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.