Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Playing Grandma
Keyton, Lola, and I spent the day in the house. All I have to say is that if I had to do this every day, I'd saw my head off. Keyton and I took these pictures while Lola slept on the couch.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Rafting the Rogue: The First Time
We began July with a float on the Rogue River in Oregon. The crew included the famously whacky Marty . . .
. . . and his lovely girlfriend, Susan.
Also along for the ride was the permit king, Marshall, his wife Lisa, their daughter Helen, and her friend Nina.
Not to be forgotten is Tim, our new A-list kayaker buddy.
And of course, Larry and Janene, posing here in front of Zane Grey's cabin on the Rogue where he wrote westerns in the early 1900's.
Everyone liked to do different things.
Larry liked to study and discuss the maps.
Lisa and Marshall liked to discuss the importance of proper life jacket fit.
Helen and Nina liked to stay up late playing cards, using Tim's kayak for a scorecard.
Marty rowed like a mad man . . .
. . . and ate like a madman.
Tim discovered that turtles could be caught by using an upstream approach.
And Marshall, Marty, and Tim did handstands to keep things lively.
In the end, we all agreed that if your legs didn't look like this . . .
. . . and your hair like this . . .
. . . you weren't having enough fun.
. . . and his lovely girlfriend, Susan.
Also along for the ride was the permit king, Marshall, his wife Lisa, their daughter Helen, and her friend Nina.
Not to be forgotten is Tim, our new A-list kayaker buddy.
And of course, Larry and Janene, posing here in front of Zane Grey's cabin on the Rogue where he wrote westerns in the early 1900's.
Everyone liked to do different things.
Larry liked to study and discuss the maps.
Lisa and Marshall liked to discuss the importance of proper life jacket fit.
Helen and Nina liked to stay up late playing cards, using Tim's kayak for a scorecard.
Marty rowed like a mad man . . .
. . . and ate like a madman.
Tim discovered that turtles could be caught by using an upstream approach.
And Marshall, Marty, and Tim did handstands to keep things lively.
In the end, we all agreed that if your legs didn't look like this . . .
. . . and your hair like this . . .
. . . you weren't having enough fun.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Broke Down Mountain
The Goal: Take the Chevy and two Honda 90 motorcycles (circa 1970) into the Malheur Forest, set up base camp, use the motorcycles to access remote trout streams.
The problem: One bad Chevy fuel pump that became apparent outside of Prairie City, Oregon, as we left the valley and headed into the mountains.
This is the fuel filter which should be about half full of gas (but is almost empty here). The Chevy ran fine on the flat, but hills caused a crippling loss of power. We limped to the top of the pass and decided that it was a fine place to camp and assess the situation.
Some Background: Larry spent untold hours and uncounted dollars perfecting all this gear. He got 1 old car and 2 old motorcycles up and running, 2 mounts for 2 motorcycles at no small expense, roof rack, custom rain awning for the Chevy, Handyman Jack, shovel, boxes and bags of tools, and god-knows-what-else.
The next morning we drove back into John Day and ordered a new fuel pump at NAPA Auto Parts (where--to my dismay--the staff greeted Larry by name). Confident that the Chevy would hold together for a few more days, we drove back to what Larry billed as "The Best Campsite in Oregon," a site frequented by Larry's family since the 1960s.
Sadly, the family campsite was already taken by a bunch of beer swilling, motorcycle riding men, their wives, and children (one kid had a motorcycle with training wheels). We camped downriver, at the "Bandon Bandits" site, a soggy, sad little spot where recently fallen trees had blocked access.
Larry fished from Esther's Rock and caught several whoppers in memory of Esther, a member of his father's deer hunting circle.
Despite the great fishing, Larry was unable to sleep for worrying about how he'd get the Chevy out of the steep, rocky canyon with a bad fuel pump, as well as a dying, smoking, slipping clutch. We left the next morning for greener pastures.
We moved a few miles up the Mahleur River, to a luxurious camp within easy reach of a tow truck.
Larry's Next Idea: Ride the motorcycles to the fire lookout on Table Rock despite the fact that the road wasn't open yet for the summer. No problem.
Here you see Table Rock through the remains of a burnt section of forest, giving the whole trip a sort of lunar-exploration flavor.
Because the road hadn't been cleared yet for the summer, Larry got to practice his manly motorcycle maneuvers, jumping logs and going off road around obstacles.
Finally we neared the lookout, the first visitors of the year.
It was incredibly beautiful up here, a 360 degree view of the Wallowas, the Strawberries, and the Elk Horns.
As we left the lookout, I began to think that the motorcycles might actually be a good idea. Until this:
On the road home, Larry's motorcycle broke down. We rode double on the teeny tiny remaining bike back to camp where the crippled Chevy awaited. We managed to get the Chevy with a broken fuel pump back to pick up the broken motorcycle.
The next morning, Larry cleaned out his grub box and fixed his candle lantern, both highly entertaining and necessary tasks. Admitting defeat, we packed up and drove back to John Day where we picked up the new fuel pump at NAPA. Larry decided to try to make it home on the old pump, preferring to replace the fuel pump in the safety of his own garage (or street).
Sadly, the Ochoco Pass did the Chevy in. It lurched part way up, but clearly had no intention of making it to the top (not to mention Mt. Hood after that). We pulled over to give the Chevy a chance to cool off and change its mind when Joe and Kay stopped to see what was up.
It just so happened that Joe is a mechanic from Boise, Idaho. Larry told him he was hauling a new fuel pump. Joe offered to install it. Larry (meekly) protested, but gave in when Joe insisted.
Larry had all the tools, and Joe went right to work. While Joe and Larry worked, we attracted a small crowd of Chevy fans.
This cross-country biker left New York 45 days ago. We gave him water and listened to his tales while Joe and Larry finished up the car.
Finally, the fuel pump sending plenty of fuel to the filter, we headed on home. All in all, the trip wasn't what we planned, but we met some exceptionally nice people and saw some beautiful country, and that's about as good as it gets.
The problem: One bad Chevy fuel pump that became apparent outside of Prairie City, Oregon, as we left the valley and headed into the mountains.
This is the fuel filter which should be about half full of gas (but is almost empty here). The Chevy ran fine on the flat, but hills caused a crippling loss of power. We limped to the top of the pass and decided that it was a fine place to camp and assess the situation.
Some Background: Larry spent untold hours and uncounted dollars perfecting all this gear. He got 1 old car and 2 old motorcycles up and running, 2 mounts for 2 motorcycles at no small expense, roof rack, custom rain awning for the Chevy, Handyman Jack, shovel, boxes and bags of tools, and god-knows-what-else.
The next morning we drove back into John Day and ordered a new fuel pump at NAPA Auto Parts (where--to my dismay--the staff greeted Larry by name). Confident that the Chevy would hold together for a few more days, we drove back to what Larry billed as "The Best Campsite in Oregon," a site frequented by Larry's family since the 1960s.
Sadly, the family campsite was already taken by a bunch of beer swilling, motorcycle riding men, their wives, and children (one kid had a motorcycle with training wheels). We camped downriver, at the "Bandon Bandits" site, a soggy, sad little spot where recently fallen trees had blocked access.
Larry fished from Esther's Rock and caught several whoppers in memory of Esther, a member of his father's deer hunting circle.
Despite the great fishing, Larry was unable to sleep for worrying about how he'd get the Chevy out of the steep, rocky canyon with a bad fuel pump, as well as a dying, smoking, slipping clutch. We left the next morning for greener pastures.
We moved a few miles up the Mahleur River, to a luxurious camp within easy reach of a tow truck.
Larry's Next Idea: Ride the motorcycles to the fire lookout on Table Rock despite the fact that the road wasn't open yet for the summer. No problem.
Here you see Table Rock through the remains of a burnt section of forest, giving the whole trip a sort of lunar-exploration flavor.
Because the road hadn't been cleared yet for the summer, Larry got to practice his manly motorcycle maneuvers, jumping logs and going off road around obstacles.
Finally we neared the lookout, the first visitors of the year.
It was incredibly beautiful up here, a 360 degree view of the Wallowas, the Strawberries, and the Elk Horns.
As we left the lookout, I began to think that the motorcycles might actually be a good idea. Until this:
On the road home, Larry's motorcycle broke down. We rode double on the teeny tiny remaining bike back to camp where the crippled Chevy awaited. We managed to get the Chevy with a broken fuel pump back to pick up the broken motorcycle.
The next morning, Larry cleaned out his grub box and fixed his candle lantern, both highly entertaining and necessary tasks. Admitting defeat, we packed up and drove back to John Day where we picked up the new fuel pump at NAPA. Larry decided to try to make it home on the old pump, preferring to replace the fuel pump in the safety of his own garage (or street).
Sadly, the Ochoco Pass did the Chevy in. It lurched part way up, but clearly had no intention of making it to the top (not to mention Mt. Hood after that). We pulled over to give the Chevy a chance to cool off and change its mind when Joe and Kay stopped to see what was up.
It just so happened that Joe is a mechanic from Boise, Idaho. Larry told him he was hauling a new fuel pump. Joe offered to install it. Larry (meekly) protested, but gave in when Joe insisted.
Larry had all the tools, and Joe went right to work. While Joe and Larry worked, we attracted a small crowd of Chevy fans.
This cross-country biker left New York 45 days ago. We gave him water and listened to his tales while Joe and Larry finished up the car.
Finally, the fuel pump sending plenty of fuel to the filter, we headed on home. All in all, the trip wasn't what we planned, but we met some exceptionally nice people and saw some beautiful country, and that's about as good as it gets.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Part V: Into Hot Water
With four days left of our vacation, we decide to check out a "secret" hot springs that a park ranger recommended. Turns out it's not so much a secret as it is impossible to find.
To find the secret hot springs, first you'll have to drive about 45 miles of washboard dirt road.
"Hey, where's the hot spring?" Larry asks the Joshua Tree.
We stop at mile 27 to check on a worrisome rattle. Behind the car, you see the saline flats where salt was harvested in the early 1900's and sent 14 miles via tram over the Inyo Mountains (left side of photo) to market. It's the steepest tram ever built in the United States.
We have trouble finding the road to the springs. It's not on the official park map and there are no signs. Eventually we stumble upon this conglomeration of hippie metal artwork. We must be near.
The spring and outlying camping looks like this.
The desert wildlife looks like this.
The springs were developed in the 1960's by people who'd opted out of the Great American Dream, choosing peace and solitude over a two-car garage and an office job. They built a series of rock tubs and planted palms and grass.
The park service took over the springs years ago, kicked out the permanent residents, instituted a 30-day camping limit, installed a live-in ranger (one of the former hippies), and turns a blind eye to nude bathing which is officially against park rules.
This camper tells the park service what it can do with its policies.
The spring probably isn't everyone's idea of a dream vacation spot, and besides, it's a secret so have fun trying to find it.
Eventually our time runs out, and we have to return to Portland. We climb out of the valley on a snow-studded road.
Once we hit the pavement, it's snowing in earnest, making our week in the desert seem like an impossibly lovely dream.
To find the secret hot springs, first you'll have to drive about 45 miles of washboard dirt road.
"Hey, where's the hot spring?" Larry asks the Joshua Tree.
We stop at mile 27 to check on a worrisome rattle. Behind the car, you see the saline flats where salt was harvested in the early 1900's and sent 14 miles via tram over the Inyo Mountains (left side of photo) to market. It's the steepest tram ever built in the United States.
We have trouble finding the road to the springs. It's not on the official park map and there are no signs. Eventually we stumble upon this conglomeration of hippie metal artwork. We must be near.
The spring and outlying camping looks like this.
The desert wildlife looks like this.The springs were developed in the 1960's by people who'd opted out of the Great American Dream, choosing peace and solitude over a two-car garage and an office job. They built a series of rock tubs and planted palms and grass.
The park service took over the springs years ago, kicked out the permanent residents, instituted a 30-day camping limit, installed a live-in ranger (one of the former hippies), and turns a blind eye to nude bathing which is officially against park rules.
This camper tells the park service what it can do with its policies.The spring probably isn't everyone's idea of a dream vacation spot, and besides, it's a secret so have fun trying to find it.
Eventually our time runs out, and we have to return to Portland. We climb out of the valley on a snow-studded road.
Once we hit the pavement, it's snowing in earnest, making our week in the desert seem like an impossibly lovely dream.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Part IV: Out of the Canyon
When we last saw our hero, he was about to perish in the desert on his birthday. Read on to see how he gets out alive.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
After a sleepless night dreaming about maps and water, we get up at dawn and backtrack up the canyon.
Larry rejoices when he spots the green of a cottonwood tree in a the bottom of the next canyon. This must be Dead Horse Spring. We are saved.
Larry sets right to work pumping 21 pounds of water after engineering a fine dam from rocks and sand.
Now that we're not going to die, Larry decides to be nice to me again. To my dismay, I notice I'm starting to dress exactly like our hero. Maybe I'll grow a beard.
We follow the spring-fed creek down the canyon.
Eventually the water all seeps into the sand, and we're without water again (except for the 21 pounds in Larry's pack). The next water is a day away, back at the car.
Lucky for us, the canyon is easy to follow.
"Look how cinchy," I tell Larry, "we don't need a map after all."
Feeling better, Larry gives me a lesson on the formation of the marble from which this canyon takes its name.
"Marble is a metamorphic rock formed by alteration of limestone or dolomite. It's composed mostly of calcite, a crystalline form of calcium carbonate, or CaCO3."
"Well, how fascinating," I tell him.
The canyon turns into a wonderful series of slots.
Towards evening, we leave the canyon.
The car is a few miles ahead, but it's getting dark. Larry's still packing a gazillion pounds of water, so we decide to camp for the night on the hardpan.
In the morning, Larry gets up early to take a picture of camp before the moon sets. Exhausted from [not] carrying all that water, I sleep late.
We bust out the final couple of miles and return to the car.
Larry rejoices that the ordeal is over and vows never to leave the car behind again.
As we leave the mountains behind, we count up: four days of vacation left.
We stop at Panamint Springs for a hamburger.
"Let's find a nice hotel and a golf course," Larry begs. "I'm tired from packing all that water."
But I'm not ready to give up the desert life.
"Absolutely not," I tell him, "you're such a wimp."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
In our next installment you'll hear my daughter complain about this Spring Break post. "You're using toooo many words," she'll say. You'll also get to see a top secret hot springs and get a glimpse of a perfectly bare butt.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
After a sleepless night dreaming about maps and water, we get up at dawn and backtrack up the canyon.
Larry rejoices when he spots the green of a cottonwood tree in a the bottom of the next canyon. This must be Dead Horse Spring. We are saved.
Larry sets right to work pumping 21 pounds of water after engineering a fine dam from rocks and sand.
Now that we're not going to die, Larry decides to be nice to me again. To my dismay, I notice I'm starting to dress exactly like our hero. Maybe I'll grow a beard.We follow the spring-fed creek down the canyon.
Eventually the water all seeps into the sand, and we're without water again (except for the 21 pounds in Larry's pack). The next water is a day away, back at the car.Lucky for us, the canyon is easy to follow.
"Look how cinchy," I tell Larry, "we don't need a map after all."Feeling better, Larry gives me a lesson on the formation of the marble from which this canyon takes its name.
"Marble is a metamorphic rock formed by alteration of limestone or dolomite. It's composed mostly of calcite, a crystalline form of calcium carbonate, or CaCO3.""Well, how fascinating," I tell him.
The canyon turns into a wonderful series of slots.
Towards evening, we leave the canyon.
The car is a few miles ahead, but it's getting dark. Larry's still packing a gazillion pounds of water, so we decide to camp for the night on the hardpan.
In the morning, Larry gets up early to take a picture of camp before the moon sets. Exhausted from [not] carrying all that water, I sleep late.We bust out the final couple of miles and return to the car.
Larry rejoices that the ordeal is over and vows never to leave the car behind again.
As we leave the mountains behind, we count up: four days of vacation left.We stop at Panamint Springs for a hamburger.
"Let's find a nice hotel and a golf course," Larry begs. "I'm tired from packing all that water."But I'm not ready to give up the desert life.
"Absolutely not," I tell him, "you're such a wimp."~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
In our next installment you'll hear my daughter complain about this Spring Break post. "You're using toooo many words," she'll say. You'll also get to see a top secret hot springs and get a glimpse of a perfectly bare butt.
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