Strange Art, Wild Nature, and Bounteous Beauty… Puerto Vallarta’s Malecon

Unique, often humorous art, along Puerto Vallarta’s Malecon is one of several attractions that make the walkway appealing.

Unique, often humorous art, is one of several attractions that make a stroll along Puerto Vallarta’s Malecon a must-do activity each time I am in the city. How could anybody resist this flying/swimming whatever?

Puerto Vallarta’s Malecon, or walkway, along Banderas Bay is special. Most cities would offer up their top five attractions— or their Chamber of Commerce president, to have it. Beautiful sunsets, cascading pelicans, and waves rolling in from the Pacific are only part of the appeal. Interesting/fun art, views of the town, and the charm of the Malecon itself capture locals and visitors alike.

Looking south from the northern section of the Malecon as the sun sets over Puerto Vallarta and Banderas Bay.

Looking south from the northern section of the Malecon as the sun sets over Puerto Vallarta and Banderas Bay.

Pelicans join a feeding frenzy as they dive into Banderas Bay after a school of fish. The upside down guy made me laugh.

A photo of pelicans in a feeding frenzy from two years ago as they dive into Banderas Bay after a school of fish. The upside down guy made me laugh. Now that is dedication!

A number of sculptures adorn the walk including the Eggplant man…

A number of sculptures adorn the walk including the Eggplant Man, who just happens to be eating an eggplant. His substantial girth captured a bit of the Puerto Vallarta in reflection.

…Long Nose,

I wasn’t sure whether this was an octopus with one tentacle or a creature with a long nose that featured suction cups. “The better to smell you with, my dear.”

…this sea monster with a large mouth. (Check out his tongue and the hand pointing where food is supposed to go.)

This smiling sea monster with a large mouth featured a tongue with directions as to where it hoped tasty tourists might go.

…these graceful dancers,

A taste of the beauty and grace of Mexico…

and this beautiful sculpture that suggests that two heads are better than one.

…and a suggestion that two heads are better than one.

Even without the art and the bay, the Malecon is a very attractive walkway.

Even without the art and the bay, the Malecon is  very attractive. Note the designs built into the walkway.

Puerto Vallarta’s iconic cathedral is one of many sights looking inland from the Malecon.

Puerto Vallarta’s iconic cathedral is one of many views looking inland from the Malecon.

For those more into partying or shopping, a walk on the non-ocean side of the Malecon provides countless opportunities for mischief. Senior Frogs and many other bars line the non-ocean side of the walkway. Shops selling everything from tourist trinkets to humorous folk art compete for your attention. Or, you can get serious and spend the kid’s inheritance on something large and silver.

Peggy has her photo taken with Senorita Frog on the landside of the walkway.

Peggy holds hands with Senorita Frog on the landside of the walkway.

A flying cow serves as an enticement to one of the many bars.

A flying cow serves as an enticement to one of the many bars. From the expression on her face, I doubt that she is drinking milk.

Anybody want to buy a great ape? This big fellow is decorated with thousands of beads, Huichol Indian style. The shop was packed full of Huichol art. Peggy bought a small turtle. Apparently the ape was a little large to carry home on the plane.

Anybody want to buy a great ape? This big fellow is decorated with thousands of beads, Huichol Indian style— and a Corona hat. The shop was packed full of Huichol art. Peggy bought a small turtle. Apparently the ape was a little large to carry home on the plane.

I found this three foot alligator in Old Town Puerto Vallarta, but similar silver gifts are available along the Malecon. Armed guards were outside and inside the store.

I found this three foot alligator in Old Town Puerto Vallarta, but similar silver gifts are available along the Malecon. Armed guards were outside and inside the store. And no, we didn’t spend the kid’s inheritance on it. That money goes to our travels. (grin)

Peggy and I usually choose to walk on the ocean side. The ubiquitous vendors found along the bay front of Puerto Vallarta apparently aren’t allowed to push their wares on the Malecon north of the town center. Normally the sales pitches don’t bother us. It comes with the territory, and the people are only trying to make a living. Still, an occasional break is appreciated. Our tolerance for hassling doesn’t extend to timeshare sales people, however. Their approach bares a striking resemblance to that of used-car salesmen.

South of town center as you approach the Rio Cuale and Old Town on the Malecon, your opportunity to obtain ‘bargains’ increases exponentially. Our friend Lesley Lake made the mistake of allowing a bracelet vendor put a bracelet on her wrist. She ended up buying four. These guys are good. When they get you, you’re got.

Our friend Leslie made the mistake of showing interest in a hawker’s bracelets on the lower Malecon and ended up buying four. He was one happy salesman.

The vendor has Leslie. She won’t get away.

It is appropriate to end this blog on Puerto Vallarta’s Malecon with the statue of a boy on a seahorse, the symbol of Puerto Vallarta.

It is appropriate to end this blog on Puerto Vallarta’s Malecon with the adopted symbol of Puerto Vallarta, a statue of a boy wearing naught but a sombrero while riding a seahorse. Seems it might get a little rough, to me.

NEXT BLOG: Folks in Mexico take dead people seriously— sort of.

The Day of the Iguana… Adventures in Puerto Vallarta

As the iguana stared balefully back at me, his eye seemed to grow.

As the iguana stared balefully back at me, his eye seemed to grow.

 

Peggy and I are in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. While she works on her next Cotswolds post, I decided to slip one in on Puerto Vallarta.

I was home alone when I heard the scratching on our door. Peggy had gone off with our friends Ken and Leslie in hopes of finding Wi-Fi in the hotel lobby. I had wished them luck. The Internet is an on again/off again proposition here at the Krystal Hotel in Puerto Vallarta.

I looked up, thinking maybe the maid had come early, or the pool man. But usually they knock and shout “Ola.” No one was there. I went back to writing. I was editing Peggy’s blog on the villages of the Cotswolds.

SCRATCH, SCRATCH, SCRATCH. “What the…?” I thought, looking up again. The villa has these large, arch-shaped doors made of frosted glass that let in light but not prying eyeballs. Off to the right I spotted what appeared to be large, scary head staring at me through the opaque glass. I recognized it.

The doorways to our villa in Puerto Vallarta were arched. The iguana appeared in the lower right window.

The doorways to our villa in Puerto Vallarta were arched. The iguana appeared in the lower right window.

The head of the iguana appearing through frosted glass reminded me of the Creature from the Black Lagoon.

The head of the iguana appearing through frosted glass reminded me of the Creature from the Black Lagoon.

“Aha!” went racing through my mind, “Senior Iguana is here for a visit.” I rushed over to the door and opened it, wondering if he would come in. It would be amusing to watch Peggy, Ken and Leslie’s reaction to finding a large lizard hanging out on the floor of our living room. Maybe I could entice him up onto the couch with a banana.

I found the Puerto Vallarta iguana outside scratching at our window. Was it asking to come in?

I found the Puerto Vallarta iguana outside scratching at our window. Was it asking to come in?

“Ola, Buenos Dias Senior Iggy. Welcome!” I proclaimed. Senior Iggy stared up at me balefully and said not a word. Maybe he didn’t like being called Iggy. He went back to scratching the window with his long claws.

I went inside and retrieved a banana. Back outside I sat down on the porch step, peeled the banana, and tossed a piece to the iguana. He ignored it, like he was ignoring me. It was then that I noticed that Iggy was staring at the window, not through it. He had found true love in a perfect reflection of himself. What’s a puny banana in comparison?

I discovered the iguana was admiring its reflection in the window and wondered if it was breeding season and the large Puerto Vallarta lizard believed he had found true love— or possibly a rival.

I discovered the iguana was admiring its reflection in the window and wondered if it was breeding season and the large Puerto Vallarta lizard believed he had found true love— or possibly a rival.

I was still sitting on the doorstep when Ken, Leslie and Peggy returned. I heard them laughing with one of the gardeners when they spotted me sitting with the iguana. “They are good to eat,” the gardener told them. “They taste like chicken.” Naturally. My friends approached quietly, not wanting to scare Iggy.

“Don’t worry, the iguana is in love.” I doubt that a brass band would have disturbed him. Ken, Leslie, and Peggy each sat down on the porch step where I had been to admire our new best friend. We went inside with the iguana still staring at himself, deeply in love, or perhaps lust. He was still there when we left 45 minutes later, but had departed when we returned in four hours, undoubtedly heart-broken.

Peggy sat where I had and admired the iguana as he tried to reach his reflection.

Peggy sat where I had and admired the iguana as he tried to reach his reflection.

Two days later Peggy and I noticed that another iguana was outside, this time at the door leading to our pool. “Do you think he will come in if we open the door this time?” Peggy asked. “One way to find out,” I responded. Sure enough, a few minutes later we saw a head peaking in. And then the whole iguana followed. Peggy quickly jumped up and closed the door to our bedroom. We might find an iguana in our living room and kitchen amusing. Sleeping under our bed or in our shower would be another issue. He (I am assuming it was a male) wandered around looking for the beautiful girl iguana he knew lived in our villa. He stopped to eat a couple of mosquitos, his big tongue lashing out. (“Go big fellow!” we urged.) Finally, I opened the front door. Off he went.

We left the door open to see if the iguana would come inside searching for the other iguana. We were thrilled to see his head appear…

We left the door open to see if the iguana would come inside searching for the other iguana. We were thrilled to see his head appear…

…Soon to be followed by the rest of the iguana.

…Soon to be followed by the rest of the iguana.

The iguana settled onto the floor and checked us our. He looked much less beat up than the first iguana that had come to visit. Note the size of the claws.

The iguana settled onto the floor and checked us out. He looked much less beat up than the first iguana that had come to visit. Note the size of the claws.

He was truly a handsome specimen.

He was truly a handsome specimen.

Iguanas are common in Puerto Vallarta. We often spot them on the Rio Cuale, big fellows hanging out in the trees above the river— and this isn’t the first time we have spotted them at our villa. Their images are captured in everything from tourist trinkets to expensive art. They even played a major role in Puerto Vallarta’s top industry: tourism.

This big fellow was taking his afternoon siesta in a tree next Puerto Vallarta’s attractive River Cuale.

This big fellow was taking his afternoon siesta in a tree next Puerto Vallarta’s attractive River Cuale.

This small vase with a beaded iguana was made by our friend, Ernesto, a Huichol Indian, for our grandson Ethan whom he had met two years ago.

This small vase with a beaded iguana was made by our friend, Ernesto, a Huichol Indian, for our grandson Ethan whom he had met two years ago.

We found this large mural of an iguana in Old Town Puerto Vallarta.

We found this large mural of an iguana in Old Town Puerto Vallarta.

In 1964, Hollywood director John Huston brought his all-star cast of Richard Burton, Ava Gardner, and Deborah Kerr to the area to film The Night of the Iguana (thus the title of this blog), which was based on a play written by Tennessee Williams in 1961. To add a little spice, Burton, who was still married, brought along his future wife, Elizabeth Taylor. Hollywood had discovered Puerto Vallarta, and, because of the scandal between Dick and Liz, the world did as well.

Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor had adjoining houses connected by a bridge when they were in Puerto Vallarta for filming The Night of the Iguana in 1964.

Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor had adjoining houses connected by a bridge when they were in Puerto Vallarta for filming The Night of the Iguana in 1964.

My Fantasy: Living on a House Boat

 

House Boats in Sausalito come in a wide range of shapes, colors and sizes.

House Boats in Sausalito come in a wide range of shapes, colors and sizes.

Peggy and I are in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. Since the beautiful sandy beaches and an occasional margarita have pulled Peggy away from her guest blogging, I decided to do a quick post on houseboats. Peggy may have soaked up enough sun to get back to blogging later this week. (grin)

As water people go, I’d place myself on the lower end of want-to. Even though I’ve travelled by sailboat, water taxi, gondola, fishing boat, raft, kayak, canoe and cruise ship, I prefer other means of transport— like walking, or bicycling, or driving, or flying. (The flying part, however, thanks to security hassles and the modern cattle car approach to air travel, has worked its way down the list over the years, while kayaking, which I’ve come to think of as walking or backpacking on water, has worked its way up.)

I have a confession to make here, though; I have always dreamed about living on a houseboat. I can’t really explain why. Somehow, it seems romantic. Maybe it appeals to the nascent hippie in me. My introduction to these floating fantasies was in Sausalito during the late 60s. I’d wandered into the town on a whim and there they were: beckoning. I was a responsible adult at the time, however, or at least trying to be. I had a wife, a job, an apartment, and a large basset hound named Socrates who drooled a lot. How much more responsible can you get? (Yeah, I know, have babies who drool a lot.) Anyway, I banished the thought of living on a houseboat and returned to my exciting life in Sacramento.

On my August trip up the Northern California coast, I learned that Don McCoy had helped establish Sausalito’s houseboat community in the mid-60s before he had tuned in and dropped out to found the Chosen Family commune at Olompali. This fact led me to drive thirty minutes south down 101 from Novato to re-explore my lost youth.

Sausalito has changed almost beyond recognition. At least it seems that way to me. I spent most of my time dodging tourists. There were at least a million (slight exaggeration). I didn’t have time to look around when I drove through town for fear of running over one. But the houseboat community felt familiar. Each home had a unique personality, emphasized even more by art and plants surrounding it. If there were a major difference from the 60s, it was in who could afford them. The days of naked hippies joyfully cavorting on the decks had long since passed.

How you build your houseboat is only limited by your imagination. And I might add, the size of your pocketbook.

How you build your houseboat is only limited by your imagination. And, I might add, the size of your portfolio.

Ditto the above with art and plants.

Ditto the above with art and plants.

This driftwood crocodile was lurking on a ledge.

This driftwood crocodile was lurking on a ledge.

And this guy popped out of a flower pot.

And this guy popped out of a flower-pot.

The houseboat docks were decorated with flower gardens. The flower head here seemed like it was lit from within.

The houseboat docks were decorated with flower gardens. The flower here seemed like it was lit from within.

Other areas also have their houseboat communities. Victoria, British Columbia is one. Peggy and I stopped by to check them out on our way home from a weeklong kayak tour on the north coast of Vancouver Island last year.

 

We discovered this little yellow jewel on the Island of Vancouver in Victoria, BC

We discovered this little yellow jewel and its perfect reflection on the Island of Vancouver in Victoria, BC

Caption

Several Victoria, BC houseboats with downtown Victoria in the background.

We found a different kind of houseboat in England. They were six feet wide and up to sixty feet long. (Think of it this way: If we were configured in the same way, our noses would stretch out some 20 feet. Pinocchio would be jealous.) Three summers ago Peggy and I, along with Peggy’s sister Jane and her husband Jim, spent a week piloting one of these “narrowboats” along the Trent and Mercey Canals near Robin Hood’s old hangout. It was a kick— maneuvering our long boat, stopping at pubs and villages along the way, and pulling off at night to camp along the canal. This inexpensive, gypsy-like lifestyle has great appeal for some people and they’ve turned their narrow vessels into gaily painted, imaginatively named houseboats. Sign me up.

Here I am, piloting our 60 foot boat down the Trent and Mercey Canal. It's a good thing we only travelled 3-4 miles per hour.

Here I am, piloting our 60 foot boat down the Trent and Mercey Canal. It’s a good thing we only travelled 3-4 miles per hour.

Our crew. Peggy and Jane operated the locks. Jim and I piloted the boat.

Our crew. Peggy and Jane operated the locks. Jim and I piloted the boat.

As this photo suggests, the Trent and Mercey Canal Canal can be quite scenic.

As this photo suggests, the Trent and Mercey Canal can be quite scenic. Low underpasses limit the height of the narrowboats.

How would you like to have a house named Belly Button? Fun names, plants and unique paint jobs give narrow boats personality.

How would you like to have a house named Belly Button? Fun names, plants and colorful paint jobs give narrowboats their personality.

A community of houseboats, Trent and Mercey Canal style. They could be gone the next day.

A community of houseboats, Trent and Mercey Canal style. They could be gone the next day.

We spotted this water cask with its realistic portrayal of a dog on top of a narrowboat.

We spotted this water cask with its realistic portrayal of a dog on top of a narrowboat.

Next to the boat, sitting on the owner's lap, was the dog.

Next to the boat, sitting on the owner’s lap, was the dog.

 

NEXT BLOG: Peggy will post her blog on the small towns of Cotswold, England.

Rancho Olompali: “The White House of Hippiedom”

It was quiet and peaceful when I visit Olompali. But this platform was once alive with laughter, music and work as members of the Chosen Family made bread to be distributed by the Diggers in San Francisco.

It was quiet and peaceful when I visited Olompali. But this platform was once alive with laughter, music and bread as members of the Chosen Family commune made thousands of loaves to be distributed by the Diggers for free in San Francisco during the late 60s.

Today marks the end of my series on Olompali. Originally, I had planned to write one blog. This is my fifth, and each post has been relatively long. The truth is, I got caught up in the subject, and the more research I did, the more caught up I became. I lived through the 60s and spent considerable time in the Bay Area where these tales took place. I became an activist, committed to change, but I missed the early rock scene, didn’t do LSD, and steered clear of communes. None-the-less, I shared many of the values of those who did travel down these paths. 

The 60s were a time when a significant number of young people rebelled against the world of their parents and went seeking something else. As Don McCoy, the founder of the Chosen Family would say, to “create a new way of life, a new way of doing things, a new way of living together, getting along in a peaceful world.” Looking back, this perspective seems almost Quixotic to me. We were tilting at windmills.

But the windmills were real— and scary. America and Russia had accumulated enough nuclear weapons to wipe out the world several times over. Minorities, women, and gays were buried under a suffocating blanket of discrimination that limited who they were and what they might become. Leaders that promised change, John Kennedy, Martin Luther King, and Bobby Kennedy, were shot down, one after another by people who may have been insane— but were reflective of something deeper and darker. A far-off war in Southeast Asia was sucking us into a quagmire that was tearing our nation apart. And last, but far from least, we were awakening to the fact that our desire for more and more of everything was polluting the planet, literally poisoning our home. “We have met the enemy, and he is us,” Pogo proclaimed.

In spite of all of this, or maybe because of it, change was in the air. People across the country felt it. In the Bay Area it was so palpable you could almost taste it. (Listen to the Age of Aquarius here by the Fifth Dimension to get an over-the-top sense of its idealistic flavor.)

Those of us who got caught up in optimism and passion of the 60s believed we could make a difference. Our solutions varied tremendously. For some, like me, it meant joining groups like the Peace Corps and Vista, and working from within the system to achieve change. Others believed more radical solutions were called for. Massive protests and even violence resulted. And some people opted out, either by focusing inward with the aid of meditation or drugs such as LSD, or, more directly, by simply removing themselves from every day society and establishing a new life.

Don McCoy represented the latter. He and a few friends, plus their children, moved to Rancho Olompali in November of 1967 to establish the Chosen Family commune. “God chose us to be family with each other, and also, we chose each other for family,” he said. McCoy was aided in his vision by a $350, 000 inheritance, which is the equivalent of close to 3½ million dollars today.

By most accounts, McCoy was a generous man. One story that reflects his generosity relates to Alan Watts, the Zen philosopher, who was living on a houseboat in Sausalito (possibly one of Don’s). When the Indian musician, Ali Akbar Khan, told Watts he wanted to start a music college for teaching Indian music in Northern California and needed money, Alan immediately called Don. Within an hour, McCoy had shown up and given Khan a check for $20,000. (Khan, along with Ravi Shankar, was instrumental in introducing Indian music to the West. His college still exists today in San Rafael.)

As for Rancho Olompali, McCoy picked up the full tab. He started by leasing the property around the house and barns, including the swimming pool. When neighbors, who ran a riding school business on another section of the property, complained about seeing nude people in the swimming pool, he leased the whole ranch and kicked out the neighbors.

Olompali provided an excellent location for the Chosen Family and Included this 20 plus room mansion.

Olompali provided an excellent location for the Chosen Family. It included this 20 plus room mansion, beautiful landscaping and an Olympic-size swimming pool. (Archival photo.)

This large fountain with a blue heron sculpture on top was part of the landscaping.

This large fountain with a blue heron sculpture on top was part of the landscaping. (Archival photo.)

The palms seen on the left side of the mansion as they appear today.

The palms seen on the left side of the mansion as they appear today.

Leasing the rest of the property open up several hundred acres for the commune members to wander through.

Leasing the rest of the property opened up several hundred acres of beautiful country for the commune members to wander through.

McCoy insisted that the adults who came to live at Olompali give up their day jobs. The commune was to be the center of their lives. Food, transportation, health care, and even entertainment were to be supplied, everything necessary to live. And McCoy would pay for it. This didn’t mean that commune members didn’t work. There was food to grow, meals to cook, dishes to do, cows to milk and horses to care for. The property had several horses, including one boarded by Mickey Hart, the Grateful Dead percussionist. Snorty, the horse, even made it into the group photo taken at Olompali that appeared on the back of the Dead’s album, Aoxomoxoa.

Snorty is in the back of the photo.

Snorty is in the back of the photo to the right of the oak tree.

All of the commune members, including the children, were expected to chip in when it came to chores. One of the biggest was cooking bread. A bakery owner had gone out of business and donated his equipment to the commune. A seven-sided cement pad was poured (it still stands at the park as shown in the top photo), and the equipment installed. Commune members then went to work. Clothing was optional. Twice a week they would bake several hundred loaves of bread in coffee cans. The bread was then turned over to the Diggers to distribute for free in San Francisco.

Pouring concrète for the cement pad.

Pouring concrète for the cement pad. (Archival photo.)

Chosen Family members making bread at Rancho Olompali that will be distributed by the Diggers for free in San Francisco. Clothing was optional. (Photo from the Berkeley Barb.)

Chosen Family members making bread at Rancho Olompali that was distributed by the Diggers for free in San Francisco. Clothing was optional. The bread was put in coffee cans as seen in foreground and rose over the top, giving it the name mushroom bread. (Photo from the Berkeley Barb.)

There was also a side business known as The Garden of Delights where commune members would put on light shows for the various rock groups performing at venues in the Bay Area.

Children were regarded as a communal responsibility. On Mondays, their names were placed in a hat. Adults would then draw names and adopt the child he or she drew for the week. If you had issues as a child, you took them to your adopted parent, not Mommy or Daddy.

A decision was made to educate the children on site rather in local schools. (Otherwise, how could you instill the proper hippie values?) An ex-principal/teacher from the Nicasio Elementary School, Garnet Brennan, was recruited into the commune as the teacher. Brennan had been fired from the Nicasio School District after a thirty-year career in education because she had admitted to smoking pot when she was testifying on behalf of a young man who faced a five-year to life sentence for selling marijuana. She had noted that she knew marijuana wasn’t harmful because she had smoked it for 18 years on a daily basis without any notable damage to herself or anyone else. The issue received national attention including an article in Life Magazine.

Brennan set up a Montessori-type school that the children named Not School. Children were encouraged to pursue subjects that captured their imagination. Education was slipped in as part of the process. “We had displays, supplies, books, and tests,” Maura McCoy remembers. “She was a professional educator and a great person to have there.” Brennan had been known as a “beloved teacher” at the Nicasio School according to the Life magazine article.

Extensive freedom was granted to the children. If you wanted to skip school or go to town, okay. If you wanted smoke pot or try LSD, okay. If you wanted to ride horses, go swimming, or go for a walk in the woods, it was your choice. You were even allowed to pick your own bedtime. (After all, how could you go to sleep with the Grateful Dead playing music in your front yard or living room?) And, if you wanted to run around naked— well that was okay, too. Understandably, some people would and did condemn the freedom, lack of structure and use of drugs as a form of abuse. For the most part, however, the children who spent two years of their life growing up at Olompali remember the experience as fun and filled with loving support. They even took delight in going into Novato and being the “Hippie Kids.”

Not surprisingly, the media pounced on the commune. It was big news: pot-smoking hippies ran around naked and baked bread while grooving out to music produced by the Grateful Dead. They labeled Rancho Olompali as the White House of Hippiedom and Don was their guru, the supreme Hippie. They also recorded the bad times. A horse escaped, ran out on Highway 101, and caused an accident that killed a trucker. There were two raids to seize drugs. Faulty wires caused a fire that gutted the mansion.

Don McCoy. (Archival photo.)

Don McCoy. (Archival photo.)

Don’s family, concerned about how life on the commune was affecting the children, obtained a conservatorship that took away custody of his children and stopped the flow of money. He ended up in the hospital suffering from physical and mental illness.

The final straw for the Chosen Family was that two of the commune’s children, cycling around the half empty swimming pool, fell in and died. With the death of the children, the commune died as well, its utopian dream snuffed out. The University of San Francisco, who still owned the property, evicted the Chosen Family and set about selling it to a developer who was planning on turning Olompali into condos and a trailer park, an inglorious ending to a fascinating history. But it wasn’t the end of the story.

Olompali was saved by a coin, not just any coin, but an English sixpence found on the property that traced the area’s history all the way back to the initial contact between the Miwoks and Sir Francis Drake. Plans for the trailer park were dropped. Marin Open Space, working with the State of California, obtained the property in 1977 and turned it into Olompali State Park.

Final Notes: Maura McCoy, along with another former member of the commune, Noelle Olompali-Barton, is now making a documentary about the commune. As Noelle says, “We have a lot of colorful history.” Their Facebook page is worth a visit. Scroll down and check out the trailer for the documentary.

NEXT BLOGS: Peggy (my wife) will do several guest blogs on her recent trip to England where she visited a number of gardens and estates, starting with Downton Abbey (Highclere Castle.)

Houseboats, Hippies and Haight-Ashbury… Olompali Part IV

Don McCoy would create one of the first modern houseboat communities in Sausalito California in the years before he created the Chosen Family commune at Olompali. A large, thriving community of houseboats still exists in Sausalito.

Don McCoy would create one of the first modern houseboat communities in Sausalito, California in the years before he created the Chosen Family commune at Olompali. A large, thriving community of houseboats still exists in Sausalito.

“I felt we were chosen for something. I thought we were going to create a new society. I thought we were going to change the world, or create a new way of life, a new way of doing things, a new way of living together, getting along in a peaceful world.” —Don McCoy, founder of the Chosen Family. It would be hard to find a statement that better summarizes the hope surrounding ‘The Age of Aquarius’ that seemed so tantalizingly close in the 60s, but was ever so far away.

“The failure to curb personal indulgence was a major collective error. Our journeys down the path (of extensive drug use)… disordered our senses, senselessly wasted young lives, and often sabotaged what we labored so diligently to construct. … It is the artist’s responsibility to manifest sanity and health—something we did not fully understand.” Peter Coyote— Co-founder of the Digger Movement in San Francisco, and friend of Paula McCoy. He would go on to become chair of the California Art’s Council under Jerry Brown, a popular actor (think ET), and a Zen advocate.

“I was definitely exposed to different ways of thought, to people who had yearning for peaceful ways of living, collectively with others. It gave me a more liberal and progressive outlook on life in general, introduced me to organic foods, to eastern religion, to farming, to alternative theater.  Maybe today that sounds almost mainstream, but we were really counterculture then.” Maura McCoy, daughter of Paula and Don, who is presently finishing up a documentary on The Chosen Family that Peter Coyote will narrate.

 

“What I remember about Thanksgiving dinners at Uncle Bud’s was that they were always loud— boisterous in a positive, friendly way,” my brother-in-law Jim told me, as his mind reached back to his childhood in the 40s and early 50s. Jim is married to Peggy’s sister, Jane. Bud Carrington was Jim’s uncle and Paula McCoy’s father, so Paula was his cousin. Maura is her daughter. Paula would have been part of the boisterous Thanksgiving holidays.

What Jane and Jim recall of the 60s and 70s hippie culture in San Francisco was the darkness of the drug scene that Peter Coyote referred to. It would lead to Paula’s early death. Understandably, they see the Chosen Family, the Diggers, and the Summer of Love in the light of Paula’s shortened life.

My own perspective of the time is somewhat different. My stint at Berkeley was from 1963 to 65, when the Bay Area rock music scene was in its formative stages. Herb Caen had yet to make the word ‘hippies’ part of our every day vocabulary. The Free Speech Movement, Peace Corps, graduation, and marriage dominated my thinking. My awareness of ‘hip’ hadn’t travelled beyond the Beatniks. (I was curious enough about the Beats, however, to make a pilgrimage across the Bay to Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s City Lights Bookstore.)

I was in the final months of my Peace Corps assignment in Liberia in July of 1967 when I first became aware of the Summer of Love. A new group of Volunteers hosted a party in Tapeta. A large sign claiming Haight-Asbury Africa greeted us on the edge of town. There wasn’t any LSD (at least that I was aware of), but Liberia’s Club Beer ran freely. And the Bush Devil was there. He seemed to fit right in. Any of the 60’s rock groups would have been delighted to have him shuffle across their stage. (If you want to learn more about the Bush Devil, check out my book, The Bush Devil Ate Sam, on Amazon.)

By the summer of 1968, I was Director of Peace Corps Recruiting and Public Affairs for Northern California and Northern Nevada. While my territory didn’t cover San Francisco, I travelled into the city on a monthly basis for staff meetings. Out of curiosity I wandered over to Haight-Asbury, which had already lost its luster. I also spent much of my time on college campuses, and some, especially Sonoma State— just up Highway 101 from Olompali, closely reflected what was happening in the more open society of the times. I was drawn to the sense of exploration and freedom the lifestyle offered. My feelings could have easily carried me in that direction, but I got caught up in the world of environmental action instead. “Tune in, Turn on, Drop out” never became part of my vocabulary. But, back to the McCoys.

In 1961, Don and Paula McCoy moved from Southern California to Marin County and Don started an investment property and construction company with his brother Douglas. Within two years they were busily developing Sausalito’s first modern houseboat community at the Sausalito heliport on Richardson Bay. Houseboat living, apparently, had great appeal to artists and musicians. A young Bill Cosby rented a space at the development and Otis Reading used one of Don’s houseboats as an escape from San Francisco. Otis used his stay as inspiration for the hit songSitting on the Dock of the Bay.” A warehouse that Don owned at the Heliport also became a popular rehearsal space for local bands including the Grateful Dead, Country Joe and the Fish, and Quicksilver. Chicago apparently practiced there as well.

At some point, Don and Paula bought a house in San Francisco at 715 Ashbury Street. The Grateful Dead lived directly across the road at 710 Ashbury Street. A constant stream of people moved back and forth between the two Victorian houses.

Paula and Don divorced in September of 1977. I couldn’t find the reason, but given the couple’s close association with rock bands, drugs, and the era of free love, it isn’t hard to imagine. Whatever the reason, Don got the kids and within a couple of months he would be creating his commune at Olompali. Paula stayed at the house on Ashbury Street.

While this blog series is focused on Olompali, I broadened my research when I learned about the relationship between my brother-in-law and Paula. Her life in San Francisco was equally interesting to Don’s at the commune. 215 Ashbury became one of the focal points of Haight-Ashbury and the Summer of Love. Janis Joplin was so close by that she could stand out on her balcony and yell out to her neighbors at 215 and 210. Peter Coyote describes an incident where he was upstairs at Paula’s when Neal Cassady came out of the Dead’s house. Peter lobbed apples at him from the window and Cassady came over to visit and get high. Ken Kesey reportedly used the house to stop his car when he lost his brakes. Several people with close connections to the Dead actually lived at Paula’s. This included Stanley Mouse and Alton Kelly, who would earn fame for their psychedelic Grateful Dead poster art and album covers.

A photo of Paula McCoy wearing her fur coat taken by Peter Coyote.

A photo of Paula McCoy wearing her fur coat taken by Peter Coyote.

715 Asbury Street also became a gathering point for the Hell’s Angels and Diggers. The Angels had developed an early relationship with the Pranksters during the acid tests and this relationship extended to the Dead. Two Angels, Frisco Pete Knell, president of the San Francisco Chapter of the Hells Angels, and Billy “Sweet William” Fritsch, even accompanied the Grateful Dead, Paula, Ken Kesey, and Peter Coyote on a mission to London to meet with the Beatles in 1968. The Dead were concerned about whether the Beatles had a social conscience and were ‘socially adventurous.’ While the Dead found the Beatles more focused on making money than making change, the Beatles found the Dead scary, which is no surprise, considering Knell smashed one of their staff in the nose because Christmas dinner was late. Lennon was present to witness this episode and Coyote had to use his diplomatic skills to calm John down.

Paula and Coyote were invited on the journey because of their close connection with the Dead and with the anarchic Diggers, who were major players in San Francisco and Haight-Ashbury’s 1967 Summer of Love. Coyote, who went by his birth name at the time, Peter Cohon, was one of the founders of the Diggers, along with Emmett Grogan and Peter Berg. Free is the word that best describes what the Diggers did during the summer of 1967 when up to 100,000 young people (hippies/flower children) descended on Haight-Ashbury with little more than the clothes on their backs. The Diggers operated a free store and health clinic, provided free crash pads, gave away free bread in Golden Gate Park (much of which was baked at Olompali), and performed free, radical theater events on the streets and in the parks of the city. (Both Coyote and Berg had been members of the San Francisco Mime Troupe.)

The Diggers would distribute thousands of loaves of bread, baked in a coffee can like this.

The Diggers would distribute thousands of loaves of bread, baked in a coffee can like this.

The Diggers were always welcome at 215 Ashbury. Coyote referred to Paula as the doyen of the Diggers and Vanity Fair described her as the group’s patron. Either way, she played an important role in the Diggers’ loose knit organization, the Summer of Love, and what came afterwards. (Imagine being able to say, “Oh, I went off with the Grateful Dead to meet with the Beatles and discuss their social conscience.”) Paula also became part of the dark side of the 60s counter-culture, the use of hard drugs. Coyote blames Emmett Grogan for introducing Paula to heroin. A woman commenting in the March 15, 2003 Digger Archives confirms this observation:

“Emmett was a junkie. Every woman he got involved with, perhaps his last wife being the exception, ended up strung out right along with him, big time. He left a wake and it amazed me some of the women that gave in. Not all of them lived through it. Paula McCoy being a prime example. She was the most intelligent high-toned woman in the scene. God was she smart and politically hip. I never in a million years could have seen those two together.”

But give in she did, and in 1976 the addiction plus ‘a drug deal gone bad’ would lead to her death in San Rafael. As Coyote would note “The Sixties turned into the Seventies and the hard-life changed a lot of things. A lot of friends died: Tracy, Marcus, Bill Lyndon, Billy Batman, Pete Knell, and Paula McCoy. The list is longer than I have the heart to type.”

Emmett Grogan died of an overdose in 1978.

NEXT BLOG: Olompali… the final chapter.

The Grateful Dead Move to Olompali… Olompali Part III

The Grateful Dead leased Olompali for the months of May and June in 1966 and returned several times over the next three years. In 1969 they returned for a photo shoot for the back cover of their album, Aoxomoxoa.

The Grateful Dead leased Olompali for the months of May and June in 1966 and visited the ranch several times over the next three years. In 1969 they returned for a photo shoot for the back cover of their album, Aoxomoxoa. Pigpen is lying in front. Jerry Garcia is on the left with the tree trunk behind him. In addition to the band, members of the Merry Pranksters and the Chosen Family Commune were also included in the photo. The blonde girl in the left front and the blonde girl sitting next to Garcia are the daughters of my brother-in-law Jim Hagedorn’s cousin, Paula McCoy.

 

“The (San Francisco/Haight-Asbury) Summer of Love began one afternoon at Olompali.” Ken Kesey, author of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

 

In my last post on Olompali, I mentioned that the Burdells sold Olompali in the early 40s. The purchaser, Count Harrington, had made his money dredging Pearl Harbor, an activity that was brought to a dramatic halt by the Japanese bombing in 1941. Desperate for dredging equipment, the US military paid him a small fortune for his dredges. He then used this money to purchase Olompali. Harrington, in turn sold the property to the University of San Francisco in 1948.

USF wanted to use the property as a Jesuit retreat but quickly discovered that maintaining Olompali was an expensive proposition. So they decided to sell, which turned out to be somewhat challenging. Buyers kept defaulting. At one point, USF was desperate enough to dig up the brick sidewalks and sell the bricks. For a brief time in the early 60s, the property was turned into an exclusive club with $5000 memberships. This effort failed as well, but it left a great swimming pool for the next inhabitants, The Grateful Dead.

 

The Grateful Dead and other bands such as Quick Silver and Jefferson Airplane would set up in front of the Burwell Mansion and play free music for hours on end.

The Grateful Dead and other bands such as Quick Silver and Jefferson Airplane would set up in front of the Burwell Mansion and play free music for hours on end during their brief stay in May and June of 1966. (Archived photo.)

The mansion as it looked when I visited Olompali State Park in August. A fire gutted the building in 1969.

My photo of the mansion as it looked when I visited Olompali State Park in August. A fire gutted the building in 1969. I thought it was interesting that swallows still nested on the upper part of the mansion. (The dark dots.)

The best way to describe the Grateful Dead’s two month stay at Olompali in 1966 is to use a 60’s term: a happening. It was a continuous party that featured the early beginnings of rock music and a number of rock music legends. The Grateful Dead had formed a year earlier in 1965 from their initial band, The Warlocks, and Jerry Garcia was looking for a place where his group could hang out. A real estate friend turned him on to Olompali. The rent was reasonable and the property came with a large “Tara-like” house, a swimming pool, and gorgeous scenery. It was far enough away from everything that the band could play outdoors without disturbing any neighbors.

It was the type of place that demanded a party. An announcement sent out on May 22, 1966, invited the Dead’s friends from the Bay Area, “to an afternoon of inter-galactic travel, to a communion with the spirits of long dead Indians, to a dance celebrating mainly all of us.” It would be one of many parties. The ‘mainly all of us’ described a fascinating blend of musicians, promoters, poster artists, writers, film makers, beats, hippies and other alternative/creative types.

The original invitation to the Grateful Dead's party. The Swastica,

The original invitation to the Grateful Dead’s party. The swastika symbol, BTW, did not represent the Nazis. It was used by Native Americans to represent migration, thousands of years before it was picked up by Hitler. I’ve seen it on rock art throughout the Southwest.

Here’s how Garcia described the Dead’s stay at Olompali: “It was a great place. It had a swimming pool and barns and that sort of thing… We didn’t have that place very long, only about eight weeks. It was incredibly intense for everybody… Everything was just super-groovy. It was a model of how things could really be good… (It) was a firming up of the whole social world of rock and roll around here… The guys in Jefferson Airplane would get together with Quicksilver and different guys, 81 different players, would get together and get high and get loose and have some fun… That was when we started getting tight with Quicksilver… They came and hung out at our place in Novato when we had our parties. And a lot of people like the various filmmakers and writers and dope dealers. All the people who were into doing stuff. People who had seen each other at rock and roll shows…in that first year. Those parties were like a chance to move the whole thing closer, so to speak. It was good times – unselfconscious and totally free.”

Grace Slick dropped by, as did Janice Joplin, Santana, David Crosby, Moby Grape and even a five-year-old Courtney Love. But the gatherings went beyond musicians. Ken Kesey and the Merry Pranksters made their way to Olompali along with the LSD guru, “tune in, turn on, drop out,” Timothy Leary.

The cover of Tom Wolfe's book The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test featuring the bus Further.

The cover of Tom Wolfe’s book The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test featuring the bus Further.

The Merry Pranksters were known for their 1964 trip across America in their gaily decorated bus, Further— a trip made famous by Tom Wolfe’s book, The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test. I had run into the Pranksters and Further at Berkeley in the spring of 1965 when they came tumbling off their bus to participate in one of the nation’s first anti-Vietnam War rallies. The Grateful Dead, in their earlier guise as The Warlocks, had played at several of Kesey’s “Acid Tests” in the Bay area designed to turn the world on with a concoction of LSD and Kool-Aid.

Garcia reportedly took his last acid trip at Olompali. “He developed three hundred-and-sixty-degree vision, died a few thousand times, and saw the word  “All” float into the sky before he turned into a field of wheat and heard “Bringing In the Sheaves.” Garcia would later note, “I unraveled every strand of DNA in my body. I felt both full and empty. I hardly spoke a word for two months, but it was worth it.”

Visitors to the free concerts at Olompali would spread out on the lawn, jump into the pool, and get comfortable, which, on occasion, involved taking off their clothes. Minus the lawn and the swimming pool, I am reminded of Burning Man where Burners spread out in the dust, instead.

Band member Phil Lesh noted, “Bear and some of the Pranksters set up [speakers] in the living room and all over the grounds; there was food and drink for all, and the pool was wall to wall with mostly nude people… From the makeshift bandstand by the kitchen terrace, an ad hoc band composed of members of the Dead, Quicksilver, and the Airplane played some of the most startling music I’ve ever heard, a new kind of music no one had ever made before, a true synergy of spontaneity and structure, created on the spot.” (Bear was none other than Owsley, the LSD Cook, known for producing over one million doses of acid. He worked as a sound-man for the Dead in the early years and helped with financial support. His ashes were placed on the soundboard at the Grateful Dead’s 50th Anniversary show in Chicago this year.)

Clothing was optional at the parties held by the Grateful Dead at Olompali. The swimming pool is at the back of the photo.

Clothing was optional at the parties held by the Grateful Dead at Olompali. The swimming pool is at the back of the photo. The building on the right is now park headquarters. (Archived photo)

Neal Cassidy was another legendary visitor. Neal had hitchhiked across the country with Jack Kerouac in his epic journey described in On the Road. Later he would drive the bus Further across the country with the Merry Pranksters, thus serving as a bridge between the Beat Generation of the 50’s and the Hippie Generation of the 60s. George Hunter of the Charlatans’ band remembered, “the Dead would be playing and Neal Cassady would be doing this strange little dance— it was almost like breakdancing; very fluid. Out on the lawn there was this very far-out configuration of plumbing that was once part of a sprinkler system or something. It stuck out of the ground and stood maybe five feet high. I couldn’t figure out what the hell it was for. It was just a mess of pipes with faucets coming out of it that had been modified over the years. Very strange. So the Dead would be playing, and Neal would be dancing on the lawn with this bizarre metal partner. He’d dance around it, with it really. He had some pretty good moves, too. Neal was always in the thick of things.”

While only at Olompali for two months, Jerry Garcia would remember his time there as “idyllic.” And, he would come back several times over the next three years. His Haight-Asbury neighbor and friend, Don McCoy, was soon to lease Olompali for one of the most famous hippie communes of the 60s, The Chosen Family. The area’s wonderfully strange history would continue. It’s the subject of my NEXT BLOG.

Speaking of strange, or at least small world, Peggy’s sister Jane and her husband Jim were up this week visiting. Jane and I were talking about the 60s and Jane mentioned that Jim’s cousin Paula was mixed up in the San Francisco music scene in some way. Turns out that she was the wife of Don McCoy in his pre-commune period.

From Miwoks to Ewoks— Plus the Bear Flag Revolt… Olompali: Part II

I found this ancient fence at Olompali State Park. It was likely built by the Black/Burdell Families who owned the property between 1852 and 1940.

I found this ancient fence at Olompali State Park north of San Francisco. It was likely built by the Black/Burdell Families who owned the property between 1852 and 1940.

After 3000 years of relative stability under the Miwoks, the fate of Olompali entered a period of rapid change in the 1800s. Mexican Independence in 1821 signaled the beginning of the end for the mission system in California. By 1834, the Mexican government had decreed that the missions would be secularized. The priests would no longer control vast estates.

It was the intention of the Mexican government to give the mission land to the Native Americans, but this intention was quickly subverted. Californios, California born people of Spanish/Mexican descent, either bamboozled the Indians out of their land or seized it outright for their own use, and then initiated a campaign of terror, stealing whatever the Indians had left— including, on occasion, their freedom.

An interesting exception to the mistreatment of the Miwoks took place at Olompali where, in 1843, the Miwok chief, Camilo Ynitia, was awarded a Mexican land grant. (Ynitia was the only Native American in California to receive one.) His father had built the first adobe house north of San Francisco. Portions of the house, along with Camilo’s, still stand at the park.

Remnants of Camilo's adobe house, and that of his father, still stand at Olompali State Park.

Remnants of Camilo Ynitia’s  adobe house, and that of his father, still stand at Olompali State Park.

Ynitia’s Rancho would soon play a role in the Bear Flag Revolt. With encouragement from John C. Fremont, the explorer and future US presidential candidate, a small band of American settlers in Northern California revolted against Mexican rule in 1846. The revolt was short-lived and only one person was killed, which is hard to imagine in any revolution. The point here is that the person was killed at Olompali in a clash between the settlers and Californios.

With bloodless coups in San Francisco and Monterey, Fremont and his followers soon afterwards declared California a republic. A quick flag was created featuring a grizzly bear, a star, and the word Republic. The fledgling country lasted three weeks; the Mexican-American War made it irrelevant. All that is left of the revolution today is the flag. It still flies over California even though there is no republic— or grizzly bear for that matter. The last known grizzly in California was killed in 1922.

The California flag, adopted during the three week existence of the Bear Flag Revolt.

The flag from the three-week republic still flies over California as the California state flag. The hump back of the bear is a defining characteristic of the grizzly bear. I once had a guy like this stalk me in Alaska. It was sneaking through the brush when I spotted its hump.

In 1852 Ynitia sold most of his land to James Black, who was on his way to becoming one of the largest landowners in Marin County. Legend is that robbers killed Ynitia for the money he received, or that he buried the money on the Olompali property, or that members of his own tribe did him in the old-fashioned way, with an arrow. Whatever happened, our history of Olompali now leaves the Miwoks and Californios, and moves into modern times.

Before leaving the Miwoks, I did want to pass on one more bit of trivia I picked up doing research. George Lucas’s Skywalker Ranch is located in Marin County, not far from Olompali. Nearby redwood forests were used for some of the Star Wars scenes for the forest moon of Endor, where the Ewoks lived. Lucas reportedly used the Miwok name as inspiration for the Ewok name.

Sky Walker Ranch is appropriately located on Lucas Valley Road. (The road was there before George Lucas built his ranch there, however. Maybe the road inspired Lucas's choice.)

Skywalker Ranch is appropriately located on Lucas Valley Road. (The road was there before George Lucas built his ranch, however. Maybe the road inspired his choice.)

Black, and his family, through various convolutions, would own the land up to the 1940s. Black gave the land to his daughter Mary as a wedding present when she married Galen Burdell, a dentist. But when Black’s wife died in Burdell’s dentist chair, he reneged on the gift and took Mary and Galen out of his will. When Mary first saw the will after Black’s death, she allegedly ripped her dad’s signature off  with her teeth and ate it. Tough woman. She then hired a bevy of top lawyers and managed to obtain Olompali.

A barn built by the Burdells and other ranch structures still stand at Olompali Park. And I have a weakness for old barns. (grin)

A barn, built by the Burdells, still stands at Olompali Park.  I think the massive stump on the left  is from a eucalyptus tree. Old barns demand being photographed; I couldn’t resist…

 

A corner shot of the barn looking up for a different perspective.

A corner shot of the barn looking up for a different perspective.

This old, boarded up window on the barn had personality plus. Animals must have chewed away at the right side.

This old, boarded-up window on the barn had personality plus. Animals must have chewed away at the right side.

Reflections caught in one the barn's windows.

A reflection, caught in one the barn’s windows, showed the ‘salt block’ house next door.

This salt block house

Salt block houses like this with their steep and sloped roofs were commonly built throughout Northern California in the 1850s. With the exception of the adobe houses, this may be the oldest structure at Olompali.

Remnants of an extensive fruit orchard planted by the Burdells still remain. It was said that their oranges matched anything coming out of Southern California. Bananas— not so good.

Remnants of an extensive fruit orchard planted by the Burdells still remain. It was said that their oranges matched anything coming out of Southern California. Bananas— not so good.

This large rock with its gorgeous backdrop above the barn caught my attention.

This large rock with its gorgeous backdrop was above the barn.

Camilo Ynitia, Miwok chief, received Olompali as a Mexican Land grant and in turn sold it to James Black.

I thought I would conclude with this close up of the fence I featured at the top of my post…

And this aptly named Fence Lizard I found sunning itself on the fence.

…And this aptly named Western fence lizard sunning itself on the fence.

NEXT BLOG: By the late 40s/early 50s, the University of San Francisco had obtained Olompali with plans to turn the ranch into a retreat for Jesuits. The effort failed. Maybe the Jesuits didn’t go along with the plan. It was this lack of success, however, that eventually led Olompali to become a footnote in the history of the Grateful Dead, as well as a famous/infamous hippie commune: The Chosen Family. But that is a story for my next blog.

 

 

Olompali: Miwoks, the Grateful Dead, and a Hippie Commune… The North Coast Tour

I photographed this picturesque oak tree at Olompali State Park. Later I discovered the same tree was featured on the cover of the Park's brochure. Acorns from oaks were a major source of food for the Miwok Indians.

I photographed this picturesque oak tree at Olompali State Park. Later I discovered the same tree was featured on the cover of the Park’s brochure. Acorns from oaks were a major source of food for the Miwok Indians.

 

When Peggy headed off to England with her sister in August to visit English gardens, I headed off to the north coast of California for a couple of weeks to see what mischief I could get into. Peggy has promised some guest blogs on her experiences. Here is the first of several blogs on mine. 

The small community of Novato lies 20 miles north of San Francisco along Highway 101. The little known California State Park of Olompali is just north of Novato. The staff at the Days Inn where I stayed didn’t even mention the park when I asked about interesting places to explore. “Go to the Marin Museum of the American Indian; explore historic Novato; check out the Marin French Cheese Company,” they told me. And I dutifully complied. My adventure started just outside my door.

To me, the coastal ranges of California provide some of the most scenic views in the world. This was behind the Days Inn where I stayed in Novato. I love the contrast between the gold of the grass and the green of the oaks.

To me, the coastal ranges of California provide some of the most scenic views in the world. This view was behind the Days Inn where I stayed in Novato. I love the contrast between the golden brown of the grass and the dark green of the oaks.

One evening I went out and captured the same shot as the sun went down.

One evening I went out and captured the same shot as the sun went down.

It is a good thing that the Marin Cheese Factory isn't located near my home. I'd end up weighing 300 pounds. Its brie cheese is to die for.

It is a good thing that the Marin French Cheese Factory isn’t located near my home. I’d end up weighing 300 pounds. Its brie cheese is to die for.

As for Olompali, I had to find it on my own. It was a mile up the road from the motel, just past the US headquarters of Birkenstocks. It proved to be a very interesting place, indeed.

Once, the area had been home to the Miwok Indians. They had been living in the region for over 3000 years when Sir Francis Drake landed at nearby Point Reyes. Although he was something of a pirate, and would have been an illegal alien by today’s definition, Drake claimed the land for Queen Elizabeth. The Spanish arrived a few years later and claimed the land for Spain. The Miwoks weren’t invited to participate in either decision.

These distinctive cliffs at Drakes Bay in Point Reyes National Seashore were used to help identify where Sir Francis Drake landed in

These distinctive cliffs at Drakes Bay in Point Reyes National Seashore were used to help identify where Sir Francis Drake landed in the late 1500s. The tracks in the foreground speak to how popular this beach is in the summer. I had a difficult time capturing a photo that wasn’t packed with people.

By 1776, when Americans were fighting for independence from Great Britain, the Spaniards were busy establishing their first missions north of San Francisco, an effort that was a continuation of the work of Junipero Serra. In return for supplying ‘civilization and salvation’ to the Miwoks, the Catholic priests expected the natives to work for nothing in what can best be described as a system of slavery. Going home to visit family without permission, or even going fishing, could earn a whipping and a jail sentence. And, if ‘civilization and salvation’ weren’t enough, the Spaniards brought the European diseases with them that more or less wiped out the native population and opened the area for white settlement. It’s small wonder that California’s remaining Native American population didn’t celebrate the recent canonization of Junipero Serra with enthusiasm.

The Miwok, for the most part, were a gentle people who lived in close harmony with the land. An area of Olompali State Park has been put aside to display the native plants and housing the Miwoks used. The natives practiced house cleaning in the extreme: They burned down their houses once a year to get rid of bugs and vermin that had taken up residence.

The Miwoks built some of their homes with redwood siding, or at least redwood bark. This example of a Miwok shelter is located at Olompali.

The Miwoks built some of their homes with redwood siding, or at least redwood bark. This example of a Miwok shelter is located at Olompali.

While most of the plants on display were suffering from the drought, an attractive Bay Laurel caught my attention. A signpost reported that the Miwok had eaten the fruit raw. Nuts were dried and then pounded into flour that was used for bread. The leaves were used for spice. A tea made from the leaves was used for stomach-aches, colds and sore throats. Fresh leaves were put on the head for headaches and an infusion of the leaves was used for washing sores. Shoots growing from the tree were used as arrow shafts. Visiting the Bay Laurel, it seemed to me, would have been like making a trip to the grocery store. I found several of the plants the Miwoks made use of, such as the California Buckeye and Harvest Brodiaea, were also common to the Central Valley of California and the Sierra Nevada Mountain foothills where I lived for many years.

The drought that has California in such a tight grip, didn't seem to impact this Bay Laurel that was growing in the garden of native plants important to the Miwok.

The drought that has California in such a tight grip, didn’t seem to impact this Bay Laurel that was growing in the garden of native plants important to the Miwok.

Buckeye trees in bloom along the American River Parkway in Sacramento. Buckeyes, well leeched to remove poison, served as back up food when acorns were scare.

Buckeye trees in bloom along the American River Parkway in Sacramento. Buckeyes, well leached to remove poison, served as back up food for the Miwoks when acorns were scarce.

A close up I took of buckeye flowers while hiking along the American River Parkway. The fruit of the buckeye was also crushed by the Miwok and thrown into streams to knockout fish that were then gathered for food.

A close up I took of buckeye flowers while hiking along the American River Parkway. The unleached fruit of the buckeye was crushed by the Miwok and thrown into streams to poison fish that were then gathered for food.

Bulbs of Harvest Brodiaea were baked, boiled or eaten raw by the Miwok. This is another photo I took along the American River Parkway.

Bulbs of Harvest Brodiaea were baked, boiled or eaten raw by the Miwok.

Wild animals, like native plants, were central to the existence of the Miwok. An informative book by Betty Goerke, Discovering Native People at Point Reyes, notes that the Miwok considered Coyote the creator of their world. As in much Native American lore, Coyote was also a trickster god, often getting into mischief. His god-like status kept him from getting eaten, however. Other animals didn’t fare as well, but even they deserved respect. “It was necessary and a common courtesy to honor an animal when it was killed,” Goerke notes. Beads were thrown into a fire to honor a dead bear. Even a small bird would receive a dance— “so it wouldn’t feel bad.” I’m not sure the dead bird appreciated the dance, given an option, but I like the sentiment behind it.

NEXT BLOG: How Olompali moved from being home territory for the Miwoks to a temporary home for the Grateful Dead and then the site of one of California’s most famous hippie communes.

 

Backpacking into the Grand Canyon: Part III… My Muscles Go on Strike!

I am sitting on the edge of the Colorado, red with mud. (Peggy took this and the following photos when I returned down the Tanner Trail into the Grand Canyon several years later. I didn't have a camera on my first trip.)

I am sitting on the edge of the Colorado River, red with mud. (Peggy took this photo when I returned with her down the Tanner Trail into the Grand Canyon several years after my first trip. I didn’t have a camera the first time.)

 

At the end of my last blog on my backpacking trip into the Grand Canyon, I was getting ready to hike up the Canyon to the Little Colorado River. The day before I had made a strenuous descent from the rim to the Colorado River that had left my downhill muscles screaming for mercy.

I hoisted my backpack and mentally prepared for the day’s journey. On the edge of my campsite was a 20-foot section of small boulders I needed to negotiate to rejoin the trail. Normally I would sail through such an obstacle course, stepping on or between rocks as the situation called for. Not this time. I wobbled uncontrollably when I stepped on top of my first rock; I had absolutely zero balance. My muscles were refusing to function. They had gone on strike! While I didn’t reach the insane-cackle level brought on by exhaustion the night before, I did find myself giggling. Dorothy’s Scarecrow was a paragon of grace in comparison to me. I actually made it a whole hundred yards before declaring that my backpacking day was over.

An overhanging rock provided shade and a scenic view of the Tanner Canyon Rapids. I spent the day napping, reading a book on the Grand Canyon by Joseph Wood Krutch, snacking, and watching rafters maneuver through the rapids. The most energy I expended was to go to the river and retrieve a bucket of water. There was plenty of time to let the mud settle.

I made it as far as an overhanging rock a hundred yards from my campsite. Thirteen years later I pointed out my hideaway to Peggy. It may hold the record for the shortest backpacking trip in history.

I made it as far as an overhanging rock a hundred yards from my campsite. Thirteen years later I pointed out my hideaway to Peggy. It may hold the record for the shortest backpacking trip in history. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

Peggy tried out my seat where I sat and read all day and watched bats come though in the evening.

Peggy tried out my seat where I sat and read all day and watched bats come through in the evening.

The view I had of the Tanner Rapids from my 'cave.'

The view I had of the Tanner Rapids from my ‘cave.’ Eventually I rafted down the Colorado River and would pass through these rapids.

That evening I sipped a cup of tea laced with 151-proof rum and watched bats flit around my ‘cave’ as they gobbled down mosquitoes. They were close enough I could have touched them. It was like I was invisible, as I had apparently been to the Mousy and his stalker the night before. Strange, unsettling thoughts of nonexistence went zipping through my mind. Being alone in the wilderness is conducive to such thinking. The Canyon adds another layer.

Day three arrived and it was time to explore my surroundings and whip my protesting muscles into shape. I still wasn’t ready for primetime backpacking, so I took a day hike up Tanner Creek Canyon. Whatever creek had existed was waiting for future rain, but the erosive power of water was plainly evident. This was flash flood country where a dry wash can turn into a raging torrent in minutes. Dark clouds demand a hasty retreat to higher ground. I had nothing but blue skies, however, so I hiked up as far as I could go. The canyon narrowed down to a few feet and traveling any further called for rock climbing skills I didn’t possess. I sat for a while enjoying the silence— and the thousands of feet of soaring walls. The isolation seemed so complete it was palpable. I was alone but not lonely. Nature was my companion. Reluctantly, I turned back toward my camp.

I spent the next two days hiking along the River. I backpacked up the Colorado following the Beamer Trail to Lava Canyon Rapids the first day and then worked my way back down past Tanner Creek to Unkar Creek the second. My general rule was that if the trail appeared ready to make a major climb up the canyon, it was going without me.

At one point where Peggy and I were backpacking up the Beamer Trail we came to a fork in the trail and went left. (Yes, we did find the fork in the trail.)

At one point when Peggy and I were backpacking up the Beamer Trail we came to a fork in the trail and went left. (Yes, we did find the fork that someone had humorously placed in the trail. I was reminded of the Muppet Movie where Kermit came on a similar fork.)

I am not sure the fork provided good advise. (grin) We had to scramble.

I am not sure the fork provided good advice. (grin) We had to scramble.

The only real excitement came toward the end of the second day when I discovered my left foot poised a few inches above a pinkish Grand Canyon Rattlesnake that lay stretched across the trail, hidden in the shadows. He was a granddaddy of a fellow, both long and thick. My right leg performed an unbidden, prodigious hop that placed me several feet down the trail. There is a very primitive part of the brain that screams snake. No thinking is required. As soon as I could get my heart under control, I picked up a long stick and gently urged the miscreant reptile to get off the trail. He wasn’t into urging. Instead, he coiled up, rattled his multitude of rattles and stuck out his long, forked tongue at me. He was lucky I didn’t pummel him. I did prod more enthusiastically, however, and he got the point, crawling off the trail rather quickly. I memorized the location so he wouldn’t surprise me on the return journey.

My leg’s miraculous leap suggested that my body was beginning to tune up. There would be no more malingering and feeling sorry for itself. The next day I camped at Tanner Creek again and the following day out I hiked out. The trip up took me three hours less than it had taken to hike in. I was tempted to go find the Sierra Club fellow who had demanded that I use a more civilized trail, but opted out for a well-earned hamburger and cold beer instead. My body was demanding compensation for its forced march.

I’ll return to my Grand Canyon adventure next week when a friend joins me to hike back into the Canyon a few days after I returned to the rim. Hostile spirits from another realm join us. Or at least she believes they do.

NEXT BLOG: I start my series on my recent trip up the North Coast of California. First up— Olompali State Park. Located just north of San Francisco, it has a fascinating history stretching from the Miwok Indians to the Grateful Dead to a hippie commune.

Backpacking into the Grand Canyon… Part II

Looking down from Lipan Point at the start of the Tanner Trail. Then sharp bend in the Colorado River... far away, is where I am heading. (The photos of the trail down I actually took several years later when I backpacked down with Peggy.)

Looking down into the Grand Canyon at the start of the Tanner Trail.  By the end of the day I would be near the sharp bend in the river. At the beginning, my body was having serious doubts about whether it wanted to go there. It wasn’t the distance. It was the drop of several thousand feet which can be tough on both knees and downhill brakes.

You may (or may not) recall that I left you hanging on the edge of the Grand Canyon when I took my summer break from blogging starting in July. I had hoisted my 60-pound pack and was preparing to drop off the edge of the world following one of the Canyon’s toughest and least traveled trails several thousand feet down to the Colorado River. My body was having a serious discussion with my mind over the wisdom of the decision. You may want to go back and read Part I of the Grand Canyon Odyssey to refresh your memory.

Tanner trail dropped away under my feet as I began my journey and descended through millions of years of earth history. About a half of mile down it disappeared, having been washed away by winter rains. “I told you so,” my body whispered loudly as I mentally and physically hugged the side of the Canyon and tentatively made my way around the washout.

Although this photo is a little blurry and from another Grand Canyon trail, I included it because it provides a perspective on the trails into the Canyon that receive minimal attention from the Park service. Main tourist trails are like freeways in comparison.

Although this photo is a little blurry and from another non-maintained Grand Canyon trail, I included it because it provides a perspective on the trails into the Canyon that receive minimal attention from the Park Service. Main tourist trails are like freeways in comparison.

Steep drop offs are a common factor in all trails leading into the Grand Canyon. The first trails were created by Native Americans. Later miners, rustlers, and companies interested in promoting tourism would enhance the original trails and create new ones.

Steep drop offs are a common factor in all trails leading into the Grand Canyon. The first trails were created by Native Americans. Later miners, rustlers, and companies interested in promoting tourism would enhance the original trails and create new ones. The top of the photo reflects the different rates of erosion that create bluffs.

I am not sure when my legs started shaking. Given the stair-step nature of the trail and the weight on my back, not to mention an extra 20 pounds of winter fat, my downhill muscles were not having a lot of fun. Fortunately, Mother Nature provided a reprieve. The erosive forces of wind and water that have sculpted the mesas and canyon lands of the Southwest are less challenged by some types of rocks than others.

Somewhere between two and three miles down I came upon the gentle lower slopes of the Escalante and Cardenas Buttes, which allowed me to lollygag along and enjoy the scenery. I escaped from the sun beneath the shadow of a large rock, drank some of my precious water, nibbled on trail food, and took a brief nap. It would have made a good place to camp. Others had obviously taken advantage of the shade and flat surface, but the Colorado River was calling.

Ignoring the screams of my disgruntled body parts, I headed on. At mile five or so my idyllic stroll came to a dramatic halt as the trail dropped out of sight down what is known as the Red Wall. (It received this imaginative name because it is red and looks like a wall.) Some fifty million years, or 625,000 Curtis life spans, of shallow seas had patiently worked to deposit the lime that makes up its 500-foot sheer cliff. It is one of the most distinctive features of the Grand Canyon.

My trail guide recommended I store water before heading down so I could retrieve it when I was dying of thirst on the way out. I could see where people had scratched out exposed campsites here as an excuse to stop for the night. The accommodations weren’t much but the view was spectacular.

The rest of the five-mile/five month journey was something of a blur. (It was closer to five hours but time was moving very slowly.) I do remember a blooming prickly pear cactus. I grumbled at it for looking so cheerful. I also remember a long, gravelly slope toward the bottom. My downhill muscles had totally given out and the only way I could get down was to sidestep. I cackled insanely when I finally reached the bottom. I was ever so glad the Sierra Club guy (see Part I) wasn’t around to see me.

As tired as I was, I enjoyed the beauty of the inner Canyon.

I was so tired, I could hardly enjoy the beauty of the inner Canyon. (These photos are from a later trip I took down with Peggy. I waited until after she said “I do” before introducing her to the Tanner Trail. Otherwise she might have said “I don’t.”)

I smiled at the Prickly Pear Flowers on my way out of the Canyon that I had growled at coming in.

I growled at a prickly pear for looking so cheerful.

Looking back up the trail provided a perspective on how far I had come. The small, needle-like structure is Desert View Tower.

Looking back up the trail provided a perspective on how far I had come. The small, needle-like structure is Desert View Tower, about a mile away from the Tanner trailhead.

Setting up camp that night was simple. I threw out my ground cloth, Thermarest mattress, and sleeping bag on a sandy beach. Then I stumbled down to the river’s edge and retrieved a bucket of brown Colorado River water that appeared to be two parts liquid and one part mud. I could have waited for the mud to settle but used up a year of my water filter’s life to provide an instant two quarts of potable water.

My old yellow bucket, a veteran of dozens of backpacking adventures, holding Colorado River water. It retired after my second trip

My old yellow bucket, a veteran of dozens of backpacking adventures, holding Colorado River water. It retired after my second trip down the Tanner Trail.

All I had left to do was take care of my food. Since people camped here frequently, four-legged critters looked on backpackers as a major source of food. I could almost here them yelling, “Dinnertime!” when I stumbled into sight. Not seeing a convenient limb to hang my food from, i.e. something I wouldn’t have to move more than 10 feet to find, I buried my food bag in the sand next to me. Theoretically, anything digging it up would wake me. Just the top was peeking out so I could find it in the morning.

As the sun went down, so did I. Faster than I could fall asleep, I heard myself snoring. I was brought back to full consciousness by the pitter-patter of tiny feet crossing over the top of me. A mouse was worrying the top of my food bag and going for the peanuts I had placed there to cover my more serious food.

“Hey Mousy,” I yelled, “Get away from my food!” My small companion of the night dashed back over me as if I were no more than a noisy obstacle between dinner and home. I was drifting off again when I once more felt the little feet. “The hell with it,” I thought in my semi-comatose state. How many peanuts could the mouse eat anyway?

The river water I had consumed the night before pulled me from my sleep. Predawn light bathed the Canyon in a gentle glow. I lay in my sleeping bag for several minutes and admired the vastness and beauty of my temporary home. The Canyon rim, my truck and the hoards of tourists were far away, existing in another world. My thoughts turned to my visitor of the previous evening.

I finished my last blog with a picture of the view across the Colorado River from my camp near Tanner Rapids. This and the photo below demonstrate how much colors change depending on the time of day.

The early morning view from my camp site near Tanner Rapids on the Colorado River.

Out of curiosity, I reached over for my food and extracted the bag of peanuts. A neat little hole had been chewed through the plastic but it appeared that most of my peanuts were present and accounted for. My small contribution had been well worth my solid sleep. I then looked over to the right to see if I could spot where the mouse had carried its treasure. Something on the edge of my ground cloth caught my eye. It was three inches long, grey, round and fuzzy.

It was Mousy’s tail!

Something had sat on the edge of my sleeping bag during the night and dined on peanut stuffed mouse. Thoughts of a coyote, or worse, using my ground cloth as a dinner table sent a shiver down my spine. I ate a peanut in honor of Mousy’s memory and threw a few over near his house in case he had left behind a family to feed. I also figured that the peanuts would serve as an offering to whatever Canyon spirits had sent the night predator on its way.

I visited a bush to meet the demands of my bladder, fired up my MSR white gas stove, and soon had a cup of coffee in my hand and hot morning gruel (oatmeal) in my tummy. I dutifully downed my daily ration of five dried apricots. (This may be more than you need to know, but they help keep you regular, an important consideration in wilderness travel.)

With breakfast out of the way and a second cup of coffee to enjoy, it was time to get out my topographic map and contemplate the adventure of the day. My intention was to work my way up the Colorado River following the Beamer Trail to where it was joined by the Little Colorado. The odds were I would have it to myself. The trail was named after a prospector who had searched the area for gold in the 1800s but it also incorporated ancient sections of trail the Hopi Indians had used to reach their sacred salt mines.

Hopi legend claims that their ancestors emerged into this world from a cave in the bottom of the Little Colorado River Canyon. I found the combination of history, mythology, isolation and scenery quite attractive and was eager to get underway. Unfortunately, my body had other plans. It was going on strike.

NEXT BLOG: I declare a layover day where I hardly move and then begin to explore the beauty of the inner Canyon.