Ugh, smoke.
A hint of the coming fall.
Ugh, smoke.
Sierra Gentian just don’t photograph worth a hoot, but they are truly striking, and always appear at a spring between the pack station and Crystal Creek in August.
Trail Guy pointed out the marmot sunning on the rock. I asked him how he knew that it was alive, so he tossed a rock, and the marmot raised his head.
Ugh, smoke.
Almost 3 weeks ago, there was a thunder and lightning storm in Mineral King. A lightning strike started a fire, and it looked as if it would be quick to suppress the thing.
Being somewhat cynical, perhaps because we’ve lived through the “easy to suppress” lightning strikes in 2020 and 2021, I had my doubts that the various agencies would be in agreement and just squash that thing.
While driving home from Salem one week later, I received texts from friends in both Visalia and Exeter, inquiring about my safety because they could see flames from their towns. WHAT??
Trail Guy took this photo on the day I received those texts. That single column had babies.
One friend sent me a photo her Facebook feed (“feed”? “stream”? “account”?) showing 2 areas of flame at night as seen from either Exeter or Visalia. (There is something about a photo from that platform that forbids my saving and showing it to you.)
On our next trip up the hill a few days later, it looked like this:
Each day in Mineral King began with clear air, and then somewhere around 9 or 10 a.m., the smoke would drift up the canyon and obscure all our views. Where is Farewell Gap?
On the way down the hill on Monday, this is what we saw:
We also saw BLM equipment, a Forest Service car, 2 Yosemite fire people, and a helicopter dipping water out of the East Fork.
The latest report at the time of this viewing is that the fire has grown to 850-900 acres, is not contained (well, duh, because what does “containment” mean when it was “contained” before it erupted into this conflagration?) and is heading toward the South Fork drainage in Three Rivers.
Here we go again. . . sigh.
P.S. For current info on the Coffeepot Fire, go to WatchDuty.org.
My sister and brother-in-law hold a big yard sale once every year or two. We work well together “playing store”, and many other people bring their items. It is a tremendous amount of work to make sure all items are in top shape, priced with the seller’s initials, setting up tables (which often get brought from other participants), and working the displays to look the best possible. We create “departments” in our “store”, and work them all day long to keep them orderly and appealing. Talking to people, helping them find what they are seeking, keeping track of the sales so the money goes to the right person, finding a box or bag as needed. . . these were 3 long days of prep and selling.
We tried to fit a walk in around the neighborhood each day I was there, and the yards were so beautiful. It is fascinating to see what people can grow when there aren’t deer or 100+ degree days (although they had a few before I arrived).
Attending a church with more members than the population of Three Rivers is always a thrill. The staff has more folks than attend my church on any regular Sunday. They actually played a game in the minutes before the service started—Will wonders ever cease for me in the land of Giant Churches?
We picked blueberries one morning. Blueberries are a perfect you-pick crop—no thorns, no bugs, no heat. I only brought home 16 pounds this year since we didn’t bring any husbands or reluctant child laborers with us. I could have picked much longer, but our list of errands that day was extensive.
Everything in Oregon was beautiful, including the areas across the street from the U-Pick Farm (Fordyce).
Leaving was both difficult (I love my Oregon family and friends and only see them once a year) and urgent (I love home). On the previous 2 Oregon driving trips, I stopped at a friend’s place north of Sacramento because it is a chance to be together. However, this year I just felt compelled to get home. It could have been the 2 texts from different friends (in Visalia and Exeter) asking if we were okay because they could see flames up our way. (Turned out to be fine). Or it could have been a delusion that driving 13 hours in one day is no big thing. (It IS a Big Thing.)
If I’d been a passenger, there’d be more scenery photos. So much to paint, but there’s not a lot of market for these images among my tens of followers.
When someone drives the same long route multiple times, there are highlights along the way, specific places and sites to watch for. In Oregon, I used to see a covered bridge on the east side of 5, but it hasn’t shown up for several years and I have forgotten the name in order to look it up on the web.
I saw an enormous number of hubcaps each time the highway made a strong curve, the kind that warns you of your speed and tells you to drop to 50 mph. (No photos of hubcaps because I had both hands firmly placed on the wheel.) In Northern California, Mt. Shasta is a big landmark, nay, A HUGE landmark. Truck Village, south of Weed is fun to see.
South of Red Bluff, it goes flat, so there isn’t much that compels me to take pictures. The shadows on these hills somewhere north of Coalinga/Harris Ranch caught my attention. By then I stopped caring exactly where I was as long as I was heading home.
There were only 2 traffic situations: one was a wreck south of Sacramento that left debris in the road, causing people to crawl along to dodge it. The other was roadwork at dusk, where we got squeezed into one lane and eventually were driving on the paved shoulder. It was interesting to see three CHPs with their flashing lights, present to support CalTrans, I guess. I was completely surrounded by big rigs
Thirteen hours and 10 minutes after leaving Salem, Oregon, I staggered into my own house, stupid tired and happy and relieved.
Trail Guy was happy too, not just to have me home, but also to have our good pick-’em-up truck back.
People think that Oregon is green, and you may have heard it said that in Oregon, people don’t tan—they rust. In August, Oregon is golden. There are barns, lots of trees, and golden fields, hills, countryside. There are many rolling hills, some steep grades and curves with lots of warning signs about excessive speeds, and signs that warn you of your current speed and say to slow down. It is beautiful to me, and maybe it is more beautiful because it isn’t hot like at home.
It didn’t take long to get from Weed to the Oregon border, a wimpy little 300 mile morning drive in contrast to the boring 468 miles on the previous day.
I got to Salem in time to go with my sister to a hair salon, and then the beautician (is that the right title?) fit me in for a haircut. Isn’t that funny? I went 3 years without a haircut, then got one in Texas and next another in Oregon. Where shall I get my hair cut next time??
Oregon seems ideal in the summer. Enough sun, not hot, and incredible gardening! Of course they have many wet cold days in the winter, which is much longer than what passes for winter in Central California, but in summer it is fabulous.
To top off all the gloriousness, I was able to help a special girl learn a few things about colored pencils.
Hey! That makes this a business trip.
Never mind. We only acknowledge Fernando in tax prep as the vehicle for business. Oh well.
Once a year I visit my mom, my sister and her family in Oregon. Flying is an expensive and hasslesome way to travel, so I choose to drive the 750 miles. I can haul stuff in my our pick-’em-up truck, not stand in lines, have transportation when I arrive, AND set my own schedule. (We aren’t going to address the price of gas, which runs $1.50-$2.00 less per gallon in Oregon AND someone else will actually put the gas in for you!)
For some reason, this year I found the drive to be quite boring until I was well north of Sacramento. In previous years, I have enjoyed the scenery of the Central Valley, all the agriculture, and open spaces. This year I just wanted to get into the rolling hills with oaks, the way things look as you approach Red Bluff and then beyond.
Five audio books from the library (on CD, because my our pick-’em-up truck is a 2003—you got a problem with that??) were on the passenger seat. I tried to listen to As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner because I’ve never read his work. Nope. Repetitive mindless conversations by unexplained characters caused me to quit after the first CD. I switched to Rise and Shine by Anna Quindlen, which held my attention far better.
Last year I drove the entire distance in one day on the longest day of the year. This year I have been feeling less robust, so I stopped in the quaint but sad little town of Weed, named after Abner Weed, a lumber man. The Hi-Lo Motel is charming and has a great cafe. The room was very basic, lacking a microwave, a fridge, and most shocking of all, it lacked a coffee maker. (The sign on the mirror warns against monetary penalties for smoking in the room including marij. in its forbidden substances, because after all, this is the town of Weed.)
The cafe had good food and bad spelling.
Before settling in for the evening, I took a walk around their downtown. I have done that in the past, and once again was struck by the beautiful sidewalks, newly planted trees, hanging flower baskets, and empty buildings. I noticed thrift shops, real estate offices, dispensaries, liquor stores, 2 very small banks, and most buildings with broken or open windows in an upper story.
There were some newer homes on a hill, and some very well-kept older homes in a few downtown blocks. Mt. Shasta was visible from many places on my walk.
Everyone I talked to who lived and worked in Weed was kind, helpful, unhurried, and genuinely friendly. I asked one person what kept people in town, thinking about employment. She said a lumber mill, the Crystal Geyser bottling plant, travelers, a community college, and of course, those dispensaries.
The next morning at 6 (I was eager to reach Salem), I walked to the Valero gas station and “food mart” (meaning processed convenience fake food) for coffee, and the very kind clerk didn’t charge me! (I had my own mug—did that matter?)
Then, I hit the road for the last 300-miles, a picturesque quick trip compared to the first part of the road trip to Oregon. My destination was Salem, the capital city.
The bottom part of the Timber Gap/Monarch/Sawtooth trail is usually dusty, hot, and always steep, with steps that seem to be made for giraffes. One morning I walked up it a ways, intending to go to the junction.
The trailhead is another site of the Park’s neglect. There is nothing indicating what trail you are on, which could be a problem if you’d never been there before.
And that’s all the photos that turned out because I was shooting directly into the sun. Well, there is another one of some stupid hon-yock hiking with his dog, but it also shows the face of a friend who probably wouldn’t mind, but I am not putting her on the world wide web without her permission.
So, let’s move on to noticing other things.
The Timber Gap trail wasn’t dusty because it rained the evening before. There was a bit of a puddle-flood on the road, but Trail Guy reverted to Road Guy and solved it.
I didn’t photograph it after it drained because that would be ugly.
My neighbor’s cone flowers (a native wildflower, not actually planted by her) began blooming at the beginning of August.
A few weeks ago I did a little pruning around the cabin and discovered the weirdest branch.
On the way down the hill that weekend, we saw a fire from a lightning strike.
I sure hope it doesn’t turn into a conflagration, as a similar strike in a nearby location did a few years ago.
That’s too grim of a thought to leave with you. Here, have a look up the road at Sawtooth and the residual clouds from that dastardly storm. No, the storm was good, the lightning was dastardly.
One day a friend and I made the 2 mile round trip walk to Crystal Creek to fulfill my overwhelmingly vigorous commitment to exercise. (No need to be impressed.)
We realized that this is the first year we both sort of like goldenrod and concluded it must be the abundance, because it looks better in a mass than as a singleton.
We also admired the tremendous variety of colors and the extraordinary height of the grasses.
The flowers are good if you pay attention, and since I am all about noticing things this year, I am paying attention.
Crystal Creek looks kind of sorry this year, but it is just because we aren’t used to it flowing in a different channel with the main one dried up.
And, heading back is a familiar scene, looking toward Timber Gap. I decided to walk a mile or so up that trail for my next “excursion”.
Instead of hiking, I am taking short walks of about 2 miles round trip.
I thought I was seeing a new flower; after some careful study (about 5 seconds), I realized that it is sulfur flower as it is aging.
I love the intense greenery of the thimble berry bushes that grow so faithfully across the Spring Creek bridge.
The Honeymoon Cabin sits at the beginning of that trail, the tiny museum of the Mineral King Preservation Society. There is a tree that confounds me each time I paint it, and I decided to study it. It is a large juniper, with a smaller (comparatively speaking) branch coming out of it on the side, not 2 separate trees. In between the 2 parts is a weird growth, with a board on top of the weirdness.
The big old juniper just downstream has a wonky top. My friend said there used to be a footbridge across the creek in the vicinity, and we both thought that when the juniper falls, there will be a footbridge again.
This time when I tried to photograph my mystery flower, I had a dime in my pocket for comparison’s sake. And I decided it made a nice photo of greenery with a blurry Farewell Gap in the distance.
This painting is inching forward. It wants wildflowers (fiddleneck) next, maybe some distant shrubs.
The book about TB got sent to the publisher/printer and then put on hold because it needed “hyperlinks” in order to be an e-book. Hunh?? I learned how to do this, then after 2 hours, I remembered that the manuscript could not be sent from my laptop because the Mac scrambles the index (Word and Mac are not very good teammates.) This meant a trip to Visalia and 1-1/2 hours of fumbling around on the author’s HP to no avail. Wow, I am clumsy on that machine which is NOT intuitive. We made the good decision to scrap an e-book.
It is bear season in Three Rivers. This doesn’t mean you can get tags and shoot bears; it means that they are active. (Thank you for use of the photo, JM!)
I am far away but like to keep these blog posts coming for my tens of faithful readers. Here are a few photos for you with my usual chit-chat.
Farewell Gap in the morning light looks much better in real life than with my PHD* camera.
Ditto in the evening light.
With the short season, I’m guessing in the time that I am away that this stream will have diminished in its flow.
This is the Oak Grove Bridge. It is supposed to eventually be closed to cars with a new driving bridge installed up the canyon a ways. Looks like an impossible engineering feat to me; I’ll believe it when I see it. Meanwhile, I will continue to enjoy my favorite bridge on the Mineral King Road, my favorite bridge in all of Tulare County. We may not have a Trader Joe’s, but by golly we have the Oak Grove Bridge.
*PHD = Press Here Dummy. Although I truly enjoy the convenience of editing my own photos and not changing film canisters, I will always miss the manual options of an SLR 35mm camera and the ability to actually see through the eye-hole instead of a screen that goes invisible in bright sun or requires cheater-readers to see. Yeah, yeah, I know there are SLR digital cameras. . . I’ve owned 2. Together they lasted less than half the time I owned my film cameras. So, a PHD that fits in my pocket is fine.