Rogue River, OR Mon, 9/7/20

Jimmy and I don't usually make campground reservations, trusting that the traveling gods will take care of us as we head Out and About.  Today we were lucky, but we'd sort of figured snagging a campsite on Monday might be doable, since the Labor Day crowd would hopefully go home.  We arrived early at Farewell Bend c/g on the Rogue River, knowing that early birds catch wiggly worms.  And ... we had plenty of spaces from which to choose; just as we thought, most folks left on Labor Day.

We had an easy hour-and-a-half drive from Grants Pass and selected site #21, a lovely shady spot. Behind us is the river, and here it's a rip-roaring chute.  Friends, Sue and Mo, recommended this campground, and it's easy to see why -- set in the midst of an old-growth forest, towering trees dominate the entire area.  Clean restrooms, drinking water, and helpful camp hosts, all for $12.50/night, because it's in the National Forest and thanks to the old farts' pass.

When I opened Tergel's door to step down, nothing happened, no steps automatically whizzed out.  Dang steps are stuck in again.  Out came the wooden stool.  At least the jacks worked.  With no hookups, setting up is simple and quick, which left us plenty of time to get in a walk along the river.

Directly behind our campsite, the river funnels into this narrow cut and races downstream.  How do logs this size get stuck in places like this?  Powerful spring snow melt and raging rainstorms will have the Rogue River much, much higher than what we're seeing in September.

Where it can even deposit massive tree root systems like these.

This calm-appearing pool beckoned.  It's warm out ... should I put on my bathing suit?  A finger test helped answer that question -- the water is ice cold!  Clear as tap water and a pretty aquamarine.

The water may appear calm in one or two areas, but don't be fooled.  It's tempestuous, filled with rapids and cramped channels that would suck you under in a second.

The river broadens and allows close access, but not too close ...

... because ten feet away, it spills into this wild and turbulent chute!

Imagine this in spring, when the river is five or ten feet (or more) higher!  Imagine the roar!  All this tumult right here makes quite a din, but it is so soothing listening to it while in Tergel, especially lying in bed at night.

See that log across the river?  I said to Jimmy, "Wanna see me scooch along the log to the other side?"  He didn't even bother to answer, 'cause he knew I was joshin' him.  But I bet others have tried it.  

I did pose here before hopping to the other side

The camp hosts came around in the evening before we closed up for the night, warning that a forest service guy said winds of up to 75mph were expected this evening and tomorrow.  No campfires would be permitted (no problem, we don't have campfires).  75mph?  Wow! -- that's hurricane force!  We're beneath big, old trees.  Hmmmm  We heard the wind rising when we crawled into bed, along with small branches, sticks and cones (pine, fir, spruce) hitting Tergel's roof, but nothing that even remotely seemed like hurricane winds.  We didn't worry, just hit the sack as usual, fingers crossed that nothing fell through the roof.

Crater Lake isn't far away.  Maybe we'll visit tomorrow.

A getaway? Sat/Sun/Mon, 09/05-07/20

That's all we wanted. A little getaway in Tergel from smoke and heat. Visit friends. Camp in the woods. Sounded wonderful, and much of it was. We packed to be away for a week or two. Just before leaving home, we rec'd a grim forecast: Excessive heat warning and unhealthy air quality (A/Q) due to smoke from huge wildfires burning in NorCal. To top it off, our local power company, PG&E (or as I call 'em, PG&Eeeek) sent a text saying they might institute one of their infamous PSPS (public safety power shutoff) power outages. Well, phooey, smoke and high temps had kept us pretty much inside for over two weeks, and we were ready to roll. So, wise or no, Jimmy, put the generator in the garage next to the fridge plug, left instructions for our friendly neighbors, hoping they wouldn't need them, and off we went.

We drove north on Hwy 70 and I-5 through awful, simply awful smoke-filled skies nearly the entire way to Sue and Mo’s place in Grants Pass, till we reached Medford where we clearly saw the line of demarcation:  smoke v no smoke.  The sky was clear in Grants Pass -- yay!

Sue and Mo were happy to see us and vice versa, but, ah, Tergel was finicky. The steps would not work (stuck IN this time, long way down to the ground; good thing Jimmy keeps a small wooden stool in a basement bin), and then the jacks wouldn’t go down.  Frustrating. The temp was in the 90’s and we were putzing around trying to get ‘er level.  Nope, no way.  We elected to sleep in Tergel anyway, but with our heads so much higher than our feet, we didn’t sleep well.  Oh, misery.  I hesitate to say, "what next?"  However, we spent most of our time in Sue and Mo's outstanding Sunset House, and enjoyed a delicious chicken fajita dinner.  Mmmmmm 😄.

Sorry to say, smoke had filtered in by Sunday morning, but today's plan was to drive to Chart House, 85 miles southwest on the coast in Crescent City CA, for their fish and chips ... with a stop in Jedediah Smith State Pk to walk among the redwood giants.  Hwy 199 is a gorgeous drive in any season (and not much traffic today).  Jimmy, above, sits at the base of a massive redwood. 

Sharon "Mo" with Mattie, me, and Sue.

Even a vertical panorama shot can't capture the entire tree. 

We found a path along Smith River and walked along for a bit, till Sue spotted a nasty patch of poison oak, so we turned around.  She and I both don't want anything to do with that stuff!

Shaded by the redwood canopy, ferns remain green.

The Smith River looks thin to be kayaking, like maybe you'd bump your heinie on the rocks, but it sure looked like fun (cool, as well).  This is a holiday weekend (Labor Day), and lots of families are Out and About.

Our tummies reminded us that fish and chips awaited us, so we continued on.  Blow me down, if Crescent City wasn't veiled in smoke!  At far left, above, you can barely see the lighthouse.  As usual, sea lions keep the public entertained

Oh my, at Chart House, the line to order stretched a loooong way, but we joined it, assured the dinner (lunch?) would be delicious.  Was it 45 minutes we stood in line, then we waited to pick up the food.  Where to eat?  A spot on the beach?  Wouldn't work.  We drove slowly along the coast, eventually aiming for a scenic overlook, found these handy "rock chairs" and enjoyed fish and chips and it was GOOD!

At the top of the overlook was a one-mile RT hike down to Endert's Beach.  Perfect for after eating ... walk off those calories!  Jimmy, it's a long way down, don't fall off that thing!

Sue and Mo and Mattie start down the trail.  It was a lovely hike to the water.  Goodness, look at the pall of smoke over the water.  There's no escaping.

Jimmy and Mo and Mattie almost at the beach.

(No running loose for Mattie because of other dogs.)

Ah, Mattie didn't get a chance to run in the sand before you see her, above.  After our hike, we stopped at the main beach for a few minutes to let her run free.  Hah, the joke was on us -- she wore herself out in the redwoods and hiking to Endert's Beach.  When she got in her little bed in the car, she immediately closed her eyes and settled in for a nice nap.  I may have closed my eyes for a second or two, also.  We didn't get back till near 6ish, everyone agreeing that it was a lovely day trip.

Okay, we tried the jacks again this evening, and, by gum, this time they worked (!!), so we slept level. Slept good, too. Steps still won’t work.  And then we got a text from PG&Eeeek that they will shut off our power beginning Mon night, till …?  Nuts!  Following that came a high wind warning for both our home in Nevada City and here in Grants Pass on Mon/Tues -- not good.  Dare I say, what next?

We milled around Monday morning, Labor Day.  Sue and I walked around her yard and I admired her marvelous flowers and yard.  We chatted as we walked, while Jimmy and Mo talked RV's and shop.  Sue and Mo have a really beautiful place.  What a nice morning -- thank you so much Sue and Mo.  As we fired up Tergel to leave, the steps worked!  Yay, both stubborn parts are working.  We said goodbye around 11:30, gassed up at Fred Meyer’s for a welcome 2.46/gal (wow), heading for Farewell Bend c/g on the upper Rogue River, roughly an hour-and-a-half distance, hoping enough people went home on Labor Day so we could snag a nice, level site on the Rogue River.

You can't succeed ... Friday, 8/28/20

... unless you try.  That's what the guy we met coming down from the top said, as we tackled the uphill.  So, okay, we gave it the gungho try today, escaping smoky Nevada City for the high country of the Sierras, specifically Castle Peak.  If you are a regular reader of my blog, you know this is our fourth time this year on the Castle Peak trail, and maybe our last (but, you never know!).

View at the top.

And I'm proud to tell you that these two 75-yr-old folks made it all the way to the top!  Our starting elevation was approx 7300' and the finish was roughly 9100', or an elevation gain of 1800'.  It was not easy; in fact, I read this morning that the trail is rated as difficult (no kidding), especially the last couple of sections.

That tall peak you see at right is where we were going.  But, here's how we roll at our house:  On the drive, we discussed going to Five Lakes, Summit Lake or Castle Peak, with no final decision.  Smoky air was our only consideration.  We waited till we got to Donner Pass and saw some blue sky to our north (Castle Peak/Summit Lake), and yucky sky to the south (Five Lakes).  North was the choice.  Once on the main trail, we got to a split -- left to Castle Peak, right to Summit Lake, I turned right, Jimmy to the left.  "I thought we were going to Summit Lake."  "I thought we were hiking to the top."  I'd found a penny at the Donner rest area, so I dug it out of my pocket, flipped it (heads to Castle Peak, tails to Summit) and it landed heads.  That's why we were hiking to Castle Peak today. 

Following the PCT trail to Castle Pass, it's an eight-mile R/T hike, and the first section through the woods is delightful.  Always uphill, but gentle, and it's pretty.  Out of the woods, at Castle Pass, things change and the trail gets steep and rocky.  Three young women (30/ish), above, came up behind us and we stopped to let them pass.  With long strides and young bodies, they "bounded" up the rocky slope.  Jimmy and I looked at each other.  "They're young."  "They'll get over it."  The red x is the trail (above and below).

Our turn.

We joked most of the way up to this point -- I can see our house from here -- Pretty soon you'll see the Pacific Ocean -- There better be a sign at the top:  You did it! -- I see the car down there [not] -- My hip hurts, carry me, and so on.  You see how hazy (smoky) it looks and, yes, the air we were breathing was not the best, but it was okay.  The higher we climbed, the better it got.  The smoke seemed to settle in low areas.  Here, we were just coming into the trees seen at the red x's (in pics above).  Look closely and you can see where we'd been.

Old and young, dead or alive, the trees of the Sierra are captivating.

We finally made it through the trees to the top.  Wait, this isn't the top?  There's more?  Yes, a couple returning FROM the top said, keep going another ten or fifteen minutes and you'll be there, but be careful, the trail is really steep.  Phooey.  Mountains are like that.  Behind what appears to be the summit, is another step, another peak, and behind that is yet another, and then at last:  The Summit.  Whew.  I asked for a photo; she said, sure.  Here we are, almost there! 

Tipped way over, 90 degrees, and still growing.  The tree!

Its trunk is at bottom, left.

I was sort of surprised to see clouds forming, but as we continued hiking, we appreciated the occasional cloud cover!  That sharp peak in the center is Basin Peak and below that, on the left out of sight, is Round Valley.  

Lots of loose gravel, dust, volcanic rubble,

and rough footing on both ascent/descent.

Scrambling up.

If you can see the head at the top of the rock (center), you know we're close to the summit.  The three young women were there, and when we finally stepped into view, one said, "You made it."  Yes, we did.  I asked for a photo and she obliged with two.  The first one in the post and the one below.

On top of the world, with 360° views, even under smoky skies, the majestic Sierra Nevada Mountains surrounded us.  What a feeling!  It took us about two-and-a-half hours to make the four miles, with little stopping.  That's how treacherous the trail is.  We found one small flat rock among all the sharp volcanic stuff to sit on for a minute to admire the views and rest our legs.  Perched as we were on the rock, we could look straight down on either side, as in straight down.  We saw more trails winding along below.  Oh boy, more trails.  We stood up and shook hands.  "Good show."

Before beginning the vertical downhill, I said to Jimmy, "I'm terrified of this."  He said he was, too.  We each had a walking pole, which helped.  Okay, nothing to do but get to it.  So, we carefully commenced.  We slid and we skidded, found our footing, and we didn't fall and didn't get hurt.  I don't want to do it again.  Above, you might be able to spot portions of our trail, which goes around the black rock at right and then follows the ridge line before descending into the trees on the left.

Huh!  The clouds had amassed and suddenly we were sprinkled on!  We didn't mind.  I just didn't want to hear any thunder, but hadn't heard anything on last night's weather forecast about mountain T-storms.  Good.  After a bit the sprinkles stopped.  We kept on.  Six miles, two more to go.  Down, down, down.  Our feet hurt from all the rocks.

Look where we were (red x)!  Look where Jimmy is now (barely visible, center)!  Crazy!  We made it off the scree and rubble and into the woods, grateful for a softer carpet of pine straw and dust.  I was also grateful to know we had a refrigerator full of leftovers -- meaning, all I had to do was shower and warm up leftovers for dinner.  Funny what we think about.  It took us two-and-a-half hours to descend.  We were really tired by the time we got off the PCT and onto the main trail to the car.

As we neared the Prius, maybe a couple hundred yards away, an ear-splitting thunderclap crashed behind us, in the direction from which we'd just come, and raised gooseflesh on my arm a mile high!  Yikes!  Then another.  Why, just a few minutes ago (well, an hour or so), we'd been up there where it was now lightning and thundering.  Being on a mountain in a thunderstorm scares me as much as being in the same room with a spider!  Then, a few feet from the car, and big BIG drops began falling.  We got in.  We were safe.  We were done.  We were done in.  We succeeded.  Let's go home.

Does a bear ... Tuesday, 8/18/20

I sit here this Wednesday morning, still kind of reeling from our recent visitor experience.  Of course the windows and doors are closed to keep the blessed air-conditioned coolness inside and the stale, smoky conditions out.  There's no wind at the moment, and the sun is up there somewhere above the haze, casting eerie shadows below.  This will be another 100° day, one more day to hide indoors, like a blizzard in winter, only opposite.  The Jones fire continues to threaten, and we remain vigilant.  Our evacuee friend went home yesterday to her house after overnighting at our place, but many remain evacuated.  We're safe for now, thank heavens.  2020 has been such an ordeal for everyone in the world, I think, and then there's this:

Last night around 9:30, after watching a movie on TV, Jimmy and I retired to our computers on the dining room table to check on fire news.  The dining room is near the garage back door, which had been left open (the big garage door was closed).  I heard a loud noise.  "Jimmy, there's something in the garage.  Please go look."  And he did.  When he returned, he said (calmly), it was a bear.  I laughed.  Hahahaaaa.  "No, really, what was it?"  Really, he said, a bear.  WHAT?  I got up and turned on the flood lights, and -- sure enough! -- I saw a small/ish black bear running through the yard and over toward the neighbor's fence.  Up and over and it was gone.  But, in our garage?  WHAT?

This morning told the tale of the bear at our place.  Of course, it knocked over the bird feeder and bent the pole at its base.  I don't know if it'll straighten this time.  It left its calling card, thank you very much, before it amscrayed over the fence.

And what was that white thing over by the fence?  I retrieved a bag of flour that had been in our garage freezer ... WHAT?  The durn thing went in the garage, opened the chest freezer and stole a bag of flour?  It knew how to open the freezer?  WHAT?  Oh my gosh, I'm dumbfounded.  Flummoxed.  Looks like that garage door will be closed from now on!

It was hard to tell in the dark if the bear was full grown or a juvenile, and we wondered if it had a mama nearby.  Unknown.  Was it fleeing the fire?  Also unknown.  Bears are not new in our area, but this brazenness is.  Good grief.  What next?

When it's too hot outside ... 8/18/20

A Certain Weariness

I don’t want to be tired alone,

I want you grow with me.

How can we not be weary

of the king of fine ash

which falls on cities in autumn,

something which doesn’t quite burn,

which collects in jackets

and little by little settles,

discoloring the heart.

I’m tired of the harsh sea

and the mysterious earth.

I’m tired of the chickens –

we never know what they think,

and they look at us dry eyes

as though we were unimportant.

Let us for once – I invite you –

be tired of so many things,

of awful aperitifs,

of a good education.

Tired of not going to France,

tired of at least

one or two days in the week

which have always the same names

like dishes on the table,

and of getting up – what for? –

and going to be without glory.

Let us finally tell the truth:

we never thought much of

these days that are like

houseflies or camels.

I have seen some monuments

raised to titans,

to donkeys of industry.

They’re there, motionless,

with their swords in their hands

on their gloomy horses.

I’m tired of statues.

Enough of all that stone.

If we go on filling up

the world with still things,

how can the living live?

I am tired of remembering.

I want men, when they’re born,

to breathe in naked flowers,

fresh soil, pure fire,

not just what everyone breathes.

Leave the newborn in peace!

Leave room for them to live!

Don’t think for them,

don’t read them the same book;

let them discover the dawn

and name their own kisses.

I want you to be weary with me

of all that is already well done,

of all that age us.

Of all that lies in wait

to wear out other people.

Let us be weary of what kills

and of what doesn’t want to die.

Pablo Neruda, Extravagaria

Where have all the flowers ... Thurs, 8/13/20

... gone?  They've bolted and disappeared under the blistering California summer sun.  Those green-green grasses of spring are now a warm golden hue, not unattractive in their own right.  Of flowers, we saw nary a one, but I didn't expect to see any today on our hike around the Point Defiance Loop.  NorCal has gone far too long without measurable rainfall (maybe two months or more?), and every living thing is parched.  Oh, and by the end of our 3.5 mile loop hike, we felt the same!  Today begins a week of brutal 100°+/- temps, so we thought we'd better get on our feet ASAP, 'cause it ain't getting cooler any time soon.  Welcome to August!  Dog Days.

This morning we decided to come this way, toward the covered bridge on the South Yuba River -- at a lower elevation -- rather than drive up into the Sierras.  As expected, the heat was on, 92° (real feel:  101°) by the time we finished around Noon.  We've never hiked in these parts in August; we favor those mild, wonderful spring days!  Who wouldn't?  You see how dry the grasses are in these two pics, above and below.

Our trail began with intense switch back inclines, which made for a terrific aerobic workout (whew!), and we got the toughest part over first.  Overheated, too.  

No rain today!  Look at these blue skies!  Rolling grasslands and old Blue Oaks are typical of California savanna and make up the landscape in this section.  Our starting elevation was approx 580 ft, with an elevation gain of about 500 ft.  

Jimmy just crossed a small wooden bridge over a dry gulch and continues heading uphill on the singletrack trail.  A picnic table sits at the top of the hill, and we rested there for a few minutes to catch our breath, and guzzle water.  At the top, the trail merges with a dirt road where we started our downhill stretch.

This is where we began seeing the (North) Yuba River peeking through the trees.

Above -- I guess technically this Yellow Star-Thistle is a flower and behind the inset is a whole field of the durn things.  Wouldn't want to walk in (ow-ow-ow) there!

The water depth looked down to us.  In fact, as we descended and got closer to river level, we could see the bottom in many places.  The river wasn't in a hurry, it moseyed languidly along.

I thought for sure we'd see campers at the bend in the river.  Nope.  No one.  In fact, we saw only one other person (a guy running uphill!!) for the entire time we were on the trail.  COVID strikes again.

Now at Point Defiance and the confluence of the Yuba and South Yuba rivers, we were astonished to see how low the water was.  So shallow!  The last time we were here (April 2018), flood water covered the spot where I was standing today to take this pic.  Even the campsites were underwater back then.

Ooooh, and I found a giant mulberry tree in a nearby grassy cove, loaded with fruit.  As we approached, a couple of deer and a gaggle of geese took off in opposite directions.  They'd been having a nice snack.  So, I helped myself, too.  Even Jimmy sampled.  Then we parked our backsides at a picnic table to eat our protein bars.  A bit further on, we found a huge blackberry patch sprawling along the point, so we dove in (literally) and enjoyed a few.  Between both kinds of berries, our fingers looked like we'd been in a cat fight! 

Many people do this trail clockwise, but not us.  This part of the trail follows the South Yuba River, which was strangely quiet till we closed in on the covered bridge and then we heard "rapids."  Usually it roars through, but today it had no spark -- too shallow.  Here we had to clamber over boulders repeatedly as the trail wove its way through the oak and madrone woodlands.

I like the ripple effect.

Above is the famous (now-uncovered) covered bridge.  Crews are working steadily to brace it up and stabilize it for future foot travel.  Right now it doesn't look like anything!  We spied people cooling off in the water.   Ahhh, good idea.

Floating down the river on a Thursday afternoon ... 😃

Under reconstruction.

Longest single-span covered bridge in the world.

From the car bridge, Jimmy stopped so I could shoot this photo.  Not particularly of the bridge, but of the river.  In the eight years we've lived in NorCal, we have seen this river raging and many (many!) feet higher than the trickle we faced today.  So be it.  Rivers rise and fall, like dynasties, and we'll return come winter or spring, when it isn't HOT.