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

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":