Wednesday, August 15, 2018

Craters of the Moon - No volcano in sight

Because I am an unbelievably fortunate person, I enjoyed a series of adventures and entertainments in July and early August. I used to feel guilty about being so favored, but I got over that and now just enjoy what I can, while I can.

The first fun was a week rafting Idaho's Middle Fork of the Salmon River with a small group of treasured family and friends. Awesome. I can't imagine a better river experience. Blog coming.

Next was a solo visit to the Craters of the Moon National Monument and Preserve in Idaho, the subject of this post.

A collapsed lava tube in the Indian Tunnel cave at Craters of the Moon National Monument and Preserve.
Then came camping, dancing and laughing at the Red Ants Pants Music Festival in White Sulphur Springs, MT. I was so excited about it last year that I had to return, dragging along Charla, a girlfriend from East Texas. Another writing project.

At the festival's end, the two of us meandered back to Oregon on a serendipitous road trip in my camper van. (It belongs to PK as well, but he didn't happen to be with us. It was mine, all mine. And Charla's, of course.) Words and photos about the road trip may show up in this space.

But for now,  just this — Craters of the Moon

Getting to Craters of Moon National Monument and Preserve may involve ripping your tires off  Idaho's I-84, where the speed limit almost matches the interstate number, as travelers zip between Idaho's east/west borders.
If you have a flexible schedule, and are up for a unique diversion, peel north off the Interstate onto one of the two-lane roads that will intersect with highways 20, 26, and 93. All the same road. Craters of the Moon is worth the time and effort.

What's so good about it?
NOT CROWDED.  I swear, I saw at least 50 people on trails throughout Craters of the Moon during nearly three hours. Just not all at the same time. In mid-July, the height of tourist season. Isn't that refreshing? A fascinating public treasure that isn't teeming and steaming with irritable  tourists? The masses are at Yellowstone National Park, or the Grand Tetons, both of which  are only a few hours drive east. I love Yellowstone and the Tetons, but not during the congested maddening thick of high-tourist season.
TRAILS I took advantage of a few short hikes before I tackled a lava tube cave. This short but steep trail up a cinder cone led to an overlook, but also a collapsed lava tube with some surprising detritus.
Two hats, one deteriorated and the other, as if it may have been blown off somebody's head earlier in the day.  Plus a couple plastic bags and/or Styrofoam containers, litter the floor about 20 feet below. The hats? Well, I had to grab mine before it blew off. But the plastic/styrofoam? Likely a result of careless trash disposal. 


Short trails were good but I was most interested in exploring one of the three caves. A ranger, answering the same questions over and over at the visitors' center, said the most extensive and  interesting cave was Indian Tunnel. I went there.
BEAUTY! Why was I surprised by all the colors and textures in the cave? 

CAVE EXPLORATION  Inside Indian Tunnel, I vined in on a small group led by a monument naturalist. Among other things, I learned that the tunnel has two exits, and the more challenging spares a person a longer walk back to the parking lot. I'd made a stupid mistake when setting off from the van – not carrying water. The trail was hot and exposed, and what did I expect from the July sun radiating off the black lava? I looked for the shorter way back to hydration.

A MODEST ADVENTURE  I carried a flashlight but didn't need to use it.
Having natural light made all the difference to a novice spelunker.
There it is - the end! Actually, it was easier than it looks. 
No crawling involved. A little climbing required, however. 
Now they tell me! I expected the exit to be close
to the paved trail. But no.
Following the markers to the paved trail was fun and took my mind off of being so thirsty. It took about 20-25 minutes to reach the parking lot and my water bottle.
NICE CAMPGROUND - A typical campsite within the monument. When I arrived in the early afternoon, numerous campsites were still available. According to a monument employee,  a few out of 51 sites had been vacant the previous night. I don't see electric and water here, but I did note fine-looking restrooms. All sites are on a first-come basis.
The nearest towns are about 20 miles distant.

I could see staying a night here after a leisurely day hiking. If you don't care to hike, the area can be seen on a good quality paved road in an hour or so. But you'd miss the good stuff. Most trails are paved and easy with some handicapped access.

There's more! Exploration and camping by foot or 4WD are available in the adjacent Craters of the Moon Wilderness. 

NOTE: Craters of the Moon is part of the Great Rift, a 52-mile long  series of deep fissures. From the park's brochure:

The Craters of the Moon are definitely of volcanic origin. But where is the volcano? Vast volumes of lava issued not from one volcano but from a series of deep fissures —known collectively as the Great Rift—that cross the Snake River Plain. Beginning 15,000 years ago lava welled up from the Great Rift to produce this vast ocean of rock. The most recent eruption occurred a mere 2,000 years ago, and geologists believe that future events are likely.

Sunday, July 8, 2018

Goodbye garden. Hello fun!

Volunteer cosmos populated with bumblebees a couple years ago.
Here we go again. Preparing to vacation for a month and scrambling to get the garden ready for our absence. 

It's like parents leaving the kids just when they've been potty trained. The hard and dirty work is over and it's time to reap the benefits.

In a few weeks our  garden will be at its most beautiful.

It won't be pumping out ripe tomatoes, peppers, and eggplants quite yet, but it will achieve its most colorful and lush vegetative mass.

It will be thick with birds and bees, berry thieves and pollinators.

Even yesterday, when I snapped most of these garden shots, one could almost see the chlorophyl burgeoning in young leaves, and savor the sweet, salty, sharp aromas of tomatoes, mint, dill, eggplants, basil, and alyssum, all muddled with the rich  scent of soil warming in the summer sun.

It will get even better.

Like this, taken a few years ago in early August.
But we won't be here to see it, smell it, taste it or have any other of those smarmy moments gardening can induce.

Instead, we'll be having real fun!

The last rapid on the Middle Fork of the Salmon trip is big! It is actually on the Main Salmon River close to the takeout for the Middle Fork just a few miles after the tributary enters the larger river.  PK is rowing. I'm staring into a bus-sized hole, which was easily avoided. I don't think a rapid this gnarly is fun, but he does. One thing for sure, I was not thinking about the tomatoes.

If you've followed this blog for a few years, you've heard how we struggle with whether to have a big garden, as it doesn't fit with our relatively new traveling lifestyle. Or, coincidentally, with our aging bodies.

This story line is getting old, right?

It sure is for me. For us. Getting old. As are we. And time is a wasting.

I think that without saying it, we've settled with having a messy imperfect garden so that we can also have messy imperfect road trips and international episodes. We can have both.

On our coming adventure, we'll raft for seven days the best of the West's most extensive wilderness on the Middle Fork of the Salmon  River in Idaho. One hundred miles and 100 rapids. There will be a blog post.

Then I'll meet up with a Texas girlfriend for the Red Ants Pants Music Festival in White Sulphur Springs, MT, and PK will row another legendary river, the Main Salmon River in Idaho. Can't wait!

Then she and I will have a leisurely road trip back home to Oregon.

Yes, PK and I are driving separate vehicles to Idaho and parting ways after the MFS. And we'll be fishing/dancing/singing/rowing/ without much thought of what we left behind.

At home, our garden will be advancing on the surrounding fields and our neighbor will be beating it back with a hoe and a harvest basket. We couldn't do it without her. (Of course we pay her, and not just with all the zucchini she can shove into her refrigerator and her family's mouths.)

Following are a few recent photos from our Southern Oregon heritage garden.

Heritage? Where did that come from? I guess when you've reached a certain time in life, and have worked a piece of land for decades, it becomes heritage, which means.....a legacy, a culture, a custom, a tradition, an inheritance.

We have two adult sons who were born and grew up here. We had a "family meeting" last week during which we inquired whether either hopes to someday live here. Not anytime soon, that's for sure. But giving it up, as we sometimes ponder, is a point of sentimentality and ambivalence for us and our family.

The closest we have come to changing venues is when we discuss going on the road for a lengthy time and renting the house and land. We also consider, in an offhand way, selling it and relocating to a different home to try on surroundings that do not require so much attention.

Will we do it? Not this year. But sometime. Maybe.

In the meantime.....we love where we live and, at the same time, can't wait for our next adventures.

A few recent home photos.
Now that we have a fence that has them stymied, we are entertained by our resident deer, including this young buck who was likely born here. 

Honey bees LOVE leek flowers. We've never harvested a leek to eat. They're all for the bees, except for those cut and dried as decorative fresh and dried flowers.

PK says that we now have a savannah look with our 25 or so apple trees (reduced from 300+ when we bought the property in the 1970s). The deer trim them all to approximately the same distance from the ground. We still harvest way more apples than we can give away. 

In an ongoing attempt to cut back, we devote at least two garden rows a year to a nitrogen-fixing cover crop such as the young red clover above. We allow volunteer cosmos, dill, sunflowers, and chard to share the space.

By the time we return, this area will be alive with colorful zinnias and sunflowers complementing the marigolds. The fig tree will have grown dozens and dozens of fruits that won't yet be ripe enough eat.
One almost-ripe cherry tomato will be joined by literally hundreds of others on one
indeterminate plant. Indetermininate means it reaches and wanders without end. 

The "garden" on the backside of the house looks as good as it ever will right now. Why? the day lilies bloom and are gone. The Shasta daisies bloom and then fall over and are gone. They all slump onto that sweet walkway that PK built soon after he retired 10 years ago as part of his first "five-year plan." Replacing some of this vegetation, especially the daisies, is on his (our) to-do list.
Bad daisies napping on the walkway.

Onions are flanked on the left by pepper plants, which
 are looking healthy and happy. We use them all fresh, dried, and in
salsas and sauces.
Massive onion crop coming on. Yahoo! We're thinning and eating now.
A walkway around the front porch is guarded by a metal rooster and ivy that will reach out and strangle you if you stand still long enough. 
Faithful lilies show up every year in front of the solarium, which we consider
 the front of our house.
Sadly, roses don't last forever and this beauty is in decline. It is an old-fashioned rose and no one seems to know the variety. I would love to plant another. Please let me know via comments below if you can identify. It is wonderfully fragrant and its blooms turn several colors before the final pink.

Missing from our garden: sweet corn, green beans, beets, potatoes, and many types of winter squash. We really are cutting back! Tomatoes, peppers, onions? Gotta have em.
Best thing we ever grew - our sons who continue to make us proud.
 Chris on the left and Quinn on the right.
    A proud sun salutation if ever I saw one by a volunteer sunflower.
  Old gardens like ours are blessed with a variety of welcome volunteers.
They show up every year in different configurations.

They will all be here when we return!

Previous posts about gardening angst

Thursday, June 14, 2018

Lesson from the Oregon coast - Keep Your Eyes Wide Open

Cooks Chasm at Cape Perpetua on the Central Oregon Coast wows visitors with the Spouting Horn, (above) crashing waves, and a unique feature called Thor's Well. The big question: How did we miss it for 45 years?!

Thor's Well. A scary dangerous awe-inspiring nature show accessible by foot. 
No one  predicts that they'll become old and set in their ways, doing what they've always done.
Do they?  I certainly did not. But apparently, my calcification started early.
Early 1970s, PK and me at Cape Perpetua. 
Photo credit, Pat Teel

PK and I met in Newport on Oregon's central coast in the early 1970s. Believe me, the Oregon coast is unusually romantic. Our little spark lit there and has flickered and flamed for decades.

Cape Perpetua is about 30 miles south of Newport ,just south of Yachats, and we've visited   dozens of times.

We've  always done the same damn thing; hike a short steep trail to the rim of Devil's Churn, a narrow slot into which waves crash and spray with oooooh and ahhhhh results.

Then we load into the car and zoom off. Never realizing that, by failing to look around, we were missing one of the top scenic spots on the entire fantastic Oregon coast.

We practiced our predicable routine on a recent spring stop at Cape Perpetua. But when we looked over the edge at the Devil's Churn, it was not crashing and booming. Instead it was calm and peaceful, as if inviting swimmers to come on down and take a dip.

Returning, disappointed, to the van, we finally, after decades, noticed a path that led south out of the Churn's parking area.
    Red lines are trails. Yachats is just off the map to the
north. Sea Lion Caves is just off to the south.

Still clueless!

We actually drove a minute or two to the Cook's Chasm turnout, which we'd passed time and again without noting.

We pulled in, and in a few seconds, we were incredulous at what we'd been missing.

Later, after spending at least a half hour gawking, we walked the paved trail back to Devil's Churn. A beautiful walk. Who knew?

We were fortunate to arrive as the tide was about to crest. Although the sea was relatively calm, Thor's Well was spouting plumes then sucking them backwards in a mighty display of power.

Thor's Well is in drain mode as a young couple approaches its rim. 
The female half of the couple wears inappropriate footwear for the rugged lava flow terrain. The boyfriend appeared to be under Cook's Chasm's spell, and also her's.

She's on her own as the water recedes in its endless spout and drain cycles. Soon after this photo was taken, a half dozen people ventured close to Thor's Well, and as the tide was nearing its highest for the day, those spectators were suddenly ankle to mid-calf deep in saltwater. They quickly retreated. The "well" is around 16 feet deep, but stumbling into it presents inescapable dynamics. Oddly enough, there's no record of anyone drowning there.

Cleft of the Rock lighthouse at Cape Perpetua on Oregon's central coast. When you see
this, you'll know that Thor's Well is not far away. Neither is Devil's Churn.

Sea lions lounging on the beach likely also hang out at the nearby Sea Lion Caves, a tourist attraction well worth seeing. We've taken out-of-state visitors to the Caves, but, out of ignorance, deprived them of, umm, other notable sights.

A slot in the lava flow seen from the trail between Cook's Chasm and Devil's Churn.
 If you go, take a half hour and walk this easy out-and-back scenic trail.

An immature bald eagle oversees the action between Devil's Churn and Cook's Chasm.
 That's what I've always needed—
an eagle eye. 

Previous posts featuring the Oregon Coast 

Oregon Coast Getaway in August - not as great as you might think.

First road trip 2017 Southern Oregon Coast - February - better than expected

Wednesday, June 6, 2018

John Day River trip - old friends, peace, and elaborate geology

I wasn't expecting much from our mid-May float trip on the John Day River in North Central Oregon.

A couple decades ago, PK and Chris (when he was between 8 and 11) floated the river a few springs with two other dads and their young sons. I heard stories about fishing, sleeping on tiny prickly, rocky beaches with rattlesnakes, and running one significant rapid.

No thank you.

Not once did my husband or my son mention the John Day River's fantastic scenery and fascinating geology. I'm glad I saw it. I came away with a camera load of eye candy and warm feelings induced by longtime friendships forged, in part, by shared river trips through the decades.

Sue Orris nearing the top of an overlook behind one of our John Day River camps. 

The John Day cuts through 281 miles of Central Oregon's high desert before converging with the Columbia River. One hundred and forty-seven miles of the John Day are designated Wild and Scenic, including the 72-mile stretch we navigated. It is the longest undammed river in Oregon, and one of the longest undammed rivers in the USA. On the map, our put-in at Clarno is just off the bottom (sorry) and the take-out is at the Cottonwood Bridge. In between is a serpentine river whose curves and canyons have been formed over millions of years. On the scenic scale, I give it a 7+ with the Grand Canyon being 10.

I all but gave up river trips about 14 years ago.  (Links to river-related blogs follow.)

However, running rivers remains WAY high on PK's must-do-whenever-possible list. I've I agreed to one trip a year with him. This year, I'll do two. The John Day trip was the first. 

The trip reminded me of what I like about river running, and what I don't.
What I really like is great scenery, and crazy geologic features such as this.
And this jumble of folds, creases, and layering.
Next time, we must have a geologist along to interpret. Google led me to the fact that the John Day basin is part of the massive Colombia River Flood Basalts, one of the largest of such formations on the planet.

The outrageous rock formations and land forms just kept coming.
What's good about river trips
  • Camping in sublime surroundings with a few good people.
  • Being untethered from technology - five days and the only screen time witnessed was me using my iPhone to take photos.
  • Experiencing total quiet, except for river and wildlife sounds. (Occasional 💤 noises coming from certain tents)
  • Starry skies without light pollution
  • If the trip is longer than a few days, getting into nature's rhythm: up at dawn, to bed when darkness descends.
  • Seeing wildlife up close, even bears and snakes. (Not rattlers, though)
  • Beautiful natural surroundings - of course
In addition to osprey, we saw bald and golden eagles, ducks and geese, California big horn sheep, scarabs, thousands of swallows and boatloads of small mouth bass.

  • Being self and group reliant
  • Traveling with my life partner, who is happier on the river than anywhere else, except perhaps with his grandchildren.
  • Photographing everything. It helps me see and appreciate.
  • Clarno Rapid is the only significant rapid on this section of the river. We scouted on the left and also ran it on the left. At this water level, it was probably Class 3.5 on a scale of 6. It is reportedly not runnable at low water. The boating season ends sometime in June once snows in the Strawberry Mountains, where the river's water originates, dry up, and agricultural operations continue to draw irrigation water. The water quality when we ran the river in May was already compromised by agricultural run-off.

    Cattle (pic below) are a major pollution source. These guys were miffed because we took their spot our first night out. It was evident that they favored this campsite as cow pies of various ripeness were all over the place. PK and I pitched our tent not too far from a fresh pile, which we marked with a shovel, and also a red ant hill, over which we placed sticks so as not to step on it.

What's irksome about river trips
  • Getting ready - requires planning, packing and prep sometimes out of proportion to trip enjoyment.
  • Setting up our 30-year-old old Moss tent. The damn thing never wears out!
  • Lugging heavy containers up steep river banks, then down again to the raft
  • Sitting for hours at a time, even with great scenery (Even in the Grand Canyon!)
  • But the worst thing? Using the loo.
The loo is always situated in a private spot with a scenic view.

The lid opens to a plastic bag, supported by a mesh bag, with a scoop of chemical beads that somehow renders the contents acceptable for tossing into waste receptacles. 

Once closed,  the plastic bag, called a Wag Bag, joins previous days' bags in a plastic bucket with a secure lid. Then somebody gets to carry it on his or her boat. Lucky us!

Overall, this toilet system is good. Common sense and wilderness etiquette dictate that human waste — all waste— be carried out. No trace left behind, even it it comes from behind. Ha ha.

But here's the thing. Liquids are are no-no  in the loo. Instead, river trippers  pee in the surrounding area, the river, or into a can. Only solids are directed into the Wag Bag.

I find separating elimination functions problematic, as may other women past a certain age. Enough said!

Overall, this river trip leaned heavily into the pleasure category, despite the few disconcerting moments at the loo or fleeting boredom floating for hours at a time. 

    Just the dog and I were up early enough to admire the sunrise at this, our first camp of the river trip. Three nights to go. I loved this camp. Loved them all, really.

The John Day River experience reminded me that a majority of people who read my blog (thank you!)  haven't experienced self-guided wilderness river trips. Here's what it's like.

First somebody gets a river permit, or a wild hair, and sets in motion the mandatory planning and preparation, which I do not enjoy.

In our group of eight, Beth and Jeffrey had the wild hair and they instigated and led the trip. Permits are required, but anybody can get one. (On the John Day River, at least. Other river-permit applications are lotteries that disappoint the majority.)

Once a permit is secured, meals, transportation, shuttles, toilets, trash disposal, composting, water, clothing, etc. etc. must be organized, which requires people with better-than-average organizational skills.

I admire well organized people.

I'm not one, but I'm married to one, and at least four in our group could be in that category.

Beth is top dog. She has her shit together, always. On this trip, she used a 20+-year-old guidebook, plus experience with two previous trips on the John Day, to help us locate camps, petroglyphs, and keep track of historic events that had transpired along this stretch of river. Although a current guide lists 92 camps (!), few are obvious.

Beth may be addressing the wind on this blustery day.
She is unable to organize wind and weather.
Beth rows as Jeff, a fishing aficionado, tempts small mouth bass with lurid flies. He was not disappointed. The catch-and-release victims did not like the surprise, I'm guessing.

But back to the beginning.

Somebody gets the river trip urge. We plan. We pack. We drive close to 300 miles (on this trip) to the river. We look at all our stuff piled on the boat ramp. We balk.

Rafters are not minimalists. The packing-light conversation happens but does not result in restraint. Gotta have options. Right? We got em.

The put-in for our 72-mile trip on mostly flat water began at Clarno, where a bridge crosses the river and easy access is provided by the BLM, which manages the area.  According to the BLM website, one other party was putting on the river this day, but we never saw them. We had the ramp and river to ourselves

A fraction of our gear stacked up at the Clarno put-in.

What do we need for our river trip?

Everything! Including a toilet, water treatment (and/or clean water in containers from home), tents and sleeping bags, pads, food for five days, shelter in case of rain. We also bring a kitchen including stoves, Dutch ovens, charcoal, and every person's coffee-brewing device.

On a long-ago river trip, someone even brought a gasoline-powered blender to make margaritas. At least we got over that.

But I may be the worst offender since I packed clothes I never wore, food we never ate, and
a recently purchased solar panel to charge devices I never used. 

Finally we're on the river, which meanders through agricultural flat land for several miles before squeezing into scenic canyons.  In mid-May the river was still flush with snowmelt from the Strawberry Mountains, where it originates. We had strong currents, gentle wind, moderate temperatures and ideal spring conditions. By the end of June, I understand, snowmelt stops, and irrigation draws down the river until li's suitable only for canoes or kayaks. Agricultural runoff was evident even with spring flows. 

Downstream vista under a cotton tufts  sky.
What goes out of the raft must be repacked and reloaded, which requires
a couple hours each day, altogether. 
Sue and Ferron brought their dog, which fulfilled our needs for canine charm. The dog was easy to pack. I like that about well-behaved dogs. He also scarfed up leftovers.

Curry, rescued from the Curry County Animal Shelter, worries about his people.  He doesn't want to be apart from either one, hence he traipses back and forth, benefitting from their patience and skillful rowing. A reluctant swimmer, he fell in only once.
The kitchen set up includes two three-burner stoves and three tables.The tarp was erected because we'd had heavy but brief rain earlier in the day. 
PK spent hours every day performing catch and release operations on small mouth bass.
Sometimes I rowed while he fished.
I loved that Beth figured out where some hard-to-find petroglyphs
were located and led us to them, despite our doubts. 

Who were the people who survived this harsh land without
portable toilets,inflatable mattresses, and more food than they could eat?

 More resourceful than we are, no doubt. But it's unlikely any of them
lived as long as our group of mostly sixty-somethings.

Lichen decorates petroglyphs.
Margaret has been rowing for at least 30 years. Greg isn't interested, but he goes along for the ride. Near the end of the trip here, I bet he's thinking about baseball. 
We saw scarab beetles in most camps. 
Sheep in the John Day River wilderness are primarily California Big Horn sheep, which are smaller than Rocky Mountain Big Horn sheep. We saw a lot of them, including one that picked its way down an impossibly steep cliff to reach the river as we watched from our camp.

Our tent across from the cliff navigated top to bottom by a sheep.

Lichens, natural rock hues and a bit of photo enhancement give this wall a mid-day
glow. I'd love to see this in magical light - sunrise or sunset. 
A wind turbine and power towers signal we're back to civilization.
We'll see hundreds of these on our way to Moro.
Goodbye, John Day River.

Posts about earlier river experiences