I am continuing to dip back into my archives for armchair travel in the time of Covid-19. This is my third post in a series of five on Venice where Peggy and I travelled in 2013.
Remember the old Frank Sinatra hit song “Love and Marriage Go Together Like a Horse and Carriage.” Venice’s canals and gondolas are like that. It is hard to imagine one without the other. Also, it is hard to imagine gondolas without tourists. I suspect that most of them are docked in this time of Covid-19. In fact, satellite photos show the canals to be surprisingly clean. Even jellyfish have returned to take advantage of the tourist free waters! While Venetians may miss the tourist dollars, they, too, are appreciating their tourist free city. The government is searching for ways to reduce the dependence on tourist dollars— and the number of tourists. Gondolas aren’t about to go away, but there may be far fewer of them in the future.
I shot this photo from the Rialto Bridge looking down on the Grand Canal.
It is impossible to think of Venice without thinking of canals and romantic gondolas with singing gondoliers. Or possibly your vision of Venice is of fast boats with roaring engines and good guys/bad guys chasing each other with guns blazing as depicted in any number of movies.
A gondolier works his boat on cold, rough waters in the Grand Canal as his passengers enjoy the ride, bundled up in warm clothes.
We were in off-season, however. Only a few hardy tourists braved the cold for gondola rides and no movies were being made. The canals had reverted to their primary role as transportation corridors, a role which they have played for a thousand years.
This is a sight you wouldn’t see during the summer when these gondolas would be filled with tourists. I thought of the gathered gondolas as a gondola parking lot. You may note that they are all black. You can thank a 17th Century Doge for that. He mandated that they all be painted the same color.
Luxury accommodations gondola style. Expect to pay big bucks/euros for a ride in this one.
Peggy took this photo of parked gondolas looking from Venice proper across at the island of La Giudecca. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson)
We chose to walk on the carless streets that parallel the canals and cross over them on bridges that have as much personality of the canals and provide intriguing glimpses of life along the canals. The highlight of our journey was the famous Rialto Bridge and the Grand Canal but the smaller canals, known as rivers, provided more intimate views.
This photo shows the famed Rialto Bridge that served for centuries as the only bridge across the Grand Canal, which snakes its way through Venice as the major transportation corridor.
The more recent Accademia Bridge across the Grand Canal has a totally different look and construction. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)
I took this photo from the other side of the Accademia Bridge to capture the parked gondolas and the boat taxi that is crossing under the bridge.
Smaller canals, known as rivers in Venice, provide a more intimate view of life in the city. The buildings here were built by wealthy Venetians when Venice was a major world power controlling trade between the East and the West. Houses then, as now, were a symbol of wealth and power.
Peggy captured this interesting entrance way. I assume it would have been taller in the early years before sinking and global warming.
Flower/plant boxes are found throughout the city. I liked how these were next to the canal.
I’ll conclude with this reflection shot. Think of this as how Venice might look with far fewer tourists. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)
A robot boy and his dog check out the building of Medusa. She will show up in my next post. Beware of her eyes! (Well, maybe my next post— after I report on how the Russians used WordPress as a key tool in their efforts to disrupt the American elections of 2016.)
I often think about how are lives are impacted by robots. Peggy and I even have one of the small vacuum cleaners that runs around and cleans our floors and carpets. We call her, Robota. As I grow older, I look more fondly on the robots of the future. In 10 or 15 years from now when the world decides my driving leaves a bit to be desired, I am hoping there is a self-driving car sitting in my yard or readily available to zip me around to where I want to go. Next stop, Grand Canyon. Then there is the downside. Maybe when robots are given quantum computer brains, they will decide we aren’t necessary. I seriously doubt that they will approve of our ‘pulling their plugs,’ under any circumstances.
What’s the danger of a flower sniffing robot, however? This fellow was given one of Burning Man’s prime locations, just in front of the Center Camp Cafe bordering on the Playa. The woman provides some perspective on his size.
Fido appears a little questionable. Maybe she is howling at the moon.
It appears our robot is more sinister here. What happened to the rider of the bike he is holding? Is it time to run?
This robot looks like it was an extra in a 1950’s sci-fi movie.
No question here. Run for it!
Spotting this creature, I’d want a bunch of Burners between me and it.
I think the red eye glowed a dangerous red at night.
A bit more personality.
Aliens are another matter. Maybe they are already here. I’ve blogged several times about the UFO I saw over Sacramento circa 1968. If there are aliens, it seems obvious to me that they would show up at Burning Man. Think about it: a remote desert where it is easy to disguise yourself and people don’t care if you are an alien. Each year there are a number of candidates.
This guy shows up as a master of ceremonies every year at the annual costume contest. What better way to infiltrate Burning Man?
This one showed up in our camp and demanded a beer, an expensive beer. (Photo by Tom Lovering.)
I’ve always been suspicious of purple people. Remember, “He was a one eyed, one horned, flying purple people eater?” Or are you too young?
Or maybe their disguises are more subtle. Slap on a few tattoos and you can get into any party at Burning Man.
Flying saucers aren’t unheard of in the Black Rock Desert. One year we even had one crash.
How much more attractive can a flying saucer get? Aliens contracted with a group of kids in the Bay area to create this one.But then there was the crash…Rumors were that a human the aliens had captured was a notorious back-seat driver and had caused them to crash.The way she buddied up to aliens later seemed to confirm this suspicion.Undoubtedly part of the crew.Alien buzzards tend to be a little scary.And they may be the reason that there are so few alien bodies found. They are also known to snack on Big Foot, or is that Big Feet?
Enough on Invaders from Outer Space. My next post will feature invaders from Russia.
In 2010, Marco Cochrane introduced the first of his magnificent nude sculptures to Burning Man, the 40 foot tall Bliss Dance.
When I first ventured out onto the Playa on my 2010 visit to Burning Man, I was immediately drawn to a large sculpture of a nude woman that struck me as being beautiful and full of life. The sculpture, I learned was titled Bliss Dance and had been created by the Bay Area artist Marco Cochrane based on his model, the dancer Deja Solis. Bliss Dance would go from Burning Man to Treasure Island next to San Francisco and is now on permanent exhibition in Las Vegas. Here’s what Cochrane had to say during the unveiling of the sculpture in Las Vegas:
What I see missing in the world is an appreciation and respect for feminine energy and power that results when women are free and safe. It seems obvious to me that feminine energy is being suppressed and that this must change. If we are to find real, lasting solutions to the problems facing humanity, men and women must be able to work together as equals. Bliss Dance is intended to focus attention on this issue.— Marco Cochrane, Feb. 2016 press release
This sentiment also applies to the two other sculptures that Cochrane created for Burning Man as part of a trilogy: Truth Is Beauty in 2013 and R-Evolution in 2015. I consider myself privileged to have been at Burning Man on each of these years. Truth Is Beauty is now on permanent exhibit overlooking the BART station in San Leandro, California.
Truth Is Beauty at Burning Man in 2013.
An 18-foot rendition of Truth Is Beauty and several other art works from Burning Man were recently on display at the Smithsonian’s Renwick Gallery in Washington DC. An introduction to the exhibit stated:
Burning Man, one of the most influential events in contemporary art, is both a cultural movement and a thriving temporary city of more than 70,000 people that rises out of the dust for a single week each year in late summer in Nevada’s Black Rock Desert. During that time, enormous experimental art installations are erected, some of which are then ritually burned to the ground. The desert gathering is a uniquely American hotbed of artistic ingenuity, driving innovation through its philosophies of radical self-expression, community participation, rejection of commodification and reverence for the handmade.
Nora Atkinson, the Lloyd Herman Curator of Craft at The Renwick went on to say this about the exhibit’s title: No Spectators
“‘No Spectators’ is a long-standing saying on Playa. You are encouraged to fully participate. It’s all about being there, being fully present, and not just observing. Two of the ten principles of Burning Man are radical participation and radical inclusivity, meaning that there are no outsiders. Everyone is part of the experience.”
If both of these statements seem a bit familiar, they reflect what I have been saying about Burning Man art and Burning Man in my posts over the last several years. In ways, I believe that Burning Man has been fostering a mini-renaissance in art and is now being recognized world-wide for its contributions.
R-Evolution, the last of Cochrane’s trilogy was actually scheduled to be exhibited on the National Mall in Washington DC between the Washington Monument and the White House. The group responsible for moving and installing the sculpture had written to me and asked for permission to use photos from my blog in a documentary it was preparing for the exhibit. The exhibit was cancelled. It may have been that the idea of a giant nude on the mall was too controversial. Anyway, here is one of my favorite photos of the sculpture:
R-Evolution at Burning Man in 2015.
Peggy (my wife) says what she loves about sculpture is that it is three dimensional art that you can touch and feel as well as see. One of her favorite things about Burning Man is that the art has an up-close and personal aspect, a hands on policy. Most museums have a hands-off policy. The three dimensional aspect of sculpture also has great appeal to me. I believe that that you should be able to appreciate sculpture from any angle. I’ll use the concluding photos on this post to further look at the three sculptures.
BLISS DANCE AT BURNING MAN 2010
TRUTH IS BEAUTY AT BURNING MAN 2013.
My friend Tom Lovering caught this beautiful shot.
At night, LED lights inside the sculptures light them up in a number of ways, changing every few minutes.
A final view of Truth Is Beauty.
R-EVOLUTION AT BURNING MAN 2015
One of my favorite views of R-Evolution because of the Black Rock Desert background. (Photo by Don Green.)
That’s it for today. NEXT POST: UFO’s, aliens, and a giant robot at Burning Man.
A quick glance at any room in our house will confirm that weird things hang out here. Since I am normally blamed for this phenomena, I want to note from the beginning that Peggy shares equal responsibility. As an example, she collected these two mola designed creatures in Panama years before we met.
You can blame Leonardo for today’s post. That’s Leonardo as in Leonardo Da Vinci. I was reading Walter Isaacson’s magnificent biography about him on Monday and he attributed Da Vinci’s genius to “an omnivorous curiosity, which bordered on the fanatical, and an acute power of observation that was eerily intense.” So that’s what it takes to be a genius, I thought, and determined to test the theory by curiously observing my surroundings in an intense, eerie way. A large toad stared back at me. A sometimes doorstop, sometimes bookend frog was lying down on the job. I don’t know if my I.Q. jumped, but I did observe that weird things were hanging out in our home. I decided it was a subject worthy of a blog post.
This toad is relatively harmless but you don’t want to stub your toe on him. He’s heavy. Nor do you want him staring at you.
This lovely gal makes an excellent door stop and can double as a bookend in a pinch. She also serves as a conversation starter.
Who is weirder than Bone? You’ve all met him if you follow this blog. This past summer he hiked down the PCT with me. And of course he loves Burning Man. He has traveled to over 50 countries with people on adventures that have ranged from being blessed by the Pope to deep sea diving. There is much more. What you may not know about Bone, however, is that when he is at our house and isn’t carousing with his wife Bonette or the jackass Eeyore, he likes to hang out on a pedestal.
Bone on his pedestal.
He and Eeyore have been bosom buddies ever since Eeyore rescued him from being hung in Tombstone.
Wyatt Earp had arrested him for robbing a bank. Here, Doc Holiday was checking him for weapons.
Eeyore now shares our bedroom. Way back in time when Peggy was an elementary school principal, he lived in her office. It was bad enough being pawed over by every kid who came through, but one day Peggy walked in and discovered Eeyore was missing. A ransom note had been left behind. He would not be returned unless Peggy refilled the candy jar that she kept for teachers with chocolate. Great trauma was experienced in the school when Peggy got on the intercom and announced to all of the classrooms that Eeyore had been kidnapped!
While we are on the subject of cute, furry animals, I might as well introduce this engaging bear. Nothing weird here. There are millions of cute bears. I gave this one to Peggy on Valentine’s Day in 1991. Ever curious, she decided to open the zipper. Out popped an engagement ring! My ever voluble buddy became scarily quiet for a very long minute. Then, she squealed.
Many of the ‘strange’ art pieces found in our home reflect that both Peggy and I like so-called ‘primitive’ art. Like children’s art, it carries a level of creativity and even power that is lost as children and cultures ‘grow up’ and lose their connection with nature, “omnivorous curiosity,” and “acute power of observation.” The mola at the top of the post was obtained by Peggy in Panama from an indigenous tribe. A number of modern artists such as Picasso have used primitive art for inspiration.
I’m sure that most of you as parents or grandparents have had the opportunity to post your children’s/grandkid’s art on the refrigerator. Maybe you even have some of your own childhood efforts buried deep in your memorabilia box. This fantastic beast jumped out of the mind of our grandson Chris. A budding Picasso, perhaps.
This is an authentic African medicine mask from the Ivory Coast that I picked up as a Peace Corps Volunteer in West Africa,
You are greeted by Jungle George, the Poro Bush Devil, every time you visit my post. He was carved by a leper in Liberia and came home with me.
He’s quite proud of the fact that I chose him for the cover of my book about the Peace Corps.
The fact that many cultures have discovered the commercial value of traditonal art and replicate it to sell does not take away from its unique look. These Mayan dogs are an example.
And here we have a Mayan god.
Several examples of Mexican folk art can be found in our home. This frog in its Zen-like pose is from Oaxaca.
Our kids, recognizing our quirkiness, have contributed some of the weird things but I am usually the target. Mom gets more practical things, like chocolate.
Our daughter Tasha gave me this. It sits on the edge of our bathtub with a continual look of shock and amusement on its face. I like the way it is reflected in the faucet.
The bear and the moose are from our son Tony and his wife Cammie. Peggy once spent a whole year looking for moose, and I have had more than my share of finding bears.
This is here because it reflects Tasha’s sense of humor, and hopefully mine. We were visiting the San Diego Zoo, which I really like. But the visit went on and on and on. And I got a little grouchy. It happens. So I left Peggy, Tasha and the grandkids and headed back to the car to read. When the family finally returned, Tasha proudly presented me with this.
Much of what we have simply reflects our own unique brand of quirkiness and can be found outside of our home as well as inside.
Three buddies. Lots of Eeyores remain from Peggy’s days as a principal. The pigs seem to be attracted to me.
We were both attracted to this giraffe.
If our bird houses seem to be a bit rustic, Mr. and Mrs. Chickadee don’t seem to mind. Note the head staring out the hole. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)
The last time you saw this rooster, it was covered in snow. While its strange eye makes it look like a dead rooster, it’s the tail made out of tools that amuses me.
We liked the rooster so much we commissioned a pair of Stellar jays!
There are more, lots more in fact, but you get the idea. And that leads me to a question: What strange things hang out at your house?
I drove into the Pleasant Valley Campground near Tillamook, Oregon and there were bunnies everywhere, including this magnificent creature.
With Easter having arrived, I couldn’t resist re-blogging/modifying a post I did on some really cute bunnies a while back.
I had stopped over in Tillamook, Oregon to visit the cheese factory. It sends out tons of the stuff annually. I assume all over the world. I watched women whip around 50 pound blocks of cheese like they had been working out with Arnold Schwarzenegger. This made me hungry, so I ordered a sample plate of Tillamook ice cream. Bad idea. It’s really good. I mean really, really good. But eating all of those calories made me tired. It was time to find a campground.
And this is where the bunnies came in. I pulled into Pleasant Valley Campground, a few miles south of Tillamook, and was greeted by (drum roll please) RABBITS, dozens of them. There were black ones, and brown ones, and white ones, all of whom seemed to be chasing each other around in a glorious romp to make more bunnies. After all, isn’t that what rabbits do beside deliver Easter eggs?
Ignoring the obvious, for the moment, I asked the owner where all the rabbits came from. “Oh they used to live across the street,” she informed me. “One day, a few moved over here. They didn’t do any harm and the campers seemed to like them. So I let them stay.” The rest is history, as they say. Anyway, here are some photos I took of the rabbits. Enjoy.
I am going for the “awww” factor with this baby bunny.
This was only a few of the rabbits, but it makes the point.
This furry gal was napping when I snuck up on her, but then, her eyes popped open…
And she was all wiggly ears and twitchy nose.
It rained hard that night. I discovered I had several rabbits using my van as shelter. The step is my doorstep. My flashlight caught their eyes. Scary. Was it a case of when good bunnies go bad?
Nah. I’ll finish off with another baby bunny. It was cold out and this tyke looks cold. I almost invited it into my van to warm up.
I don’t know how many of these bunnies participate in delivering Easter Eggs, but any of them would be welcomed here! A very Happy Easter to our friends throughout the blogging world— Curt and Peggy
If you have watched the movie Stardust like I have 20 or so times (it’s one of Peggy’s favorites), then you will be familiar with an airship. The dreaded, ‘whoopsie’ Captain Shakespeare played delightfully by Robert DeNiro used it for gathering lighting. This rendition at Burning Man was quite impressive. .
The Burning Man Organization, BMO, works hard to insure that the mutant vehicles that wander across the Playa and through Black Rock City are both creative and safe. The process starts with an application from Burners who want to bring a mutant vehicle to the annual event. A photo or detailed drawing of the vehicle must accompany the application. A committee then reviews the applications for originality and safety. Numbers are strictly limited. Burning Man is primarily a walking/bicycling event. Upon arrival the mutant vehicle must check in with the Department of Mutant Vehicles, DMV, and pass a safety inspection before receiving a license. Vehicles that shoot out fire must pass even more stringent requirements.
Here’s where the mutant vehicles have to check in upon their arrival before venturing out on to the Playa or into Black Rock City. I was amused by the infinite clearance. Some of the mutants, like the sailing ship and El Pulpo Mechanico, do reach quite high into the sky!
I am wrapping up my series on Burning Man’s mutant vehicles today. There are, after all, another 14 categories of photos from my 11 years of attending the far-out happening in Nevada’s remote Black Rock Desert. Being last, however, does not mean least. Most of these simply didn’t fit into the groups I created. Take this eye, for example.
An eyeball moving across the Playa was one of the most unique mutant vehicles I have seen.Given all of the local, state and federal law enforcement agencies that show up at Burning Man, I could’t help but wonder if Big Brother wasn’t watching us. (Not seriously, but what a clever disguise it would be.)While focusing in on body parts, this fellow seemed to have a hand out. The question: was it offering help or looking for spare change? I think I recognize him from the street corner. And what about those ears. On the other hand (so to speak), and more likely, there may be a more serious Hindu or Buddhist reference here. Or maybe it’s a Hare Krishna recruiting effort.Pucker up, sweetie. There’s a chance that this cutie wanted more than a kiss, however. There’s a good chance that she wanted your blood.Bounteous would be the description I would apply here, with a slight touch of Egypt. I’d think sphinx except for the duck up on top of her head. Or maybe its a seahorse. (Photo by Don Green.)
Well, enough on body parts, already. I’ve written a fair amount about steampunk at Burning Man, especially as it applies to mutant vehicles. Here’s a couple more.
As I recall, I found this vehicle hanging out near the rhino and the octopus. It struck me as a Capatin Nemo type vehicle.A front view.At night.The requisite gears apparently required on all steampunk vehicles.My friend Don Green captured another great example of steam punk.
Burning Man constantly throbs with the sound of heavy metal music. I always carry sound makers to reduce its impact on my beauty rest. A number of large venues are found throughout Black Rock City. Mutant vehicles carry on the tradition out on the Playa. Whenever one stops to whip out the tunes, Burners gather around to dance. There’s no question about the intention of the boom box mutant vehicle. Large speakers are another sure guarantee that loud music is about to happen.
One year, this mutant vehicle was for sale, minus its sound equipment. Tempting, I thought. But I would have turned it into a blues mobile or a jazz jalopy.There were enough speakers on this puppy to send any city council into paroxysms of angst or at least anxiety. The police chief would be called. At Burning Man, it was only a medium sized player.
With music rolling across the Playa, it’s not surprising that there was also a bar. This one was hauled by an old tractor.
You have to admit that there is a bit of old fashioned charm here. The aluminum roof reminded me of my childhood.Tom and I had to try out the bar. Potent moonshine was being offered. I stand out like a pink something or other. The barmaids came with boots and not many clothes.The mutant was more than a bar. however. The other side was a circa 1950s type kitchen. At one point, I think I remember them cooking chocolate chip cookies. But maybe that’s a memory from my childhood. Peggy is checking out the kitchen, but she wasn’t offering to cook…Maybe she needed some Crisco. Is this an example of canned entertainment?
What if Picasso made it to Burning Man. The first mutant vehicle below might be what he would create. The second would be more likely to be found among the ‘primitive’ painters who were inspired by the South Pacific and exotic tropical islands.
Definitely shades of Picasso here and other modern art themes.And here we have a Tiki God with thoughts of Polynesia. Is that a Polynesian maiden to the right? I’m pretty sure that she would capture Paul Gauguin or Rousseau’s attention.
Big things come in small packages, as the diamond merchants like to remind us, over and over.
Would it be humanly possible to cram one more thing onto this mutant ATV?A close up showed a dog…And a strange kid.
My final three…
A king who reminded me a bit of Larry Harvey, the creative genius behind Burning Man who passed away last year.A big wheeled horseless carriage. (Photo by Tom Lovering.)And the mutant vehicle I would build! It could be my office. (Photo by Tom Lovering.)
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.
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.
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?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.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.
I stopped for a discussion with a cow about trail conditions in the Carson-Iceberg Wilderness.
I was late, like the white rabbit, for a very important date. Peggy was waiting for me at Sonora Pass and I had miscalculated the distance and difficulty of the trail. The night before I had found this lovely little campsite on the edge of a creek that I couldn’t resist. Later, as large ashes began falling on my tent, I began to question the wisdom of my decision. The 97,000 acre Ferguson fire near Yosemite and the 229,000 acre Carr fire near Redding that had been filling the skies with lung-choking smoke for the past month were now contained. Another fire was lurking out there— close by somewhere — and it was suggesting that I get on down the trail.
My goal, I decided, would to be get up at four and on the trail by five. But sleep had been as elusive as my knowledge about the fire. My eyes had popped open around 6:30. There would be no early start. The good news was that the smoke had partially cleared. All that remained of my previous night’s threat was a thin layer of ash. By 8:00 I was fed, watered, packed and raring to go. I figured the 1000-foot, three-mile drop into the East Fork of the Carson River would fly by. I figured wrong. The last part of the trail was steep and narrow over loose rock. It was not the type of trail that one flies over, at least not at 75 . I was ever so glad that I hadn’t tackled it the evening before when I was tired.
It was with relief that I began hoofing up the Carson River. While I had a 2500 foot climb ahead of me up to 10,000 feet, the first part of the trail was relatively gentle. I was making good time when a small root hiding out in the shade caught the toe of my boot and I went crashing down. This wasn’t one of those stumbles where you catch yourself, or at least slow your fall. It was a nose crunching, glass breaking fall. Thankfully, I bounce well. Lying there face down in the dirt, I reached up and touched my nose. It was solid and not spurting blood, although my finger came away bloody. Even my glasses had survived without a scratch. I picked myself up, shook the shock out of my head, and babied the scratch on my nose.
Right about then a through-hiker came hurrying by, going in my direction, moving out. We said hi as he disappeared down the trail. A thought passed my mind. “Can I ask a favor,” I called out to his disappearing back. He stopped immediately and walked back.
“My wife Peggy is waiting for me at Sonora Pass, I explained, “and I am running a couple of hours behind time. I know she will be worried. Could you carry a message for me?” I figured he would be there by mid-afternoon.
“Sure,” had been his response. I provided the details and we introduced ourselves using our trail names. “I’m Bone from Portland,” he told me. I imagined a small squeak in my pack and yanked Sierra Bone out. I made the introductions. “Bone meet Bone,” I said. Naturally there had to be a photo of Bone with Bone.
Bone and Bone.
Relieved that Peggy would get the word that I was alive and well, I continued my journey and started the slow, steep climb out of the river canyon. I spotted a couple near the top who were off the trail eating a snack. One called out, “You must be Wanderer,” she said. “Your wife is worried about you.” Of course. Turns out Camilla and Bastien were from Leon, France and Peggy had met them while they were waiting for resupply at Sonora Pass. She had fed them scones loaded down with peanut butter. Peggy, Camilla explained, was concerned because the parking lot closed at five and she would have to move. Bastien chipped in that he didn’t think I would get there in time.
Photo of a happy Camilla and Bastien after eating peanut butter with a scone attached. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)
I wasn’t concerned. I had two hours and it was only four miles. Still, I moved out and made it in a little over an hour. Bone was waiting with Peggy when I arrived. She had offered our van to charge his phone. He was enjoying a beer. While Peggy got me one, Bone and I discussed the wind we had encountered up on the mountainside. He had put his pack down and barely caught it as the wind had pushed it down the narrow trail toward the edge. My pack was fine but the wind had almost sent me tumbling off the cliff. We estimated that there were gusts between 50 and 60 miles per hour. I’d had to lean in toward the mountain to keep my balance.
The wind was having another impact as well, pushing a fire up the mountain. As we watched, a small plume of smoke had grown to cover half of the sky. It was the Donnell fire that had dropped ashes on my camp the night before. It was frightening to think of being out on the trail facing a fire pushed by 60-mile an hour winds. An hour after we left, the Sonora Pass road was closed. The next day, the PCT was closed between Ebbetts Pass and Sonora Pass, the trail I had just hiked.
The following photos are taken along the Pacific Crest Trail between Ebbetts Pass and Sonora Pass traveling south.
A smokey day along the PCT in the Carson Iceberg wilderness.A trail crew of volunteers from the Pacific Crest Trail Association. Much of the PCT trail work is carried out by volunteers.This was an interesting tree trunk. The ridges were caused when the tree grew over attached barbed wire. We have a few like it on out property.Cattle are not uncommon along the PCT. I always stop to chat with them.I was surprised to find rhyolite boulders along the trail. The boulder had an interesting little cave. I wondered what lived there.Guess who volunteered?A patch of asters was growing nearby.Here’s the reason why Boulder Mountain is called Boulder Mountain. It was one heck of a scree slope.A tree perched on a granite rock caught my attention…And I took several photos.Hiking down into the East Fork of the Carson River provided this view.I filled my water bottles here at a small creek crossing the trail.This is a photo of the Eastern Fork of the Carson River. The water falls were indicative of the fact that the trail had started to climb.When I stopped to photograph the river, I also caught these roots.And this knot with a personality.Climbing higher I came across some extensive trail work. I have nothing but admiration for the crews that placed these heavy rocks.A view of the trail after I left Camilla and Bastien.Looking down toward the Sonora Pass where Peggy was waiting.. This is where Portland Bone and I had encountered the high winds.Another view.I’ll conclude today with this shot of smoke boiling up from the Donnell Fire. Had it been like this an hour earlier, I might have made that last 4 miles in 30 minutes instead of an hour! (grin)
NEXT POST: You met the large mutant vehicle animals of Burning Man in my last post, now it is time to meet the small mutant vehicle animals.
Wandering through Time and Place 