Nostagic Foal Photo

Double Barrel Storm
Purebred Arabian filly born 1991.
(The only foal I have raised.)
She's an elegant girl.
She's my Stormy!

Rabbit Brush

Rabbit Brush in bloom.
In black soil of the San Francisco volcanic field.
Taken at entrance to Wupatki National Monument,
28 September 2010.
Rabbit Brush is an important food for rabbits, deer, and antelope.
One can extract yellow dye from the flowers and green dye from the inner bark.
Also known as Chamisa. Very common throughout Arizona.

Walnut Canyon National Monument, Arizona

Cliff dwelling.
A south-facing shelter built into a shallow cave, dating between 1125-1250 AD.
Limestone rocks were roughly shaped and mortared with clay to form walls.
This photo shows a doorway and above it a smoke hole.
Reflecting sunlight causes the blue to orange colors.
29 September 2010.

Big Horn Sheep

Here is a well-fed specimen of our local eastern Arizona wild mountain sheep.
I'm uncertain if it is a ram or ewe because both sexes grow horns.
Taken 30 September 2010, near Morenci, Arizona.

Morning at the Grand Canyon

28 September 2010 on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon.
This is The Canyon by which all other canyons on earth are judged.
UNESCO World Heritage Site.

My Birthday Camping Trip, 2010

Trip to Northern & Central Arizona, 26 - 30 September 2010

On Sunday afternoon, 26 September 2010, I left in my SUV and headed to the mountains. About an hour from home I realized my cell phone battery was low. I attempted to charge it and the charging cord fell apart. I made a brief call to my husband to tell him I would not be able to call him very often during my trip. He was originally going to go with me but his health forced him to remain at home.

I decided after 5 hours to stop for the night at Clint’s Well and slept under the stars among Ponderosa Pines in a Coconino National Forest campground. All night I heard elk bugle, or call. It is the rut, or mating season for the Wapiti, large relatives of deer. Large male specimens can reach 500 kg or 1100 pounds, and 1.5 m or 6 feet at the shoulder.

I got up before dawn and as I ate breakfast I watched the temperature drop from +1° to -1°C or 33°F to 31°F. Hmmm! Elevation 2133 meters or 7000 feet above sea level.

Soon I was on the road to the Grand Canyon and in 2 hours arrived there and set up my tent in site 226 in Mather Campground. Junipers, oaks and Pinyon pine surrounded me. Noisy ravens flew overhead and a pretty blue jay flitted by. Daytime temperatures during the trip averaged 33° or 91°F.

I toured the Rim at various look-out points. I bought postcards. I attended a talk on the colorful Art of the National Parks. I took over 100 photos. Elevation along the rim averages 2210 to 2280 meters, 7160 to 7460 feet. The Colorado River at Phantom Ranch (the goal of hikers down into the canyon) is at 777 meters 2550 feet which is 1400 meters, 4600 feet below the south rim starting point. Access to Phantom Ranch is by foot or mule or rafting in from up-river. There is a long wait for reservations for the rustic experience. Hiking down and up is for only the very fit and well-prepared. The Park Service is mightily tired of removing human remains from the Canyon of overly optimistic and ignorant hikers. Warnings are everywhere and permits are required for back-country hiking. (So they know who your next-of-kin are.) The Grand Canyon is in a very arid and unforgiving climate. I used up my small 500 mL bottle of water on a 3 hour shuttle tour (that was twice as long as expected) and even though I was only briefly walking around at viewpoints and riding a bus, I got powerfully thirsty.

I cooked a light supper at my campsite and as I reached for a water bottle, a bee stung my thumb. It swelled, but thank goodness I am not allergic. The presence of annoying bees made me decide to spend only a single night at the campground. I was much safer in remote areas!

Campers next to me invited me over to their campfire for the evening. Dimitry and his girlfriend were from Toronto but were Russian (or Ukrainian - I’m unsure) immigrants. We discussed the differences in camping in the US, Canada and the Ukraine. They shared food and a bedtime cup of tea. Nice folks!

Next morning found me at the Rim taking sunrise photos. I left the Park driving east and then south again. I visited the Wupatki Ruins which were inhabited by Pueblo people for a few generations after the year 1100 AD. It is at 2030 m or 5500 feet above sea level in arid grassland but in those olden days it was better watered.

29 km or 18 miles south I drove past the elegant Sunset Crater, a volcano that erupted around 1080 AD. The name comes from the reddish cinders left at the cone. A grotesque lava flow field parallels the road for awhile, looking like it just froze in chaos last week. Pine trees and wildflowers sprout in the fertile volcanic soil. It is at 2450 m or 8240 feet above sea level.

I continued on toward another National Park but got there near closing. So I back-tracked to camp out in the Coconino National Forest again. I chose a level site off a 4 wheel drive “path.” Built a fire, ate supper, read a book and fell asleep under the stars again. A good night’s rest at 2040 m or 6690 ft above sea level.

At 8 AM I was again at the gate of Walnut Canyon National Monument to tour the cliff dwellings there. People lived there about 150 years starting about 1100 AD. Very steep, narrow canyon but safe, dry homes.

From there I headed toward home again. I stopped in Payson and Show Low, AZ shopping for a new wood-burning stove. The basic stove costs twice what we paid in 1988 for our current stove. This did not please me.

My slow progress found me still 4 hours from home near nightfall, so I found a pay phone and called my husband to let him know I would spend another night out camping. I traveled far out Augur Canyon Road, west of Nutrioso in the Apache National Forest. I had driven past 3325 meter, 10912 ft high Escudilla Mountain (means “bowl” in Spanish) which already had fall leaves turned yellow on its slopes. I camped at 2590 m or 8500 feet elevation in a mature spruce-pine forest on a dead end trail/road. After supper I sat to read my murder mystery by my campfire and began to feel a little spooked. After all, the fictional serial killer murdered his victims in rural Arizona! Not the smartest novel to be reading alone in rural Arizona! (Rattlesnake Crossing, by J.A. Jance) Next time I’ll bring lighter reading.

At 7:00 next morning as I drank my coffee I heard a diesel engine growing steadily louder. To my utter surprise, since I was tucked away in such a “remote” spot, a bulldozer arrived! A National Forest employee was building a new road to connect to another minor forest road below us. I guess to allow easier access in case of wildfire. So he passed above me and began to knock down trees while I broke camp. How bizarre! I thought I was so remote.

I resumed my leisurely travel through magnificent forest scenery. I stopped to wash in the pristine and icy cold East Fork of the Black River. I went for a short hike (photo above) among the aspens and spruce at the nosebleed elevation of 2773 m or 9100 ft near Hannagan’s Meadow.

After slowly driving 4 hours down the famed twisting Coronado Trail, I arrived home at 3 PM after a 1490 km or 926 mile trip. Spending only about $100 on gasoline and one campsite fee (the other 3 nights under the stars were free.) I did get my husband a Grand Canyon souvenir coffee cup and I did buy a pile of postcards. How could I resist?

I saw elk (3 cows, 2 calves and one magnificent bull with a huge antler rack), 2 deer (one doe and one buck with a great set of polished antlers), and a flock of Rocky Mountain Bighorn Sheep (several young rams and ewes and a couple half-grown lambs.)

Overnight lows rose from -1°, to +7°, 8°, and finally 9°C. Or 31°, 45°. 45° to 46° Fahrenheit. I was never cold. In fact record daytime high temperatures were set during my entire trip.

It was a quick but nice little adventure. Happy Birthday to me.

from: Deutschland Ein Wintermärchen

Ich bin kein Schaf, ich bin kein Hund,
Kein Hofrat und kein Schellfisch --
Ich bin ein Wolf geblieben, mein Herz
Und meine Zähne sind wölfisch.

I do love poetry. Even in other languages. This fragment is courtesy of Heinrich Heine, from 1844.

I am 50% German heritage and 50% Polish (Only know bits of each language, unfortunately.)

My Mother, Child Criminal

Zealous Americans who hoped to see a more sober nation passed the 18th Amendment to the US Constitution. Popularly known as “Prohibition,” it banned the sale or manufacture of alcohol in the United States beginning in 1920. It was repealed in 1933 after it became obvious that it did more harm than good.

Sometimes I ponder events in recent decades relating to the sale, and use of Marijuana. I see many similarities. But that is whole other subject.

The word bootleg refers to the part of the boot above the instep. Presumably this was a handy place to carry illicit alcohol in days gone by. From this we get the colorful American slang term: bootlegger, one who smuggles that booze. (Today the term is also applied to bootleg music recordings, video, etc.)

From my family stories it seems that alcohol was easily obtainable if you knew the right people. And apparently most people who wanted to know, knew the right people. Spirits, wine, and beer were flooding across the border from Canada and Mexico without any customs tariff or duty being paid. Law enforcement had to be vigorous to try to stem this tide of imports.

My (long-deceased) family members lived on a major route coming into the US from Canada. For some reason (!) they were carrying a case of bootleg booze in their car. My dear sweet mother, at that time a small child, was told not to tell about the box she was sitting on in the back of the old Ford Model-T. If interrogated she was to tell the police that “I’m just playing with my doll.” Oh my! Innocence lost! She became a de facto criminal! Those were the days.
　
　

Mt Graham Red Squirrel

The Arizona-Idaho Conservation Act of 1988 was signed by President Ronald Reagan. Forgive him: he knew not what he did.

Actually the law had many facets but the one that impacted me the most was Title VI that authorized the construction of telescopes on Mt Graham and created the Mt Graham Red Squirrel refuge. You say you have never heard of the Mt Graham Red Squirrel? Well, that seems to be the crux of the problem for many longtime residents who don't believe the rascally resident of the highest reaches of this southeastern Arizona mountain are any different from any other other red squirrel in the Rocky Mountain West of the US.

Regardless, we have acres and acres of the loveliest high elevation terrain totally off-limits to human use, any use, even walking, due to the need to preserve the estimated 200 or so Tamiasciurus. They are listed as an Endangered Species, which is a legal term, not just descriptive.

So now the years pass. The relentless drought takes its toll on the forests of the West, and a trio of bugdom: the Spruce Aphid, Spruce Beetle and Western Balsam Bark Beetle, do their worst. Trees are dying by the acre. The prime foodstuff of the Mt Graham Red Squirrel is in rapid decline.

I am as much an animal lover as the next person. I prefer to see abundant numbers of animals and species in places I visit. If the Mt Graham Red Squirrel goes extinct, it will be a loss. But at what cost has it been to try to delay the inevitable?

Millions of dollars.

For a fraction of that, wouldn't it be reasonable to re-stock the mountain with other red squirrels someday? I guess I am not a biologist who understands these things. I am just a lover of the thin air, the mountain cienegas, the peak of 10,720 foot Mt Graham that I cannot visit ... so that a dubious red squirrel species can survive another year or two.

Faces of the Wild Horse and Burro Issue

On May 14, 2010 I went to see the (formerly wild or feral) animals brought here to be auctioned by the Bureau Of Land Management. This is a group of Jacks, or male burros. This was a group of Jennies, or female burros.

This was a lovely yearling buckskin filly. All the mustangs were very skiddish though. Not to be handled by the harsh hand, nor slow of foot.
The horses were all rounded up from Federal Lands in California and Nevada and all the burros were from northwestern Arizona.
I am a fool about equines but I managed to control my impulses so I did not adopt a wild horse or burro. Not because of a harsh hand, but slow feet.

My Ideas About LOST

On May 23, 2010 on US TV, the final episode of LOST airs.

Starting in September 2004, I have been more or less following the survivors of Oceanic Flight 815 after they crashed on this mysterious island (it is filmed in Hawai’i: fabulous scenery.) For casual viewers, the show could have been an impossible tangle but to fans it has been a fascinating journey.

Part philosophy and part entertainment, this most expensive prime time drama has followed Jack and Kate, Locke and Sawyer, Hurley and Ben and a host of others through one amazing situation after another. A hydrogen bomb? Disappearing island? A man who never ages? The smoke monster? And all along the fans keep guessing what could that mean? What will happen next?

Many TV show finales have been disappointments. I was not happy with the end of the long-running medical drama “ER”. I hope with the big budget and the talented creators, that LOST will live up to the hype, deliver a great end and a few resolutions.

My guess is that we will see the characters realize that they can change themselves, become better people. The plane crash was a baptism by fire, the last 6 years a period of judgment, and the final episode should end with a water baptism when all things will be new again. After all, once you have survived a polar bear attack on a tropical island, one should see that life is full of possibilities.

8 Most Influential People in the World

Time magazine has published a list of the 100 Most Influential People in the World. I would like to tell you about my Top 8 People.

They are divided into 4 categories: Leaders, Thinkers, Artists and Heroes. So here goes my list off the top of my head (this is not rocket science here…)

Leaders:
Sarah Palin. She has come out of nowhere (Alaska is not exactly mainstream America) to remind us of our more traditional values. Yet she is a strong woman who has a family, and works outside the home. This 46 year author and speaker is wildly popular and newsworthy despite having no political office or even a TV show!
Hillary Clinton. As Secretary of State, Mrs. Clinton is the face of America to other countries. Although I do not always agree with her, I think her power certainly puts this 62 year old woman at the top.

Thinkers:
Mark Zuckerberg. As founder of Facebook where nearly 400 million people bare their lives on often a daily basis, I think he thought up a great idea. This 26 year old has more hate mail when he tweaks his site than any man on the planet.
Jonas Salk and other medical researchers. In 1952 he found a vaccine for Polio. Before Salk parents worried about their child suffering many levels of paralysis or ending up in an Iron Lung. President Franklin Delano Roosevelt suffered from this disease and who knows how it affected his judgment in those critical years of the 1930’s and 1940’s. Today many safe vaccines and other life saving methods extend the life of our loved ones, giving us the gift of time.

Artists:
James Cameron. This 55 year old film producer is the genius behind Avatar. Need I say more?
Steve Jobs. You may love Apple products or find their closed corporate culture distasteful, but you cannot deny the impact this 54 year old man has had around the world. I want an iPad!

Heroes:
Robin Hood. Who could be more of a folk hero than one who robs from the rich and gives to the poor? Unless you are extraordinarily wealthy and never donate to the needy. Besides, my heart throb Russell Crowe is starring in the up-coming movie as Robin Hood. Do any women object?
Annie Oakley. She was an American sharpshooter who lived from 1860 to 1926. Her feats are unmatched even with today’s fine rifles. She helped her family pay their home mortgage while she was still a teen, by shooting game which was then sold. She advocated for women’s rights. Who was going to argue with an accurate rifle-toting lady? Her example has inspired many women to see themselves as equals to men when society was less enlightened. All the wealth she accumulated in her lifetime was given away to the less fortunate. A true hero.

So that is my quick list. Nothing earth shattering. Just doodling here.

Three Spring Garden Flowers

These three flowering plants are all hardy, desert dwellers. It would be nice to have roses and tulips and begonias, but these are more practical on the Double Barrel Ranch.

There are many varieties and shades of color in the Verbena family, wild and domesticated. Last fall I bought this plant on a close-out special and it has delighted me with these vibrant deep purple blossoms.

African Aloe have interesting coral colored trumpet flowers that hummingbirds enjoy. But the plants spread fast and their rosettes of leaves intertwine to form mats that are rather unattractive.

Goldeneye is a wildflower I planted in my garden a few years ago. It has formed into a small bush. Every Spring it delights me with it's sunny disposition.

Mail Art

I have been decorating envelopes on my personal out-going mail for awhile now. So imagine my surprise to find out that this activity has a name: mail art. I'm not very gifted but it is fun. So I will subscribe to the statement that if I say it is art, then it is art. Above is an envelope I did for my brother who is returning from vacation. There is a group on the Web for aficionados. I believe it is called IUOMA, International Union Of Mail Artists. They are all MUCH better artists than me.

Wishes Do Come True

I heard that the actor Peter Graves died today. Although he was famous for his role in the comedy movie “Airplane!” and for the TV show “Mission: Impossible,” I remember him first from a Saturday morning kids TV show called “Fury.”

Fury was a black stallion owned by a widower (played by Graves). But the horse’s main companion was a boy named Joey. As I sat in my Eastern US city, how I wished I was living on a ranch with a black stallion like Joey!

Other Saturday shows I enjoyed, from which you may be able to guess my age, were: Lassie, Rin Tin Tin, Sky King, Roy Rogers, Cisco Kid, The Lone Ranger, and My Friend Flicka. All had something to do with life in the Western US, dogs or horses or all three.

Is it so remarkable that I live in the Western US, have a Rin Tin Tin dog and 2 horses?

Memories

As a late winter storm approaches, I sit safely indoors and reminisce about horses who've gone before me.

Above is my first horse, Hobie, a buckskin Quarter Horse gelding. (1974 - 1989.)

Here in the snow of northern Pensylvania is Echo, a grey 3/4 Arabian mare. (1972 - 1987)

And finally is Padron's Sasha. An Arabian mare of the finest pure blood. Sasha left me too soon. (1987 - 2008.)

To all these, and Mike (Maika) of whom I have written before, I salute you, my big-hearted friends. Your loyalty will never be forgotten.

Ephemeral Lake

Yesterday was just another trip to Tucson, a city about 2 hours distant from the Double Barrel Ranch. Nearly an hour into my drive I pass a roadside attraction called The Thing? Several billboards entice you to stop for gas or gifts. And to find out about the “Mystery of the Desert.” I’ve often stopped there to stretch my legs and enjoy the view of several mountain ranges from this prominent point.

Just beyond is Texas Canyon, not really a canyon but a mountain pass. In the Old West days the Butterfield Overland Stage Coach route passed through here among giant granite boulders. A State of Arizona run Rest Area is located here and many tourists stop to photograph the unusual, large rocks laced with evergreen oaks. At least the Rest Area is still open, unlike many others that have closed due to budget cuts in these days of fiscal amputation.

After my day in the city I headed home at dusk and as I drove across the Sonoran Desert I saw the full moon emerge from clouds to make my path much brighter. Over the Texas Canyon pass, passed the Thing? and then downhill. After a few turns in the road I could look out at the normally bone-dry 60 square mile Willcox Playa. Instead it was shining like quicksilver in the moonlight. Recent heavy rains had filled it! People who live near the sea or lakes are probably shrugging their shoulders and thinking, so what? But I live in a desert. The chance combination of the rain, the full moon and me actually being there at the right time of night was serendipitous. Even after living here for nearly 22 years, Arizona still surprises me.

Eating My Venison Steak With Abandon

The United States is seeing new trends in where people are going to live.

Due to the general economic woes, the states of Florida and Nevada are seeing droves leave. Need real estate quick? Got a nice used Florida/Nevada model right here for you!

But the Top 5 states being abandoned are:
#1 California. The Golden Dream has, at least for now, gone dim.
#2 New York. You like taxes? This is the place for you!
#3 Michigan. Perhaps you thought cars where made in Michigan.
#4 Illinois. Geese are moving in, people and the Obamas moved out.
#5 Ohio. Best example of the Rust Belt. Expect next bridge collapse here.

I have been to all these states. The people are pleasant, the scenery charming. In a country this large, some movement of the populace is to be expected. But ECONOMICS is at the heart of all these shrinking states and the shrinking is not going to make it easier to turn things around.

The Top 2 states growing in 2009 were Texas and Wyoming, undoubtedly due to their jobs in energy.

Of course not all states have energy jobs to offer, so how do we grow? First and most obviously, is to make it easy to create a job. Then make it desirable to expand economic activity.

Let’s say I want to open a Boarding Stable for horses, and a Kennel for dogs and cats. If I try this in California I run into numerous laws regarding disposal of manure, noise regulation, and benefits for staff. If I try this in New York I can be fined for my animal urine showing up in a pond a half mile away and have to pay for clean up. In Florida and Nevada my staff will be harassed by ICE because they look like undocumented residents. In Michigan I find that I must buy carbon offsets because horses emit sulfurous gases. In Illinois the only people who could afford horses have moved to Virginia. Etc.

In Texas and Wyoming, they greet me with open arms. They know that horses are equipped with tails because flies like them, they know that coyotes cause dogs to bark in the night, and the girlfriend of the football star needs a place for her kitty to stay while she travels with him to another whupping on a Rust Belt team.

This is just a fanciful depiction but I think I’ve painted the picture.

If you live in California and believe that deep environmental regulation is necessary then you must not complain when half your family moves to Houston for work.

If you live in New York, you must accept higher auto premiums for deer-auto collisions. Think of it as a tax due to the sensibilities of New Yorkers offended by sport hunting.

While out West here I enjoy a sizzling venison steak. Thank you. I left New York in 1978.

Let's Be Real

I feel so confident about the mental health system in this country after reading this about the case of the Psychiatrist who killed 13 people in Fort Hood, Texas this month.

QUOTE: One of Hasan’s commanding officers at Walter Reed Army Medical Center, Lieutenant Colonel Melanie Guerrero, told investigators she had considered failing him as an intern but “decided to allow him to pass since he was going into psychiatry and would not be doing any real patient care.” UNQUOTE.

Evidently people with psychological problems do not have real problems and do not need real care.

That is odd, those victims seem to really be dead.

A Dozen Days in August

Day 1 (16 August)

Soon after sunrise on a typical hot desert August morning, I drove away on a solo vacation through 8 western US states. My Toyota RAV4 was in good shape and I confidently set the cruise control mechanism at the speed limit: 55 miles per hour (88 kilometers per hour) and sat back to listen to the morning news. Suddenly police lights were in my rear view mirror. To my chagrin, I had entered a 45 MPH (72 KPH) speed zone and failed to adjust the cruise control. Oops. So within 5 minutes of home I was stopped by law enforcement but fortunately only received a warning.

An hour later I was crossing the somewhat bleak San Carlos Apache Indian Reservation. And I entered my first freeway 136 miles (218 Km) from home at the large Phoenix metro area. At 11:00 AM, I stopped at the University of Phoenix stadium in Glendale, AZ where the football team, the Arizona Cardinals play. Last year they went to the Super Bowl but lost by a small margin to Pittsburgh.

250 miles (400 Km) from home I began to see Joshua Trees in the desert. They are a type of Yucca, a plant with tough, sword-like leaves. The trees are difficult to grow in a home garden but the 20 to 30 foot tall (6 to 8 meter) trees dominate in the 4 state confluence area of California-Nevada-Arizona- and Utah.

At 1:30 PM (13:30) I briefly stopped to buy my first batch of postcards in the colorfully named hamlet of Wickieup. I collect postcards as well as send to friends and family and swap cards with new friends. A slightly different spelling: “Wickiup” is a rustic single room dwelling built by many southwestern native people, historically and even today.

After 9 hours I arrived at slow traffic crawling over Hoover Dam, a huge choke point due to the massive construction job on a bridge to carry the highway over the Colorado River and into Nevada. Ever since the September 11 terror attacks, public roads passing on top of critical dams have been steadily replaced for security reasons. It was a stifling hot afternoon among the dark rocks in the deep gorge, but hundreds of sight-seers were out with their digital cameras recording the chaos. The new bridge has been under development since 2001 and is scheduled to be completed in late 2010.

A short 30 miles (48 Km) later I arrived at the Wild Wild West Hotel/Casino, just off the famous Las Vegas “strip.” But I went downtown for dinner at the “Fitz” (the Fitzgerald Hotel/Casino)and discovered a lively street scene, complete with a live band and a huge arching video screen above my head that stretched several city blocks, creating a pedestrian mall. While having the Fremont Street Experience, I found a shop with the least expensive postcards I’ve ever seen: 10 for $1.00! On my way back to the hotel I stopped to photo the Stratosphere, the tallest observation tower in the US. But I demurred at going up to the deck or experiencing one of the three thrill rides in the clouds up there!

Day 2 - 5 (17 to 20 August)

I got out of bed at 4 AM, so excited about my trip. After sharing breakfast at Denny’s with a California woman who apparently found me more interesting than her murder mystery novel, I headed north. With Las Vegas in my rear view mirror, I passed the secretive “Area 51” - the center of UFO and conspiracy theories and great science fiction stories.

Nobody was stirring at 8:45 AM at the Shady Lady Ranch Brothel in Petticoat Junction (also known as Scotty’s Junction, Nevada), so I didn’t stop to solicit marriage advice.

After enduing 400 miles (643 km) of creosote bush desert, followed by sagebrush desert, it was refreshing to reach Fallon, NV, a verdant valley of corn, alfalfa, and cattle. I by-passed Reno and at 941 miles (1500 km) I crossed into the golden state of California. I skirted the Sierra Nevada range for over 50 miles (80 km). The Honey Lake Rest Area is probably the prettiest roadside stop I’ve ever used. Not just the mountains on my left and grassland on my right, but the flowering plants around the “necessary” building were so colorful and artistic. It justified taking a couple photos, of a bathroom stop!

I hit the Oregon state line at 5:44 PM (17:44) and stopped for a bite to eat at a café. I’d finally arrived for my first visit to the Beaver State.

A couple weeks earlier I’d written my pen pal in Bly, Oregon to expect me about 8 PM (20:00). She lives 10 miles (16 km) from town, up a mountain road. I drove up to her house after 1195 miles (1923 km), at 7:52 PM (19:52) and apologized for being 8 minutes early. Within 5 minutes of my arrival I was attacked by a squadron of mosquitoes. I haven’t seen mosquitoes like that in years. Welcome to Oregon!

For the next few days I enjoyed true hospitality. I was escorted around the area by various conveyances. I met her friends Cindy and Dave, who are horse lovers like us. We visited the memorial at the Mitchell Recreation area, site of the only fatalities on the mainland US due to enemy action in WWII. In May 1945 a Japanese balloon bomb detonated when a young Sunday School teacher and her class of 5 children accidentally exploded the curious device. Today, as it probably was in 1945, the site is a peaceful grove of majestic Ponderosa Pine in the Fremont National Forest.

The small town of Bly (population about 400) sits in a scenic valley surrounded by cattle ranches. Irrigation encourages the rich green alfalfa hay fields and pastures full of Black Angus graze contentedly in large numbers.

We explored part of the 100 mile (160 km) long rails-to-trails project, the OC & E State Trail. Rhonda has traveled the majority of this well-maintained path mainly used by hikers, cyclists and equestrians. I found an old railroad spike for a souvenir!

On Wednesday August 19, Rhonda packed a picnic lunch and we left at 9:20 AM for Crater Lake National Park. We stopped in Chiloquin for gas where I paid $2.99 a gallon, the most costly gas on my entire trip. I also learned that it is illegal to “pump your own” gas in Oregon. It seemed odd to have an attendant doing the honors when I have pumped my own fuel for 37 years.
After a scenic 150 miles (240 km) we arrived at the Park Visitor Center and took in the obligatory Park Video for orientation. Then we drove off in a clockwise fashion on the 33 mile (53 km) rim drive, circling the caldera.

About 7700 years ago Mount Mazama erupted and collapsed, then filled with rainwater and snowmelt. At 5 miles (8 km) across and ringed by cliffs nearly 2000 feet (610 m) high, we marveled at the awesome blue lake, the deepest in the US.

Rhonda found a handy fallen log so we sat to eat our picnic with a $10 million view. I slid on the log and heard a ripping sound --- the seat of my pants had torn! Fortunately they were beige pants and white underwear so not very noticeable!

At Kern Notch we hiked ¼ mile (0.4 km) to the Phantom Ship overlook. The “ship” being a small rocky outcrop. Everywhere we stopped to view the lake we were awed by that intense blue color, probably the deepest blue I’ve ever seen in nature.

The weather was a perfect sunny summer day at the 8000 feet (2438 m) level of Crater Lake, but back in the shadows of Gearheart Mountain in eastern Klamath County the daytime heat was oppressive. I had forgotten that even places that receive snow in winter measured in feet rather than inches, can have toasty summer days.

Despite the heat, it was sad to leave Rhonda’s. I so enjoyed her home, the gardens, the pine-studded acres, her horses, cats, dogs, but mostly Rhonda and her husband, down-to-earth folks, decent and unpretentious Americans.

Day 6 (21 August)

After driving west for only an hour, I pulled into one of the ubiquitous Towne Pump gas stations in Klamath Falls. Heading north I skirted the eastern shore of blue Upper Klamath Lake for 18 miles (29km). Another 20 miles (32 km) later I stopped at Collier State Park on the Williamson River. One of the largest displays of antique logging equipment in the world are collected here in the shade of mature Ponderosa and Lodgepole Pines. Also displayed were detailed life-sized wood log carvings of bears in realistic poses.

Still further north I lunched in a locally run La Pine, OR restaurant. A mushroom burger was garnished with homegrown lettuce and tomato. I eschew franchise burger joints for just this reason: local flavor!

Early in the afternoon I came to Newberry National Volcanic Monument, 10 miles (16 km) south of Bend, OR. I took my little LED flashlight and headed down the trail into the Lava River Cave. The temperature plummeted (to the constant 42° or 5°C) and daylight quickly vanished. My weak light barely illuminated the uneven path into the mile long lava tube. After a short time I carefully returned to the surface since my left knee began to loudly announce it was in distress. So I resolved that on my next visit here I would explore more of this geologically active preserve of cinder cones, and lava and obsidian flows.

At 3 PM (15:00) I stopped at the Peter Ogden Scenic Lookout to peer into the 300 foot (91 m) deep gorge of the Crooked River. From under the railroad bridge I noticed my first view of snowy mountain peaks.

The land became more desert-like again as I headed northwest on US 26 across the Warm Springs Indian Reservation. This sparsely settled 1000 square miles (2600 km²) is home to a confederation of 3 tribes: the Wasco, the Warm Springs and the Paiute people.

As I neared the far side of the reservation I arrived at a serious traffic accident. A truck had overturned and debris was scattered across both lanes of the 2 lane road. Fortunately the driver only suffered minor injuries. A couple US Navy sailors in uniform attended to him. But the road was totally blocked and would be for hours. Due to the remote and desolate landscape I was at a loss on how to proceed. Then a local man offered to lead me and a couple others around on a 46 mile detour. So after an extra hour, and a roller coaster trip across more of the Warm Springs Indian Reservation than I wanted to see, I continued on toward a scenic transverse of the Cascade Range.

After traveling 1733 miles (2788 km) from home I crossed the 45th parallel, the halfway point between the North Pole and the Equator.

Mt Hood grew larger and larger to my right. At 11293 feet (3442 meters), it is the highest point in Oregon and is graced by permanent snowfields. A plethora of ski areas crowded near Government Camp when I paused to visit a busy restroom, nowhere near as neat as the California rest area but much more heavily used.

Then I began a descent of a couple dozen miles toward the largest city in Oregon. After 1800 miles (2896 km) I joined the Friday night traffic in Portland, OR. The congestion eased as I drove the long I-205 bridge over the wide Columbia River into Washington State. The sun was setting as I stopped at the Vancouver Shopping Mall to replace my torn pants with a new pair of tough Lee jeans.

After a rendezvous with my stepson Adam and his new bride Rebecca, I was shown into one of the numerical neighborhoods of the city of Vancouver and to their neat and modern semi-detached home.

Their roommate Leah wore an Oregon university shirt and I sadly picked the wrong school when I assumed her mascot was the Ducks (Eugene, OR: University of Oregon). She rolled her eyes and I realized she was an Oregon State University “Beaver” (Corvallis, OR). Oops! This is similar to the Arizona situation of the ASU Sun Devils (Tempe - Phoenix, AZ) versus the University of Arizona Wildcats (Tucson, AZ). One must never confuse the two!

Day 7 (22 August)

I departed on Saturday morning after an enjoyable visit with family and fortified with a great breakfast, complete with outstanding Pacific Northwest coffee. “We’re somewhat particular over our coffee up here,” Adam said. I’m glad. It was mmmm good!

I backed out of their driveway then went left, right, left, right, … on 60th, 61st, 58th… I lost count as the numbers circled round and never added up, each neighborhood resembling the mathematically named previous one. Somehow I made it back to I-205 and re-crossed the Columbia River back into Oregon. From now on, I’d be traveling east.

Weekends mean large crowds so I skipped the popular Multnomah Falls. The 620 foot (189 m) tall cascade is the second tallest in the US.

Just before noon I stopped at Bonneville Dam. It’s a US Army Corps of Engineers project that encompasses a lock, hydroelectric dams and the Bradford Island Visitors Center where I viewed fish ladders from the top and underwater. Through thick viewing windows real wild Coho and Chinook Salmon and Steelhead Trout were making their way up river in the steps that by-pass the lock and dams. So thrilling to be close to these ancient sea creatures as they migrated far, far from the ocean.

The Interstate Highway continued to hug the river through the Columbia River Gorge National Scenic Area. I passed more dams and locks, more fish ladders. I saw tugboats pushing barges on the broad river. The surrounding land began to flatten and dry out. Finally at the John Day Dam, 216 miles (347 km) from the ocean, the “Scenic Area” ended and dozens of huge, white, green-energy producing windmills appeared on the brown hills.

Near where the great Columbia turns north and is fed by the Snake and Yakima Rivers, I also turned north and left the Beaver State and re-entered the Evergreen State in the tawny hills of the Walla Walla onion-growing region. The blue sky tinted a fine brown color. Could there be a wildfire? No. It was top soil, tossed aloft by agricultural activity.

Discolored skies are not unusual here as testified by a sign near tiny Lind, Washington. The traveler was invited to “Drop in! Mt St Helens did!” referring to the ash from the historic and deadly May 1980 eruption. Located far off in western Washington, the Mt St Helens volcano killed 57 people and sent ash spewing into 8 states.

As Interstate 90 approaches Spokane, the elevation increases and the evergreen trees proliferate again. Although I didn’t stop, the city of 200,000 looked attractive.

A mere dozen minutes later I crossed into the Gem State, now in Idaho after driving 2195 miles (3532 km).
After the inevitable commercial area of the city of Coeur d’Alene, the highway gave tantalizing views of a gem body of water: Lake Coeur d’Alene. Twenty-Two miles (35 km) into Idaho I finally found a tent site at the private Wolf Lodge Campground. The $22 fee for a square of grass and a picnic table took me aback, but it was getting dark and I prefer making camp in daylight. I cooked my can of Chef Boyardee Spaghetti and Meatballs, strolled the grounds passed a few dozen luxury diesel bus recreation vehicles, and turned in for the night inside my little dome tent.

Day 8 (23 August)

One advantage to a private campground are the amenities. In the pre-dawn darkness I enjoyed a hot shower! Then I cooked breakfast and broke camp. I dialed my sister in Rochester NY for a chat since the next part of my journey would take me into a remote National Park, clearly beyond cell phone towers.

I reentered I-90 heading for Montana and at (4725 feet or 1440m) Look Out Pass crossed into the Treasure State at 9:00 AM. Within half an hour I exited the 4 lane divided highway for a more leisurely 2 lane road at St. Regis. I stopped at a gift store for gas and postcards. I also bought a 16 ounce (.473 liter) jar of Wild Huckleberry Jelly produced in Hungry Horse, Montana. Huckleberries are a wild cousin of the blueberry that do not do well in cultivation. Wild bears are famous for eating them which explains the warning the jar label carries: “Caution - Be Careful Eating This Product In Bear Country.”

In traveling east through Lolo National Forest and then across the pleasant Flathead Indian Reservation, I spotted brown bison grazing the hillsides of the National Bison Range. Bison are colloquially known as “Buffalo.”

At the south end of beautiful Flathead Lake I slowly drove through the busy resort town of Polson. Boats, jet skis, modern condos, nice. This was most unlike the other desolate Indian Reservations I had seen. Up the western shore of this vacationland lake I drove in the delightful 75° (24°C) mid-day sun.

In Kalispell, a town that tourists swell beyond their usual 20,000 residents, I stocked up on food at a large Smith’s grocery store. Prices were similar to home which surprised me, way up here in Northwestern Montana. I hoped to spend 3 or 4 days in Glacier Park so I packed my ice chest, filled up with gas and headed up to the park’s West Entrance.

Glacier National Park is gorgeous! I arrived at campsite C141 in the Fish Creek Campground at 3:00PM (15:00). After pitching my tent among the thick fir trees, I went foraging for firewood up the Inside North Fork Road. A mile (1.6 km) beyond the campground a wildfire had been halted, so there lay acres and acres of potential campfire wood. I had a small hand ax. But after laboriously chopping one small log and attracting the neighborhood mosquitoes, I altered strategy and picked up only small fuel wood. Ferns, flowers and mosses grew abundantly as the ecosystem marched to recovery. Clambering over the fallen timber started to aggravate my knee so I took my paltry collection back to camp.

From camp I went exploring the Rocky Point Nature Trail of 1.5 miles (2.4 km) that followed the shore of Lake McDonald (elevation 3153 feet or 961 m). I met fishermen on the gravelly sand shore. I followed the trail uphill. My knee ached but I marched on, snapping pictures of flowers, fruiting berry bushes, glimpses of glaciers on peaks across the lake. Eventually my stroll headed downhill. Within a few steps I was gasping. My left knee pain was intense. Well, I was in a fine pickle! A half mile (0.8 km) from my campsite and each baby step like a knife blade jamming up my leg. After considerable time I hobbled to my tent, briefly rested, then made dinner.

The Evening Program at the campground amphitheater was at 7:00PM (19:00) and I determined not to miss it, so I drove there. The park Ranger led an enjoyable talk on geology but my leg did not stop throbbing.

That night I kindled a campfire and pondered my options. I’d just driven 2500 miles (4023 km) to visit this special place, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. But my mobility was now, inconveniently, compromised.

Day 9 (24 August)

Another beautiful day dawns as I strike my tent. I started east into the morning sun on the Going-To-The-Sun Road. A few minutes later traffic slowed and some cars had parked along a non-descript wooded road section. I followed suit and took my camera to the lakeshore. A lone moose swam a few yards offshore. Just when I anticipated she’d reach shore for an awesome photo… a couple clueless people spotted the animal and LOUDLY exclaimed: “Look! A Moose! There it is!” and the largest member of the deer family steered her swim further away. Oh well.

I stopped to walk the (handicap accessible) 0.7 mile (1.1 km) Trail of the Cedars near Avalanche Creek campground. I felt refreshed, strolling among the Western Cedars, mostly on a comfortable boardwalk that protected the rare environment. Typical of the more humid Pacific Northwest, the cedars, ferns, club mosses, the water trickling down a rock wall fit one of the three ecological life zones that exist side by side in Glacier Park. The others being the northern forest/alpine region, and the American prairie. From a footbridge over Avalanche Creek I marveled at the blue-green waters rushing over Avalanche Falls.

Driving along McDonald Creek I glimpsed more treeless peaks with white icing. Heaven’s Peak, 8987 ft (2739 m). The road began to rise, up into cooler air. After a hairpin turn at the Loop, I was now headed southeast toward Logan Pass, and passed the Weeping Wall. Suddenly I was stopped in traffic. Road construction is a necessary evil. And in these high elevations, which close in winter due to impossible snow, the work must proceed simultaneously with thousands of visitors. I took advantage of the halt to get out of my car and snap photos of the McDonald Creek valley which look like aerial shots! Eventually I resumed crawling along the narrow but endlessly scenic road until around a bend, there was Logan Pass, 6642 feet (2025 m). I arrived early enough to get parking as summer mid-days can get very crowded on this renowned point on the Continental Divide. The only problem? My scrawled journal notes say: “Knee very bad.”

In embarrassment I parked in the handicapped reserved section, and limped up the steps to the Visitor’s Center. The view from the pleasantly heated building was incredible. I bought a boatload of postcards. Then I gingerly stepped out into the refreshing air to survey the 3 mile ( 4.8 km) round-trip trail to the glacier’s edge. It was so near. It’d be so easy. I could see a hundred people were already hiking out there. But no. They’d have to carry me back I thought. So sadly I remained there, snapping pictures. Despite not being able to go and do what I planned, it was so awesome that one could not be depressed. The green meadow, the alpine flowers, the soaring peaks, the white snow, the splashing creeks. This was the pinnacle of my park experience.

Next I drove down 2000 feet (609 m) in elevation, stopping at overlooks to gaze at rocky 9000 to 10000 feet (2700 to 3050 m) peaks holding Jackson Glacier, Blackfeet Glacier, Sperry Glacier. At Sunrift Gorge a small but powerful creek rushed a short shoot from Going-to-the-Sun Mountain (9642 ft, 2938 m), under the road and into Saint Mary Lake. The amazing water color, the rocks, the lush trees, made a simple stream a magnet for a steady flow of people seeking the nourishment of raw nature.

At 3:00PM (15:00) I reached the Rising Sun Campground on Saint Mary Lake and pitched my tent in site 30. When I finished I had to lay down and wait for the analgesic pill to work because I nearly fainted from knee pain. Later I went for a slow stroll. Saw a peacefully grazing mule deer doe. At the lakeshore I contemplated a cruise on the lake. The ticket agent seemed eternally bored as she monotoned “22 dollars” for the boat ride. It would not involve walking but being cramped in a small wooden boat might not be the best idea. Maybe next time.

Back at my tent I cooked supper. And inadvertently overheard the drama next door as Mary and Rusty from Seattle searched frantically for the keys to their Jeep vehicle. Raised voices: “How could you lose them? They are The Most Important Thing!” Poor folks.

I got in the car and headed up to a high scenic lookout point above the lake. I parked and began to write a few postcards as the day slowly ebbed. I heard a stone clatter off the cliff behind me. Turning I saw a very black Black Bear step under a tree and, how do I say this politely? - he had a bowel movement. I scrambled for my camera as he trotted away. For some people the birds sing; for me the bears crap. What can I say?

Back at camp I lit a fire, made a cup of tea. A Ranger came to inform the relieved couple that their keys had been found on the lake boat and turned in in town 5 miles (8 km) away. They were able to relax, light their campfire and he brought out his guitar and sang. “Your Momma Don’t Dance and Your Daddy Don’t Rock and Roll.” Then a song glorifying marijuana smoking. He was really quite good. Before bedtime the ranger returned with their lost keys. Peace fell over the Rising Sun Campground, which was very quiet, despite being full to capacity.

Day 10 (25 August)

After a great night’s sleep in my tent, I was able to strike camp and continue down the north side of the long slender glacier-carved St Mary Lake. I walked down a short path to the shore and spoke to a hopeful fisherman, took pictures of the triple divide and picked a handful of huckleberries. Triple Divide Peak is an 8020 foot (2444 m) peak where a single theoretical raindrop could split into thirds. Part shedding off to the Pacific, part spilling off to the Atlantic, and the cold hardy part sliding off to the Arctic Ocean. At the (east) St. Mary entrance to the park I purchased a last handful of postcards.

Ubiquitous on all sections of the Going-To-The-Sun Road were modern shuttle buses as well as the antique “red jammers.” These vintage motor coaches built in 1936- 1939 were recently retrofitted by Ford to run on propane. They are a wise ecological choice for people wishing to avoid driving the twisty road and wanting to give their whole attention to the scenery. Even the canvas top of the 17- passenger bright red vehicle rolls back for unfettered vistas.

At 2557 miles (4115 km) I left the Waterton-Glacier International Peace Park (although I failed to make it into Canada to see the contiguous International part of the park). I sped across the rolling hills decorated with oak trees and grazing cattle. This was the Blackfeet Indian Reservation. Beyond the reservation town of Browning the land became prairie. I turned east on a secondary road, Route 44 and passed through the agricultural town of Valior and then intersected with Interstate Highway 15.

At 75 MPH (120 KPH), the 22 miles (35 km) to Conrad MT flew by. I used a convenience store to rest and phone my pen pal Carol in nearby Brady MT. I left a message on her voice mail. Anxious I returned to the Interstate but was soon relieved to get a return call. Connection made!

I met my friend at the Mountain View Collins 110 Shuttle grain elevator. She was driving a big white Chevy C 60 truck loaded with wheat. Possibly 10 tons! It was tested, weighed and dumped and I rode along to the field where the men were combining. I was delighted to be offered a seat in a modern green JD combine for a few trips around the field. I got a close look at the process of cutting, threshing (separating the grain and the chaff), and expelling the residue (straw) of the wheat harvest.

Then Carol and I headed home to clean up. We went out to meet her impressive horse herd. In an amazing coincidence I discovered her home is at exactly the same elevation above sea level as my own home, 3170 feet (966 m). How unlikely is that?

The day had been hot so when I checked my food in the car, I found it warming up dangerously. And unexpectedly my stick of deodorant had liquefied! I needed ice.

So for dinner, Kevin, his father Ray, and we two gals headed the 50 miles (80 km) to Great Falls (a city of 56,000) for a lovely meal and lots of laughs. At the local superstore I picked up a block of ice for my ice chest and a new solid deodorant.

I had no trouble falling asleep in Carol’s comfortable air-conditioned home, although I did wake up once with my knee aching.

Day 11 (26 August)

After tea and cereal, pleasant conversation, photos and sad farewells, I hit the road. Only a bit over 1400 miles (2253 km) to home. I would make it in 2 days in order to see my doctor on Friday.

First stop was Great Falls again, for a coffee hit. Then I would head south on I-15 for a total of 777 miles (1250 km). One road. All day. Three states.

In Montana I passed through the Big Belt Mountains, over the Missouri River, I saw antelope. I stopped in the historic mining town of Butte for lunch. Chicken fried steak with peppered milk gravy. It is a western regional favorite and resembles Wiener Schnitzel.

I crossed the Idaho state line again. This time it was 3:40PM (15:40) and at 3080 total miles (4956 km). I saw volcanic rock again. And unique storage buildings covered by sod! Possibly potato storage as I saw the sign for the Potato Museum. Irrigation sprinklers shot sparkling water high over deep green alfalfa fields. I phoned my husband, my sister, my brother, my cousin, but got their voice mail. Nobody was home to help me pass the time. What luck! Then I drove over Molad Pass and into Utah, the Beehive State. It was 5:30 (17:30) and I’d driven 3197 miles (5145 km).

I could see an arm of the Great Salt Lake. Boats! I watched a V-shaped flock of birds winging toward the lake. Then, there was traffic. I inched through Salt Lake City. I overpaid for gas in Provo, UT. Finally I emerged from the congestion. Cities, yuck!

The sun set at 8 PM (20:00). The speed limit increased to 80 MPH (128 KPH) but I wasn’t planning to drive an unfamiliar rural highway at that high speed.

After 13 ½ hours I exited I-15. In the dark I drove slower and slower. Finally I stopped to rest at 10:34 (22:34) after logging 814 miles (1310 km) this day. The sign at the Rest Area said no overnight camping. But I wasn’t camping. I simply pulled out my pillow, reclined my seat and grabbed 6 hours of sleep.

Day 12 (27 August)

I awoke in the dark at 5:00AM (05:00), 44° (7°C) - cool at last! I drove 77 miles (124 km) to Bryce Canyon National Park where I set up a picnic breakfast to greet sunrise at Sunset Point! It was quite chilly at 8000 feet (2438 m) at that hour but as the morning sun illuminated the amphitheater, I warmed to the red rock scenery. Hoodoos, pillars of fantastic shapes went on row after row. It’s amazing what wind and water can sculpt. The Paiute Indians who lived here called the shapes the Legend People that Coyote had turned to stone.

Despite my knee that protested every step, I went to three overlooks and enjoyed the scenic points unexpectedly near a large group of German-speaking tourists. At the visitor center I bought more postcards and decided to prematurely leave after only getting a brief taste of the colorful geologic sights here. I left at 8:45AM (08:45), passing a small herd of deer snacking at the side of the road and stalling a handful of cars as we all gawked at the ruminants, rarely so near to observe.

At 11:30 AM (11:30) I crossed into Arizona and it became 10:30 because the Grand Canyon State does not participate in Daylight Savings Time.

I spent a half hour admiring the 583 foot (177m) tall, concrete arch Glen Canyon Dam that impounds 185 miles (297 km) of water called Lake Powell. I re-crossed the cold Colorado River and paused in Page, AZ to buy gas. Then as I climbed away from the river valley I entered the great Navajo Nation. The reservation is so big, that it takes 2 hours to cross it non-stop on its shortest side. It is 16 million acres or a bit bigger than the state of West Virginia.

In Flagstaff AZ I had to creep through road construction on Lake Mary Road that I kept calling Lake St Mary, confusing it with the Glacier Park lake. Though both lakes are long and narrow, Arizona’s Lake Mary is a shadow of a lake, the lower part is regularly dry, empty due to drought.

Finally I was wheeling across the White Mountains. Almost home although still over 4 hours distant. As I passed above Mormon Lake I looked down on a herd of 200 elk, more wildlife than I’d seen in 7 other states. I had a picnic lunch near Happy Jack, AZ. Although I was in Arizona’s cool high country, I remained in the shade of a Pine as even here the heat was penetrating.

My final gas was self-pumped (unlike in Oregon) in Globe, AZ for 2 cents more per gallon than I had paid at this same store 12 days earlier. Still the cheapest fuel of my trip.

I couldn’t help but smile when “my” mountain came into view, still an hour from home.

After 4115 miles (6622 km) I pulled into my driveway. It was 7 PM (19:00) and sunset. Another great adventure ended. Most of the trip I was battling the heat. It was August though. But now I was safely home, with one good knee. It would have been worse, of course, if I had never gone.