Spring Break Part II: Cottonwood Canyon

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

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

[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

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

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.