Janene and Larry

Here Comes the Bride

2009-10-11T19:00:00.000-07:00

In a (very) small and (very) informal ceremony, Larry and I got married last Wednesday (10/7/09). We hope friends and family understand our lack of enthusiasm for a big production, preferring instead to have Reverend Selby perform the "ceremony" and a couple of friends sign as witnesses. Following is a blow by blow of the event.

The good Reverend Selby of the Universal Life Church of Modesto, California, rendered "Here Comes the Bride" and said a few words:

We listened intently to his sage advice:

Following the "ceremony," we took a group photo and went to dinner:

Our chalkboard announces the news:

The weather for the weekend was supposed to be like this . . .

. . . so we decided to "honeymoon" in Olympic National Park for the weekend. We did some hiking:

and stayed in the honeymoon suite:

Best of all, the Olympic Hot Spring just south of Port Angeles, WA, at the end of a 2.5 mile trail. Lovely soaking pools. Holler if you want directions.

The Young Lovers Meet The Third Wheel

2009-09-02T21:02:00.000-07:00

This is Daughter #3, Katie, and her boyfriend Mike. As soon as school was out in June, Larry, Katie, and I went to Tulum, Mexico, to visit
daughter #2.
Alas--Mike could not come, so we were forced to leave him at home. :-(

This Daughter #2, Natalie, and her boyfriend Pablo. They are young and in love.

This is me and Larry. (We are old and in love.)

This is Katie, AKA The Third Wheel.

For reasons that are difficult to explain, this was the general sleeping arrangement.

This is Pablo's pal, Arturo, who is a dive instructor.

Arturo took us snorkling in a cenote, or cavern filled with fresh water.

Here are the Young Lovers and the Third Wheel enjoying Happy Hour.

For reasons that are difficult to explain, we drank all night but never got drunk. (A bit of water in the booze?)

The beach was built of stunning blues and whites.

Here are the Young Lovers lounging together by the beach.

Here is the Third Wheel lounging alone.

Here are the Old Lovers and the Third Wheel eating tacos.

Here are the Young Lovers and the Third Wheel looking at ancient Mayan ruins.

Here's the cabana where we all stayed: Young Lovers, Old Lovers, and the Third Wheel.

Poor Katie.

The Young Lovers and the Third Wheel take in the view.

The Young Lovers and the Third Wheel take a break.

Larry takes a moment to ponder how the hell he ended up on a Mexico vacation with all my baggage.

At the end of the week, we all took the bus to Cancun and hopped a plane to Mexico City. While we waited for our flight, the Young Lovers played dominoes. What happens next? Do the Young Lovers have a terrific fight? Will they make up in Mexico City? Will the Third Wheel come along or go back home to her boyfriend Mike?

Keyton, Lola, and Katie

2009-05-03T19:38:00.000-07:00

We recently took a little trip. Larry doesn't fly much, so he was very excited to get a window seat.

When we arrived at our destination, I found myself stranded with two small children. While I cleaned up the dinner dishes, Keyton introduced Lola to his favorite video, the ballet version of "Peter and the Wolf."

Larry and Keyton worked up a gymnastic routine. The blue monstrosity in the background is an air mattress, a college student version of the Murphy bed.

Lola worked on her eating skills.

And when we got back home, Katie helped me with my extensive yard work.

First Time for Everything: Larry's Planning Goes Awry

2009-04-01T21:36:00.000-07:00

We've decided to spend spring break in Death Valley (again) to enjoy the sun and warm weather. When we arrived, this is what we found:

The next day looked like this:

Larry spent months planning this trip. He purchased and studied every map and guide book known to man. He had planned a motorcycle trip through Titus Canyon and was not about to let a little rain disrupt the plan. Larry got the cycles ready while I secretly decided the ride was a bad idea.

Despite the impending rain, we followed the almighty plan. We spent all afternoon racing to stay ahead of the storm.

The next day the plan called for a backpack trip up Fall Canyon, around the top, and back down via Red Wall Canyon. After my lack of preparation last year found us lost and out of water in Marble Canyon, Larry spent days finely honing his backpacking plan. He knew the route, had the maps, and even talked a ranger into disclosing the location of a top-secret spring. He was Callister-Quality prepared. The plan could not fail. We headed into Fall Canyon with upmost confidence.

Due to Larry's research, this 18' impassible dry fall and bypass trail came as no surprise.

When the load got too heavy, Larry mercifully let me stop to rest.

The canyon was full of amazing things like a blue lizzard, plants growing out of cracks, and weird rock formations.

We trudged along, using the GPS, maps, and laminated copies from the guidebook to find our way. Nothing could go wrong with Larry so prepared. It was nearing dark when we came around the corner and found this unexpected disaster. It doesn't look like much in the picture, but we ran smack into another dry fall, this one 15' of polished dolomite with no easy way around.

Unable to get around, we made camp. Larry worked into the night reading maps, studying the GPS, and pouring over the alphabetized, color-coded, and laminated photocopied pages of the guide book he'd brought along. I pretended to be worried, but after screwing up my planning so badly last year, I secretly rejoiced at Larry's misfortune. It looked like Larry's planning sucked, too, making us even.

The next morning, Larry risked his life scaling the fall and then pulled up the packs.

I played the grandma card and climbed around on the terrific trail Larry helped me find.

Whew, we made it! But wait--what's this? Another dry fall, again not mentioned in the books nor by the ranger. This one consisted of a jumble of colossal boulders wedged between sheer canyon walls.

We spent five hours trying to get around. We tried to climb the rocks in three different places. We tried to climb out of the canyon and go around. Each time, we came to a life-risking place and chickened out. Our friend the Chuckwalla advised us to give up, so we did. All of Larry's planning had failed.

While we walked out, the way we'd come, I asked Larry a million questions: How did it feel to be a failure? Was this the first time his planning had not paid off? Did this inspire him to do more planning next time, or less?

After a seven-mile hike back out, we reached the motorcycle shuttle only to find a minor mechanical problem. Grumpy Larry fixed it right up.

After abandoning our hike, we took the bikes into the Panamint Mountains for more exploration.

I rode with great caution and stunningly bad clothes. I've set a goal to do something about both of these problems (but probably won't).

Along the way, we found all kinds of interesting things.

An abandoned mine:

Weird rocks:

Fossils:

Wildlife:

Petroglyphs:

Mysterious moving rocks at the "racetrack." Apparently howling winds slide the rocks over the dry lakebed when it's muddy or frozen.

We said good-bye to Death Valley for at least another year. As I work on this blog tonight, Larry's already making plans to return. He's found an photo journal online posted by some guys who made it over the dry fall that stopped us in our tracks. "If they can do it, so can we," he says and pounds the table. "With a little more preparation," he tells me, "we can make it over next year." Apparently, more planning has begun. Fall Canyon, here we come.

Olympic National Park Beach Backpack

2009-02-15T17:53:00.000-08:00

It's been about a month since our last hike on the beach in the Olympic National Park in NW Washington, and we can't quit thinking about how beautiful it was. Once again, thanks to our district's reduction in school days, we have a four day weekend. We decide to return for a backpack trip. We'll hike along the coast from Ozette Lake to the Makah Indian Reservation (16 miles).

We contact a shuttle service to give us a ride from the Reservation (where we left the car) to the trailhead at Ozette Lake. The shuttle driver's name is Willie Nelson. I'm not making this up. He tells us that we hold the all-time record for earliest in the year request for a shuttle on this hike. Most of his business comes during warmer weather. This news comes as no big surprise.

It's after midnight when Willie drops us at the trailhead. The parking lot is empty. So is the ranger station. Larry sets up a luxurious camp on the ranger station deck, in front of the men's restroom. I'm assigned the task of guarding the toolbox during the night. The toolbox is a long story.

The toolbox story begins with this sign. Like a good Boy Scout, Larry is determined to save our food from the raccoons. He tells me to carry the toolbox in my pack. At first I am annoyed because the box is heavy, but soon I seen the positive side: the toolbox fills my pack. Sadly I will have room for little else. Larry will have to carry my sleeping bag, pad, and the tent.

Larry's next concern is fording the Ozette River, a task only possible at low tide. In order to get that far before the tide comes up, Larry forces me onto the trail before dawn and we hike with headlamps. I briefly wonder what it would be like to be with someone normal.

Eventually the sun comes up.

We make the Ozette River at low tide and cross easily. Below you can see Larry's packing method: if it doesn't fit inside, strap it up on top. The higher it goes, the happier he is.

We walk all day and see absolutely no one. We find easy-to-walk-on wet sand.

And pea gravel to slog through, sinking under heavy packs.

The small rocks provide better walking and are full of interesting variety.

There are also ankle-turning large rocks, a personal favorite of mine.

We find a camp spot mid-afternoon as the tide comes up. To continue to hike at high tide would be difficult at best, impossible or dangerous at worst. Boy Scout Larry gets right to work rigging up his raccoon proof toolbox hanging system. First, he salvages some rope from a pile of driftwood logs.

I find a perfect rock to tie to the rope for tossing over a tree limb.

Larry is very happy.

We watch the sunset from camp.

After we eat, Larry rigs the box shut with two nylon raft straps as well as two heavy gauge pieces of copper wire. "Let's see the little bastards try to chew through this," he chuckles.

He hangs the box in the tree where it swings gently in the breeze all night with nary a sign of raccoons.

The next day, we climb up, over, and through a chain of small beaches. Some have signs that warn of "Impassable Beachhead." You can't make it around these points along the ocean; you have to go up and over.

I smell trouble, but Larry just straps more stuff onto his pack and tells me to get going.

Notice my lovely pack with everything packed neatly inside. The ropes are a permanent part of the trail and are very helpful for grandmas.

The view along the top is amazing.

As we peer over this cliff, I think of the news stories I've read where men push their annoying wives off cliffs and say it was an accident. I stand back when Larry asks me to come take a closer look.

We finish out the hike in a light rain. Larry loads a few more items on his pack and covers the whole thing with a flapping tarp. "Let's get out of here," he says.

Hike of the Month

2009-01-19T20:28:00.000-08:00

We have a four day weekend, thanks to a budget shortage at work which has given us a gift of nine days off this year without pay. We decide to check out the Olympic National Park (in Washington), even though it is January and freezing and wet.

We start here, at Quinalt Lodge for $80/night (low season special). It's a nice place, but it's January and freezing and wet.

Quinalt Lodge is on the shady side of the lake, a problem when it's January and freezing and wet. This is the boathouse where we stayed. This picture was taken during a rare few moments of sun. Mostly it was freezing and wet.

This place, on the other hand, is on the sunny side of the lake and is wonderfully lovely. It is closed for the winter, but Larry insists they'll love it if we bust in and walk around, helping ourselves to the view and lounge chairs. Later, when the dogs close in, we leave.

On the way back to the Lodge, Larry shows me his bad boy look:

After a day driving around the snowy lake, we decide to head north in search of some hiking. We don't expect much since it's January and freezing and wet.

We find a trail up the Queets Canyon. The trailhead is on the other side of Sam's Creek and the Queets River. We'd have to cross all this water just to get started. Count me out, I tell Larry.

Instead, we drive to the northwest corner of the state, to the beach side of Olympic National Park where there's a trail through the rain forest to Ozette beach. We camp in the Chevy and get ready to head out in the morning.

We study the map:

Larry cooks his not-so-special camping oatmeal. We pack the down coats and rain gear, and we're off. The trail to the beach is three miles of boardwalk.

We emerge from the dense rain forest and get our first glimpse of the beach.

It's like stepping into another world. Gone is January and freezing and wet. It's sunny and warm with absolutely no wind.

Larry is in love with the Red Alder. Apparently, it makes great firewood and is a delight to cut. It was all over the beach from recent storms. I have never seen Larry so happy. If you ever need to get him a terrific present, get him a chunk of Red Alder.

The beach is magic. There are bald eagles overhead:

And a pair perched on a distant rock:

A one-legged crab flashes gang signs when Larry picks him up:

The tide has left treasures behind like this dead stingray:

. . . and some sort of sponge . . .

. . . and an octopus whose legs have been chewed off by the sea otters we glimpsed running away . . .

. . . and a giant crab leg.

There are interesting rocks. [What does this look like, Katie?]

The day is so wonderful and warm that even Larry's hair grows back.

We walk three miles north on a stretch of beach without any roads. It is amazing. Finally, we say goodbye to the beach and the sun and head back into the forest.

We return to the Chevy on another three-mile stretch of boardwalk, and it's back to January and freezing and wet.

Cougar Bait

2009-01-19T19:35:00.001-08:00

This post is especially for Katie who went running alone on a canyon trail in cougar country on the Main Salmon raft trip in Idaho last summer. I apologize, Katie. Looks like I gave you bad advice when I told you it was safe.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Larry and I drive toward Olympic National Park in Washington and see this sign. We remember Katie's solo canyon workout and decide to investigate.

A few miles down the road, we come upon this sign:

Then we see these:

And this:

And finally this cat watching us from the rocks above the trail we're hiking:

We get in the car and drive away, vowing never to return and certainly never to jog here alone.

Playing Grandma

2008-12-09T15:02:00.000-08:00

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.

Rafting the Rogue: The First Time

2008-07-28T00:56:00.000-07:00

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.

Broke Down Mountain

2008-06-28T19:27:00.000-07:00

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.

Part V: Into Hot Water

2008-05-25T18:22:00.001-07:00

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.

Part IV: Out of the Canyon

2008-04-27T20:03:00.001-07:00

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."

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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.

Part III: Facing Death in the Valley

2008-04-20T21:28:00.000-07:00

When we last saw poor Larry, he had found water in the desert by relying on his super-cool outdoor guy instinct alone because someone (who?) neglected to get maps ahead of time (like she said she would) and very stupidly left the Park's trail tips and directions in the car. But never fear. Our hero is on the job.

Day 2 dawns warm and sunny. We fill our Nalgene bottles (2) and gallon jugs (2) with water from the spring that feeds these cottonwoods. Our goal for the day is to walk out of Cottonwood Canyon, across the desert beyond, then down Marble Canyon to where it is joined by Dead Horse Canyon. There is water at Dead Horse, or to be more accurate, we think there is water at Dead Horse, but the paper that says so is in the car, so we are not actually sure. Larry finds this unsettling, but to me it is an invigorating challenge for Larry to overcome.

Larry, carrying all our water, climbs out of Cottonwood Canyon. It's the perfect moment for Larry's next installment in a series of unsolicited science lessons. "The weight of a given container of water," Larry explains as he climbs, "is equal to the density of water times the volume of the water." Larry does some quick mental math. "This means that water weighs 8.3 pounds per gallon and 2.2 pounds per liter. I have 2 gallons and 2 liters of water in my pack, for a mere total of 21 pounds."

As we leave Cottonwood Canyon, Larry delivers a botany lesson, showing me Matrimony Vine, the brown piles at the base of these trees. "Matrimony Vine," Larry explains, "is like marriage: it smothers and kills the thing it loves." I'm so depressed by this news that I can hardly go on, but since Larry is carrying 21 pounds of water, half of which is mine--not to mention most of our food--I decide to keep my depression to myself and press on.

After leaving the trees behind, the trail goes cold and the sun gets hot.

We spend a lot of time looking at our (bad) map, comparing it to what we see around us. Could that peak over there be this peak here on the map? If so, are we here or there? If not, where are we? Larry gets out his compass and uses his orienteering skills to make sense of things. For once, our hero fails and tension mounts.

Larry's next teaching moment comes when we stumble upon this bleached Bighorn Sheep skull.

"This is what happens," Larry tells me, "to sheep dumb enough to travel in the desert without maps or directions." ["This is what happens," I silently amend Larry's lesson, "to sheep dumb enough travel in the desert without a man along to carry 21 pounds of water."]

We move along, looking for the pass into Marble Canyon. It might be between one of the hills you see below. Or it might be somewhere else. Only our hero can tell (or not).
There is no trail, and our map (as you've already been told) doesn't have enough detail for us to pinpoint our location. Still, Larry is convinced that if he looks long enough, everything will become clear.

It's the perfect opportunity for a lesson in compass reading.
"Fred is in the shed," Larry intones and shows me how to line the little red arrow up with the black arrow outline. It's a pretty cool trick, I admit, one worthy of admiration, but it gets us nowhere. Fred is in the shed, but where the hell are we?

Hours later, we find this hopeful sign and consult the map.
We find Keeler on our map, but it's 38 miles away, and this fact does us absolutely no good. Jackass Springs seems to be more of a reference to us than to anything else.

We walk all day, following footprints like these, never quite sure we're on the trail. Still, all these people must have gone somewhere, right?
Apparently an unbelievably large number of people get lost on this hike. We follow these footprints on and on. We follow them right past our turn into Marble Canyon. We march along those footprints many miles out of the way. In the wee distance behind us we see two hikers turning off down what we are certain is the wrong canyon. "Poor bastards," Larry says, "look at them wandering lost in the desert."

On we go, further from Dead Horse Canyon with its life-giving spring. Our water becomes dangerously low. We have only a few hours before dark.

Using an old chukar hunters' trick, we climb a peak to get a bird's-eye view. Larry puts Fred back in the shed and does a little swearing.

Meanwhile, I photograph the Joshua trees.

Larry tells me to put up the camera and quit screwing around. I point out that we would have missed the Joshua Trees and the magnificent view had we not got lost.

From our lofty perch, we look behind us down on the valley where we've been wandering thirsty and lost all day.
We were supposed to leave the valley and turn down one of the canyons to the left of this photo. Which one? Only God (and the hikers we saw earlier) know for sure.

In front of us, we ponder the myriad of canyon options available to us now.
Only Dead Horse Canyon has water. Probably many horses died trying to find it. I ask Larry if he'd like a canyon named after him: Dead Larry Canyon.

We decide to cut back along the top of the ridge--chukar hunting style--to where we think we missed the trail. I have the fleeting thought that Larry has gotten lost on purpose for the sheer fun of running up and down these canyons like a goat.

We leave the mountaintop and head into what we hope is Marble Canyon which we hope leads to Dead Horse Canyon where we hope the spring might be. Larry quickly leaves me far behind, dashing ahead in search of confirmation that we're on the right track. I ask you: How heroic is it to leave me alone to fall and break my hip on this steep pebble-slick slope? The tiny blue speck in this photo is Larry leaving me behind. Thanks a ton, Larry.

There are no photos to document what happens next. We find the trail and immediately lose it again, taking a wrong turn down the wrong canyon in our haste to find Dead Horse before dark. In a replay of our entire day, we're not sure we're on the right trail nor in the right canyon. We suspect that we're in the dry canyon with impassible dry dry falls that the Park directions warn hikers to avoid. Finally, with night setting in, we stop, spread our tarp on the dusty ground, and make our humble camp. We have a very sad dinner of raw carrots and red pepper on this desolate night, having no water to spare for cooking. (Only Larry can explain why he is lugging such heavy food around in the desert.)

We sit in the black night and continue our map study. We hope the stars will shed new light on our location. With Fred back in the shed, we engage in a heated discussion about where we are in relation to Dead Horse.

Larry sets out our remaining water where everyone can see it. This way, neither of us can sneak a drink in the night. I take a picture so that when our bodies are found next week or the next, someone will look at our photos and know why we died.
Finally, we decide to turn in for a sleepless night. I run endless mental scenarios involving impassable dry falls, a broken leg, and Larry shouldering his blue pack and disappearing up the canyon, leaving me to wait days and days for help that never arrives.

Suddenly, Larry sits up with something important to say:
"Hey," he says with amazement, "I forgot until just now: today's my fucking birthday."

Spring Break Part II: Cottonwood Canyon

2008-04-14T17:18:00.001-07:00

When we last saw our hero, he had just discovered that he was on a death march through the desert without the proper maps or directions. This ant provides Larry with needed motivation. I tell Larry that if this little ant can carry his own weight in food, surely Larry can carry food for four days and two gallons of water (not to mention about twenty pounds of other stuff).

Not wanting to be outdone by an ant, Larry shoulders his pack and moves on down the canyon. Destination: ten miles up Cottonwood Canyon where we think we'll find a spring (according to the directions I left in the car, if we remember correctly. Much discussion is had on this point.)

Larry sheds his pack and his shirt to enjoy a glorious moment in the sun.

Meanwhile, I scan the horizon trying to figure out where the trail is.

Later in the day, miles and miles down the trail, Larry refills the water bottles from his gallon jug. We're almost out of water. Will we find water before nightfall?

We don't find water, but we find these cool thunder eggs embedded in a rock wall.

Look how much fun Larry is having carrying his 63 pound pack through the desert heat. (Let's see how well you know Larry. Can you answer this question: How do I know Larry's pack weighed exactly 63 pounds? Answer: He stowed the bathroom scale under the front seat of the Honda and weighed his pack at the trailhead.)

Finally, we see this lovely site, a lone cottonwood tree. There must be water nearby, eh?

There is water. We are saved.

We set up our luxurious camp, and all is well for now.

Tune in next time for Part III in which Larry and I become hopelessly lost--twice in one day--causing us to reexamine the meaning of life and the basis of our relationship.

Spring Break Part I: Death Valley National Park

2008-03-31T22:02:00.000-07:00

The forecast is for cold rain in Portland, so Larry and I make a run for Death Valley where it's 90 degrees and sunny. I had volunteered to plan the trip, but I've been a slacker and we're still not exactly sure what we'll do when we get there. We'll decide when we arrive. How hard can it be? Just go. Things work out.

We leave Friday afternoon and drive as far as Weed, CA where we stop for the night. Larry begins the drive on Saturday with a nutritious breakfast.

We buy groceries in Bishop, CA.
"Put down the damn camera and lend a hand before I slap you," Larry tells me.

By the time we arrive at the Stovepipe Wells Ranger Station, they're closed. I have my heart set on a 32 mile backpack trip up Cottonwood Canyon and back down via Dead Horse and Marble Canyons, but we need to buy topo maps. Trails in Death Valley aren't marked. Use your map and compass or get lost. Our only map has 200 foot contour intervals, not good enough for careful navigating. I shame Larry into doing the hike anyway by pointing out that if a girl can hike without a map, so can he. Against his better judgment, Mr. Preparedness relents.

I also convince Larry to forgo the recommended backcountry permit notifying the rangers of our plans in case we fail to emerge from the desert in couple of days. Armed with enthusiasm where our maps should be, we head for the trail.

We setup our luxurious camp at the trailhead. It's a deliciously warm night. We pile everything on the tarp and load our packs for an early start in the morning.

The next morning, we start up the dry wash of Cottonwood Canyon. According to the map, we'll find water about ten miles up the canyon. Until then, poor Larry carries two gallons of water. Obviously this is unfair; I could carry my own water, not to mention gear and food. However, Larry insists on carrying practically everything. For once I let him have his way.

Several miles into the hike, Larry asks to see the hike description I'd printed from the park's website including tips like: "DO NOT try to descend the canyon that drains beyond the dry spring. It has impassable dry falls." AND "The low spot on the ridge is where you start the route toward Marble Canyon. There is no clearly defined path." Oops. I left the directions behind in the car.

Annoyed and distraught, Larry sits down to consider his options.

What will will happen next? Will Larry turn back for maps and directions? Will Larry forget the whole thing and check into the Furnace Creek Inn? Will Larry run off with his pack full of water and leave me alone to die in the desert? Tune in next time to find out.

Birthday Bash

2008-03-16T12:44:00.000-07:00

[A big thank you to Nancy for taking great photos at the party!]

Larry's turning 52 on March 24th. We celebrate by inviting a few of Larry's old-time friends and family over.

My son, Kyle, home from college for the weekend, volunteers to clean the bathroom before the party. What a thoughtful young man!

Larry's soon-to-be-someday-nephew-in-law, Poncho, is excited to be on the guest list for Larry's old guy party.

The Callister Clan gathers on the couch. The only person missing is Larry's mean older sister Teri who tortured him as a child. She decides to vacation in Phoenix and forego her sweet little brother's party.

The guest list reads like a reunion of Larry's old high school, college, and huntin' and fishin' buddies. One of Larry's former students is among them--can you pick him out of this line-up of old guys?

There are lots of old photos to look at and stories to share.

In keeping with the party theme, everyone brings a story about Larry's 1956 Chevy, a car that's been in his family since 1961. Larry reads the stories and guesses who wrote each.

Larry's dad, Vaden, attracts a small crowd with a story about a memorable day spent trout fishing on the Deschutes with young Larry and a couple of his friends back in 1973.

"Larry caught thirty-five trout like this," Vaden says.

"His friends," Vaden goes on, "caught a few of these."

"And I caught a steelhead that stretched from here to here."
Jim, listening in, is skeptical because he measures fish that way, too.

Lighting 52 candles is a big job that calls for two experienced cooks and one brawny bartender.

A cloud of smoke ensues when Larry blows out all his candles in one lucky breath.

Larry joins the young folks at the bar for pie.

Meanwhile, on the couch, Sig nods off, getting whipped cream on his nose.

Heather decides the old people party is pretty boring and falls asleep despite Poncho's efforts to revive her.

The next day, Larry's son Drew arrives, a day late and a dollar short. Not wanting to be outdone by my helpful son, Drew also pitches in to help. His job: drinking the leftover beer.

Meanwhile, outside at the curb, the Chevy waits to take Larry into his next fifty years of adventure.

Seattle Sisters

2008-02-17T14:15:00.001-08:00

It's a three day weekend, but Larry has to stay in town to chaperone a high school dance. I decide to go to Seattle to visit my kids and leave him behind. He doesn't seem to mind.

I take Amtrak and Natalie meets me at the station. She shows me the law office where she works as an assistant to a couple of immigration lawyers. To my amazement, she has her own key to this beautiful building in Seattle's historic district.

She has her own desk, chair, and computer. Why doesn't my office look like this?

The next morning, we follow our usual routine and walk a couple of blocks from the apartment to Top Pot, Seattle's coffee shop famous for its donuts. You can buy Top Pot donuts at Starbucks in Portland, but that's different (disturbing) story.

Inside, Natalie sees a boy she knows from law school. Over coffee, they chat about torts, contracts, mitigating factors and discrete discretionary discretions.

Meanwhile at another table, Katie ponders the meaning of life.

That night, Natalie has a date with another boy from the law school. They attend a chamber orchestra concert while I take Katie and Boyfriend-Slave Mike out for Mexican food.

After dinner, the kids entertain themselves with the March edition of Cosmo while I sit on the couch with a book and pretend not to notice.

The next morning brings a brilliant sun-soaked sky, and things are looking up in the little apartment. Katie and the Boyfriend-Slave have left for a weekend track meet in Idaho. It's just me and Nat. I'm looking forward to a nice, relaxing day.

And then I notice the bathtub.

And the toilet.

I bring this up, not to embarrass my daughters, nor to motivate them and Boyfriend-Slave to clean up, but rather to point out that slimy bathrooms are a transition into adulthood. I recall a similar incident when I was about twenty-two and my mother visited me. Now my bathroom is generally clean, and this gives me hope for my children.

All the same, the bathroom has an impact on me. It's hard to get beautiful with all this mold. I decide to return to Portland early. I hope Larry won't mind.

Saving the Earth, One (Dead) Tree at a Time

2008-02-11T19:44:00.000-08:00

I took my 6th graders on a field trip to "plant trees." I use this phrase with some reservation. The kids did, indeed, dig holes and plant trees, but it will be a major miracle if any of the trees survive. Maybe we returned this patch of earth back to its natural state--and maybe we didn't--but a good time was had by all (except the trees), and so I declare the trip a rousing success.

On the bus from school to the planting site, the kids contemplate the important and technical work that lies ahead.

Upon arrival, the kids use all their skills to manipulate tools that are twice as big as them. Ahh...math class was never such fun. In the background, we post a guard just in case an errant band of Boy Scouts arrives to steal the job away from us.

These stewards of the environment demonstrate how to plant trees while remaining stylish and mud-free.

After fifteen minutes of back-breaking planting plus a "nature walk" in the woods, the workers ride the bus back to school.

Twenty Hours and $152 per Pound

2008-01-30T19:54:00.000-08:00

These are the famous hunting cousins, Gary and Larry, in search of chukars in the hills above the Deschutes. Although this blog is all about chukars, you will not see any actual chukars in this post.

After leaving home at 4 a.m., we drove to The Dalles, then south through Dufur and Maupin to the Deschutes River. We left the car by the river, took the canoe across, and hiked up here.

Chukars like rocky spots. I kept to the top where the going is nice and flat while Larry and Gary worked the sides of the canyon.

Despite Larry's attempts to convince me otherwise, I'm not a fan of guns.

After hours of trudging along in the cold, wind, and a bit of rain, Gary had four dead chukars while poor Larry had none. Gary hauled his dead birds around in his backpack, and I never saw them. This is why you won't get a picture of a chukar in this chukar-themed post. As it got later, the rain began to freeze. Everything was slippery as hell. I played the grandma card and elected to slide down the last (and steepest) part. In my defense, I must mention that this is much steeper than it looks and there is ice on the grass. Larry and Gary side-stepped down the hill like a couple of tough guys, but I beat them to the bottom. I would also like to point out that I bought this very nice Marmot raincoat at Sierra Trading Post in Cody, WY. The only thing wrong with it is the color. Larry says this is why he didn't get any birds: my coat scared them away.

It was almost dark by the time we got back to the canoe, and the rain had begun to freeze. Larry ferried me across the river and called for Wilbur the wonder hunting dog (as in "I wonder why we brought him?") to swim over like he's done a million times before. After various attempts to get him to come, Gary and Larry went back across the river in the dark, freezing rain, hog tied Wilbur and strapped him into the canoe.

More fun to come! Larry and Gary loaded the canoe in the freezing rain.

We drove almost to The Dalles before putting on the chains. The road was a sheet of ice.

When we got to The Dalles, we discovered that I-84 had been closed most of the day but had recently reopened. It was 1:00 a.m. before Larry and I made it back home.

Generous Gary gave Luckless Larry a couple of his birds, and Larry made this peanut coconut chukar dish where all the peanuts and coconut fell off the meat and burned in the bottom of the pan.

We enjoyed a hearty meal while tallying the trip expenses: $65 gas; $20 vehicle wear and tear; $25 breakfast in The Dalles; $65 hunting license; $10 boat permit to cross the river; $5 shotgun shells. Larry figures the meat in our chukar dinner cost about $152/pound.

Skagit River Eagles

2008-01-24T19:56:00.000-08:00

Larry picked me up after work: 3:00 sharp,

and we drove to Seattle under partly sunny skies.

It was dark by the time we arrived in Seattle, and Larry enjoyed the big city lights.

Larry enjoyed a little time for reading at the Seattle daughters' cozy apartment.

Saturday morning the rain moved in, and we headed NE of Seattle to the Skagit River.

The rain turned to snow, so we stopped at this tiny church to pray for sun.

We slept in the car, spending 14 hours wrapped in the down sleeping bags to avoid freezing to death.

Larry launched the canoe in the snow.

I wore the same life jacket Kyle wore on the Salmon River a couple of summers ago.

We saw bunches of eagles, probably over 100, but I was too afraid of tipping over the canoe to count. They winter on the Skagit River where they eat spawning salmon. Some years there are as many as 800 eagles on a few miles of river.

It's not as cold as it looks. All in all, a beautiful day.

The Great Grocery Challenge

2008-01-13T20:57:00.001-08:00

It had been two weeks since we'd been to the grocery store, and Larry and I were out of food.

Instead of buying groceries, we took on The Great Grocery Challenge: which one of us would cave first and go to the store? We both held out for days. It looked like it would be a long, bitter draw. Larry cooked up some of his specialties.

Here you see Larry's famous Rice and Bean Fajitas (the beans and rice had been in the fridge for over a week; the tortillas for several weeks; and the last few drops of sour cream).

The breakfast feature was oatmeal with whipped cream (we were out of milk). Good thinking, Larry!

Sadly, The Great Grocery Challenge ended prematurely because we were having guests over for a little weekend party. Being forced to whip up a few party treats, Larry and I declared a tie and both went to the store. Here you see four of our guests dressed as elves: Marty, Ken, Susan, and Dean.

And now, one last question to ponder: Who drank all the beer, wine, and booze? 1) Larry's son, niece, nephew-in-law and their friends -- OR -- 2) my daughters and their friends -- OR -- 3) Larry's friends who came to our party?

P.S. A special thanks to the mysterious stranger, a young man unknown to Larry and I, who helped clean up after the party. He gets an automatic ticket to the summer raft trip for being so helpful and efficient in the face of an overwhelming mess. Whoever he was, wherever he is, that guy knows how to stack trash and load a dishwasher.

Larry's Friends

2008-01-04T17:49:00.000-08:00

Larry invited some of his college friends over. I hadn't met most of them before, so it was very interesting to see what kind of folks he hangs out with.

This is Bernice, an old girlfriend from the University of Oregon. She was his first overnight raft trip "guest" back in 1974.

Another old girlfriend, Julia, is currently head of the radiology department at OHSU and enjoys scrapbooking in her spare time.

This is Joe, Larry's organic chemistry lab partner in 1975-1976. Joe and his wife (below) live in Kalamath Falls where Joe works for Pacific Power.

Robin, Joe's wife, teaches first grade and takes care of their two teenage kids.

This is James. After his father passed away in 1985, James lost the family home due to a gambling and drinking problem. Thanks to Larry's generosity, he's currently living in a spare garage space at the Natural Resources Academy where Larry works.

This is Chuck. He played on Larry's intermural football team. Larry played center and Chuck was a defensive end. They still meet once a month or so for beers and to discuss the salmon fly hatch on the Deschutes.

Larry invited some o

South Coast Special

2008-01-02T23:37:00.000-08:00

After Christmas, Larry and I drove south along the Oregon coast, starting out in a hideous rain.

The rain stopped by the time we reached Winchester Bay.

We had sun in Bandon and a great view from the window of our otherwise dumpy hotel.

Larry gathered a bit of gorse, a plant introduced by Scottish settlers in the 1800s to make the Oregon coast feel more like home.

Today gorse is an invasive species known for its thorns and hunted down by environmental enforcers like Larry.

The next day, we visited Cape Blanco reputed to be the westernmost point in the 48 states.

We were there at sunset, after everyone had gone home. With no witnesses, Larry busted through the "No Entry Beyond This Point" signs to stand on the edge of the world.

Not being so brave, I stayed safely away from the edge of the world.

Upon leaving the lighthouse, we found one dead porqupine on the road and this little fellow who hid from us in the grass.

Ken liked Cape Blanco, too.

The next day we continued south.

The New River was formed about 100 years ago when floods remodeled the beach, dumping sand over the mouth of a river. Invasive grass species grew on the dunes, anchoring them in place. These dunes cause the river to flow north for about 12 miles before it finds its way to the ocean and are nesting grounds for the endangered Snowy Plover. In this picture, the dunes are on the left and the ocean just on the other side of the dunes.

These wild turkeys got lucky--Larry left all his guns at home.

We spend a day hiking in Redwood National Park in northern California.

Larry thinks this burl makes a good snack.

The tiny forest plants were amazing, too.

Larry finally got sick of Ken tagging along everywhere we went, so he dropped him off Oregon's highest bridge (about 345 feet). I can't quit seeing poor Ken falling all that way in his little elf suit.

Christmas

2008-01-02T22:54:00.000-08:00

All the kids were with us for Christmas. We had a great start. Keety did a little light reading while the big kids updated their blogs (clockwise around the table: Katie, Larry's son Drew, Katie's boyfriend-slave Mike, and Kyle).

Things disintegrated when Drew modeled his new boobs and Katie got into the candy corn.

Ken started a new trend and everyone joined in; all turned into elves before the evening ended.