Category Archives: travel

to the coast

I was sick Sunday and yesterday, alas, but on Saturday my friend Judy drove me to Westport, where we ate fish and chips and we went to the Maritime museum where I got to see their magnificent first order Fresnel lens before I went back to her van and took a nap, while she toured the rest of the museum (I’d been there several times before and I was pretty tired after the 2-hour drive), then went out to the promenade where I actually walked all the way to the first bench, which has a wonderful view of the ocean.

Then I slept most of the way back, but that’s okay.

Here’s the usual photographic proof!  I have a video I want to post as part of this as soon as I figure out how to crop video, too.

A first order (the largest size) Fresnel lens, which is the most beautiful utilitarian object in the world. I have video of it rotating, throwing off rainbows, that I will post as soon as I can.
A woolly bear caterpillar on the sidewalk.
This little dude was singing his heart out along the promenade.
A view from the boardwalk.
A view from the first bench on the promenade (coming from the Gray’s Harbor lighthouse end of the path).

And the next morning, Judy and I started the process that will end with her taking over the distribution of my books and the upkeep of my website when I’m gone.  So my legacy will live on without me.  This makes me so happy.

 

Wow, it’s so lovely and warm

I always wake up at the crack of dawn when I’m camping. Especially this time of year when it gets light before six in the morning. But that’s okay.

I’m not sure why (am I ever sure why?) I decided to drive up to Lake Chelan this morning, but I never really have before. I stopped in the touristy town of Chelan, at the foot of the lake, to buy batteries for my camera and to stick my head in a quilt shop on the main drag. Whoever their fabric buyer is, her taste does not agree with mine. I’m not a big fan of what I think of as sixties neon, and that was about all that little shop held.

There is no road clear around Lake Chelan. It’s a landlocked fjord, and the upper end of the lake reaches deep into the North Cascades. There are two roads on either side. The one on the north shore of the lake is only about twenty miles long. The one on the south side is about twice that length, so that’s the one I took.

Lake Chelan is the third deepest lake in North America at over 1500 feet deep (the bottom is lower than sea level), according to a sign I read at the ferry landing. It’s roughly 55 miles long, and varies from one to two miles wide. It’s also pretty darned gorgeous. I stopped at the Fields Point Landing, a few miles up the lake, to poke around the visitor center and ask about the ferry that runs daily to Stehekin, the tiny settlement at the head of the lake. One of these days I want to take that trip, but the boat had left an hour or so earlier. Next time.

But I saw beautiful views, anyway, and more flowers.

The view across Lake Chelan from Field’s Landing. I don’t know if that’s a permanent snowcap or if it’s just because it’s only May.
A view of the ferry landing and down the lake.
Along the path looking northward along the lake. The yellow flowers are more balsamroot.
Prairie Star Flower. I saw these for the first time down in Oregon on my Long Trip last summer. This was the only shot I got of them this trip where the blossoms weren’t blurred by the breeze.

I’d thought about camping at 25 Mile Creek State Park at the end of the road that night, but it wasn’t even noon yet, and I decided I wanted to actually go on up to the Okanogan. So, stopping along the way to make a picnic lunch, I headed up to the town of Omak, where one of my favorite quilt shops (Needlyn Time) is. And, yes, this time I bought fabric, which I needed like a hole in the head, but tough.

After that, I headed up to Conconully, the little town that inspired the ghost town of the same name in my Unearthly Northwest books.

The view from the highway going up to Conconully from Omak. Please excuse the bug blurs — I had to take this through the windshield because there really wasn’t a good place where I could get out of the van.
This is what I meant by more balsamroot than I’ve ever seen on one trip before. Whole *hillsides* of the stuff.

Conconully is one of the few towns I know of with a state park right at the edge of town. But it’s a nice state park, and the campsite I wound up at was right on the lake and pretty secluded. I spent what was left of the afternoon just enjoying the day and reading, and listening to the red-winged blackbirds sawing their courtship cries. Oh, and watching the geese and ducks use the lake as a landing and launch pad. And the deer eating the campground’s mowed grass.

One of the red-winged blackbirds who sawed his mating call all afternoon at Lake Conconully.
One of the deer who wandered through the campground in the afternoon.
The view from my campsite at Conconully State Park.
My campsite at Conconully State Park.
Sunset from my campsite.

All in all, I drove a bit more than I had intended, but it was well worth it.

Over the mountains to sunshine

It’s no secret that this has been the wettest winter on record in western Washington (almost 45 inches of rain between October 1st and April 30th – our average, for well over a hundred years of record-keeping, is closer to 35 inches for the entire year), and one of the coldest. There’s no argument that it’s been incredibly depressing as well (and personal reasons have made it even more so for me).

So, when the weather forecasters for this past week noted (with great cheer) that it was supposed to get to and over 70dF on the west side of the mountains for the first time this year on Wednesday and Thursday, and even warmer, with lots of sunshine, on the east side, I thought, you know what? Screw it, I’m going camping.

Of course, when I thought about the east side of the mountains, my first idea was to go back to the Okanogan, which almost feels like home after the time I spent there researching my first two Tales of the Unearthly Northwest. I was also hoping it would nudge me back into writing the third Tale, which has sat there a few chapters in whining at me for longer than I want to think about it, due to those personal reasons I mentioned above. That didn’t really happen, but at least I got to spend some time in the sun, in nature, and to see lots of spring wildflowers.

The first place I went for flowers wasn’t on the way to the Okanogan, not in the region proper. At some point in the past I had picked up a flyer titled Wildflower Areas in the Columbia Basin, and one of them was about ten miles southeast of Wenatchee.

That turned out to be something of an adventure, as the photo of the Rock Island Grade Road will show. At my first sight of it, I thought, oh my gosh, I hope that little dirt road climbing up the side of a canyon isn’t the one they’re talking about, but yes, it was.

The Rock Island Grade “Road”, looking back towards the Columbia River from where I saw so many wildflowers.

It wasn’t the steepest, narrowest road I’ve ever driven, but I think it’s the steepest, narrowest dirt road I’ve ever driven. The recommended place to stop was about two and a half miles up, and the flyer hinted that there was a parking area. Ha. And what it turned out to be was a place for locals to go up and shoot cans, with all of the attendant garbage. That said, it was also literally carpeted with wildflowers. I managed to park Merlin as close to the edge of the road (not, at that point, hanging over the cliff) as I could, in case someone else came by (no one did, thank goodness), got out, and this is what I saw.

Spreading phlox spreading everywhere along the Rock Island Grade Road.
A phlox close-up.
And another. One of the things that makes phlox one of my favorite wildflowers (and garden flowers) is the infinite variation of a simple five-petaled flower in such a limited color palette.
The yellow flowers are wild radish. The purple ones are blue mustard. Both are tiny, but were profuse.
Yakima milkvetch, which was a new one to me.
And the first of more balsamroot I’ve ever seen in one trip before, which is saying a fair amount.

After I made my way cautiously back down to the highway, I headed back to Wenatchee, then north along Hwy. 97, which borders the Columbia River. It was getting fairly late in the afternoon by then, so I stopped at Lincoln Rock State Park, the first of three parks with campgrounds north of Wenatchee. I’d never camped there before. All of the sites are within sight of the river, and it was a peaceful, warm evening. I sat out in my lawn chair and just absorbed it all. Unfortunately, the batteries in my camera chose just then to give up the ghost, and apparently I’d forgotten to bring the spares, so I have no photos of that.

And that was my first day east of the mountains this year.  More tomorrow.

May 31: Deep blue lakes and into California

I woke up this morning to the distinct feeling of being watched. It was extremely disconcerting, but when I looked out my back window it was to see a deer, about ten feet away, staring straight at me. As soon as I moved she bounded off, but that was pretty cool.

Merlin and I survived the most washboardy dirt road on the planet <tm> back to the main highway without jarring anything loose, and headed south to Crater Lake. The closer I got to the lake the more snow there was, until by the time I reached the rim, the snowdrifts were considerably taller than my van.

My first view of Crater Lake on this trip.
My first view of Crater Lake on this trip.
Merlin next to a snowbank.
Merlin next to a snowbank.
The classic view of the lake from the Rim Village.  Note how un-snowy the south side of Wizard Island is compared to the north side in the first photo.
The classic view of the lake from the Rim Village. Note how un-snowy the south side of Wizard Island is compared to the north side in the first photo.  And isn’t the reflection nifty?  The lake was extremely calm.
A Clark's Nutcracker.  They are everywhere around the rim of the lake.  This one was in the top of a dead snag, about thirty feet away.
A Clark’s Nutcracker. They are everywhere around the rim of the lake. This one was in the top of a dead snag, about thirty feet away.

I’ve never seen Crater Lake with snow before. I’d been there at least once as a kid with my parents (the Mazama campground is where my dad once chased a bear away, which story gets trotted out regularly in my family), and with my first husband, and this was the third time since I moved to Tacoma 23 years ago. But still, first time with snow, which was amazingly beautiful. Most of the roads and all of the trails were closed because of it, though, so, really, after taking lots of photos and sitting for a while on Crater Lake Lodge’s patio overlooking the lake, and hearing the weirdest sound, which I thought was a wild animal but turned out to be a baby (I’ve never heard a baby make a noise like that before), there wasn’t much else to do but go on.

Down down down to lunch in Klamath Falls, and some necessary phone calls now that the holiday weekend is finally over (there’s not a lot of cell phone signal in this part of the world), and then across my second state line of the trip to the town of Tulelake, California, the site of the largest Japanese internment camp during WWII. There’s a small national park service exhibit (and a bored to death park ranger) at the fairgrounds in town, but that’s pretty much it. Oh, and Tulelake High School is the home of the Honkers <g>. The Pacific Flyway goes directly over Tulelake, and there’s a huge lake and wildlife refuge nearby, but still.

Tulelake High School.
Tulelake High School.

And on to where I am tonight, which is Lava Beds National Monument, home of the largest concentration of lava tube caves in North America, and the last stand of the Modoc Indians, back about three years before the Nez Perce tried to flee to Canada. I hiked a trail around Captain Jack’s Stronghold (Captain Jack was what the whites called one of the Modoc chiefs), where the tribe held off a U.S. Army force ten times their number for months before they finally had to surrender.

Count it as another odd place to find wildflowers, too.

Part of the trail through Captain Jack's Stronghold, Lava Beds National Monument.
Part of the trail through Captain Jack’s Stronghold, Lava Beds National Monument.
One of several wildflowers I saw along the Stronghold trail.  This one is called Phacelia linearis.
One of several wildflowers I saw along the Stronghold trail. This one is called Phacelia linearis, and yes, it’s really that blue.  
This is called The Devil's Homestead.  It's what I thought most of the National Monument would look like, but that was not the case.
This is called The Devil’s Homestead. It’s what I thought most of the National Monument would look like, but that was not the case.
Desert buckwheat near the visitor center.
Desert buckwheat near the visitor center.

I did go down a little ways into one of the caves, but they’re not lit, and a lantern was not enough light for me to go far down there alone. I’m hoping there’ll be a ranger-guided walk through one tomorrow before I head on south. We’ll see.

May 30: The High Desert Museum is not Northwest Trek’s sibling, after all

I’ve been wanting to go to the High Desert Museum just south of Bend, Oregon, for a long time. I went once before, back in the 90s, when I don’t think it had been around for very long, and I wanted to see what it was like now.

I’d had it in my brain that it was this ecosystem’s NW Trek, which is basically a wild animal park (as opposed to a zoo) populated with local animals. The HDM did have local animals, but they were mostly of the creepy-crawly variety – reptiles and insects and a couple of arachnids I could have done just as well without – with the exception of a pair of river otters being terminally cute in a new habitat which just opened in April.

Desert collared lizard.
Desert collared lizard.
A sheepwagon like the one Charley saw in Repeating History.
A sheepwagon like the one Charley saw in Repeating History.
Otters!
Otters!

4

My van's namesake.
My van’s namesake.

But the rest of the museum included a 1904 family logging operation (contrary to the moniker “high desert,” most of this part of the world is heavily forested with ponderosa pine) done up in living history style, a huge exhibit on the Native American history of the Great Basin, and several other exhibits. A temporary exhibit featured the work of the WPA in Oregon in the 1930s.

So, actually, it was a cross between NW Trek, the WA state history museum, and Fort Nisqually. Pretty darned impressive. And that doesn’t even take into account all the terrific outdoor sculpture, one piece of which was created by Rip Caswell, who I know through Facebook. Small world.

Lunch was back in Bend, and so was a trip up Pilot Butte, just east of downtown, thank you for mentioning it to me, Paul. But could you have at least warned me that the road to the top is at least as terrifying as the one up Steptoe Butte in the Palouse??? But it was worth the white knuckles, and I finally got some excellent views of the central Oregon Cascade volcanoes.

Middle and South Sister from the top of Pilot Butte, with the zoom.
Middle and South Sister from the top of Pilot Butte, with the zoom.
The same peaks from the same place sans zoom, with the city of Bend below.
The same peaks from the same place sans zoom, with the city of Bend below.

I spent most of the afternoon at Newberry Crater Nat’l Volcanic Monument, not far south of Bend, a place I’d camped at with my parents when I was about nine or ten, and with my first husband in my mid-twenties. It was fun to see it again, to hike the Obsidian Flow trail (which still had snow in places!) and stroll along the shore of one of the tiny lakes inside the crater.

Obsidian Flow, Newberry Crater.
Obsidian Flow, Newberry Crater.
Along the Obsidian Flow trail, Newberry Crater.
Along the Obsidian Flow trail, Newberry Crater.
An interesting obsidian formation.  Sorry about the photographer's shadow.
An interesting obsidian formation. Sorry about the photographer’s shadow.
East Lake, Newberry Crater.
East Lake, Newberry Crater.

Tonight I’m camped at a little forest service campground along the road to Newberry Crater, with a waterfall as background music. Pretty nifty, IMHO.

Waterfall at McKay Crossing campground, about a two-minute walk from my site.
Waterfall at McKay Crossing campground, about a two-minute walk from my site.

May 29: Alligator soil and flowers where you least expect them

Today was a short drive day. I spent the morning exploring the Painted Hills section of the John Day Fossil Beds, which turned out to be my favorite part. The hills weren’t just multicolored – red from iron, gray from manganese, lavender and yellow from minerals I don’t remember, sorry – they’re textured to look like the skin of some ancient reptile. Nothing grows on them where the soil hasn’t been disturbed, because of the density of the clay and a whole bunch of other things. Where they have been disturbed, even out in that desolate country, there are flowers. I saw three species I had never seen before, and thanks to a lovely identification panel on the kiosk at the picnic area, I now know what their friends call them <g>

My first painted hill,
My first painted hill,
Orange globe mallow.
Orange globe mallow.
Along a nature trail in the Painted Hills.  That's jugwalk just like in Yellowstone, BTW.
Along a nature trail in the Painted Hills. That’s jugwalk just like in Yellowstone, BTW.
To me this looks like some giant ancient reclining reptile.  And yes, that's Merlin in the background.
To me this looks like some giant ancient reclining reptile. And yes, that’s Merlin in the background.
Prairie clover.
Prairie clover.
Golden bee plant.
Golden bee plant.

Prineville was about an hour’s drive on, and I stopped there for lunch before coming on to Redmond (just north of Bend), where I have taken my first motel of the trip (I had always planned on stopping in motels about every third night – for showers and wifi and easy charging of stuff, if nothing else). I was a bit concerned about finding a motel on the Sunday night of Memorial Day weekend, so I checked in early, then drove over to Sisters, of quilt show fame.

Sisters is sort of the Cannon Beach of central Oregon. Or maybe that crossed with Winthrop? Anyway, lots of tourists, but some really good huckleberry ice cream. And the Stitchin’ Post (the shop that started the Sisters Outdoor Quilt Show all those years ago), which was something of a disappointment. For one thing, half the shop is knitting stuff now, and for the other, I don’t know who their fabric buyer is these days, but her taste and mine do not agree. I was looking for fabric that would say, this came from Sisters to me, but mostly what they had was that sixties-looking stuff that does nothing for me, and has nothing to do with where the shop is.

It wasn’t important (having just packed up my entire stash a couple of days ago, I am acutely conscious that I need more fabric like I need a hole in my head), but it was sad to me, anyway.

I did get some spectacular views of the Three Sisters, Broken Top, Three-Fingered Jack, and Mt. Bachelor along the way, but there was no place to pull over and actually take pictures. I promise to try to do better on that front tomorrow.

May 28: Volcanoes and Stonehenge and fossils, oh, my

Having fallen asleep before most children’s bedtime last night, I woke up with the birds this morning. And ended up driving a bit further than I thought I would for one day, but that’s okay.

Odd landscape just before Yakima.
Odd landscape just before Yakima.

Down U.S. 12 to Yakima, where I drove five miles of I-82 before I could escape onto U.S. 97, about 60 miles down to the Columbia River. 97 crosses the Yakama (yes, that’s spelled right) Nation Indian Reservation, and for some reason I’d been expecting high desert. What I got was beautiful foothills, and peekaboo glimpses of Mt. Hood, until I got to the little town of Goldendale, where I had gorgeous views of both Hood and Mt. Adams to its north. And a farmers’ market on this Saturday morning, where I bought some strawberries.

Mt. Adams from Goldendale.
Mt. Hood from Goldendale.
Mt. Hood from Goldendale.  Sorry about the foreground...
Mt. Adams from Goldendale. Sorry about the foreground…

Then I went to Stonehenge <g>. No, not that Stonehenge, but the replica built back after WWII as a war memorial, perched over the Columbia River. It’s made of concrete and is seriously surreal.

The Stonehenge replica along the Columbia River.
The Stonehenge replica along the Columbia River.

Then across the wide Columbia River and my first state line of the trip, into Oregon, and on south through miles of wide open countryside, over at least one pass and past several hundred wind turbines (more than I’ve ever seen anywhere including Washington state’s Palouse country, which is saying a lot), along the John Day River, and through some cute towns.

Wasco, where someone’s got a weird sense of humor, and Condon, which I’m really glad isn’t a typo, and Fossil, where I ate lunch in the middle of a motorcycle rally. Well, in a café in the middle of a motorcycle rally, anyway.

Amusement in Wasco, Oregon.
Amusement in Wasco, Oregon.
In front of City Hall, Fossil, Oregon, with peonies.
In front of City Hall, Fossil, Oregon, with peonies.

I was headed towards John Day Fossil Beds National Monument, which I’d been wanting to visit for a long time. The landscape there reminds me in some ways of Theodore Roosevelt National Park in North Dakota. Lots of multicolored rock layers. The history was interesting, too. John Day (whose namesake was a fur trapper) was sheep farming country before the fossils were discovered, and the park service has preserved one of the farms, with well-done interpretation.

Cathedral Rock, John Day Fossil Beds NM.  I love the stripes.
Cathedral Rock, John Day Fossil Beds NM. I love the stripes.
A sheepshearing shed at the history exhibit at John Day Fossil Beds.
A sheepshearing shed at the history exhibit at John Day Fossil Beds.

But the best part was the John Condon Paleontological Center (John Condon was one of the first people to discover the fossils). They don’t do dinosaurs at John Day. They do ancient mammals. The Cenozoic period, to be precise. Fascinating stuff. I spent a good chunk of my afternoon there.

One of the exhibits at the paleontology center.  That horned thing was supposed  to be sort of like a horse, and sort of like a giraffe.
One of the exhibits at the paleontology center. That horned thing was supposed to be sort of like a horse, and sort of like a giraffe.

But it was time to find a place to stay for the night. I’m in another forest service campground (I figure on finding a motel or hostel or whatever about every third night), up in the forest above the high desert. It’s nice and cool, and there are wildflowers, and I got the last campsite <g>. Can’t ask for much more than that!

Prairie starflower at the Barnhouse Campground.
Prairie starflower at the Barnhouse Campground.

May 27: I feel like I could fly.

The movers pulled away at about 2 pm on Friday, with all my worldly possessions filling most of a truck.

In spite of a minor kafuffle with the closing (you all knew everything was going way too smoothly to be real, right?) and some last-minute computer issues (my computer guy finally finished working on my laptop at 5:30 on Thursday evening – fortunately he was doing it remotely so I didn’t have to go pick it up), everything got done. Hallelujah.

I did a last walk-through, called Loralee as I’d promised, made a few last stops, and got the heck out of Dodge.

I’d decided a while back that I was going to go through Mt. Rainier NP on my way, so that’s what I did. Through the Nisqually Entrance, where I found out that the route I wanted to take had just opened for the season that day, up towards Paradise and down through Stevens Canyon. There wasn’t as much snow up there as I’d thought there would be, either. I suspect the reason Stevens Canyon doesn’t open earlier is because the terrain is basically an avalanche waiting to happen. Chute after chute after chute.

Near Paradise. Still lots of snow!
Near Paradise. Still lots of snow!
Stevens Canyon from the overlook.
Stevens Canyon from the overlook.
Serviceberry in bloom at Box Canyon.
Serviceberry in bloom at Box Canyon.
A view down into Box Canyon, which reminds me a lot of the slot canyons I saw in the Canadian Rockies last summer.
A view down into Box Canyon, which reminds me a lot of the slot canyons I saw in the Canadian Rockies last summer.

It showered off and on most of my way through the park, and I saw not one, but two separate rainbows before I got to Ohanapecosh. Good omen much???

One of the two glorious rainbows I saw at Mt. Rainier. I never did see the Mountain itself, though. Too cloudy and showery.
One of the two glorious rainbows I saw at Mt. Rainier. I never did see the Mountain itself, though. Too cloudy and showery.

I’d thought about spending my first night at Ohanapecosh, but it was still relatively early and the campground was crowded, and I decided to go on.

On down to U.S. 12, which eventually leads to Yakima, with a bunch of forest service campgrounds along the way. I knew it was Memorial Day weekend. What didn’t connect was how this fact would mean full campgrounds along the way. Oh, well. I did eventually find a site, but it was almost 8 pm by the time I did. Thank goodness for almost 16 hour daylight hours this time of year.

And this is where I end by saying I love Merlin the van. He’s comfortable and self-contained, and I was exhausted, and he made my first night on the road great

that was fast

I have signed paperwork on my condo.  Eight showings in three days and four offers later, I’m very happy with the deal I got.

When they say the Puget Sound area is a seller’s market, they mean it, is all I have to say.

If all goes well and the deal doesn’t fall through, I will be moved out by May 28th, and on the road shortly thereafter.

Can we say holy cow, boys and girls?  And try not to bounce off of the ceiling???