Claustrophobia

 

Yes, a rare posting from Beagle’s southern base camp, Morro Bay.  The return was easy enough; I will definitely make the trip to Colorado more often—mileage was 347, 406 and 438 respectively.  Mileage over 400 is difficult, but the middle day provided beautiful scenery (Green River, Utah to Las Vegas) and the final day ended at home.  That’s always an easy distance.

There were many lessons learned on this trip but the most striking was my hiking to towing ratio was way off; I prefer three days of hiking to one day towing but it was more like one to one.  This was due mostly to weather and unforeseen obstacles; I feel confident that if I had not needed to be back in Morro by a certain date, I would have fattened that ratio by heading up to Wyoming and Montana for a few weeks.

But in Morro Bay we are.  After three weeks in Beagle with only one night in a hotel (the final night in Las Vegas), I found myself wandering from room to room in my house thinking, “What is this room for?”, and then, once inside that room, “What are all the things in this room for?”  The beautiful pictures and paintings on the walls began to close in on me (despite the fact that most of them are nature scenes) and I felt…you guessed it…claustrophobic.

Now, some of you have seen my house and know it is not large nor do I have a lot of stuff—by most people’s standards.  Most people come in and comment on the simplicity of my living space.  But I do have five rooms, excluding the two bathrooms, and I realized that what I do in all five of those rooms I do in one room in Beagle.  It’s not that my life is different in Beagle, I do the same stuff, just more simply.  And, I have to admit, with more contentment.

Have you ever noticed how much stuff you have whose only purpose is to hold other stuff?  Sheesh, my chest is tightening up again.  It’s time for even more paring down.

In other news, I walked Opus into town this morning (about a 2.5 mile walk each way) and sat at my favorite breakfast spot gazing across the marina at the famous rock.  It was (yet another) gloomy, grey morning in Morro Bay and I found myself beginning to feel dissatisfied.  Then I thought, “What if you arrived here in Beagle and were camping?  How would you look at this scene?”

I realized I would adore the small fishing town with its abundance of healthy eating options and fresh fish; I would treasure the ability to have a nice long walk that included avocado toast with a boiled egg and a hot cup of coffee; I would love how everyone says, “Good Morning” and looks you in the eye.

I also realized that I had thought all these things in December of 2018 when I did come to town in Beagle, camped at the State Park, walked every morning into town, and knew I had found my southern base camp.

Until next time, thanks for reading!

-K

PS:  Those are otters chilling in the bay; an every day scene around here.

Driven Like A Salmon

 

Greetings from the Chatfield State Park in Littleton, Colorado—yes, I made it!  And although my plan of traversing the passes between storms still had me driving through some snow, I am thankful I made the trek yesterday:  After almost 24 hours of (the glorious Colorado) sunshine, we are now sitting here watching another, larger storm roll in from the north; I believe it is the one that caused so much trouble up in Wyoming.

For the drive from Palisade to Littleton, I had planned on lunching at Sylvan Lake State Park just outside of Eagle.  I had been there before, many years ago, and remembered how pretty it was but I had mixed feelings; drive days of more than 200 miles always make me antsy to just get it done, particularly with a snow storm ahead. 

Such was the debate in my head as I took the Noses on their morning constitutional.  On the way back to Beagle, Opus stopped and looked up at a tree.  Then he sat in front of me, looked me in the eye and then back up at the tree.  Twice.  I decided to look up at the tree.  There sat two of the largest Eagles I have ever seen, together, but one branch apart.  They were gorgeous.  Naturally, I did not have my phone with me but I did take it as a sign that I should go to Eagle.  (Only a little sarcasm there.)

Although I adore Colorado, there are only a few towns that I enjoy. Most of towns are too western for my taste, too ramshackle looking with their wooden structures, and Aspen, Vail, and, sadly, Telluride are like Orange County with an excuse to wear mink.  Not my kind of places.  But Eagle?  I love Eagle.  It is a town of understated elegance; I felt that way ten years ago and it is much the same today (much more expensive and many more houses but they are doing a nice job of community planning.)

And so we turned off the interstate at Eagle to make our way to Sylvan Lake.   The road quickly turned into a narrow, two-lane road with many miles still to go but I had been up there in Salt so I knew I could make it.  Then it started snowing.  After a few miles of that particular experience, Life offered me a paved turn-out with a matching one on the other side of the road; I could pull off and easily turn around. 

Which I did.

And then I did again.

I really wanted to see that lake.

Five more miles go by and Life presents me with the Visitor’s Center up on the left; nice big parking lot, lots of places to turn around.  I drove right by; six miles to the lake, the sign said.

What the sign didn’t say (and what I had clearly forgotten) was that it was a dirt road and, after the last storm, plenty muddy. 

After about a quarter mile, Life offered me a pull-off spot, large enough to turn around.

Which I did.

And then I did again.

Despite it now being 24 degrees with a light snow, I really wanted to see that lake.

About a mile up the muddy road, Life offered me a day-use area, a picnic site with a large, empty parking lot and a lovely meadow with a creek flowing through it.

At that point I remembered an old joke:  A preacher was stuck in the middle of some kind of natural disaster; his neighbor stopped by to help him, he declined saying, “God will save me.”  Time goes by and soon a fireman offers to rescue him, he declined, saying, “God will save me.”  More time goes by and the National Guard tries to rescue him, he declined again, saying, “God will save me.”

Then he dies.  When he gets to heaven he asks God, “Why didn’t you save me?”  And God replies, “I sent you a neighbor, a fireman and the National Guard.”

I turned into the day use area.

No one was around so I let the Noses leap out of the car untethered and we three ran through the meadow in the snow.  River was in rare form with circles and flopping paws and Opus was in heaven; his feet rarely touching the ground, making excuses to jump over small bushes looking like Mighty Dog.  We had a blast despite the snow and bitterly cold wind.  After about twenty minutes, we were all happy to hop back into the car (yes, Opus jumped right in.)

Back on Interstate 70, we hit a bunch more snow at Vail pass (elevation 10,600’) but there were plenty of cars on the road to keep the asphalt warm and, apparently, plenty of salt on the roads as well.  By the time we pulled into Chatfield, we looked like we had been sprayed all over with a white paste.  Nothing worse than winter road salt blanketing my beloved Beagle.

Although I am here for five nights, I have to move twice.  I was only in my pitch last night for the one night so I held off trying to get Beagle washed.  I did wash her windows but then I almost always do that when I arrive somewhere.  (I think there must be a chat room somewhere where non-Airstream RV owners laugh about how quickly Airstreamers wash their windows after parking.  What can we say?  We have awesome wrap-around windows and its not any fun to look through dirt and bugs.)

This morning I hitched up and took Beagle to a car wash where I found a bay large enough to fit both Wurzig and Beagle with hoses long enough to wash them both.  It was divine.  And yes, I know we are about to get inundated with rain (down here at 5,280’) but I had to get that salt off.  My fellow Airstreamers will understand.

This is a lovely park with well-spaced pitches and great walking trails along the lake.  Long walks helped me sort out why I was impelled to come here this year.  It was worth it.

Unless some dramatic, comedic or divine experience happens between now and Monday, this will likely be my last post for this trip.  I have a busy weekend filled with great friends and Monday will begin my drive back to Morro Bay.  I will not be camping along the way; it is a drive just to get home and for that, an easy in- easy out- hotel room is much my preference.

-K

PS:  Plenty of sunshine next week so passing back over the passes should not a problem.  That’s for you, Mobom.

The Night I Brought in My Snow Boots

 

An alternate title:  There’s a Reason for Everything, Including Decaffeinated Coffee

I have long said that the only time I feel at home is when I shut the door on the Beagle; it doesn’t matter where she is parked.  But there are some places that are great to come back to, and, for me, Colorado is one of them.   After five days of pulling Beagle over unfamiliar roads to unfamiliar places (all part of the plan) I drew great comfort when I saw the “Welcome to Colorful Colorado” sign.  It’s nice to know where you are.

Turns out I am here two days early:  I did, in fact, tow Beagle up to Fish Lake, Utah, where we drove up a pitted dirt road in the “rv park” to a surprisingly delightful pitch up on a hill overlooking the lake.  (The Fish Lake Lodge RV Park is not my idea of an RV park; I don’t stay at them often, but when I do it’s because I need a long, hot shower and to do some laundry.  This place had no showers and the laundry room was a quarter of a mile away from my pitch.)  But a lovely view:

 

With rain due the next day, I didn’t want to waste any of the wonderful sunshine unhitching Beagle, rather, I hitched up the noses and we went for a walk.  After returning River to the car, Opus and I set out along the Lakeshore Path, much in need of some strenuous exercise. 

It was a gorgeous trail (pictured above) and flat; I couldn’t figure out why I was breathless.  We pressed on at a good 3+ MPH pace, clocking 5.5 miles total.  Midway through we stumbled upon a creek filled with one of nature’s most amazing wonders; migrating salmon.

 

I sat by the creek for a few minutes watching them in their quest.  I felt a keen fellowship with these beings who follow their intuition to get somewhere no matter the effort.

Back at Beagle I was not feeling well.  My head was pounding and I was becoming nauseous.  I tried to make myself eat and drink but it was difficult.  After doing some meditation, I fired up Garmin to see what altitude we were at and was surprised to see it was 9,000’.  Which explains my symptoms; I can hike above 10,000’ but need to come back down to at least 7,000’ for sleeping purposes.  Tried and tested in Machu Picchu and on Kilimanjaro, I did not need to repeat either of those experiences in Utah, particularly with no cell service.

So, despite it being 4:00 PM, I put the noses in the car (see?  Good thing I didn’t bother to unhitch earlier) and we headed back to Richfield, back to the KOA—a real RV park with long, hot showers, a 24-hour laundry room, and good cell service.  I needed to develop a Plan B.

I felt immediately better when I dropped down to Richfield which sits at 5,300’; my pull-through site needed no adjustments side to side or front to back, so I quickly walked the noses, threw in a load of laundry and headed to the wonderful showers.  (I do shower every day in Beagle, but nothing compares to endless amounts of hot water pouring down upon your head—a Beagle shower is military style; get in, get wet, turn water off, soap up, rinse off, get out, dry your goosebumps.)

After getting all clean and toasty, I set about making my Plan B; I was supposed to ride out the snow storm at Fish Lake and just because I wasn't there didn't mean the storm wasn't coming.  I certainly wasn’t going to stay another night at the KOA.   I decided to head toward Denver and spend my extra days in Colorado; a place I know and love. 

So here you find me tonight at the James Robb Island Acres State Park for two nights.  It should rain here tomorrow and snow up higher, so we’ll just hunker down and see what happens.  I do not want to traverse any of the passes in the snow, that’s for sure.  I love the Colorado storms (and miss this kind of weather more than I thought) and know how quickly they can come and go.

It’s a lovely campground, right along the Colorado River.  I remember passing it when heading out with Alan in Salt and thinking it would be a great place to stop.  And here I am. 

***

It is now Tuesday morning and other than River hopping out for a quick pee, we three are sequestered inside (Opus can hold it forever.)  The rain is pouring down and the wind whipping around.  While parking Beagle yesterday, I made note of the branches and, thankfully, parked her in the open—no need to have a branch blow down on my solar panels, I thought.

New to the food options in this Beagle trip is the addition of decaffeinated coffee; I love coffee but can only have two “real” cups a day and clearly this day is going to require more like four.  Or six.

You know me, I believe everything happens for a reason; the trick is pausing long enough to listen to your intuition; and then, like the salmon, having the drive to experience your unique path in life.

-K

PS:  Really glad we are not on the road as a gust of wind just blew so hard Wurzig’s lights came on. 

The Space Between

 

Greetings from the KOA in Richfield, Utah, where I am writing as I watch some seriously dark clouds roll in from the North-West.  We are between storms, but don’t let me get ahead of myself.

***

“Where are you heading?”, asked the nice waitress at the Little A’le’Inn Café as I was paying my tab, “East, toward the storm”, I replied, as I looked out the windows toward the darkening sky and watched a tumbleweed cross the highway—unimpeded you know, because THERE ARE NO CARS ON THAT ROAD.

And so we headed out, confident in my route and knowing the end point; the Cedar Canyon RV Park in Cedar City, Utah.  Thankfully the night before I had thought to call the RV park, turns out everyone in the area was filling up fast; the National Forest campgrounds had all closed on October 1 (note to self) and the weather was questionable so folks were flocking to the RV parks.

I asked for two nights but Tom could only promise one.  After that he offered his overflow parking area since I didn’t need any hook-ups.  I took the one night still hoping that something more interesting would turn up.

With a known stop for the night, I decided to do my best to explore the area as I drove along, take time off the route, enjoy the space between. 

We quickly entered the storm and enjoyed the rain pounding on the windshield, washing away all the dirt and dust that had accumulated over the last, what?  Eleven days?  Time has lost all meaning once again.

As luck would have it, the rain took a break right when we needed one and I saw a sign for a State Park with camping two miles outside of Caliente.  Obviously, I didn’t need to camp, but the camping sign let me know that I would be able to (a) drive to the State Park despite it being down a narrow road, and (b) park Beagle somewhere for an hour or so.

We parked just outside the campground and immediately found a nice trail heading up into the valley, far enough from the road so the dogs could be off leash.  After River had her fill, we plopped her back in the car and Opus and I set off for a longer hike.  It felt so good to be out hiking!  It had only been one day without hiking but I still missed it.  We ended up taking a ridge hike which afforded this picture back down to the valley:

On the way back it began to rain again causing us to run—mostly with joy.  The rain hitting my face, the smell of wet dirt and sage brush, and the clean, crisp air made me literally whoop with happiness.

The rain continued right up until we reached Cedar City, then it broke off for a few minutes allowing me to park Beagle in site #11; a narrow back-in spot surrounded by rocks.  It was a bit tricky particularly considering that the road was mostly dirt quickly turning into mud and I had to back her up a hill. 

It also wasn’t level so, as the rain began again, I laid down a few leveling blocks and reposition Beagle.  Unbeknownst to me, while I was adjusting the left side up, the right side was sinking into the mud.  I did not double check the balance, the rain was pouring down by then, so ended up sleeping with my feet slightly higher than my head.  Not the end of the world.

Thankfully, with my lithium batteries (have I mentioned how much I love them?) I did not need to plug into the electrical system but I did have to take on some fresh water.  So I sloshed through the mud with rain pouring off my hood in front of my face and filled her up--difficult with cold fingers; the temperature was nearing 40.  The noses were dry and toasty inside Wurzig.

But they had to come out and get into Beagle.

Now, there is the joy of getting wet dogs into Beagle and the immense jubilation of getting wet and muddy dogs into Beagle; we clearly had immense jubilation.

We hunkered down for a couple of hours and around 6:00 PM, there was a break in the rain so I Ieashed them up for their evening constitutional.  We headed out one of the short hiking trails which just so happened to leave from the overflow parking area.  It was a mud pit.  I knew right then I would not stay another night. 

The path seemed to have a lot of gravel until squish!  Down went Opus’ legs into about three inches of sticky red mud.  He jumped forward which pulled me into the mud and then, of course, River.  We all three jumped out of there but not before all ten feet were covered in mud.

But I can take off my shoes.

The rain was picking up again so we were wet and muddy when we returned to Beagle.  Some experiences you just simply have to get through.

I spent a lot of time that evening trying to figure out where I would spend the next night.  Frustrating with no cell service and minimal WIFI at the park—but I knew I wasn’t going to spend another night in the mud pit.  My last line in my journal that night was, “I am tired of thinking about where I am going to sleep tomorrow.”

You know how much I love to sit in Beagle, but after fourteen hours (albeit lovely hours listening to the rain on Beagle’s roof—one of my favorite things in the world) we were ready to get out.  The sun was up, the blue sky clear, the air crisp.  I was dying to hike but realized the trails would all be muddy plus I had to check-out by 11.  Then I remembered seeing a paved path along the river as we drove up Highway 14.  So I threw the noses in the car and headed to that spot.

What a lovely path!  It wound along the river and there was a breast cancer walk happening so there were a bunch of happy, pink-clad people with whom to exchange “good mornings.”  Opus and I eventually did four miles (after returning River to the car.)

Back at Beagle, I hurriedly packed up, made a plan to drive up Highway 14 toward Brian Head and Bryce Canyon, then skirt over and catch Highway 89.  For some reason I was completely calm about not having a place to stay which allowed me to enjoy the gorgeous drive—pictures do not do it justice—up the canyon and into the mountains freshly covered with at least a foot of snow.

We came down the other side of the pass and when I stopped for gas at 1:00, I thought I should try and figure out where we would rest for the night.  I had some cell service so called the KOA in Richfield who had spots available.  Another hour should have gotten us there but, as we were driving along the beautiful Highway 89, I noticed another paved path that ran for miles on the other side of the river.  I kept my eye out for access and found a spot to pull off the road, grabbed the dogs, scampered up a small rise and onto the path.  River did almost two miles and she rarely does that any more.

That brings you to now:  As I mentioned, another storm is coming, with more snow on Tuesday.  So I decided I better hunker down.  I have one night here and then I am moving over to the Fishlake RV Park for at least three nights which should get us through the snow storm hopefully with enough fair weather along the way to get back up onto some trails.

-K

Getting from Here to There

 

After, “May I look inside your trailer?” the two questions I get asked most often are, “Aren’t you afraid to travel alone?” and, “Don’t you ever get lonely?”  And it might surprise some of you, but the answer to both is “Yes.”  But being afraid of something doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it.  And loneliness is possible when you are surrounded by people, even people you love.  Besides, what choice do I have?  I want to explore the planet and I am plum out of exploration partners.

And so I set off from Convict Lake (the picture above was taken on my last morning walk) toward my ultimate goal of Littleton, Colorado, having decided to take my time along the 900+ mile route and check out some areas that might invite further exploration next summer.  My route that morning had me taking back roads and two-lane highways all the way to Rachell, Nevada, where I would spend a night at the Little A'Le'Inn RV Park right smack dab in the middle of Area 51. 

I left the Eastern Sierra’s heading East, with no one else on the two-lane road and nothing but desert stretching out in front of me. 

As always on these two-lane roads, there is no room to pull over and you quickly lose cell service.  My thoughts quickly turned to what would happen If.  Not a great way to start the trip.  And since I was trying to keep my blood pressure down, I took some deep breaths, and reminded myself of a few things:

“Kit, first of all you are brave and you know you are thankful for that—it has led you to this incredible life, so just keep being brave.”

And,

“This is why you prepare:  You test all the tires' pressure, you empty your black tank and make sure you have at least 25% of fresh water, you fill two gallons of drinking water, you move your Garmin [capable of satellite communication] to the front seat.  You have a driving plan, just stick to it.”

To distract myself I decided to count the cars I saw; no one was in front or behind me so I counted those coming toward me.  After only tallying five cars in an hour I realized this particular game was stressing me out even more.

Loneliness set in.  I missed having a driving companion—at least one with a dry nose.  So on the few occasions when I had a bar of service, I reached out to some close friends.  The talks were restorative but quick, often ending without warning as the cell service disappeared.

When I turned onto the Extraterrestrial Highway (I kid you not) and knew I still had about 100 miles left, I decided to listen to a downloaded session of the aforementioned “Smartless” podcast.  Those four guys got me through; because honestly, I was close to turning around and heading back to my comfort zone in the Eastern Sierras.  Not that there was any place to turn around—that would have been about a six-thousand point turn but completely do-able since there WERE NO CARS ON THE ROAD.

Anyway, Jason, Sean and Will interviewed Ken Burns and it was a delightful hour during which my mind was whisked away.

It was only just after 3:00 when I pulled into the Little A'Le'Inn Café and RV Park.  My goodness.  If I wasn’t so tired, I would have kept on driving.  Check this out, that is Wurzig and The Beagle under a tree:

But I was tired and, after three nights without cell service, I had a lot of email and financial work to do and was getting an unbelievably great Verizon signal. 

I walked into the Café to ask about an RV spot.

“Hello and how are you today?!” the bartender greeted me like I have walked into the café every day for the past month. 

There were a few customers, it was easy to tell the locals from the tourists; the locals clearly take great pride in living in Area 51 and all look more than a little spaced out.  After registering and being directed to one of the three pull-through spots out back, one of the locals said, “Welcome to the neighborhood!”

My my.

I parked, walked the dogs and got down to work.  One of the things I love most about the Beagle is how beautiful she is inside; it is a pleasure to just sit inside working and occasionally glance out the wrap-around windows at…well…that day, a flying saucer held aloft by a cherry picker.

Thankfully I could stream Thursday Night Football and so watched the Seahawks lose again.  It was nice to have somewhat live entertainment.  Then, around 9:00 PM, loud booms began.  At first I thought they were sonic booms but then I looked outside and saw fireworks going off.  And not just the little ones an average person can pick up, these were giant, bursting spheres, showering red and yellow sparks right down upon us.

Poor River was a wreck; she has never liked fireworks and these were way too close for comfort (for me too.)  She crawled under the bed and Beagle shook with her trembling.  It took her hours to calm down.

I suppose they set the fireworks off so the aliens know where to land.

This morning we woke to a vicious wind storm; the noses were not at all interested in being outside, they quickly did their business and then Opus stared at the car door as if to say, “Let’s get the hell out of here.” 

I couldn’t agree more.  I could see the black clouds moving in and hurriedly packed up Beagle.  I do have to say, after a delicious breakfast and coffee at the bar in the café, the locals won me over.  They are a wild bunch, but so very down to earth.

-K

Hope & The Six Senses

 

A quick housekeeping note:  I see that Google has managed to keep the email notification working, however if you read the post directly from your email, the formatting is all over the map.  If you want an easier read, click on the title of the post, it will transfer you to the blog.  And thanks for reading!

***

Greetings from Convict Lake, California, where I am happy to report that Kitness is alive and well!  Despite having reservations for site #83, Beagle is parked in my all-time favorite pitch, site #87.  If it wasn’t for the smoke, we would have an incredible view toward the lake and into the mountains.  Yes, the smoke has caught up with me:  Monday, while getting supplies in Mammoth, the smoke was so intense that I almost began the drive to Colorado three days early.

But my sixth sense was telling me to go to Convict Lake where I hoped to pick up a first-come first-served site for Monday, ahead of my Tuesday and Wednesday reservation.

I pulled in and drove around looking at what was available.  Site #83, the site for which I had reservations, was available so I could park and not move for three nights.  But it was a sad site:  It sat down in a depression and I much prefer to sit higher up; I like to see what is coming. 

I stood there looking at #83 and gazing longingly up to #87 where I could see the red “reserved” sign hanging.  I had the luxury of that pitch the last time I visited.  What the hell, I thought, I might as well see what the sign actually says.  And lo’ and behold, the reservation didn’t start until Thursday!  Just then the camp host pulled up and, after I explained the situation, he suggested I just take #87, no need to call and change my reservation, he would just make a note of it and change #83 to “open”.

Sometimes you get really great camp hosts.   

A friend of mine who is thinking of spending more time in his RV, asked what I did during the evenings.  I am sure I have mentioned this before, but first of all, everything takes at least twice as long in Beagle:  You first have to take out whatever it is you want to do, do it, then put it back.  Plus, often you have to move two or three things to get to the item you want to use.  After a day of hiking, a short hot shower, and the four-act play of making dinner and washing dishes, you actually don’t end up with as much time on your hands as you think.

But you do have some time and here at Convict Lake, there is zero cell reception so I needed to be more self-entertaining than usual.  Unlike Sunday night where I had enough bars to stream SNF, Monday Night Football was out of the question.  I also did not have any TV or movies downloaded but I did have a delightful collection of podcasts.  Podcasts are interesting because you have no need for external vision; the good podcasts create images in your mind, like watching your own private movie.

Last night, for pure entertainment, I listened to Terry Gross interviewing Ray Charles on “Fresh Air” (recorded years ago), and Sam Harris talking with Ricky Gervais from their “Absolutely Mental” series; all voices that brought a smile to my face (as well as outright laughter more than once) and companionship to my soul.

Then, because the night was still young, I listed to an installment from Sam Harris’ Waking Up course, a lecture on Buddhism by Jeffrey Goldstein, focusing on the origin of Dukkha (loosely and inexactly translated as the source of suffering.)  The hour-long lecture lasted more like two hours the way it made me think; I had to stop it often to make notes.  He discussed hope, craving and obsession and pointed out that once you get the item you are hoping for, you still only have your six senses in order to experience whatever it is.   You may see it, smell it, taste it, hear it, touch it and feel a great connection to it, but ask yourself what is it about having that item that is going to change your experience of life?  And do you think that change will last forever?  (Silly student.)

I took these deep thoughts to bed and carried them again this morning on my long hike with Opus.  We headed toward Mildred Lake which clocked out at 12 miles round trip.  I didn’t really think we would get there; for one thing, that would be a long day to leave River in Beagle, but also the smoke was making it difficult to breathe.  But we set out, looking forward to a new trail and hoping to see Mildred Lake.

After steadily climbing for over two miles and wondering what I was doing to my lungs bringing in so much smoke, I was absolutely sure we weren’t going to make it to the lake—and quite disappointed as I had hoped to see it.  Just like that, hope had turned to disappointment and I was allowing Dukkha into my life:  I began to not enjoy the hike—it had no goal.  But then I thought back to the lecture and asked myself, “What is it about seeing that lake that would change my experience of life?”  I would see water and mountains and trees aflame with fall colors, all of which I already had available.

Reminding myself that I had my six senses right here and now, I began to use them:  Listening to the sound of the river flowing well below me, looking across the valley at the Aspen trees turning bright yellow, thankfully not smelling any bear, tasting my independence.  (The picture above is from this spot of the hike.)

A fellow hiker appeared. 

              “Did you make it to Mildred Lake?”, I asked.

              “No, that is quite a climb”, he replied, “This day is just about enjoying the valleys.”

And there was my sixth sense:  It often defies definition but encompasses, for me, connectedness to fate, to others, and to nature; in a ten-minute conversation with a fellow hiker I found them all.

At 3.5 miles in, Opus and I found a lovely spot next to the river for lunch, I filtered three litres of the delicious mountain water, sat and enjoyed the quiet and then we returned to camp filled with memories of the delightful valley.

-K

PS:  Although I did not listen to an episode of “Smartless” on this night, it has become one of my favorite podcasts:  Jason Bateman, Will Arnett and Sean Hayes interviewing different people—the LeBron James episode, in particular, is hysterical.  And I read.  A lot. 

Testing the Systems

 

Greetings from Lee Vining, California, where I am enjoying a night at my favorite RV park, the Mono Vista.  The sun is setting around the yellowing Aspen trees and a cool breeze is blowing through Beagle as we cool down from a delightful high of 72 degrees.  This is the time of year for the Eastern Sierra’s—but we knew that already.

I set off six days ago, anxious to test out Beagle’s new lithium batteries, expertly installed by Casey and his crew at The Car Stereo Guys in Goleta.  My first three nights were at Shaver Lake, Dorabelle Campground (pictured above); a place Alan and I had stayed at a decade ago.  A lot has changed; there are two new loops with well-spaced asphalt pitches but the lake itself is extremely low.  Opus and I did a few hikes to check out the surrounding areas:  The creek in the Dinkey Creek hike was almost dry and the most interesting looking trails around Huntington Lake were closed due to last year’s fire—too many falling trees.  So not a great hiking experience but a good time to adjust to living at altitude and a great test of the batteries:  Three days with very little solar and I still had 65%. Sixty-five percent on AGM's and you begin to panic but 65% on lithium means you could last another four days.

Realizing that my birthday coincided with the last day you can drive through Yosemite, I cut my stay at Shaver short by a night, hitched up and meandered my way across the Sierras.  It was a delightful drive, not very busy, but overall, I have to say, I prefer Sonora Pass—the beauty there is more to my taste, more open, fewer people, more places to stop and be alone by a river or enjoy a stunning view. 

Once in Lee Vining, I wasted no time in getting out to my favorite hike in the area:  Saddlebag Lake to Gemstone and beyond.  Alas, there was no “beyond” on this trip as the only system I wanted to test was Beagle’s.  But Opus and I did six miles (round trip but at 10,000’) to Gemstone with no problem and one of us learned a lot along the way.

There are certain areas where I’ll allow Opus off leash.  My criteria in the backcountry is that I have to be able to see him, even if he runs 100 yards away.  This particular hike fits the bill perfectly and, as you can see from the picture below, he loved being free.

When planning off-leash time, I bring special treats to help convince him to return.  That day he knew I had ham and would quickly return to my side when I called.  Ever the hunter, eventually he took off after a chipmunk, racing up the hillside as fast as he could, at which point I pulled out the ham, called him, and he promptly returned.  Good dog.

Then he walked along beside me for a while.

He took off again, faster this time, jetted as fast as he could up the hillside and to the top of a boulder.  I looked up to see what he was chasing but he was just standing, staring down at me.   I pulled out the ham, called him, and he promptly returned.  Good dog.

He walked along with me for another quarter of a mile.

Then boom!  He took off as fast as he could again.  He stopped about fifty yards away and looked back at me.  He had learned that the faster he runs away from me the faster the ham comes out.  Smart dog.

After that, I would occasionally give him bits as he walked next to me.  Easily trained human.

Opus and I are setting off for another hike tomorrow and then Monday we will leave for Convict Lake, another favorite stop, for three nights.  After that, the plan is to head to Colorado!  It’s time for some new scenery.

And River is with us!  She is such a great car dog; usually spending car time sleeping in her bed in the back seat.  But often on this trip I have looked back to see her sitting up gazing out the window.  I wonder if she is thinking back to racing after Ibex in the French Alps or peeing on a castle in Scotland, or, if she has grown as much as me, just appreciating the current moment.  The freedom.  Enjoying this beautiful planet.  She enjoys short walks in the morning and evening and in-between sleeps soundly in the car while we hike.  One day I let them both off leash near a lake and she did her patented circles until her back legs gave out.  This sounds sad, but it was joyful and she jumped right back up.

The batteries are delightful—they last forever and have brought me peace of mind particularly when heading into these cold nights.  I am happy to report that all the systems are working perfectly.  Including mine.

-K