Setting the Bar Really High

 

Greetings from the Dungeness Recreation Area near Sequim, Washington.  Yes, a long way from Alturas Lake, Idaho, where I left you on my last full day.  Which means I didn’t get to tell you about my last morning at the lake!

As you may recall, River spent a good deal of time alone in the Beagle as Opus and I hiked.  She was a good sport but on the mornings when she saw me loading her bed onto the floor of Beagle, she gave me the Big Sad Eyes knowing she was about to be shut in.  So that last morning, I promised her that it would be All River All the Time. 

After her one-mile walk, I tied her outside and she lay in the sun until I came out with my second breakfast (yes, second--don’t judge me) and coffee.  At which point she picked up her head, laid it back down, and released a long sigh.  We sat there for an hour or so enjoying the morning sun, appreciating the cool portion of the day, the bright blue sky, the total lack of people (after the long weekend, I was one of two campers remaining), and the deep, still quiet. 

Keeping one eye on me, River happily snoozed while I packed and hitched up Beagle.  She stood up as she saw me carrying her bed and, when she saw me put it in Wurzig, she jumped up and flopped her paws around with joy.  She practically jumped right into the car she was so happy.

What a delightful spot that turned out to be; I will definitely return, Alturas Lake set the bar really high.

But I will not return to my rental house in McCall; that was not pleasant.  Livable but barely, not even worth writing about.  I did enjoy my days there, hiking and swimming and viewing property but it remained extraordinarily hot.  So, when it was time to leave, I opened a weather app and searched for where it was going to be in the 70’s.

Seattle.

I stopped for one night at the KOA in Ellensburg which wasn’t bad:  Only about half full, my spot backed up to the Yakima River, and they had a great, grassy off-leash area for the Noses.  But still hotter than hell—it was nice to have electricity for the A/C.

Now, camping around Seattle is no fun:  There are only a few, very crowded RV Parks (which I avoid anyway) and all the campgrounds are far from the city (and the State Park campgrounds are booked months in advance, as I was repeatedly reminded.)  So I hopped on Hipcamp and in a few clicks, found myself being welcomed into a grassy field on a Christmas Tree Farm in Woodinville, with about an acre completely to myself.

The location was great, only a few minutes to downtown Kirkland and about twenty to Seattle.  But it was still hot—low 80’s—Beagle sat in the sun all day—and the days lasted until 9:30 PM.  It was a little rough with no A/C.

Oh how I loved being back in Seattle!  The city, the food, and ethnic food!  Indian, Thai, and my morning walk with Opus took us along the Sammamish River Trail to Starbucks.  But I could feel the claustrophobia coming on:  The closeness of the buildings and people and cars was pressing on me until, one day, I crossed the 520 bridge in the bright sunshine and Lake Washington stunned me with its wide-open sparkling brilliance.  Stunned me into such a daze, I made an offer on a lakefront condo.

But fear not, it did not go through.  I found myself getting more and more stressed with the thought of a mortgage, association dues, parking for Beagle, etc., etc., I could not go through with it.   This morning I was packing up Beagle to hit the road and realized I hadn’t felt so right in many days.  I am happier on the road.  

Now the stressors are a bit different; it is a Thursday and I pulled into a campground on the Olympic Peninsula that has half of its sites available First Come First Serve.  At 3:00 PM, there was only one spot left and it was only available for one night.  This is life on the road in the summer without reservations.  But I am home for a night and it is cool!  Maybe mid-60’s with bright sunshine off the ocean, the shadows of tall trees keeping me company as they dance on Beagle’s walls.

After days of iced drinks, I think I’ll make myself a cup of hot chamomile tea.

*

And that will forever be known as The Last Fun Day of Summer Camping.

*

Fast forward thirty-six hours and you find me walking out of a McDonalds (McDonalds!), having slept the night in a rest area (rest area!) off of I-5 and realizing that I was dressed too warmly.  Looking down I saw, in my haste to pack and leave quickly from said rest area, I had put on my Biarritz sweatshirt against the 6 AM morning chill.  I had to laugh; I was about as far away from a luxurious French seaside town as possible.

And here’s how I got there:

I woke that next morning knowing that I would have to fight and scramble my way into another campground if I wanted to stay on the Olympic Peninsula.  At 7:00 AM, people were already scoping out the campground I was in—I did not want to join the fray.

I fired up Hipcamp and had a text conversation with a possible host (he has five acres along a river available for camping and himself available for fishing lessons), unbelievably, it went like this:

              Hi, I just want to make sure I can get a travel trailer onto your property.

              Hello, yes, very easily.  But I am afraid I have left for a while—off fighting a fire in Idaho.

              Well thank you for being one of those people who run toward fire, and thanks for the quick response. 

              Have you somewhere else to stay?

              No, it’s crowded everywhere, I am considering just heading back to CA.

              Give me a minute, I left a key to the gate with the propane guy, let me see if I can get ahold of him.  No one else is using the land, you would have it all to yourself.

              Please don’t take the time, I appreciate it, but you are fighting a fire.  I’ll find something.

(About thirty minutes pass.)

              Hey, Kit, found the key!  It is now hidden, let me know if you want the land.  I'll be home in five days.

On this wonderful trip I had done a lot of thinking and realized that my bar for the coveted Leading Male Role in the romantic comedy that is my life, is set very high.  And, as I told TWGPT, I just can’t be bothered trying to figure out if anyone can reach it.  At this point I pretty much need a pole-vaulter.  Besides, I have this great life:  I have Beagle and the Noses and am free to come and go and go and go, whenever, wherever.  Like I said to my sister-in-law, "What is a guy going to do, follow behind the Beagle?"

But here was this kind, generous man, a fireman who was trying to save me from afar!  I couldn’t help but wonder if I should just rent his spot until he came home.  You know me, I don’t want to be saved forever but I would take five days.  Oh, who are we kidding, it would only work for about five hours, but I would take five hours.

And firemen carry ladders.

Alas, I passed and decided to head for home.  Wurzig agreed with the decision as he flashed “oil change in 1,000 miles” at me when I started him up—just the distance we had to travel.  

With no reservations, and only 25% fresh water in Beagle’s tank, I just figured I would head out and in the early afternoon start looking for a campground.  Ha!  I called every campground, RV park and hotel along my route and everyone was fully booked.  Eventually I aimed Beagle toward Oregon’s Champoeg State Park which had some first come sites, knowing full well they would be taken by the time I got there, but at least I could fill up Beagle’s fresh water as, I was sure, a night in a Walmart parking lot was in my very near future.

But Campendium saved the day again by showing me a “parking” area which was a rest stop along Interstate 5 that allows you to stay for 12 hours.  I pulled in.  The couple next door greeted me, I told them three times how tired I was before they stopped hinting about seeing inside Beagle, I fed and walked the dogs, shut the door, took a shower and did my best to sleep through the influx of truckers.

And that’s how I came to be walking out of McDonald’s, already dressed too warmly, at 7:00 AM.

Tonight I am at Sycamore Grove Campground outside of Red Bluff, California.  It’s hot—over 90—I have electricity so the A/C is on otherwise I would still be driving:  This place is sketchy, I feel like a major drug deal is about to go down. 

I will be home tomorrow, come hell or high water.

I miss Alturas Lake, Idaho.  I already cannot wait for my Fall trip.

-K

PS:  You know its time to go home when you run out of Oreos--that happened two days ago.

Two Cotton Socks

 

The last thing the nice host at Murdock Campground said to me as I was pulling away was, “Remember, this is Thursday before the long weekend, there is no time for shopping, if you find an open campsite just take it.”

And so I heeded his words, and my own promise to myself, and took the first one I found available, as you already know, at Alturas Lake.  Having been here for a few days and scoped out the other campgrounds, (around this lake and others), I can easily say the Kitness was alive and well; this is the perfect campground (North Shore) and the perfect pitch for me.  I have never driven into a more picturesque campground; it is charming with its Parisienne beige sand drive and open meadow flanked by tall pines with the lake just behind.  I loved it more every time I drove in.

With a glorious five nights in one spot, The Noses and I settled into a nice routine of a one-mile walk with River followed by a long hike with Opus (River remaining behind in Beagle which I was sure to park so that she had shade until noon), an afternoon of swimming, a few chores, reading, and other quiet past-times, all with one eye on the tanks as five nights without a dump run will be my record.

On Day Hike 1, Opus and I set off for Pettit Lake, aiming to do a circuit trail of about five miles which encompassed three different alpine lakes.  I had poured over my hiking map (much to my glee) and thought I knew just what I was doing.  However, when the trail sign pointed up toward “Yellow Belly Lake”, but not any of the other lakes within the circuit, I passed by the turn.  I mean, really, what hiker wants to go up a trail that says, “Yellow Belly Lake”?  Maybe if it had said, “Avid Hiker Lake” or “Best Shape of my Life Lake” but “Yellow Belly”?  Nope.  I figured there was another access point, one that listed the other lakes.

Plus, the trail we were on was gorgeous; long, dark, Pettit Lake on the left, peaks up ahead, the trail a slight incline—just enough to make you feel it, and I thought, “I’ll be happy if this is all I do today, a hike around the lake—it is perfect.” 

Soon we left the lake behind, crossed two rivers (in an attempt to help Opus, I submerged one boot—I have never hiked with a soaking wet foot, have to say it wasn’t that bad) and began a serious ascent through a moraine when I decided to rest and enjoy my coffee.  I sat on a giant, flat boulder, marveling not only at the beautiful meadow spread out below and the sharp peaks surrounding it, but that I felt so good.  Last fall when I had tried to hike, it never felt ok, it never felt right.  I always felt like life wanted me to stop, go back and sit down (and now we know why.)   But that morning, everything felt just right.

It hardly seemed like any time had passed so I was surprised when I checked Garmin and it revealed that we had travelled 3.7 miles! 

“Remember you still have to go back!”, sounded my Roomie’s voice in my head; she who had patiently walked (if you can call it that) with me between surgeries.  Some hikers passed me on the trail and said there was about two miles to go before Alice Lake, an alpine lake of incredible beauty, and I so wanted to keep going.  But I have promised myself not to push my recovery so we turned back, clocking 7.4 miles on our first day.

Which probably explains why, on Day Hike 2, we only clocked two.  We had started up Cabin Creek Trail but an uneasiness kept growing in me.  First of all, there was only one other car in the parking area.  As a solo hiker, I much prefer no cars or a lot of cars.  One car just worries me.  Then Opus would not walk in front but kept his nose close to the back of my boots, something he does just before I smell a bear, and we were clearly in bear territory (a lovely creek, woods with dense foliage, berries.)  And, I suppose, I was tired from the previous day.  It just didn’t feel like fun so we turned back, opting for a grocery store run, lunch in town and a quick connection with the cellular world.

Side note:  If you come up here, come with groceries; the store has little more than frozen pizza and hotdogs.

My hiking map had listed the Yellow Belly loop as one of the highlights for the area, so despite its name, I headed back there on Day Hike 3. 

This time I swallowed my pride and took the right when prompted.  There is an initial climb up away from Lake Pettit which I was happy to see as “alpine lake” to me means above the tree line.  But after a mere mile or so, it dropped steadily down the other side of the mountain and back into forest.  At this point, I was still undecided about doing an out and back hike or making it a loop.  Chatting with a mountain biker he noted that the loop option involved a fire road exit.  He had come up that way so gave me a few trail pointers to ensure that I make it off the lake trail and onto the fire road when the time came. 

He also suggested taking an offshoot trail down to McDonald Lake, which I am so glad I did!   What a lovely little lake.  We stopped for coffee and a Dentastix (Opus’s treat when we are hiking.)

As delightful as McDonald Lake was, Yellow Belly was a complete disappointment:  It is surrounded by dense forest (again, not my idea of “alpine lake”—I am used to nothing but rocks, dirt and water at alpine lakes) and, worst of all, as I approached the head of the lake what did I see?  A parking lot.

Nothing is worse than hiking for over two hours and ending up in a place at which cars are parked.  (Granted, I would not have driven Wurzig up those roads but still—a parking lot?!?)

We took a short break before continuing on the trail around the lake, along the river and then out to a road.  But what the mountain biker didn’t tell me was that, after a quarter of a mile or so, the road branched three ways.  By then I had added hot and tired to my disappointment and was in no mood to be lost.  I climbed a hill and looked across the valley and could see campers in the distance.  The far distance, but at least they were visible.  Since the trailhead parking is on the other side of the campground, I took the road that headed in that direction.

It was now nearing noon, we were hiking on a dusty road with no shade, it was over 80, Opus’s looks of disdain were on a 2-minute interval.

As we approached the camping area, I could see, much to my dismay, that it was not the campground but just one of the many disbursed camping sites prevalent in the area. 

Shit.

So I looked around again, spotted the peaks that lay opposite the lake and took the road heading in that direction.  For over a mile and a half we were completely enveloped in clouds of dirt as the campers raced by us in their four wheelers and trucks with boat trailers on the way to the lake.  I was beyond tired, hot and disappointed at this point.  I was edging toward grumpy.

Obviously, we made it back, a mere 6.4 miles which felt more like 20,000.

Enter Day Hike 4:  I had saved hiking in the Redfish Lake area for last as I wanted to avoid as many of the holiday travelers as possible and so planned on hitting the trail bright and early on the 5^th.   Getting dressed, I could not find a clean pair of hiking socks.  How was this possible?  I usually keep close tabs on that, hand-washing when necessary.  But no, there were none.  So I donned a pair of cotton running socks, realized they would be too thin, so put on a second pair of cotton running socks.

Never hike in cotton running socks.

But the sock situation didn’t trouble me, I already knew it was going to be a fantastic day:  I was driving on asphalt all the way to the trailhead!  First time all week.

We were at the trailhead by 8:30 on a clear, beautiful morning.  It had rained the night before so the air was crisp and clear and the trail-dirt slightly packed which is a blessing out here where it can be dusty, particularly on the trails you share with horses. 

The Redfish Lake trail is gorgeous; it climbs steadily up from the lake and then retains the views from the bluff as you make your way to the other end.  At three miles we turned off toward Bench Lake, climbed another hillside, gaped at the beautiful little lake, and sat to enjoy our coffee and, yes, Dentastix.  We watched small trout swim by until the mosquitos, and concern about River, turned us back toward home.

A bonus picture since you have been very generous with your reading:

A quintessential mountain hike, every minute was perfect, we clocked 8.4 miles.  Although my feet were burning from the cotton socks, it was a great way to end my series of day hikes.

After a quick run into town, we returned to Beagle, woke River, and we all went down to the lake.  I let River off leash as she rarely leaves my side; tied Opus to a tree as he rarely chooses me over hunting, and dashed into the water.  Standing quickly to get my breath back (this lake is COLD!) I heard splashing coming up behind me and there was River!  Swimming out to “save” me as she had always done, I just didn’t think she had it in her anymore.  Clearly she came to the same conclusion as she turned back before reaching me. 

Opus had his head stuck in a tree stump, rooting out a chipmunk.

And thus ends my final full day at Alturas Lake.  I will miss this place; I will certainly return.  And I made it five nights without servicing Beagle!  Including a shower every night (despite swimming every day, I find that I would rather crawl into my delightful Beagle bed smelling like French soap rather than lake trout.)

Heading back to McCall where we will enjoy spreading out in a cabin just up from the lake for five nights.  I have a sneaking suspicion that I will not want to leave.

-K

PS:  Final announcement about the email notification; it will deactivate shortly.  I will Tweet out a link after each posting @kitrinabryant

Showering Like a Dinosaur

 It is only the first day of July and I fear I have used an entire month’s worth of Kitness:  At the recommendation of the camp host at Murdock Campground in the delightful Sawtooth NRA, I stopped at Alturas Lake on my way to the Stanley area.  When telling me about the different camping options along my route, he mentioned this lake as well as Lake Pettit as having quiet, small campgrounds as opposed to near Redfish (often crowded, noisy) where my one-night reservation across the highway at Sunny Gulch was waiting.

Yes, that’s right, I was approaching the holiday weekend with a single night’s reservation and a long list of First Come First Served options.  Living on the edge.

The host thought Pettit was probably more to my liking but that conversation went like this:

              “The road in to Pettit can be a bit rough.”

              “How rough?”

              “Well, how did you feel driving in here?” 

              “Like crying.”

              “Try Alturas, it’s paved all the way to the campgrounds.”

I contend that the tire companies of Idaho manage the gravel roads; I have never seen so many sharp pointy rocks in my life—and they are large!  Almost the size of my fist.  These (plentiful) gravel roads are designed for Jeeps with giant knobby fat tires and not low-profile high-speed Porsche tires.  You know me and flat tires; it has been a bit stressful.

The drive up Highway 75 from Ketchum is lovely, across vast meadows and up the windy, scenic Galena Summit before dropping back down into (yet another) beautiful valley.  I have enjoyed all the hills along my travels, particularly those I mentioned in Wyoming with their layers of blue-green something, but this valley dazzled with tall, jagged, snow dotted mountains on the left and a wide, swift river on the right.  I tell you, I am falling in love with Idaho.  I think it must be how California was one-hundred years ago:  Wild, free, relatively uninhabited, full of farmers, fishermen and people who care about nature’s gifts.  I haven’t seen a piece of trash in many weeks.

That is, except for Ketchum which is California, and the worst of it, right now.  Wow, what pretentious people!  And you can tell they are Californians:  They wear masks in the stores, and are frantic, and pushy, and sit at tables in café’s and only say, “I”, never “you”, as in “I just blah blah blah and then I blah blah blah” and never, “How are you?  What have you been up to?”  I haven’t heard so many self-centered conversations since I ate lunch at The Ivy in West Hollywood.  I took my sandwich to go and raced back to the delightfully private and peaceful campground.   

I had only two nights at Murdock Campground and, as my fellow campers will appreciate, I had the joy of that first night with a full tank of fresh water and an empty black tank followed by the assurance that I will still have plenty of both water, and space, by the time I headed out two days later.  So I lived it up! 

Now, as some of you remember from the Salt & Pepper Aventura, there came a day when, after nine-months together in a 19’ trailer, sitting in a lovely ocean-view pitch in Portugal, sipping wine with dinner, that Alan looked at me and said, “You are eating like a dinosaur.”

That time I couldn’t even get mad before he made me laugh.

Ever since then, we used that phrase to describe anything that was excessive:  Speed, “You are driving like a dinosaur”; Scotch, “You are drinking like a dinosaur”; you get the idea. 

So this is what I was thinking when I took my second, yes second, shower in one day: “You are showering like a dinosaur.”  And I loved every minute of it.

Sparkling clean, I hit the road early today.  Not too early, I needed to let the people who were leaving pitches leave, but wanted to be ready to pounce at eleven should the Kitness prevail.  And so it did!  I drove up to Alturas Lake, noting the plentiful boondocking spots along the road in case I needed one, passed by one full campground, pulled into North Shore Campground, found an open spot and immediately booked it for five nights.  I can see the lake through the trees and when the thunder, lightning and rain stop, I’ll be jumping in.   Probably tomorrow.

As soon as I set up Beagle, I drove into Stanley for lunch and supplies; it’s a funky little town, maybe six blocks worth of commercial activity.  First stop was for a hiking map—I like nothing better than laying out a good map of any kind and a hiking one makes my soul sing—the proprietor mentioned that I had picked out his favorite hiking map and socks so, seeing as we had so much in common, I asked if he could recommend a sandwich spot.

Which he did:  My Philly Cheesesteak was phenomenal. 

-K

PS:  I had to drive back into town to post this, there is no cell service out where I am camping.  So a bonus picture!  Here was my "office":