RIDING AMTRAK

For our honeymoon Celia and I took the Amtrak train from Eugene to Seattle to visit her older daughter in October of 2000.   Over the years that followed we took it three or four more times to Seattle.   It was always an adventure and usually never on time.   The trip from Eugene to Seattle involved 9 stops, including a 20 minute layover in Portland to switch trains.   Since the rail lines are own by freight trains, such as Union Pacific and Burlington Northern/Santa Fe,  Amtrak had to yield to freight traffic and sometimes that involved sitting on a siding waiting for the freight trains to go by.   It usually was a six or seven hour train ride depending on stops for freight trains, which is about the same amount of time it takes to drive it.   The big difference was no stress from driving and the biggest thrill was looking out the train window and seeing all those poor souls stuck in bumper to bumper traffic on the Tacoma/Seattle freeways.  

THE HOLIDAY FOG

 Lately the fog has been formidable.   The other night I was visiting with friends in Oakland.    It was about 9 pm when I started my way home through dense fog.   Oakland is a small town with most of its streets going north and south and east and west.    My intended route home was to take a street west turn north on old highway 99, cross the Calapooya Creek bridge and take the Green Valley Road home.   At this time of night there is never any traffic on this route so it is considered a safe drive.    Driving west in Oakland I somehow missed seeing the stop sign where I would turn north on highway 99 and ended up on a dead end gravel road near the railroad tracks.    While turning around I had the fear of getting stuck not knowing what the ground was like off of this little gravel road.   Miraculously I made it to highway 99 and it took a half hour to finally get home through the dense fog.   When I arrived home I discovered my black cat was on the roof .  I had left the ladder up on the deck to apply moss killer and the cat had climbed it but would not come back down without my assistance.   After putting gloves on and climbing the ladder I grabbed the cat and got her down without a catastrophe.   Felt like a survivor at the end of this day. 

THE OLD MAN AND HIS DOG

Recently I went to the Oregon coast to visit my daughter and her family near Waldport where they had rented a beach house.    One morning we went to Seal Rock beach at low tide to explore all the tide pools and the creatures that live there.   There is a moderately steep trail from the parking lot going down hill to the beach.   Once we made it down to the beach I looked back up the trail to see an older man with his small dog on a leash coming down behind us.   I would guess he was around 80 years of age and very attached to his dog as he waved at me.   I waved back as we went down to the exposed rocks covered with muscles and all types of barnacles.   I noticed the old man walking on the upper beach playing with his dog now off the leash running around freely.    About an half hour later he made his way slowly back up the trial with his dog and disappeared into the forest leading to the parking lot.   I wondered if he was traveling in a motorhome, or lived nearby and if he had any family?     Sadly I suspect that dog was his family.   

THE END OF A LONG WINTER

Yesterday I made the drive to Eugene to close Celia's credit union account and distribute the remaining funds to her two daughters.   On my return trip I left the freeway at Creswell and drove east on Cloverdale Road, then turned south onto to Sears Road which goes along the eastside of the Coast Fork of the Willamette River all the way to the Row River Road east of Cottage Grove.    There was only one other car on the road during my drive.   It was the first real spring-like day this year with green fields, cattle grazing in lush pastures, old logging equipment in a field now overgrown with blackberries, the old Hemmenway Dairy now with vacant barns and the other scattered farms along this 12 mile route.  Driving this route was like going back 30 years when I worked for the Forest Service on the Cottage Grove Ranger District with all the log truck traffic delivering their loads to all the mills in the vicinity that are gone now, the smell of the manure from the dairy, and the many Sunday drives that Celia and I made on this road when we lived in Cottage Grove, especially to the Cloverdale Chapel on October 7, 2000 to get married.  Yesterday was a good day and I do believe this long winter is over. 

A COLD MORNING

So far this is the coldest morning this winter at 22 degrees.    The coldest I have recorded here is 9 degrees.   The coldest place I have ever been was at Fall River Mills in northern California in the winter of 1972 when it was minus 25.  A few of us went over there from Orleans to go duck hunting and stayed in an old ranch house with a gas heater.    When we went outside to hunt we could only stay outside for 20 minutes before our noses started to go numb.   By noon we called it a day and went in to Fall River Mills to get something to eat at a restaurant.  The high for the day was zero as we started the long drive back to Orleans with no ducks.     

HOOPA BLUFFS

 Of all the highways and roads I have traveled the most dangerous I can recall is California State Highway 96 between Hoopa Valley and Weitchpec, where the Trinity River meets the Klamath River.   A section of this portion is called the Hoopa Bluffs where there is a vertical rock face above the highway and a vertical drop of a few hundred feet straight down to the Trinity River.  There was a series of curves through this section with a few guard rails in some spots.   Beyond the guard rails it was straight down to the river.

When I lived and worked for Forest Service in Orleans between 1971 to 1977 it was necessary to travel this highway to seek medical attention at a clinic in Hoopa Valley or do serious shopping in the big cities of Arcata and Eureka, or just to get away to enjoy the civilized world.   On many return trips it was dark and without knowledge of this section could prove to be fatal.   If you missed a curve here there was no time for prayer as you plunged toward the river below.  

THE BUS ISSUE

The Lane Transit District (LTD) went as far south of Eugene as Creswell in the 1990's.  Some people in Cottage Grove car pooled to Creswell to catch the bus into Eugene, mostly students attending Lane Community College or the University of Oregon and some people working in Eugene not wanting to deal with parking problems.   The business community of Cottage Grove was against extending the district to Cottage Grove in fear that people would do more shopping in Eugene, plus they did not want to pay the .05% business tax to support the bus.    The issue was put to the voters of Cottage Grove and the business community campaigned against it telling voters they would be taxed and how business would decline locally with people doing more shopping in Eugene.   At the time LTD had routes to McKenzie Bridge, 50 miles up the McKenzie River Highway, Junction City and Veneta all supported by local businesses along those routes.   Finally the voters approved extending the transit district to Cottage Grove.   In the end nobody went out of business and there was no space taken up in the bus by shoppers bringing sheets of plywood, yard equipment, appliances or furniture back from Eugene on the bus.   Just passengers with their back packs, brief cases and lunch bags.  

FLOATING THE ROGUE RIVER

Allen Wilson was a neighbor and friend when we lived on Hunter Creek outside of Gold Beach in the 1980's.   He had been a river guide on the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon and few other rivers, including the Rogue River.   To float the Wild and Scenic section of the Rogue River requires a permit between May and October, and sometimes you need to apply a year in advance for the time period you want.   The permit covers a certain number of people in the group and I don't remember the limit.    Allen had a permit for a summer float trip and asked me if I would be interested in going since he had a vacancy in their permit.   The reason for the permit was to insure each party of a place to camp, since there is only so many sand bars available in the wild and scenic portion to spend the night, plus try to make it a wilderness experience without bumper to bumper traffic going down the river.   The permit required all trash and human waste to be removed.  Allen had a bucket that we used to deposit our daily waste into after placing it in plastic bags.   To go up behind a rock to do our business we could see toilet paper and more behind every big rock.   During the high water in the winter all this got flushed down river.  No wonder it was common to get giardia from the Gold Beach water source.   

To start the trip we had to drive over Bear Camp Road toward Grants Pass and check in at the BLM Visitor Center at Rand to be issued a permit to be displayed on the raft.   It was a 3 or 4 day trip down to Foster Bar where we ended our trip.   Allen knew the rough rapids and where we had to pull the raft from the river and portage around, such as Black Bar falls.   On our second or third day we reached the Rogue River Ranch, a national historic site at Marial administered by BLM.   We spent a few hours looking at the ranch and the old house, used as a museum as  I recall.   There is a BLM road coming into the ranch from the north.  Beyond Marial we entered the Siskiyou National Forest where the old Mule Creek Guard Station was utilized by the trail crew that maintained the Rogue River trail.  The last dangerous rapid is at Blossom Bar.   Allen was experienced at getting a raft over this rapid, but many others have tried this, some have failed and some drowned.   This is the upper limit where jet boats coming up river from Gold Beach can go.   Many of these jet boats bring people up to the lodge at Paradise Bar, just below Blossom Bar.   In many ways this is where the wilderness experience ends.  

   

A TERRIBLE ACCIDENT

Baker Brothers Land & Stock Company was a large family farming and ranching enterprise in Glenn County, California.   They raised rice, alfalfa, barley, sheep and cattle.   The three brothers that owned and operated the business were John, who was the general manager, Deak, the rice dryer and storage manager and Willis, who supervised the labor force of about 12 full-time and 10 seasonal employees.   John had two sons that managed the livestock, Deak had a son, who was the lead mechanic and Willis had a son, who was a pilot. 

In the summer of 1962 John Baker and his son Jack were returning from their sheep ranch in the western foothills of the Sacramento Valley.   John was in his Cadillac car and Jack was following in his pickup truck on their way back to the company headquarters east of the small community of Artois, north of Willows along Highway 99w.   They were traveling on County Road 35 going east and John stopped before crossing Highway 99w with Jack right behind him.   Just beyond the highway going north and south is the Southern Pacific rail road going parallel with the highway with no warning lights or cross arm to stop traffic.   There was only the railroad crossing X sign.   According to Jack, who saw it all, said his dad crossed the highway and looked away from the direction he was driving to wave at somebody he knew in a passing car and ran directly into a passing freight train killing him instantly.   His car was carried down the track a few hundred feet and was a total wreck.   I believe John Baker was 60 years old at the time of his death.   His son Jack eventually took over as general manger at the age of  33 or 34.   

In the summer of 1964 I worked seasonally for Baker Brothers under the direction of Willis Baker doing tractor work, harvesting barley and rice in the fall of 1965 before being drafted into the Army in February of 1966 at the age of 20.    

THE MENDOCINO NATIONAL FOREST

This is the only national forest in California without a major paved road entering it and no year-around highway crossing over it.   There is Forest Highway 7, a Forest Service gravel road crossing over Mendocino Pass from east to west, but is not open in the winter due to snow.   This road connects state Highway 162 from Willows to Highway 162 in Covelo, a two and half hour drive over 85 miles.   Willows is the Forest Headquarters and known as the Gateway to the Mendocino National Forest.   Hard to believe when Willows is located in the Sacramento Valley with only a view of the Coast Range Mountain to the west some 40 miles away.    One of the most tragic incidents was the loss of 15 firefighters on the Rattlesnake Wildfire in July of 1953 in Grindstone Canyon.  The scar on the landscape from that fire was visible from Willows.   

As a kid I spent many hours looking west at these mountains from our house west of town and wondering what it would be like to see what is over that ridge or up that canyon.   The Willows Ranger District winter office was up stairs in the Willows Post Office, where I got my first  Forest Service map dated 1956.    The District had a summer ranger station at Alder Springs about 45 miles up in the mountains from Willows.    I studied that map until I almost had it memorized.  There were place names on the map that I wanted to explore--Hokey Pokey Ridge, Snow Mountain, Hays Place, Plaskett Meadows, Keller Lake, Jenks Place, Log Springs Guard Station and many more.  

As teenagers a friend and I drove around the Forest in one of my dad's farm pickups exploring different places on that forest map.    We spent 3 or 4 days driving around on forest roads with a 50 gallon barrel of gas with a pump in the pick up bed to keep us going, along with camping gear.   I don't recall seeing many other vehicles, except a Forest Service employee checking camp fires in a campground.   We went as far west as Mendocino Pass and drove more roads than I can remember.    In the summer of 1962 we backpacked four days through the Yolla Bolly Middle Eel Wilderness Area after my dad dropped us off at a trailhead at a place called Brown's Camp.   From there we hiked to a small lake near South Yolla Bolly Mountain.   The second night was with the fire lookout on Hammerhorn Mountain, and from there down to Elk Lake for a night before hiking out of the wilderness to a Forest Service road where we caught a ride with a Forest Service road engineer to a logging camp where we spent a night.  The next day we caught a ride on a logging truck to Paskenta where one of our parents picked us up.  

Over the last few years most of this Forest has been destroyed from catastrophic wildfires, including summer home tracks, campgrounds, Forest Service guard stations, many road signs and other improvements.  The Willows Ranger District no longer exist and was combined with two other Districts of the five original Districts over the years.   Today there is only three ranger districts and the Forest I once was familiar with is gone, except for the memories.    

MY DOG HERMAN

 This was my dog Herman when I lived in Orleans from 1971-77.    He was part Chow and not sure what else, mostly All-American mutt.   I found him as a puppy walking along Highway 96 near Somes Bar.   Later I was told he my have come from a litter of dogs belonging to an Indian family living in that area.   Herman would go to work with me up until the Forest Service put an end to dogs going to work with employees, maybe in 1973-74.  When Christine and I married in 1975, Herman join the family, along with Christine's two dogs.   Herman went with me on many backpacking trips and always in my pickup on road trips.  He became a bad influence on Christine's dogs at times leading them in to trouble now and then.  

On one of our monthly shopping trips to Eureka we left the dogs in the back of the pickup, which had a camper shell on it with open screen windows.   The store we were shopping at was called Bazar's, a large department store with groceries, clothing, hardware and sporting equipment.   While we were in the center of the store we could hear people laughing and gasping as all three of our dogs were coming toward us in the aisle we were in.   The dogs had ripped open one of the screen windows, got scent of our trail, somehow entered through automatic sliding door into the store and followed our scent to the aisle we were in.   It was Herman leading the way as all three dogs were happy to have found us.    

THE TRINITY ALPS

With all the grim news lately I have resorted to getting lost in some old books I  have on places we backpacked into many years ago.   One place that stands out is the Trinity Alps Wilderness Area in northern California.   A hiking and backpacking guide book titled,  "The Trinity Alps" by Luther Linkhart describes 29 trips in to this wilderness area.   In the beginning of his book he describes the natural history and the human history of the Trinity Alps.  He gives directions from state highways to Forest Service Roads to trial heads, land marks to look for, how trails follow streams, ridges, what lakes are accessible from what trials and where side trails go.   He tells of old mining claims, provides pictures of mining equipment and cabins that remain from the gold mining days going back to the 1850's.    There is a story about George Jorstad, who built a cabin in 1937 on his claim and remained there until 1983 when he was over 80 years of age.   The cabin still remains, along with few other others.   During the 1970's the northwestern portion the wilderness area was under the control of marijuana growers that threaten hikers and Forest Service personnel.   The public was advised to stay out that area as many growers were armed and dangerous.   In the 1980's law enforcement agencies went in to clear out many of the growers.  

It is interesting to retrace my travels to some of these places, some places I remember and others that don't come to mind.    Some of my early trips were on weekends when I lived and worked for the Forest Service in Orleans.    On a Friday night after work I would pack a canteen of water, sleeping bag, a cooking pot, some utensils, trail food in a pack and off we went, me and my dog, Herman.    Herman was a puppy, mostly of the mutt variety when I found him walking along Highway 96 near Somes Bar in 1971.    Herman accompanied me on many hikes both to the Trinity Alps and the Marble Mountains.  In 1993 family members and myself backpacked in from the Coffee Creek Road on the eastside of the Trinity Alps for three days.   

Many of these areas have changed due to wild fires, road closures due to a lack of maintenance and deterioration of trails over the last three decades, but I'm sure glad to have these books to escape into during the harsh reality of what is happening in our world.  

EASTERN OREGON

Eastern Oregon has always intrigued me with its vast open country, insolated mountain ranges, high desert, small communities and less people.    I think back on all the places I was fortunate to see in my travels through eastern Oregon, including the Steens Mountains, Alvord Desert, the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge, Lake Owyhee, the Mahogany Mountains, backpacking in the Strawberry and Eagle Cap Wilderness areas, just to name a few.   Celia and I looked at houses in Joseph, but after giving it serious thought decided not to thinking our children would never come visit us.   We even considered buying 40 acres of high desert land for sale outside of Dayville.   Not sure how that would have turned out, probably best we landed where we did.    

This picture is looking south across the John Day Valley toward the Strawberry Mountains.   

Wandering Aimlessly

 You ever have the desire to take off with no final destination in mind?    Sometime in the late 1980's when my marriage was on the rocks and feeling depressed with a sense of loss I took off with my backpacking gear and some trail food in the car.    My general destination was the eastside of the Mt. Jefferson Wilderness thinking it was a good place to get away from civilization.   I left Eugene on a Friday evening after work and drove over Santiam Pass then turned north on a forest road leading to the Cabot Lake Trial head on the eastern edge of the Mt. Jefferson Wilderness Area.    It was about a 3 hour drive from Eugene.  It was the early Fall and no rain was in the forecast, so it was a good time to get away from it all before the wet weather set in.    There were only 3 or 4 cars parked at the trail head parking lot.   I loaded up my back and took off with no destination in mind.   It got dark on me about an hour into the hike, so I just got out my sleeping bag and slept on the trail.   Early the next morning I made my way to Cabot Lake and noticed some people on the other side of the lake.    After the lake I made my way toward Mt. Jefferson and ended up on a rim overlooking the Warm Springs Indian Reservation above the tree line.   It was a desolate area where a man could wander and never be found again.   That night I don't remember where I camped, could have been back by the lake on my return hike back to the parking lot, just don't remember.  Don't even remember my drive back to Eugene or wherever I was living at the time, maybe Cottage Grove.   Emotionally I may have never left the wilderness.  

Sure wish I could wander off these days, but the best I can do is wander aimlessly around the grocery store once a week.  

India

 This story is from our trip to India in the summer 1993 with my two children and Adil, my sister's brother-in-law.   Adil's family was from India and would travel back and forth since they had a home in Cincinnati, Ohio and in Bombay, India.   We spent a week in India and a week traveling in England and Wales.   

Be thankful for what you have

INDIA : A DIFFERENT WORLD

 

It was dark when we landed in Bombay (now called Mumbai) India.  After getting off the airplane we assembled outside the terminal with our Indian family members that were there to meet us and a friend of the family that would drive us into the city.   It had been a five hour flight from London on Malaysian Airlines.  The best part of the flight was the service.  Plenty of food and when you asked for a glass of wine they let you have the bottle.  The only problem afterwards was waiting in line to use the restroom.    Once outside the terminal a young woman locked her eyes on me.   I thought she was a family member as she reached out her hand toward me, but I was told to ignore her.   She was a beggar.   As we drove out of the airport we entered a shanty town as far as the eye could see in the dark.  The highway had people standing between cars reaching their hands out as the traffic was moving slowly.  Somebody in the car said, “Do not open your windows.”   Eventually we entered the city that looked more upbeat and checked into our hotel.   After waking up the next morning I looked out the window of our room on the 4th floor and saw a hospital across the street with a street sign indicating a no honking zone.    Nobody seem to comply.   There was constant honking as cars and motor scooters made their way through the congested traffic.    It made the LA freeways look like a walk in the park.

Over the next few days Adil, my sister’s brother-in-law led us around the city.  The streets were crowded, horns were honking and the greatest challenge was crossing the streets.   Stop lights were at the ground level and hard to see, no overhead lights here.  Cars had no side mirrors since they were so close to each other.  I never saw any traffic police.   We did witness an accident where a man fell off his motor scooter and was almost run over if it had not been for some people that pulled him to safety.  There were soldiers with rifles posted in three sided shelters along some of the main streets to squelch any uprisings by the lower class.    Being taller than most the people on the streets and a white male, which made me stand out in the crowd and a beacon for the young Indian boys to pursue me for money.   Adil told me not to give them anything or they would go tell their friends and they would be after me for more money.  

Whenever we ate in a restaurant the service was outstanding, the menus included Indian dishes, Chinese food and Indian Pale Ale, the beverage of choice since the water was not good to drink.   If there was a need to treat dysentery there were walk up pharmacies along the streets where one could get pills for treatment, no prescriptions required.    Emergency rooms at hospitals had a policy of treating anybody that showed up, the only problem was you might die waiting in line.    It was common to see some dead bodies in the streets.    The bodies of the dead were placed in overhead platforms throughout the city to decompose and let the birds feast on the remains.   There is a distinct class system in India, those that have and those that have not.   Most the poor lived on the streets or in the shanty towns.    During the nights the street people would collect all the garbage, sort it out into different piles for collection early the next morning and paid according to the weight of the material, such as paper, metal, glass, plastics, etc.   Rats were common, running along the street gutters eating whatever they could find.  Once a week the upper class people would have a street side potluck for all the street people providing them with their best meal of the week.   I believe it was a way to keep them from rioting and something to look forward to once a week.    One evening we went to visit some doctor friends of the family living in a modern high-rise apartment building.    A young boy operated the elevator and was given a small room on the top floor for a place to sleep.   We looked at his small room where there was only a mattress on the floor with a cover, nothing else.   

We took one train trip through the city.   At the main terminal people filled the loading zones and once the train arrived the crowd would rush into the open doors of the passenger cars.   Adil told us to hang on to whatever we could hold or we could be pushed right out the opposite door.   It was standing room only.  On some of our excursions the family hired a driver with a car.    The driver would stay with the car at all times.   He had a family with many children, but would sleep in the car when necessary to accommodate us.   He was invited into a restaurant to eat with us once I remember.   At the end of his service we tipped him generously for being so loyal.    He was very pleased and grateful. 

On our departure from the airport I had to use the restroom while waiting for the plane.   Two men followed me into the restroom and asked if I had any Indian money.    I pulled a couple of paper bills from my pocket and gave it to them as they told me it was illegal to take Indian currency out of the country.    They were not in any uniforms and I suspect they made a habit out of asking foreigners for Indian money before leaving the country.    There was a sense of relief when we boarded the plane and in many ways I felt like a survivor.    For my two children, who were teenagers at the time it opened their eyes to the world.    Years later my son ended up taking a year off work and traveled around the world with his wife on their honeymoon.   My daughter went to Brazil for a year as an exchange student, spent part of a year living in Guatemala and traveled Europe.    For me it made me appreciate what we have in this country and how fortunate we are.

The Stranger from Heaven

Got up to 98 this afternoon, too hot to be outside, so more writing.   This story is taken from a writing exercise with the group 40 Days and 40 Writes I was with last year.   Some of you may have seen this before

In the late summer and early fall of 1997 I drove from Oregon to Indiana to visit a sister.  On my return trip I wanted to take a few extra days to see some historical sites in Wyoming, such as Fort Laramie and South Pass, where the Oregon Trail crossed the Rocky Mountains.   While driving past Lander, Wyoming it started snowing hard and when I got to the junction of the highway to go over South Pass the gate was closed due to the snow.   I had no choice, except to stay on the main highway and get back to I-80 at Rawlins.   This involved going over a mountain pass called Muddy Gap, elevation 6000 feet.  Tire chains were required which I put on my front wheel drive Ford Escort and proceeded on as the snow started blowing, making visibility difficult, if not impossible.  There was a truck I could see that had gone off the road and not much traffic after that.   Almost to the top of the summit I could feel the car slipping and losing traction.   I stopped and noticed the right front chain was gone.   It was cold and visibility was not much beyond 50 feet with blowing snow.   All of a sudden a man in an old Jeep pulled up behind me.  He had a cowboy hat on and wearing a Levi jacket and in one hand he had my tire chain.  With a big smile he asked, “Did you lose these”?   He helped me get them back on the tire as my hands were freezing.   Afterwards he said he had to check on some cattle and turned off the highway and disappeared.   How he ever saw those tire chains in the snow is beyond my imagination and I could not see any road leading off the highway where he departed, but again it was blizzard conditions.    I proceeded on down the hill to Rawlins, where I had to spend the next three days in a motel waiting for the storm to end and I-80 to reopen.  Who was that strangers?