After our Salt Creek adventure in Death Valley, we headed to a place called Sidewinder Canyon.
This is the view looking back across the valley before we headed on foot up the canyon. The Valley. Death Valley.
That crack in the wall is our destination.
Looking ahead.
Looking back.
Trail Guy helped me up the steep steps.
Then we reached a wall. Time to head back.
To be continued. . .
We were able to pack many sights and sites into a short visit to Death Valley.
When our friend got off work, we headed to a place called Salt Creek. Someone told us that it gets really interesting if you go beyond the boardwalk.
This place is just so weird.
We walked across the salt fields, which were wet in some places.
So wet in surprising places that sometimes one sinks in and must crawl out, while trying to stand up but laughing too much to find a foothold. (And my friend was laughing too, but she took photos instead of helping me out!)
And this is why people are advised to stay on the boardwalks.
No worries – I just scrubbed up in the salty creek (and then rinsed the salt out of my shoes later). It was worth the hearty laugh.
We visited a mine next. I forgot the name but remember that it was in operation from 1904-1917 and produced a pile of gold.
It had a tramline like the one in Mineral King, but I didn’t feel like climbing up to it. (My shoes were wet.)
To be continued. .
The first morning we were in Death Valley, our friend was working, so we took a walk to one of the many abandoned cabins, this one about a mile above her house. We saw it a year ago and found it interesting enough to visit again.
Our friend told us there are probably 100 or more such cabins in Death Valley. I find that fascinating (but no, there won’t be a book by me about this.)
As usual, my attention went right to the shiny and colorful object among all the variations of browns and grays on the rocky ground.
The cabin was located near a water source. We headed down to see it because we spotted some wildflowers, called Bitter Brush.
Of course we went off trail, which makes me a bit nervous in the desert where everything is designed to kill or poison you.
There are an infinite number of places where people used to fling their trash, now called “can dumps”, which got me thinking that the entire park is now a Can’t Dump kind of place.
To be continued. . .
Oh boy, there she goes again, rambling on about another trip instead of showing us what it is to be an artist in Central California. Well, artists have to take field trips for new sights and locations; it fuels creativity (so I’ve read).
We went to Death Valley to visit a dear friend. The desert doesn’t really appeal to me with all its dry brownness, but this is a very dear friend and visiting her makes this weirdly wonderful place appealing. Because of her, we got to see all sorts of things that we would not have experienced otherwise.
This is the view from the road in front of our friend’s house.
To be continued. . .
As January flew by, I compiled another list of new-to-me facts, information, and experiences to share with you. Treasures, perhaps?
And thus we conclude another month and another list of random items of interest to this Central California artist. I hope you also find this collection of odd facts fun and intriguing.
What passes for winter in Three Rivers would make a Minnesotan weep. On Trail Guy’s birthday, we went to a foothill area of Sequoia National Park that most visitors don’t know about. It feels like trespassing, but it isn’t.
We parked at the Rec Building near Ash Mt. He said, “We had a lot of good parties there.” I replied, “Yep, and a lot of boring ones too”. This is the place where I used to attend retirement parties for Park people that I didn’t know until I figured out that attendance wasn’t mandatory. The building is long, narrow, and very loud.
Next area was a boneyard of equipment and non-photogenic stuff, then the corrals.
I appreciate the signage at the corrals. (Cowboy humor reminds me of Cowboy Bert. It’s been a little over a year since we lost him. Heavy sigh.)
We stayed on the road until we got to this little creek, appropriately named Sycamore Creek. From there, we took another road that led down to who knows where. Trail Guy said, “Do you think we can make it back up this?” I said, “It might be too hard, but we’ll have to do it anyway.”
He noticed that thing in the tree and said, “There’s a bar – I wonder what it’s for?” I said, “You want a beer? Or maybe you need a lawyer?” Turns out it was some sort of a microphone with a solar powered box, maybe to record animal noises. I don’t think we accidentally uttered anything subversive.
We saw a few mules doing what mules do. Horses too. This is a horse. (Thank you, Trail Guy, for straightening me out.)
I found this round thing and decided it must be a tuit. Might come in handy.
While Trail Guy poked around in the boneyard piles of old Park equipment, I studied oak branches, preparing for my next mural.
This might make a nice painting, although I never know quite how to handle the gray matter of leafless oak trees massed together.
This might be a better view.
There I go again, turning every outing into a business trip. That’s the way it is when one is an artist.
The Central Valley of California is known for its heavy winter fog, often called “tule fog”. I haven’t seen it as bad as I remember growing up. My sister would be driving the family wagon, and after the intersection of the closest avenue, we’d roll down the window and count the reflector bumps on our road. Exactly at bump #17, we’d do a hard left to turn into our driveway. That was the only way to find home.
Three Rivers is usually above the fog. One day last week, it was brilliantly sunny at home, but I had to go down the hill. I pulled over to the usual overlook vista point for this one last look at the sunshine.
Then I looked down canyon to see what was ahead.
Trail Guy and I drove down to Lake Kaweah (The Lake) to take a walk one morning in December before the rain turned it into a quagmire. At one point as we bumbled along, Trail Guy said to me, “Isn’t this exciting?” I responded, “No, but it is mildly interesting”.
December was a month of random life lessons and thoughts.
For about 12 years, I was on our neighborhood water board. Volunteers are how things work when you live in a rural unincorporated town. I got on the board as the recording secretary because I can type fast and spell, but ended up helping to make decisions about things that I knew almost nothing about, standing in the middle of the street watching water leak away and having no idea what to do about it, taking phone calls from people who were mad about their water bills or wondered why there was no water AGAIN, reading water meters, attending way too many meetings, driving around the neighborhood knocking on doors to hand out Boil Water Notices, calculating distances between wells and the road, measuring tanks and figuring out the volume of water, helping to tear down the old treatment plant, writing articles for the newsletter that no one read, putting locks on the meters of people who wouldn’t pay their water bill, removing the locks when they decided to pay.
It was hard. I learned a lot and made friends with the other board members, 2 benefits from the experience.
Two years ago I resigned. Meanwhile, I would walk past the treatment plant and think about how nice it would be to have a mural on the doors.
Now that I have recovered from being water boarded, I want to give the gift of a mural to the current water board members and the entire neighborhood.
It took two years to decide what to paint. I used a card I drew back in 2001 of a made-up river scene, complete with Alta Peak and Moro Rock. This meant guessing the colors, and stretching things a bit.
To Be continued. . .