03-01-2020 Celebrating Mo’s 80th

If there is one thing I know for sure about Mo, after all these years, it is that a big party in her honor is about her least favorite thing.  When my kids said, “Geez, Mom, it’s her 80th!  We need to have a party!" I said the best birthday present we can give her is NOT having a party.

Instead we celebrated by spending the entire day doing something just for the two of us.  The last time we had a meal at Wolf Creek Inn was in 2009, a year when we still lived in snowy Rocky Point.  A trip over the mountain was a great way to get away from winter, and I still remember the rather incredible Bacon Lettuce Avocado Tomato sandwich I had on that lovely day.

Mo found a coupon in our local paper for Sunday brunch at the Inn, which has been remodeled and refurbished since we last visited. One morning she said to me, “This is my choice for my birthday”.  Perfect.  I called and made a reservation.  She also said, “After brunch, let’s go to Crater Lake”.  Another perfect choice.  We haven’t been to Crater Lake in a couple of years, and most of the time we go there in order to show the magnificent blue to visiting friends.

Going to brunch north of Grants Pass first meant returning south of Grants Pass to continue east toward the mountains.  We knew there would be snow at Crater Lake, where the snows often pile up a dozen feet deep clear into May.  What surprised us was the gorgeous blue bird day that greeted us on Sunday morning, Mo’s special day.

Wolf Creek Inn was built around 1883 for Henry Smith, a local merchant-entrepreneur. Wolf Creek Tavern, as it was known then, was exceptionally well crafted by local sawyers. It served local traffic to mines and stage travelers connecting between Roseburg and Redding prior to the completion of the Oregon and California railroad through the Siskiyou Mountains in 1887.

Wolf Creek Inn is the oldest continuously operated hotel in the Pacific Northwest. It is here that Jack London completed his novel Valley Of The Moon. As an important stop on the 16 day stagecoach journey from San Francisco to Portland, the Wolf Creek Tavern has housed practically every important person found in the Northwest during the early history of Oregon.

Back in the early days of movies, the Inn became a refuge for beleaguered actors seeking an escape from demanding Hollywood studios. Clark Gable was a good friend of the innkeeper in the 1930s and stopped by several times while fishing the Rogue River just a few miles west of the Inn. Other visitors that have signed the guest register include Carole Lombard and Orson Wells.

Between 1975 and 1979, the Inn was acquired by the State of Oregon and restored. Wolf Creek Tavern is listed in the National Register of Historic Places. It is among the best preserved and oldest active travelers inns in Oregon.

When we arrived at the Inn, there were only a few guests, and our reservation may have been unnecessary. We settled in at a small window table and enjoyed the ambience of the old wooden floor and the wide ceiling planks.  A photo of Henry Smith watched over us as we dined.  The brunch was interesting, completely different than any we have enjoyed in the past.  The buffet portion of the brunch was in another room and consisted of some strange offerings for breakfast, including various German sausages and sauerkrauts, some kind of meat balls with gravy, and apple strudel.  Our brunch purchase included a cocktail of our choice, bloody mary or mimosa, the buffet choices, and what was called the “main plate”, which could also be ordered off the menu.  It was a bit confusing, with the buffet choices offered first so that by the time we received our main plate we were already well sated. For me, the bloody mary might have been enough.  Delicious!

After we ate, we retired to the front parlor with our unfinished drinks and enjoyed the warm fire.  A few folks came and went, a tiny girl running and playing, a young woman sitting down at the piano, people wandering around the house looking at the antiques and waiting for their turn at breakfast, or simply enjoying the public areas after staying at the Inn.

Leaving the Inn around 12, we headed back south on the interstate to the exit for the road east to Crater Lake.  Highway 234 winds along the Rogue River toward Shady Cove where it intersects with Highway 62.  We are very familiar with the other end of Highway 62 since it follows the southern boundary of Crater Lake National Park toward Fort Klamath in the Wood River Valley not far from where we used to live in Rocky Point.

One of my favorite vistas along Highway 62 as it approaches Prospect and Union Creek is the huge forest of Douglas fir and incense cedar that lines both sides of the highway.  The Rogue River flows unseen just to the west of the highway until it reaches the natural bridges area where trails and swinging pedestrian bridges cross the wild chasm of the Rogue flowing through basalt caves.  A wondrous place during the season, but the road is closed during the winter so no visit to the bridge this time.

As we continued up the mountain toward Crater Lake the snows got deeper and deeper along the highway, with the vertical walls created by snowplows more than a dozen feet high in places.  With the brilliant sunshine we marveled at the shadows of trees on the snowbanks.

We entered the park with our geezer pass and were surprised that the road leading to the south rim and Crater Lake Lodge was actually in better shape than parts of Highway 62 outside the park boundary.  The skies were incredibly blue and as we approached the Rim we could see strong winds blowing snow off the ridges around us and a heavy rime of ice on the trees along the highest ridges.

It was 27 F when we reached the Rim, and the snow banks were high enough that it was impossible to see the lake without climbing up the deep snowbanks.  We drove around the parking lot of the closed lodge and found a place to park not far from an access point that seemed not terribly difficult, even though it was hard packed snow and ice and incredibly slippery.

The shock of 27 degrees and a strong wind coming up from the lake was a surprise, and I had a terrible time trying to get photos of the lake with the phone.  Good thing I hadn’t tried to carry a big camera.  The lake was literally navy blue.  I have seen it at all stages of weather and all colors of blue, but I think this was the darkest ever.  I was completely frustrated that there were bright yellow cords and orange poles marking the boundary of what was safe enough to avoid a snowy crash into the crater.  With my freezing hands and the brilliant sun in my eyes, taking photos was almost impossible, and Mo and I laughed ourselves silly trying to get a selfie with the lake in the background. 

We walked back to the parked car and found another access point a bit farther down the rim and got out once again to brave the cold and to give Mattie a bit of an outing.  She was so excited to be on that snow, and we are pretty sure she thought it was just another cold sand dune and was ready to run wildly in circles.  Mo didn’t dare let her off the leash or she might have gone flying right down those snowy cliffs.  Once again, I tried to take photos of the two of them walking on the snowy ridge, but with my freezing fingers, trying to hold on to the sticks to keep from falling on the ice, hold the phone and see the completely blackened out display, I just gave up.  Only in our memories.

We didn’t stay long, happy to get back into our warm car in the warm sunshine.  Enough time had passed that we could adhere to tradition and stop in at Beckie’s Cafe for berry pie on the way home.  Beckie’s is famous locally, and most everyone who lives near Crater Lake on either side of the Cascades knows about their pies. 

On this sunny Sunday afternoon, we were lucky to get a booth for our delicious late afternoon dessert.  The pie was a delicious as always, and the coffee was served in heavy old fashioned mugs that have been part of old fashioned diners since I can remember.

It was a great day to spend a birthday.  When we returned home just before dark that evening, Mo found many birthday greetings, both email and facebook to honor her day.  Say what you will about Facebook, one of the more delightful aspects is getting all those birthday greetings from people who might never think to send an actual card.  Mo had real cards as well, and we lined them up as we traditionally do for birthdays and holidays on the bookshelf near the fireplace.

Happy 80th Birthday Mo!

 

02-14-2020 Wandering Toward Home

After traveling as far as Kingman to spend the night in at Fort Beale RV Park, we knew it was time to make some decisions about our route back to Oregon.  There are many options, some of which are much better a bit later in the season.

The beautiful, historic train depot in Kelso

This time of year, Highway 395 can be completely unpredictable, and while it is our favorite route back home most of the time, the weather apps weren’t cooperating with our choice.  It appeared that the southern portion of the route would be OK, but then we would have to backtrack over Donner Pass and I-80 to Sacramento and then back north on the 5.  All our back routes over the northern part of the Sierra’s either were closed, or had bad weather predicted.

We looked at each other, the maps and the forecasts, and decided it was best to bite the bullet and make the traditional run home.  Back to Bakersfield, up the 99 or the 5 to Sacramento, then continue north over Mt Shasta and the Siskiyous toward home.  The boring long fast 700 mile run crossing the state of California in its least appealing version.

Still, we had some options even with that scenario.  Did we want to continue west and north toward Bullhead City? Go all the way south to the 10 back to Quartzsite? Maybe continue south and west on the 15?  Camping at what I had initially thought would be our night destination was just a bit too short.  It was less than 75 miles to the Hole in the Wall campground, a favorite spot in the Mojave Preserve.  At this stage of our homeward run, neither of us could quite accept a day that short.  After a bit of a tussle between what we wanted and what would work, we finally decided that we would continue on I-15 as far as the Kelso turnoff at the southern end of the Mojave Preserve, and then travel north across the preserve to see if a boondock site presented itself.

The Mojave Desert Preserve is a treasure of wild desert landscapes, including the Kelso Dunes, where there is a nice area for boondocking near the end of the rough dirt and gravel road at the trail head.  We drove to Kelso, unhooked the baby car for the exploration, left the MoHo in the parking lot and headed back south toward the Kelso Dunes road.

In spite of assurances from Gaelyn that it really wasn’t that rough, after a mile or two we made the joint decision that the MoHo wouldn’t be bumping along on all those washboards.  It was gorgeous out there, and not too many tourists, even on this nice Friday mid day.  We laughed at each other because we knew that with my limited hiking abilities, climbing the dunes might not be something we could do.  However, another member of our family is crazy about sand, especially dunes, and we both agreed that we were braving the washboard road for one person only. Mattie.

Pretty sure this rhus species isn’t native to the area, couldn’t find it anywhere in a desert flower book

With no flowers to help with ID, I had to settle for an astragalus species

The sun was warm and the winds were slight making our time walking on the lower dune trail delightful.  Mattie got her fill of running in circles and we found some interesting plants to photograph.  There were a few people camped, one couple with a trailer parked under a shady tree and camp chairs out in the sun, enjoying the gorgeous day with their books.

Not for us.  We wanted to continue on our westward journey toward Baker, open to the possibility that we might find someplace to boondock that wasn’t too far off on a rough road and yet not terribly close to the Interstate.  We found a couple of promising roads, but it was getting late in the day and neither of us felt like unhooking to check them out so we continued toward Baker.

Just in time, maybe half a mile before the intersection with the Interstate, we found a nice big pull-out, conveniently located at the Mojave Preserve entrance sign.  The breeze blew the sounds in the opposite direction, and if we avoided looking due west, we could convince ourselves we were in the middle of nowhere.  It was great to settle into the desert for one last night, knowing that the rest of our travels would be through the “gut” of California.

One of the things I like most about boondocking in the desert is the ability to leave all the window coverings wide open to watch the night.  The stars were magnificent, but the string of lights in both directions along I-15 was fascinating as well.  Amazing how many people are traveling between Las Vegas and Los Angeles on a Friday night.

The next morning we took our time getting ready to roll, enjoying the last little bit of desert time before our run home.  Our next planned stop was in Bakersfield, and for the first time in many years, we decided to skip Orange Grove RV Park.  With a rig that didn’t need washing, and no oranges to pick, the $50. price tag was just too steep for a one night stopover.

With a bit of searching, I found the Shady Haven RV Resort, just a few more miles west of Orange Grove RV.  The park was interesting to say the least.  On the website, and again when I phoned for a reservation for that night, the ban against smokers was emphasized.  No Smoking Allowed anywhere in the park, even in your own rig!  It advertised as a Wellness Resort.

When we signed in, we could see that there was a large section of what was at one time mostly permanent residents, and a newer section for overnighters.  There were many newly planted palm trees, a very tall, very protective looking steel fence with concertina wire on the top, and electronic gates.

When I signed in and paid the very reasonable $33. fee, the young kid at the register referred to “our park”, and told me the story of his company buying the park and having to evict more than 50 percent of the residents for refusing to adhere to the no smoking rule.  It seems that he works for the company who bought the park, some independent owners who actually “flip” businesses in the same way that some people flip houses.  I wish them well.  We would probably stay there again.  To compensate for the lack of oranges, I simply stopped at the California Fruit Depot nearby and bought a ten pound bag of perfectly sweet juicy oranges for 8 bucks.  I made my last glass of orange juice this morning, and these are no doubt the last oranges I will try until next year when we once again travel south.  I can’t bear a supermarket orange.

Sometimes you meet the nicest people in random RV parks.  Parked next to us was a lovely couple from New Hampshire, and the woman Liz just had to come over and meet Mattie.  Mattie knows a dog person when she finds one and they made instant friends.  In the morning, she came over once again to say bye to Mattie and brought some traditional Mexican wedding cookies.  Nice people!

This heavy handmade gate at the dog park at Shady Haven was gorgeous.

It was a Sunday morning, and we had to make the decision about which route to travel north through central California.  The mileage between Bakersfield and Sacramento are the same, whether you drive I-5 or Highway 99.  One never knows how the pavement will be on either route, but this time we decided to go with 99.  Both of us remember pavement that blew out our tires on I-5, but there is no way of knowing which one would have been the better route.

We also diverged from our usual routine of traveling from Bakersfield to Lodi and staying at Flag City.  Neither of us wanted to pay for a park for our last night out and decided that instead we would boondock at the Pilot station in Dunnigan.  For who knows what reason, our day on the road seemed incredibly long, and we were both exhausted when we pulled in to Dunnigan.  Mo took one look at the very ratty RV’s in the Pilot parking lot and said, nope, not gonna do it!  Instead we drove a block north and settled in to the Happy Times RV Park for another simple $35.  Better to pay for a safe night than have to worry about whatever was around us at the station.

The next day Monday was my turn to drive, and I must say I have never enjoyed I-5 north of Sacramento quite as much as I did on this gorgeous sunny day.  The air was clear enough that I could see the mountains on both sides of the valley.  Snow on the Sierras to the east and snow on the Trinities to the west sparkled against a backdrop of miles and miles of pink almonds coming into bloom.  When Mt Shasta appeared to the north, brilliantly covered in deep white snow, we knew we were almost home.

Look closely to see the high winds blowing snow around on the peak of Mt Shasta

It was a tremendously satisfying trip, with a chance to experience many different habitats and landscapes in just three weeks out.  We had the ocean, the coast, the desert, the mountains, the big city of Phoenix, more desert, red rocks in Sedona, more desert in Mojave Preserve, and yes…the long boring gut of California through the San Joaquin and Sacramento Valleys. We also had a chance to meet old and new friends and visit with family along the way. 

No matter how beautiful the world we travel, there is nothing quite as beautiful as returning to our home.  We were unloaded within an hour, with piles of laundry ready to tackle in the next couple of days.  The weather was nice enough that we managed to get both the MoHo and the Tracker washed, and in the next few days I will work on the inside of the rig getting it ready for our next outing in March.

Our welcome home included lots of fresh green grass and I celebrated by mowing the front lawn and Mo mowed the pasture.  Ahh spring is coming.  There are buds on the daffodils and the daphne has started blooming.

02-13-2020 More Great Times in Arizona

Boondocking at the casino in Camp Verde had a little extra bonus for us.  We were parked just over a mile from Montezuma Castle National Monument.  In all my visits to Prescott and Sedona I had never managed the short side trip from I-17 to view the ruin.

Montezuma Castle is a well preserved ruin that is considered one of the best preserved cliff dwellings in North America.  Perhaps this is due to its ideal placement more than 90 feet above Beaver Creek on a sheer limestone cliff.  The precarious location and the five stories of floor space divided among more than 60 rooms indicate that the Sinagua people were skilled builders and engineers.  Access was most likely with portable ladders, making it difficult for enemy tribes to penetrate the natural defense of the vertical cliff.

The location also protected the people from the threat of summer monsoon flooding that deposited rich sediments for farming on the valley floor.  The people farmed squash, corn, and beans.  As Mo and I wandered the paved trail below the cliff dwelling among huge ancient sycamores, we thought about how the people would have had to keep the ground clear to keep the trees from encroaching on the farmland.  As in many other ancient sites, the people left in a very short period of time during the 1400’s.  It took some time for the sycamores to fill in the beautiful Beaver Creek valley, and they now provide lovely shade for what could be a hot walk in the summertime.

The walls of the ruin are stone and mortar masonry, built almost entirely from limestone found at the base of the cliff, and mud from the creek bottom.  The ceilings of some of the rooms were constructed of timbers primarily from the sycamores.

In addition to Montezuma Castle, the monument includes Montezuma Well, about six miles north and another ruin called Tuzigoot, several miles northwest. We didn’t manage the time to visit the other two locations, in spite of the fact that the Well is just minutes from my first destination for the morning.

For years I have been friends with a delightful man who somehow found me on Facebook when he read something I wrote.  John Parsons is a man of all seasons, and his wife Clair is the love of his life and a charming woman.  Whenever Mo and I have traveled to Arizona they offer a hookup site at their home in Camp Verde.  We have never traveled I-17 together, so didn’t have the opportunity to stay with them.

I posted a photo on Facebook of our visit to Jerome and within minutes John said, “You are just minutes from us!  We would love to meet you!”  Uhoh.  Caught!  I wanted to meet John and Clair, but with our trip drawing to a close and quite a bit more time socializing than we are used to, we hadn’t planned on checking in with them.  I called John and explained that we were pretty much peopled out and would it be OK if I came alone?  They understood completely, and bright and early I drove to their place for a visit on my own.

I’m so glad that I did, and now that the initial introductions have been completed, I am sure that the next time we are heading this way in Arizona we will visit.  The best fact among many that I know about John is that he was a river runner and guide and a great protector of rivers and watersheds. Just recently the 30 acres Parsons Riverfront Preserve was named for him. Such a well deserved honor.

I was home again by 10 am to pick up Mo and Mattie for our morning plan to drive the loop highway through Sedona.  I have been to Sedona, battled the crowds to hike the beautiful red rock trails, shopped the fancy gift shops and had great meals in the restaurants.  Mo had never seen Sedona, and I really wanted to share this lovely place with her. 

During the early morning hours of a mid week day, the roads weren’t nearly as crowded as I remembered.  The high season runs from about March when the winter warms up until May when the heat of summer begins. The last time I hiked in Sedona was in 2002, when the early September temperature was 106 F and I nearly died from heat exhaustion.

The day was to be a much simpler time.  We drove through town, with traffic and construction, and then north into Oak Creek Canyon where I wanted to see Slide Rock at the state park.  Slide Rock is famous for its beautiful slick red rock with the flowing waters of Oak Creek making an extremely popular playground in the summertime.  We arrived at the park to find that it would cost us ten bucks to enter, that the dog couldn’t go down to the water, and that in order to see Slide Rock we would have to descend 70 some stairs where the dog couldn’t go.  I hemmed and hawed for only a second or two before we both said, Nah….not this time.

We meandered back through town and I suddenly remembered the church.  High on a hill overlooking the red rocks is a truly beautiful chapel, the Chapel of the Holy Cross.  The road to the chapel from the highway isn’t too long, but quite steep and narrow.  Even on this weekday, the parking lot was filled to overflowing, and there is only a tiny turnaround at the top of the hill.  We thought we might have to give up on the chapel when a space opened up for us just a few hundred feet below the stairs that lead to the church.  It was meant to be.  The air was still cool enough that Mattie could wait in the car for us while we visited.

Such a beautiful site and a magnificent architectural marvel of stone and glass overlooking the gorgeous views of the valley.  A surprise just below the church that I didn’t remember from the past was a mansion.  I looked it up and all I found was “Mansion in Sedona”.  I guess there are many such mansions around in an area that is so beloved and so gentrified by wealthy people who want to live somewhere magnificent. 

So many beautiful places are now almost impossible to live in unless you are over the top wealthy.  Ah well.  I would have no desire to compete with the crowds and traffic in my daily life in order to live among the red rocks and famous spiritual vortexes of Sedona. Click on the link if you haven’t heard of the Sedona vortexes.

We were back at the MoHo, hooked up and ready to roll by 1PM.  Unsure of exactly where we might be headed, I started searching for campgrounds as Mo drove.  I was supposed to be navigating but wasn’t paying proper attention and somehow pointed to the wrong lane for the exit west to I-40 and we ended up going east.  Uh Oh.  We finally found a turn around and once again I missed the onramp west and we traveled right through downtown Flagstaff before finally onramping the I-40 several miles west of town.  I lost many points for my navigating skills that morning.

We settled on a Passport America campground in Kingman,  Fort Beale RV Park, still not decided on where we might travel the next day.  The night was simple, the campground was clean with level sites and decent hookups.  After boondocking for a bit, and knowing we planned to boondock again, it was good to have a place to take on water and dump the tanks before we headed somewhere west or north toward the Mojave Desert.