb as one of the top ten challenges of my 10,000-mile trek. It almost competes with dodging a tornado in Mississippi.

I rewarded myself by declaring it lunchtime. I also allowed myself to contemplate the 17 mile downhill ride into Stove Pipe Wells and what I would find at the bottom: the Sand Dunes of Death Valley.

I’ve been in and out of the Valley numerous times over the years. It’s all beautiful or at least wonderfully strange. But for me, the Sand Dunes are in a class by themselves. I am fascinated with their sinuous curves and how they contrast with the surrounding mountains. I love climbing up and down their slippery slopes in the early morning and wandering along their peaked ridges on a moonlit night.

The sinuous, flowing slopes of the sand dunes in Death Valley National Park are a thing of beauty.

The dunes are a product of wind, sand and topography, all of which Death Valley has an abundant share.  Mesquite Flat Dunes, located at Stove Pipe Wells and featured in this blog, are the easiest to reach and the most commonly visited. Being relatively close to Hollywood, they have starred in many movies, including Star Wars.

The last time Peggy and I were in Death Valley, we brought along our bikes for a more relaxed tour of the Valley floor and dune area.

How you look when you aren't loaded down with 60 pounds of gear and climbing a mountain. Note Peggy's smile.

I am looking rather relaxed myself. Peggy took this photo looking across what is known as the Devil's Cornfield. The Panamint Range looms in the background.

Peggy and I were on an evening stroll out to the dunes when we came across a pair of Canadian Geese. I assumed they were lost but they didn't ask for directions.

A final view of the dunes set off by a cloud filled sky.

Rhyolite, Death Valley: A Ghostly Town… The National Park Series

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A ghost sign for Rhyolite, Nevada. Look closely and you will see ghostly letters of the town's name imposed over the name of a long forgotten casino.

The wind was cold with the whispers of forgotten ghosts. We put on our Jackets to fight the chill; Bone found a horseshoe for good luck. We had made a detour to visit the old Ghost Town of Rhyolite on the way into Death Valley National Park from the small town of Beatty in Nevada.

The Peripatetic Bone, who was originally part of a horse just above the hoof, tries on a horseshoe for good luck.

Gold was discovered in the area in 1904. A boomtown sprang out of the desolate desert. Soon there was a school, a bank and even an opera house. The sound of “batter up” could be heard on weekend days and arias on weekend nights. Women flowed in from San Francisco to accommodate the town’s red light district.

Can you hear the children playing?

The town bank.

There was even an ice cream parlor and a house made from 50,000 beer and liquor bottles, which says something about the quantity of liquor consumed in town.

A house built with 50,000 bottles of beer and booze: light, insulation and a doozy of a hangover.

In 1907, electricity came to Rhyolite. It was the same year a financial crisis announced the beginning of the end for the town. Mines started to close, banks failed, and the newspaper went out of business. The lights were shut off in 1916. The boom was over.

A few skeletons of buildings and the bottle house are all that remain today. If you are in the neighborhood be sure to stop by. The ghosts will appreciate your visit. There is also a fascinating sculpture garden located next to Rhyolite that I will blog about next in my National Park/Death Valley series.

Long abandoned vehicles provide great photo opportunities but this one was missing something critical. And no, I don't mean engine...

A hood ornament.

Death Valley Scotty and Scotty’s Castle… The National Park Series

/ Curt Mekemson / 5 Comments

Looking down on Scotty's Castle in Death Valley National Park. This view is looking eastward up Grapevine Canyon. A spring in the Canyon provides water for the Castle and creates the oasis. Our small RV Quivera is peeking out on the far right.

Walter E. Scott was a scoundrel and a showman, a master at bilking rich people out of their money. He was born in Cynthiana, Kentucky in 1872. I may be related.

My Great, Great, Great, Great, Great Grandfather, Andrew Mekemson/Makemson is buried five miles from town. For a time, in the late 1700s and early 1800s, our whole Scotch-Irish clan lived in the area. At one point, Makemsons and Scotts in Harrison County intermarried. Possibly it was with Scott’s family.

Walter didn’t hang out in Cynthiana for long, however. In 1883, at the age of eleven, he split. Some say he ran away. He ended up working as a cowboy with his brother in Nevada.

He must have looked great on a horse. A talent scout for Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show recruited him as a cowboy and trick rider when he was 18. For the next 12 years he toured the US and Europe along with such luminaries as Annie Oakley.

In 1902 he discovered his true calling. Walter started selling shares to an incredibly rich gold mine in Death Valley, a gold mine he never quite got around to finding. He became the star of his own Wild West act.  Reinvesting his investors’ money, he travelled from LA to New York City, stayed at the best hotels, spent lavishly, and constantly promoted his non-existent gold mine.

Reporters were attracted to him like buzzards to road kill. And why not… they were guaranteed a great story, free meal and all the booze they could consume. The legend of Death Valley Scotty was born. Rich men lined up to contribute.

In 1905 he pulled off one of his most successful self-promotions. Scotty hired a three-car Santa Fe railroad train to make a record run from Los Angeles to Chicago. The ‘Coyote Special’ made the trip in 44 hours and 54 minutes.

“We got there so fast,” Scotty reputedly said, “ we didn’t have time to sober up.”

His pot of gold was waiting. Albert Johnson lived in Chicago and was Scotty’s opposite. While Scotty was a flamboyant con man and adventurer, Albert was a quiet, highly educated and deeply religious man… not to mention very wealthy. He became excited about the gold mine. Scotty had found his meal ticket for life.

Eventually Albert visited Death Valley to see the mine. Or possibly he came out to see why there were no returns on his investment. Scotty saddled up and took him on a strenuous wild goose chase through the desert. It was risky. Albert was not a healthy man and the trip could have killed him. The opposite happened. His health improved and he came to love Death Valley.

What was even more surprising, he developed a close friendship with Scotty and that friendship was more important than the gold.  Time and again Albert returned to Death Valley. He started bringing his wife Bessie along and she also developed a love for Death Valley and Scotty. But she didn’t like sleeping on the ground.

So Albert offered to build her a castle, which he did. It was an incredible feat given the vacation home’s remote location on the northern edge of Death Valley in Grapevine Canyon. Starting in the Roaring 20s and ending in the Great Depression, it cost two million dollars and took five years to complete.

Any respectable castle requires a turret.

Scotty promptly moved in: not as a guest, not as a renter and not even as a caretaker, but as the owner. He claimed it was his castle built with money from his gold mine. Albert and Bessie went along with their friend’s deception and Besse’s home became know as Scotty’s Castle.

Albert died in the 1940s and left the property to the Gospel Foundation, a charitable organization. But he left it to the charity with a proviso: they had to take care of Scotty, which they did up until his death in 1954.

In 1970 the National Park Service bought Scotty’s Castle from the Gospel Foundation and today’s visitors to Death Valley are welcome to include this beautiful and unique property as part of their adventure. A short walk up the hill behind the castle takes visitors to Scotty’s grave and a great view of the castle.

This blog marks the start of my National Park Series. Beginning in 2000, my wife Peggy and I have visited all of the US’s National Parks. From time to time I will feature our favorites. Over the next two weeks I will be blogging on Death Valley and the surrounding region.

Another view of Scotty's Castle in Death Valley. Note the weather vane on top.

A close-up of the weather vane and my favorite photo of Scotty's Castle. To me, it symbolizes the lonely prospector of the West. All that's missing is a donkey or horse.

A short walk up behind Scotty's Castle will bring you to Death Valley Scotty's grave and memorial. The site also provides a great view of the Castle and surrounding desert.

Scotty's faithful companion, Windy the Dog, is buried beside him. Bone, as in the Peripatetic Bone, stops by for a visit. Bone has been traveling the world for 36 years and has a special place in his heart for graves. No surprise there. He is more careful around live dogs.

A view of the Clock Tower at Scotty's Castle looking out toward Death Valley National Park.

Beautiful Victoria BC… The Vancouver Island Adventure

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Anybody who has ever been to Victoria BC on Vancouver Island comments about the grand Empress Hotel overlooking the Inner Harbor.

The sun came out for us in Victoria. The city wanted to show off its treasures: its beautiful harbor, the grand old Empress Hotel, Parliament Building, flowers, interesting architecture, British flavor and First Nation art.

I’ve been to British Columbia’s Capitol several times over the years and am always eager to come back. This time, Peggy and I were able to share our experience with our friends Ken and Leslie Lake from California. It was the last day of our Vancouver Island adventure and an appropriate way to end the trip.

Catching the Black Ball Ferry back to Port Angeles limited our time so we focused on the Inner Harbor. I will let the photographs that Peggy and I took speak for our experience.

There are those who say Victoria BC is more British than Britain. To check out the theory, we visited the Sticky Wicket Pub for a pint, or two. Cricket, anyone?

 

The architecture of this Victoria BC building reminded me of London.

 

Two strange-looking trees dominated the grounds in front of the Empress Hotel. I thought they looked like droopy dogs.

 

The atrium of Victoria Conference Center, located behind the Empress Hotel (and connected to it), is definitely worth a visit.

 

Close up of Victoria Conference Center totem pole. Frog legs for dinner...

 

Large First Nation mask-like sculpture in Victoria Conference Center, Victoria BC. Peggy considered it her favorite among the masks we saw on Vancouver Island.

 

One of my all time favorite memories of Victoria and Vancouver Island is of flowers and magnificent gardens. We were a little early this year and we didn't make it to Butchart Gardens so these perky fellows will have to represent the flowers of Victoria.

 

Like in many historic communities, carriage rides are offered as a way to tour the city. I like the matched black horse, black carriage, and black clothes.

 

Parliament Building. Victoria is the capital of British Columbia.

 

Victoria BC's unique art-deco visitor center was once a gas station. It gives new meaning to the word recycling.

 

Yachts, sport fishing boats, and sail boats rest on the blue water of Victoria's Inner Harbor.

 

I can't resist putting in a final First Nation totem pole as I wrap up our Vancouver Island adventure. This guy rests on the edge of Inner Harbor and is surrounded by flowers, a suggestion that spring is finally arriving.

Leslie and Peggy hold hands with a bear dressed up as a Mountie. I grew up listening to Sergeant Preston of the RCMP on the radio. It was my introduction to Canada. Sergeant Preston and his faithful dog, King, always caught the bad guy. "On King, on you huskies!"

 

 

 

Your Mama Was a Ground Squirrel… A Journal Entry

/ Curt Mekemson / 1 Comment

It's a random morning as I look out my window at the woods surrounding our home in Southern Oregon and am amused by the wildlife. A Steller Jay scolds me with a staccato comment. Apparently the bird feeder is running low on sunflower seeds.

I plug along, seeking a different perspective for my morning journal. CT runs by. “Your mama was a ground squirrel,” I yell after him. I am probably not being PC. He can’t help it if he has an ugly little crooked tail when all of his gray squirrel relatives have big bushy ones.

A dove lands under the madrone. She is as round as she is long. An elderly friend of mine would say, “Wow she is fat!” in a voice loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. It’s the privilege of old age, calling things as you see them. But I think the dove has fluffed her feathers out to stay warm on this 38-degree morning. Or possibly she is pregnant… very pregnant. Or she’s fat.

Random thoughts, random mind.

My computer tells me ‘random thoughts, random mind’ is not a complete sentence. There is nothing random about my computer. It lives by the rules. A fragment is a fragment is a fragment. I tell the software to get lost. I will write what I want. It’s a random morning and I am feeling like Jack Kerouac. Let the thoughts flow where they will.

But still I write in sentences with punctuation and paragraphs with themes. I can’t escape the discipline of writing. But I can play. We are far too serious in this world. We would rather bump each other off than laugh at our foolishness, which makes us all fools but not fool enough.

Whoa, where did that come from? “Gibberish,” you say, and gibberish it is but those are the rules of random. I write sentences but they don’t have to make sense. Or do they?

A Steller Jay interrupts my thoughts with his staccato complaints. Apparently the bird feeder is running low on sunflower seeds. It’s back to the basics.

Two tom turkeys come by, fluff out their feathers, and do the Turkey Two Step. It’s a fan dance. They have a harem of hens to convince of their masculinity. “Take me, baby!” But first they have to convince each other. It’s a dance as old as time.

Are these two tom turkeys putting on a show for their lady loves? Or is it each other?

And what is the hornless buck doing licking his nose with his bright pink tongue. “Ah,” I think to myself, “He is going after a bit of breakfast that has escaped his mouth.” I can identify. I stuck out my tongue frog-like this morning to capture a piece of scone that was charging down my sweatshirt. “Escapee!” my mind screamed.

Lip smacking good. The pink tongue says it all on this buck who is just starting to grow a new set of horns.

And thus my daily journal goes this third day of April in 2012 as I write from my home in the woods of Southern Oregon. I’ve been filling pages with the minutia of my life for 12 years now. It’s how I kick off my day, an old friend, as comfortable as the chair I sit in. I write for me. Occasionally I’ll share.

Port Alberni, a Seaport in the Middle of an Island… The Vancouver Island Adventure

/ Curt Mekemson / 11 Comments

Serious fishing boats are a reminder that the town of Port Alberni located in the middle of Vancouver Island, British Columbia is connected to the Pacific Ocean via Alberni Sound.

It felt strange to find a seaport in the middle of Vancouver Island. Our original goal had been to visit the Pacific Rim National Park but time and weather discouraged the trip. So we stopped half way at Port Alberni.

The town has a different feel to it than the Vancouver Island BC communities we visited on the east coast, more down to earth and less resort like. Saw and pulp mills once dominated the city’s economy but today the timber industry prefers to ship its logs off to China.

The good news here is that with the demise of the pulp mill the salmon returned and today, Port Alberni is the center of a major sports fishing industry. Like Campbell River, it bills itself the ‘Salmon Capitol of the World.” I suspect there are some interesting politics at work here.

The surrounding mountains, lakes and wilderness have also made the Alberni Valley a growing center of ecotourism.

We stopped at the visitor’s bureau to pick up tips on what we should see. And here it is time for an editorial comment. Canada’s neighbor to the south could really learn something from British Columbia about the promotion of tourism. Not only do most communities have information centers, they are normally very attractive, staffed with friendly, knowledgeable staff, and filled with information.

British Columbia and its communities do an excellent job or providing attractive, information packed, visitor bureaus. This bear welcomes visitors to Port Alberni BC.

These doors into the Port Alberni Visitor's Center feature a First Nation theme and are another example of how attractive and welcoming the centers are. The US could learn a lesson from BC and Canada about the promotion of tourism.

“You have to visit Harbor Quay,” was the recommendation for the short time we had. So we did. The Quay provided a beautiful view of the Alberni Inlet that makes its way out to the Pacific Ocean and provides Port Alberni with its seaport status. The presence of fishing boats reminded us of another major Vancouver Island industry.

After lunch, Peggy and Ken took advantage of a carved Thunderbird and eagle for photo ops. We visited small shops and downed some of the best cake donuts we’ve ever eaten. It was then time to head back to Parksville. Port Alberni and the Alberni Valley definitely deserved more time.

Alberni Sound leads out to the Pacific Ocean. Clouds and rain limited our view.

 

My friend Ken Lake bravely sits beneath the grasping talons of a plunging eagle at Port Alberni.

 

Peggy prefers to play peekaboo from beneath the wings and all-seeing eyes of a First Nation Thunderbird. The Thunderbird makes thunder by flapping his wings together while the eyes shoot out lightning.

Road Trip to Campbell River BC… The Vancouver Island Adventure

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Once again, we were impressed with the First Nation art of British Columbia. I photographed this carved face of a First Nation man in Campbell River BC on Vancouver Island.

We stopped the car and dashed for the restroom. Our day had started with a 16-ounce cup of Serious Coffee and we had serious business to attend to. (Serious Coffee is Vancouver Island’s Starbuck equivalent, plus. We were impressed.)

16 ounces of serious coffee called for a serious stop on the road to Campbell River, Vancouver Island BC.

It was only after we reemerged into the world that we noticed the gorgeous view our much-needed stop provided. We were on a road trip following Highway 19 A from Parksville on our way north to Campbell River along the East Coast of Vancouver Island BC. Our eyes (and cameras) were drawn to the towering coastal mountains of mainland British Columbia, which were set off by the dazzling blue of the Georgia Strait.

One glacier carved mountain was particularly dramatic. Its side had been sheered off by ice and reminded me of the Sierra Nevada Mountains in California where I have roamed for 40 years. Possibly one of my Canadian readers can provide a name for the mountain.

The dramatic coastal mountains of British Columbia as see from Vancouver Island across the Georgia Strait on Highway 19 A. The sheer face of the glacially carved mountain captured our interest.

Campbell River has adopted the name ‘Salmon Capital of the World.’ Sports fishermen, including Bob Hope and Bing Crosby, have been making pilgrimages to the area for decades.

We didn’t see any salmon but we did enjoy more First Nation art and visit the very impressive Museum at Campbell River (http://www.crmuseum.ca/).

This First Nation totem pole gazes out toward the water in Campbell River BC.

 

I found this carving amusing. Not sure the First Nation folks would agree but Ringling Brothers came to my mind.

 

Ken Lake poses on an old logging truck in the Museum at Campbell River. The museum features native masks and local history including logging and sports fishing. It is well worth a visit.

 

Cathedral Gove: Green and Sacred… The Vancouver Island Adventure

/ Curt Mekemson / 9 Comments

Looking up at the towering canopy of trees, one easily understands how Cathedral Grove on Vancouver Island in British Columbia received its name. There is both beauty and a sense of the sacred.

An Episcopal Minister once asked my daughter why I wasn’t in church.

“Oh, he’s out wandering in the woods,” she replied. “He considers it a sacred experience.”

“You can’t get absolution from a tree!” had been his angry retort.

I suspect the man had never hiked in the wilderness and experienced the sense of peace and healing such an experience can bring. Maybe he should have checked in with St. Francis. As for me, I go along with John Muir who said, “The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness.”

I find any natural area, even a tree on a busy urban street, worthy of appreciation. But some areas deserve special attention. I’ve wandered the world to find them.

Cathedral Grove on Vancouver Island in British Columbia is one such place. Ancient giants of the tree world call it home. This is a land of Red Cedars and Douglas Firs, some reaching 250 feet in height and dating back 800 years. It’s known as an old growth forest, which means it’s a rarity, one of the few forests to escape the relentless chainsaw.

This springboard tree attests to the fact that even a beautiful area like Cathedral Grove was subject to the woodsman's axe. Loggers cut the holes in the tree so they could put in planks to serve as a base for cutting the tree down. The bouncy nature of the plank gave it the name springboard.

Gradually we are learning to value and protect wilderness areas but it is a race against time. Driven by the desire to maximize profits and acting under the guise of job creation, timber interests continue to value forests primarily in terms of board feet produced.

As Peggy, Ken, Leslie and I hiked along the trails, we were struck by the beauty and greenness of the Grove. Hopefully my photographs below capture what we experienced. I found that http://www.cathedralgrove.eu/ provides a good overview on the Grove and the issues relating to protecting such areas.

An inviting path led into the green forest.

 

Ken and Leslie Lake, along with Peggy qualify as Tree Huggers.

 

Roots of a Cathedral Grove forest giant tower behind Leslie and Peggy. A sign at the entry warned that trees fall during wind storms and that visitors should vacate the premises. Sounds like good advice.

 

Reaching toward the sky, Cathedral Grove trees can reach a height of 250 feet.

 

Typical of Pacific Coast rain forests, moss covers everything, providing another definition to 'being green.'

 

Beyond the greenness, I also found the twisted shape of limbs interesting.

 

No imagination was required to turn this moss-covered limb into a forest sprite. Or maybe it was a forest sprite...

 

Speaking of sprites, it appears that Ken might be shape shifting into one in this photo of him along with Peggy and Leslie in a giant tree hollow.

The Missing Goats of Coombs… The Vancouver Island Adventure

/ Curt Mekemson / 1 Comment

We arrived in Coombs BC on Vancouver Island looking for goats on the sod roof of the Old Country Market. We found the roof with its long grass, but the goats were missing.

As the story is told, the Graaten Family resolved its crisis by consuming several bottles of wine. The grass on their roof had grown quite long and the Coombs Fair was only days away.

Kris, his wife Solveig, and their children emigrated from Norway to Vancouver Island in the 50s. Sod roofs were common in Norway at the time so Kris decided to put one on his market in Coombs. Makes sense, I guess, in a Norwegian sort of way… but it also created the long grass crisis.

Son-in-law Larry had an idea. “Let’s borrow some goats and have them mow the grass.” No one recorded how many glasses of wine the family had downed but the response was “why not.” And the legend was born. Having goats on your roof is a great for business.

Today, the Coombs’ Market with its sod roof and goats is one of the top tourist attractions in British Columbia.

“You have to go to Coombs,” Peggy’s new friends from Qualicum Beach had insisted on the ferry ride between Port Angeles and Victoria. Since we were staying in nearby Parksville with our friends Ken and Leslie Lake, we responded like the Graaten Family, “why not.”

It was snowing when we arrived. And yes, we immediately spotted the sod roof. But there were no goats. It seemed like a no-brainer. What goat in his right mind would stand on a roof in the middle of a snowstorm to entertain tourists? Actually, the goats had another reason for their absence. They were off having babies.

We did find a dog that looked like he was trying to remove a bone from his throat. On closer inspection it turned out he was catching snowflakes. It was quite humorous. Maybe the goats hired him as a substitute.

The dog in Coombs BC looked like he had a chicken bone stuck in his throat. Turns out he was catching snow flakes.

Even without the goats, the market was worth the visit. It is crammed full of artisan bread, great cheese, wine, other foodstuffs and hand-made knickknacks. We wandered up and down the aisles waiting for the snowstorm to stop.

Sunshine sent us scooting outside. We visited a fruit and vegetable stand and then ate at Cuckoo’s Italian Restaurant. The food was great but apparently there is a shortage of waiters in the area. The same young man who had served us dinner ten miles away the night before was our waiter for lunch.

I looked out the window and saw a reflecting pool with a stone Buddha. My mind went into Alice in Wonderland mode. Not only was the same waiter following us around, we had skipped from Norway to Italy to the mysterious Far East in 50 yards.

A calm Buddha gave his blessing to the green reflection pool outside of Cuckoo's Italian Restaurant in Coombs.

 

Chinese vases and another Buddha added to the Oriental theme. The snowflake eating dog is on the left.

 

I also liked this bonsai tree with its wonderfully crooked limbs. The bonsai lived next to Cuckoo's Restaurant.

Next door a 15-foot tall, belled lion stood in front of Fengy’s boutique. Carved wooden statues enticed us in. A large Mongol warrior stared down on us. A sign at its base warned against taking pictures. Fengy came over.

“If people take photos, they will copy my work.” It was either that or she didn’t want me photographing the chair that was based on male anatomy.

“Warrior is too big to sell,” she told me. “You photograph it.”

The market place next door to the Old Country Market in Coombs BC included the Fengy Boutique. A 15 foot tall lion with a bell on its chest sat in front. Arnold Schwarzenegger would have been jealous of the lion's muscles.

 

A giant Mongol warrior carved from wood is the centerpiece of Fengy's Boutique.

Outside, two dogs were driving a car, Peggy went nose to nose with a bear, and Ken had a shouting match with a rooster. There were also a lion, owls and another Buddha. Coombs was our kind of town.

Two dogs were driving a car in front of the Cozy Corner Book Store. I stopped to pet the dogs before going into the store. We have a policy of always going into local bookstores and buying books to support the store.

 

Another view of the car-driving dogs of Coombs BC.

 

Peggy had a nose to nose chat with Bear.

 

Ken had a crow-off with Rooster. Rooster won.

 

I found this family of owls in Coombs quite cute.

 

The lion looked quite regal.

 

And the ubiquitous Buddha provided an end-of-blog blessing.

 

Coombs is located two hours north of Victoria on the east coast of Vancouver Island, British Columbia. If you would like to learn more about the Old Country Market go to www.oldcountrymarket.com/. I understand there will even be live, streaming video of the roof and goats, assuming the goats decide to return.

With the sun shining I returned to the sod roof. Since the goats were still missing, I took a close-up of the sod.

The Beaches of PQB (Parksville and Qualicum Beach)… The Vancouver Island Adventure

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The beaches around Parksville and Qualicum Beach BC on Vancouver Island are crowded with tourists in the summer. In March they are just beautiful.

PQB, for short, is an ocean side resort located on the east coast of Vancouver Island two hours north of Victoria. The Parksville and Qualicum Beach website depicts it as Canada’s Riviera. Apparently the beaches are filled with frolicking visitors in the summer.

With temperatures ranging in the 40s and 50s during our stay, however, even the heartiest of sunbathers had found an excuse to be elsewhere. We were left with people-free pristine beaches that combined with the ocean and mountains to show off the areas natural beauty.

Another view of Qualicum Beach British Columbia.

We hooked up with our friends Ken and Leslie Lake at the Pacific Shores Resort just south of Parksville. The Lakes live near Sacramento, California and we have been sharing adventures for decades. Ken and I started out together leading 500-mile bike treks and 100-mile backpack treks in the 70s.

Pacific Shores is perched on the edge of Craig’s Bay. Our suite came with a balcony overlooking the Bay and a large Madrone overlooking the balcony. Except for the maid’s vacuum cleaner that insisted on eating the power cord for my MacBook Pro, we had a very pleasant stay.

An evening view from our balcony at Pacific Shores Resort looking out over Craig's Bay near Parksville, BC.

 

Having settled in we immediately began plotting our week. Peggy had met a very friendly couple from Qualicum Beach on our ferry ride from Port Angeles to Victoria who had outlined several must-do activities. We “absolutely” had to see the totem poles of Duncan, the murals of Chemainus and the goats of Coombs, who were apparently off making babies. There were also a couple of restaurants, Cathedral Grove, and Morning Star Farm. The farm is featured below.

Since Morning Star Farm in Qualicum Beach BC was close and known for its cheese and wines, we made it one of our first Visits.

 

The speed limit sign at Morning Star Farm was quite specific on punishment. We decided to obey.

 

Tooth picks poised, Ken, Leslie and Peggy prepare to sample Morning Star Farms excellent cheese. We bought enough to last for the week.

 

A tour of Morning Star Farm introduced us to several four-legged creatures including this horse and the llama featured below. There was also a cow having a calf which I chose not to photograph.

 

I simply can't resist photographing animals. This llama at Morning Star Farm was a natural.

 

Another view of the Llama at Morning Star Farm in Qualicum Beach, BC.

 

And a final view of the llama. My favorite. Note the large, soft dark eyes.

 

We added in trips to Campbell River and Port Alberni plus bought tickets for the musical “All Shook Up” playing at the Chemainus Theater Festival. We would not be bored. I have already blogged about Port Angeles, Duncan and Chemainus. My next blog will be on Coombs and its missing goats.

 

Our friends Ken and Leslie Lake. Ken had temporarily abandoned his SF Giants Baseball cap to "look more Canadian."

 

They say we gain character as we grow older. Or maybe we become characters. The jury is still out. I think this black and white photo of Ken Lake shows character.