POSTCARDS
Stephanie is one of those persons who can fit a lot of words onto a standard size postcard -- usually by writing sideways, around corners, and even upside down if she can find some extra space. Most of these go to family and friends. But some of them -- those which document our RV adventures -- find their way onto this portion of our website.
Postcard: Lazy Days
October 1, 2001
We headed east from Clarkston into Idaho -- toward Riggins, the Salmon River and Waterfront Gardens RV Park. We had only planned on spending an hour or so chatting with Norma and Stan Moore and getting a few pictures of their spectacular gardens, but by the time we were done, time had flown and we decided to stay. And there are few RV parks, any where, as spectacular. Fall flowers were in full bloom, apples were ripening on the trees, and tomatoes, big and small, red, yellow and orange, were fairly falling off the vines.
The next morning we headed south toward McCall and Cascade. The road wound into the Payette National Forest, and climbed to 4850 feet by the time it reached Cascade. Autumn in the high country is a season of spectacular beauty. The cottonwoods and aspens shine gold in the sun, the huckleberry bushes carpet the hillsides with reds, oranges and pinks. While nights are downright cold -- 29 degrees last night -- days are sunny with highs nearing 80.
It will be even warmer in the lower altitudes, so we have opted to stay a while at another of our favorite spots, the Water's Edge RV Resort. We spent one afternoon on the golf course, alternating shots at the elusive white ball with shots from Tom's digital camera of Cascade Lake. The extreme drought conditions here have had unusual side benefits, some old landmarks have emerged from the water; one dock which hadn't been seen for more than 20 years is getting a lot of attention from local historians. A benefit for local golfers -- an errant golf shot is not as likely to end up in the lake, since there is a lot more beach than usual. Somehow, taking a penalty stroke isn't as painful if you can just walk out and retrieve your ball.
The North Fork of the Payette river runs right in front of Water's Edge. There is great fishing in season, and even now there are several fishermen who come daily to try their luck. The water is down far enough that I could see the pilings of the old wooden bridge running across the river. Long replaced by a cement bridge which sorely lacks the romance of the old. I could see dozens of fish swimming around the pilings. Lots of fish, but the wrong kind for fishermen -- these were squawfish, a bottom feeding, inedible, "trash" fish.
One lazy afternoon, we drove up to Warm Lake, a small resort area 26 miles from town. There are two rustic resorts here, both closed for the season. Several Idaho style cabins (real cabins, not the posh apartments found in many other resort areas), dot the lake side. Most of these, too, were closed. I did note two remembrances from summer past -- a large pile of wood stacked neatly by a fire ring, with four plastic chairs set nearby, as if waiting for their owners to come down to the nightly campfire. And, in the campground area, on the ground near the table of campsite 12, was a child's fishing pole. It had probably been set on top of the car and forgotten when the family went home.
One half of the campground was still open, although there were only two campers in the 20 or so spaces. A US Forest Service campground, the spaces were level, long enough for any rig, and widely spaced from each other -- even full, there would be plenty of space for each rig. For 15 minutes or so, we sat on the warm rocks quietly enjoying the afternoon. Missy looked for squirrels; I smelled the scent of pine trees, and just about fell asleep.
Autumn in the high country is a season of spectacular beauty. The cottonwoods and aspens shine gold in the sun, the huckleberry bushes carpet the hillsides with reds, oranges and pinks. While nights are downright cold -- 29 degrees last night -- days are sunny with highs nearing 80.
It will be even warmer in the lower altitudes, so we have opted to stay a while in Cascade, Idaho, at another favorite spot, the Water's Edge RV Resort. We spent one afternoon on the golf course, alternating shots at the elusive white ball with shots from Tom's digital camera of Cascade Lake. The extreme drought conditions here have had unusual side benefits, some old landmarks have emerged from the water; one dock which hadn't been seen for more than 20 years is getting a lot of attention from local historians. A benefit for local golfers -- an errant golf shot is not as likely to end up in the lake, since there is a lot more beach than usual. Somehow, taking a penalty stroke isn't as painful if you can just walk out and retrieve your ball.
The North Fork of the Payette river runs right in front of Water's Edge. There is great fishing in season, and even now there are several fishermen who come daily to try their luck. The water is down far enough that I could see the pilings of the old wooden bridge running across the river. Long replaced by a cement bridge which sorely lacks the romance of the old. I could see dozens of fish swimming around the pilings. Lots of fish, but the ones you could see were the wrong kind for fishermen -- these were squawfish, a bottom feeding, inedible, "trash" fish.
One lazy afternoon, we drove up to Warm Lake, a small resort area 26 miles from town. There are two rustic resorts here, both closed for the season. Several Idaho style cabins (real cabins, not the posh apartments found in many other resort areas), dot the lake side. Most of these, too, were closed. I did note two remembrances from summer past -- a large pile of wood stacked neatly by a fire ring, with four plastic chairs set nearby, as if waiting for their owners to come down to the nightly campfire. And, in the campground area, on the ground near the table of campsite 12, was a child's fishing pole. It had probably been set on top of the car and forgotten when the family went home.
One half of the campground was still open, although there were only two campers in the 20 or so spaces. A US Forest Service campground, the spaces were level, long enough for any rig, and widely spaced from each other -- even full, there would be plenty of space for each rig. For 15 minutes or so, we sat on the warm rocks quietly enjoying the afternoon. Missy looked for squirrels; I smelled the scent of pine trees, and just about fell asleep.
Tomorrow we will be off to Boise. Our refrigerator has decided not to keep things as cool as it should; intolerable behavior for a refrigerator. Tom looked up the Dometic web page to find any dealers in the area. Two were listed, the first being one recommended by Country Coach. The bad news was they told us they could not service it for a week. It did not matter to them that we were on the road, and couldn't wait the seven days. The good news was that Lesh's Rv Service Center could, and did, fix us up. Tomorrow, we're on the road again.
Postcard: Following the Dots to Joseph
September 25, 2001
We cut diagonally across the state of Washington to Clarkston, to one of our favorite spots, Granite Lake RV Resort. We got a site right on the river where we could watch the steelhead fishermen, and the excursion boats taking tourists up into Hells Canyon. We planned on spending only one night here, but like many of our plans, this one was abandoned.
I claim responsibility. I was looking at the map as Tom drove along, and realized that Clarkston is only a few miles from the northeast corner of Oregon. And in this corner of that state is an area we have long wanted to visit, -- now we could take our Jeep through the Blue Mountains to the towns of Enterprise and Joseph; and on to Wallowa Lake. As an added attraction, our map showed the road to be studded with those little dots which mean "scenic".
I'm not sure Tom would have agreed with my plan to stay over and drive a 200 mile loop the next day, had he not talked with a fellow RVer about the road to Joseph. "Not a good one for big rigs", he was advised, "but one of the most beautiful roads you can drive." So we extended another day, and took off.
Highway 129 left Clarkston and followed the river to Asotin. Here the road curved inland and began the first of a series of switchbacks, up the hill, through the rolling grasslands, up and up, 18 miles toward Anatone. Set right at the edge of the forest, Anatone has the golden grasslands of the Palouse country in its front yard, and the dark pines of the Blues in its back. After reading the 4H sign as we came into town, I know that there are 48 people, 17 cats, 18 dogs and 21 horses currently in residence. Leaving town, the road curved up over Rattlesnake Pass, 2000 feet above Clarkston. We stopped briefly at Fields Spring State Park, where Missy and I walked out on one of the many hiking trails. An interpretive sign said that, after only a three mile walk, we would reach a plateau where we could see Idaho, Oregon and Washington. No time today, we'd save that for another visit, in a smaller rig.
Leaving the park, the road started down, hairpinning around sharp curves, down and down. Steep hills on each side, with a few cows grazing their slopes. In some places the hills were so steep we wondered how the cattle could manage to stay upright. We passed a couple of RVs and several logging trucks coming up the hill, and there were some places where the road was narrow enough to make us glad we were driving the Jeep. At the bottom of the hill, the Grand Ronde River lay shimmering in the sun. We could have stopped for the "world's best milkshakes" at the small cafe, but their shakes were made with Schwanns Ice cream. Since we had passed a Schwanns ice cream truck, hood open and driver talking on his cell phone, on the first hill out of Clarkston, we figured that the little cafe might be temporarily out of ice cream.
What goes down, needs to go back up. As we climbed up the steep slopes on the south side of the river, we could see the road winding ahead and above us. We passed a construction crew clearing a potential slide area, digging out the uphill side of the road, and dumping the debris down the steep side. One driver had backed his truck right up to the edge of this precipice, so close he was only inches from going over the edge along with his load of dirt. It was about a thousand feet down...
At the top of the grade, the road straightened out and followed the ridge line. We stopped at the Joseph Canyon pull out, and walked a short distance to gaze down at the vistas of this canyon. It reminded me of parts of Mexico's Copper Canyon, as you could gaze down into canyon after canyon, and not be able to see the Snake River and Hells Canyon on the far horizon. As we approached the grasslands of the Wallowa Valley, I could see just why these mountains are called "The Blues". Aptly named, they loomed blue in the distance.
We have an artist friend on San Juan Island who always has his sculptures turned to bronze in a foundry in Joseph, and he had encouraged us to visit. We immediately were drawn to the town's sculpture display -- five of a planned seven large bronze sculptures decorate street corners. My favorite was "Garden Walk" , a bronze girl in straw hat and blue dress, standing in a garden of carefully tended, real flowers. The "Spirit of Joseph", a bald eagle swooping down from a bronze tree limb, wild bronze horses, bronzes of Native Americans, wolves, bears and cougars; the town itself is a work of art. Along Main Street, and on most of the side streets are three bronze foundries and countless art galleries -- I could see spending quite a bit of time browsing through the shops.
4 miles from Joseph the road runs along Wallowa Lake toward Wallowa Lake State Park. This park is very popular in summer and its campground requires advance reservations, so this fall day seemed the perfect chance to visit. Today the lake level was very low, courtesy the drought, and the lakefront cabins' docks were all high and dry on the shore. That didn't deter a hardy handful of fishermen. I watched one drive his pickup out onto the lake bottom, and launch his boat from there. The campground itself is very pretty, set under big cottonwood trees, but the sites are fairly close together, and it would be quite a sight when full. If you'd rather not camp, you can rent cabins, stay in a lodge or a hotel or choose a B&B. You can rent horses or bicycles. You can take the tram to the top nearby Mt. Howard, at 8,256 feet the steepest tram ride in the U.S. The lake is there for fishing, swimming or skiing. There even is a marina where you can dock your boat -- although today all the floats were neatly stacked on the beach. A perfect spot for a trip with the grandkids.
En route back to Clarkston, we made a short detour. Our AAA map of Oregon, vintage 1998, showed that there was a loop trip from Highway 3 ( Wash. highway 129 becomes Oregon Highway 3), through the tiny towns of Flora and Troy and back to the highway again near the Grande Ronde. It also showed that it was a dirt road. We have made mistakes with old AAA maps before, and it was getting a bit late for being lost, so we decided just to visit Flora. This is a tiny place which seems on the cusp of oblivion. Ghost town status is coming up. There are about 15 homes in town, of which only 3 or 4 are occupied. We drove past an old church on the verge of falling down, and another building we decided had to be the Flora Hotel. It turned out to be the Flora School. Built in 1915, and currently on the National Register of Historic Places, it is in sad need of assistance. Peeking through the windows, I could see three steps going up to a landing. Across the landing were two doors, "Boys" and "Girls". Some books and pamphlets on a nearby rack attested to a past attempt to raise money for the school. Attached to the locked front door was an old address book. Two couples had entered their names, the last being Flora and Ted Smith from Hermiston, Oregon. Nothing else.
As is often the case, the road back to Clarkston and Granite Lake RV Resort seemed to take about half the time as it had going out. We got back in time to see the Hells Canyon excursion boats return, in time to take the dog for her "doggy walk", in time to chat with our neighbors about our day's adventures. We decided to extend our stay here one more day, to drive up to Moscow and the University of Idaho for lunch with friends from the "Life on Wheels" seminars, to do the "puttering" which the rig demanded, stock up on groceries, all the little chores which travel life requires.
It's great to be back on the road!
Postcard: Where do we Go from Here?
September 22, 2001
The ferry from San Juan Island to "America", (as locals call the rest of the U.S.), docks 4 miles outside of Anacortes. The drive into town is always spectacular, winding along a bluff overlooking the water. The events of the past few days have changed the view -- now it is decorated with American flags. Flags on the mailboxes, on the flagpoles or in the windows of the houses along the way. Cars drive by with flags attached to their antennas, or taped in their windshields. The main street of town looks like the 4th of July -- flags decorating store fronts and lampposts. Not just Anacortes, either. As we made our way toward Seattle today, we saw flags everywhere -- on bill boards, on passing trucks and RVs. Even the advertising signs outside of shops have added "God Bless America" to their more mundane "buy this or buy that". People seem more aware of this country than before. One salesgirl at Costco had made flag pins from safety pins and red white and blue beads. She was giving them away to customers who made donations to the Red Cross.
After the tragedy of September 11, I felt a desire to hide, to find someplace where this horror had not happened, where life would be like I had always known it. But we can not and will not live "hunkered down", and Tom & I are getting back to life we love, -- life on the road. We are off for southern Colorado and Utah, a beautiful time of year in the high country. It will be interesting to see America anew.
Our first stop was the Washington/Idaho football game. We joined our kids for a tailgate party before the game. Purple and gold (Washington colors) were everywhere. Purple and gold flags decorated most vehicles -- even the "Woofmobile" was here -- an RV painted purple and gold with Husky dog decals plastered all over it. But even here there was a reminder of the new spirit gripping the country. One table was set with a purple tablecloth, with purple asters decorating its center. In the midst of the flowers were three American flags. Another car was smothered in stuffed Husky dogs -- each holding a small flag in his paw.
The pre-game ceremonies featured both Idaho and Washington teams, on the field together before the game, a break from the tradition of each team running onto the field just before the game begins. Indeed, the Washington team did not run onto the field at all, but walked in, slowly, soberly. Then, standing shoulder to shoulder, the Idaho and Washington marching bands together formed the outline of the U.S. They also formed a line up the center of the "country", which would serve as a flagpole. Half way up this pole, university cheerleaders from both teams unfurled a large flag. Next, Seattle area police and fire fighters, all clad in their dark dress uniforms, marched in and joined the flagholders. Finally,cheerleaders from 31 selected high school bands ran in and took their places in the eastern and western halves of the country. Dressed in their school colors, these cheerleaders looked like brilliant butterflies constrasting with the university bands, police and firefighters. As everyone sang God Bless America and the Battle Hymn of the Republic, the cheerleaders made the flag ripple back and forth. I looked over at my daughter -- both of us were teary eyed.
Entering the stadium required a backpack or large purse check. There will be far fewer persons taking anything into games with them in the future. Coolers in the stadium are flat-out banned. No planes flew overhead -- the three mile no-fly zone was strictly enforced. As we left after the game, the Seattle police were assisting the university security directing traffic. But the game was well attended, fans all had a rousing time (especially if you were a Washington fan), and there were no complaints about the increased security.
We headed east, over Snoqualmie Pass, and through that area of rolling grassland known as the Palouse. In this rural, farm area more flags were seen, indeed, expected. We did note two tractors parked across the highway from each other. Each was decorated with a large flag -- each bore the sign, "Farmers for Freedom". This is quite a country.
We will spend a few days in this area, then head south into Idaho. Fall fishing should be good on the North Fork of the Payette river, and we look forward to visiting with some good friends in Cascade. Then off to? Well, you know us!
Postcards: Yellow Jackets in My Coke
August 18, 2001
Even with its summer influx of tourists, Friday Harbor, San Juan Island, still retains its small town flavor. Just go into the grocery store early in the morning, before the summer folks get off their boats, or come in from their weekly rentals, and listen to the locals. Everyone is talking about the Fair! Some are telling stories about the ribbons they have won; others extol the riding prowess of their children. Whatever they are saying, it all amounts to the same -- if you haven't been to the Fair, you haven't experienced the Islands.
Not that this is a large fair; on the contrary, it is quite small. The county fairgrounds encompass only about 5 acres. But this acreage is full to bursting with old time,county fair stuff. Coming in from the main gate, the carnival rides are immediately to the right -- just behind the skateboard park. There is a Tilt-A-Whirl, one large, looping, upside-down most of the time, scream evoking ride that makes my head spin just to watch the kids enjoying it, and several small rides for the younger children (or grandmas!) There are several places you can win prizes for throwing balls in plastic cups, or fish for prizes in a small pond. That's about it. This county fair is the old fashioned kind -- the sort where 4-H children proudly show their prize winning animals, where neighbors vie against neighbors to see who can raise the biggest zucchini, or bake the best pie.
We especially enjoy the animal barns. Horses curried to a shine are waiting to be shown in the arena. Kids are running around with saddles and bridles, getting ready for their part in the show. The cattle had been judged when we arrived at the Fairgrounds, and were back in their stalls, their ribbons proudly displayed along the front of their enclosures. The sheep had already been shorn for tomorrow's "Sheep to Shawl" contest, which pits teams from all over the county. The wool will be carded, spun into thread and woven into a shawl; each team racing the clock and each other. If you want to see a clean pig, Fair time is the time. One especially fat sow had her 11incredibly cute piglets on display.
Promptly at 3:15, it was time for the chicken and rabbit races. First the chickens, each held by their nervous young owners, were brought to the center of the riding arena, where two concentric rings had been drawn. The object is to release your chicken and hope it will run faster than the others, straight across the line marking the outer ring. There were prizes for the first three across the line. When the contestants were ready, the signal was given and the chickens were released. Easy to this point, but now came the problem of recapturing them. Chickens were running every which way, chased by owners and their friends. One got under the arena fence, and it was only due to efforts of some bystanders that it was caught.
The rabbits were exactly the opposite. They didn't want to go anywhere. Two or three of them were much more interested in the other rabbits than in running across chalk lines in the dirt. One rabbit ran right up to the outer circle, stopped and began to dig a hole, frustrating his young owner, who jumped up and down screaming at his bunny. But eventually three rabbits figured out the rules of this game, and the prizes were awarded.
In the Fairgrounds building, County artists are showing their works. Not only painters, but woodcarvers and writers as well. You can view the works of the many professional artists, pictures of the lighthouses, coves and rocky shores of the Islands. Island woodcarvers have created bowls of redwood and fir, so thin you can almost see light through their sides. A new category this year was for authors -- essays and poems of life in the San Juans.
Another type of artist is visible in the baking department. When the rolls, cakes, pies, etc. have been judged, samples of the winning items are set out for the public to sample -- and they don't last long. In other areas of the building, you can find displays from the three types of San Juan schools. The public schools are represented in the School Districts display, with pictures of the various activities that go on during the year. The Spring Street School, San Juan's alternative school, also has a display set up, this one focused on computer use in the classroom. And, not to be outdone, the homeschooler advocates can counsel parents on the pros of this type of schooling.
Just outside the building are the fruit and vegetable displays. The largest zucchini and the funniest looking potato were set up right next to the gigantic rhubarb leaf. All had ribbons. (At this fair, there is a ribbon for practically everybody). Just around the corner is the scarecrow competition. Islanders must spend hours dreaming up their scarecrows. My favorite this year was a papier mache crow, dressed in yellow slicker and boots. There were also a scarecrow dog made of driftwood, and "Aunt Ella" made completely of hay and flowers. She had won first prize two days previously, but was looking a bit wilted by the time we saw her.
Each week, The San Juan Journal, has a columnist "on the street" asking readers different questions. Last week's question concerned the fair: "What do you like most about our County Fair? Tongue firmly in cheek, one respondent replied thusly: "The yellow jackets in my coke". While there are some bees in the food area, competing for bites of Gyros, egg rolls, burritos and the famous ice cream and Island berry shortcakes, they haven't been too troublesome this year. The food is certainly worth a little competition.
This is a small county fair, and it may be our last. Tom and I are "rolling the dice", and have put our home on the real estate market. Being uncertain whether we really want to leave, we have listed it for only 6 months. If it sells, we will go. After all, we do have another home we can use while we find a new "center of gravity". It has 6 wheels, diesel motor, and has been completely outfitted with our "stuff". We can travel the country while we look. Sounds good to us.
Postcards: Big Boys' Toys
August 1, 2001
We are off to our "Class Reunion", the Country Coach rally held each summer at the county fairgrounds in Eugene, Oregon. We left our Island about 10 days early, the better to enjoy the delightful summer weather of central Oregon. Every day has been sunny, but not too warm, with highs in the 80s. Like most of the dry areas of the west this year, the locals are praying for rain, but for a tourist, this weather is wonderful. We stayed several days at the Crown Royale RV Park in Bend, and we drove from there one day through the Sisters area; on another, along the base of Mount Bachelor. The next day found us in Prineville, where the golfer in me was mightily tempted by the municipal golf course. The sign in the Pro shop reads, "This course has 18 holes. There is water on every one of them. Do you have enough golf balls?"
We had a "pre-rally" Monday morning factory service appointment, so the weekend preceding found us at Deerwood RV Park in Eugene. We always enjoy coming here. The park sites are blacktopped, level and attractively landscaped. And,as the icing on the cake for one of us, Maggie lives here. Maggie is the two year old boxer of park owners, Mike and Sally Brown. Each time we have visited, Maggie and Missy have had vigorous doggy romps in a grassy area adjacent to the park, such romps only ending with the complete exhaustion and distinct need for water by one dog or the other. Located just off I-5 on Highway 58, Deerwood is only a few miles south of Junction City and the CC factory, and I thought we would have little difficulty finding a spot in the park. Thus I postponed calling until Saturday morning. Bad decision. With more than 370 rigs attending the Country Coach rally starting the next day, Deerwood's hookup area was full. But we spent a delightful evening in one of their grassy, widely spaced dry camping spots under some old growth trees an in a very private setting.
It wasn't just Deerwood -- Eugene is bursting at the seams with Country Coaches. With the timing of our service appointment, we would miss the carefully arranged, guided convoys to the fairgrounds, so we decided to explore in advance. We visited the staging area at the River Center Mall and found it jammed with coaches many of which had been waiting there since Friday. We drove down to the fairgrounds, where, according to the instructions mailed to each attendee, only coaches with handicapped stickers were allowed before Monday afternoon -- and found it at least a quarter full! These were the coaches of the many volunteers who would spend the next couple of days parking all the incoming rigs. As we drove back to the factory, we noticed rig after rig arriving from the south, obviously bound for the rally. By Country Coach standards, it's going to be huge.
Washed, buffed and polished to a high shine, 370 coaches fill Lane County fairgrounds. Row upon row of these proud thoroughbreds, waited on by doting owners with rags and mops, polishes and waxes in hand, all looking for that first speck of dust, the smallest smudge to appear on the "hides" of their charges. The coaches look perfect, and at this rally, there are many persons waiting to make sure that this will be the case, inside and out. Each rally attendee has been given a form on which he may list three items requiring adjustment or repair, and CC has busloads of factory service technicians and countless truckloads of RV parts at the ready. In the next three days, the techs will add, adjust, replace or repair, free of charge, 1,110 items, (370 rigs x3), which have become lost, broken, or for some other reason, unworkable. (I mentioned this fact to one of the techs, and he laughingly told me that many of the coaches will mysteriously develop other ailments to be addressed by the visiting "doctors".) These guys are truly "super techs". Our own coach was practically last on their list, but they were knocking at our door in the late afternoon of the very first day to address the first of the minor items on our own list. But CC technicians are not the only "doctors" in the park. Far from it.
During the four days of this Rally, there will be numerous seminars to discuss various ways to "improve" your rig. There will be a seminars given by the automatic awnings company -- selling wondrous awnings guaranteed to roll themselves up in a wind. There will be a couple of seminars given by Les Schwab, concerning the care and maintenance of the huge big rig tires and showcasing those instruments which monitor tire pressure as you drive down the road, thus lessening any chance for unfortunate accidents. Seminars on slideouts, seminars on batteries, seminars on heaters; there seems to be a seminar on any topic one cares to attend. The seminars are intended to make sure coach owners understand the workings of the items installed on their rigs -- and, just in case you would care to upgrade, well, they can do that for you, too. Given mostly by representatives of the major component suppliers (Allison, Dometic, Suburban, Cummins, Heart, Lifeline, etc.), their purpose is to explain the workings and maintenance of their products. But they all have sign up sheets too. So if you have a Zip Dee awning, and are having a problem, one of the Zip Dee folks will be knocking at your door.
And should you give up and decide to start over with a newer or larger model coach, you can tour one or more of the new models in the middle of the fairground. There are also daily tours of the factory to show you just what is available for 2002.
Getting large number of rally attendees to wander through the new coach models may have been a challenge at some past rallies, but this problem has been cured with a variation on the game of Clue. Players get a card with a list of suspects, (officers of CC), weapons, (knife, candlestick, lead pipe, wrench, etc.), and areas where a crime may have been committed, ( various models of coaches -- such as Intrigue or Allure). Five lucky winners will have picked the correct suspect, weapon and location and will win a $100 diesel certificate good at Flying J service stations. At this rally, I had to elbow my way into the various coaches, and compete with others opening cabinets to find the various clues.
Tomorrow will be the final day of the 2001 Country Coach "Class Reunion" Rally. We will say goodby to new friends and old ones, and begin to wend our way north toward home. Many of these rally attendees are headed east to Redmond to the huge FMCA gathering there, a rally so large it dwarfs this one. Those familiar with the usual congestion associated with getting even a passenger car through this small town with beautiful vistas can only speculate what the situation will be with thousands of motorhomes pouring in. I think we will be content to get a report from a more remote locationl. At the moment we are headed north, and will wander up the coast toward home.
Postcard: Honing our Survival Skills
July 9, 2001
Tom & I live in a two bedroom, two and a half bath house on San Juan Island. This holiday week we have had our family with us and are feeling a bit squeezed. There are two people sleeping on the hide-a bed in Tom's office. There are two people sleeping in the camper, conveniently parked in the driveway. There are two people sleeping in the master bedroom and four in the guest room. Missy has been banished to the outside doggy "condo", where she spends her time watching the kids racing around outside. A silky terrier (part of the visiting team) constantly follows everyone around, getting underfoot more often than not, especially at kids' mealtimes.
We have only 4 grandkids, but sometimes it seems like a lot more than that. There are kids racing to the beach where, at low tide, small crabs can be found under every large rock, and the pools left by the receding tide contain wondrous treasures. Tommy, almost eleven, can usually be found on the dock, where he prefers to spend every waking minute fishing, although his new prowess at operating the inflatable dinghy, complete with outboard, is competing successfully for his attention. His cousin Ty, 5 1/2, has become Tommy's shadow, collecting mussels from the dock to serve as bait. Jessica's default position is at Grandpa's computer, where she has installed one of her joke disks. Entering Tom's office entitles you to a series of the type of joke enjoyed by 4th grade girls. Calleigh, two next week, toddles around testing her new words. I go into the kitchen. "Cooking? Hot?" asks Calleigh. If I don't answer her, she repeats the question until she gets my attention and an answer. Before nap or bed times, I read her stories. I now know "Goodnight, Gorilla" by heart.
My house has undergone a transformation. There are toothbrushes in every bathroom. Wet towels and swimsuits decorate the deck railings. Piles of clothes are stacked, fairly neatly, along the bedroom walls. The carpets are in need of a good shampoo; the floors bear distinct signs of small feet, and every window has smudges on it -- about three feet up, where Calleigh has pressed her nose or sticky fingers to the glass. Outside, the driveway is littered with bicycles, baseballs and skateboards -- signs of a house with kids in residence.
Ten people can eat about 20 times as much as two people can. We are going through milk and bread at a remarkable rate. I am buying milk by the gallon, not the quart. We have used almost a whole jar of peanut butter -- something that hasn't happened in years. The refrigerator seems to empty itself every 12 hours or so, necessitating an immediate trip to town. By the time I get back, we're out of something else.
And we love it. We are getting this family "thing" down to a science. I stay and watch Calleigh at nap time, and Grandpa takes the older kids to the community pool. Our son Tom and his wife Ellen brought their boat up from Seattle, and have taken everyone for rides, fishing and whale watching. Daughter Cathy and her husband Greg are fabulous dispute mediators, dinner fixers and kids' companions.
The grandkids love it too. Our neighbors have a family that dwarfs ours, and this weekend, there are bunches of kids racing around the neighborhood, the older ones playing "Capture the Flag", the younger ones exploring the beach. Ty, considered somewhat shy by his parents, has developed a new personality and leads groups of the smaller children as they climb on the rocks and find new treasures in the tide pools. These neighbors have Nordic roots, and to celebrate the end of the holiday, they had a Nordic funeral! The boys had built a small boat of cardboard and driftwood, and, after the sun went down, they launched it and set it afire. It looked quite spectacular as it sailed out to sea.
And this holiday week is now ending. Tom and Ellen have returned to Seattle and their work-a-day worlds, leaving Tommy & Jessica with us to take to camp on Monday. Cathy and Greg, Ty & Calleigh leave today for their Yakima home. Soon Tom & I will be the only ones left in our house on the Island. I'll wash small fingerprints off walls and tables, sweep debris from the carpets and floors, wash loads of beach towels and bed sheets, and wonder why everything is so quiet. I know I will miss the noise and confusion, and be looking forward to the next visit. But first I'll take a couple of days off!
Postcard: From the Chilcotin to the Cariboo: The Rest of the Road
June 19, 2001
Fish stories, fish stories. Leaving Bella Coola, we stopped at the wayside camping area where, three years ago, we had watched a father and son team casting for fall salmon in the Atnarko River. Then, we had heard the story about the resident grizzlies, "You catch the fish, I come and eat the fish, and you run away." This morning, this campground was full of local fisherfolk casting for spring salmon. We saw no fish caught, but we were treated to several stories what had happened just before we arrived. "Earlier this morning, someone caught a 21 pounder, right here." And stories about fishing on the Atnarko were still being heard when we got to Anahim Lake, only this time the fish was heavier, and the lucky fisherman was headed back down the Hill to try again the next morning. In the Dutchman's Café, the Dutchman asked us where we had been fishing, and listed the names of lakes where we should have been. In a nearby lake, so small it could have been called a pond, he said, 14 pound trout were being caught.
While we may have not caught any record setting salmon or rainbow trout, the fishing at Anahim Lake was so good that we had two breakfasts and a dinner of trout. Tom was actually heard to say he had had enough fish for a while!
We left Anahim and headed east toward Puntzi Lake to spend a night at Puntzi Lake Resort. The 30 mile stretch of gravel road we encountered on our last visit is now gone, replaced by a chip seal road. This considerably shortens the trip from Anahim, but the last 5 miles into the lake is still gravel and, in the words of the Dutchman, "corrugated". We camped right at the lakefront, a short walk from the dock, where Tom changed his mind and spent an hour casting. Turns out he wasn't tired of fishing -- just tired of fish! In the morning, we heard the loons calling each other, and watched as a large muskrat swam close along the shoreline. Then we were off east again.
Passing Alexis Creek, we remembered our last visit. In 1998, this was as far east as we had progressed. Then, the looming spectre of civilization compelled us to call the BC Ferry System, make a return reservation, and U-turn back to the coast. So from Alexis Creek on, we were in new (for us) territory.
Highway 20 climbed up and down 8% and 9% grades as we drove along. The scenery is spectacular, gradually becoming more and more pastoral. Gone is the wilderness where you might expect to see a bear rambling along the road. Gone are the signs written in the native tongues, where the symbols and combinations of letters are incomprehensible to me -- for example, one provincial park is named "Gwa Da Ts'is", and another "Ts'il?os". Now there were fences on each side of the road, keeping in the cattle and horse herds. There is a lot more traffic, campers and small motorhomes, most with small boats on the car top or towed behind, all traveling west toward the lake country. The Chilcotin name is everywhere. We crossed the Chilcotin River, and passed Chilcotin Bed & Breakfasts, lodges, grocery stores and housing complexes.
As we drove along, Tom turned on the truck radio. In the Chilcotin, radio reception is spotty at best, and when you do get a station, it is probably CBC. This station has very different programming from what I am used to in the States. Today, we tuned into the end of a program on English fairy tales, and stayed tuned to hear the news and weather. After we heard provincial news, the weather forecaster told us that, "I suspect it will be warmer and drier tomorrow". It's hard to be wrong when you only suspect what the weather will be...
As we neared Williams Lake, we saw our first warning sign for steep grades. There had been no warning on the hill, with its 18% grades. Nor had there been any warnings when we encountered 9%, 10% or 12% grades along the road. But now, at the top of a hill with a seemingly mild 6% grade, there was a truck break check area and a listing of the emergency pull out areas. It had to be because the road was so long. We drove down this winding hill, passing trucks just crawling down the grade, losing about 1500 feet of elevation in some 5 miles, down, down, down to the Fraser River, Williams Lake and civilization. Down to construction, traffic jams and our first stoplights since Campbell River.
We had left the Chilcotin and entered the Cariboo region of British Columbia, where we plan on exploring some of the lakes and rivers of the area. Then we're off to Kelowna, and the RVing conference.
Postcard: Express Run to Bella Coola
June 14, 2001
We loaded up with groceries and ice in Port Hardy, readying for our day on the water. The ferry crews make quite sure that everyone turns off the propane when they cross, so we figured a block of ice would keep the refrigerator working properly. We spent the night at Sunny Sanctuary, a small park conveniently located only 6 km from the ferry dock. This has to be one of Missy's favorite spots, absolutely loaded with rabbits. She spent her time straining at the end of the leash, staring at the bunnies, who paid her absolutely no attention.
Our crossing this morning is the express run. There will be no stops at MacLaughlin Bay, Shearwater or Klemtu. The boat will pause near Namu to unload kayakers, but will not land; the dock, long in disrepair, has virtually collapsed. Instead of a day and a half trip, we are due in Bella Coola late this evening.
The Queen of Coquitlam was about three quarters full for this early season trip. Traffic was divided about equally between cars and campers, with only two motorhomes in the bunch. Neither driver had pulled the Hill before and since we are the only ones on board who have, we have been the center of a lot of questions. "What is there to do in Bella Coola? " The answer: ask Darren Edgar, Mr. Bella Coola, himself. "Is The Hill really as awesome as reported?" Our answer: It is steep, but not too intimidating if you are careful. Tom reprinted his 1998 travelogue, which recounts, mile by mile, the trip up and down this daunting road, and it was an instant hit with dozens of our fellow travelers.
The first part of this ferry trip is always the roughest. After being underway for only about an hour, the boat travels across Dixon entrance, a stretch of open ocean. Today, however, the water was quite calm, with only the ocean swell to remind us of the potential power of this water.
While most of the ferries plying the B.C. waters close off their auto compartments while underway, this ferry is different. Since there are no land stops on this voyage, and since several passengers are traveling with pets, the auto deck is open to walking your dogs/cats -- with the usual caveat that you pick up after them. Also, the crew gives guided tours of the bridge and engine rooms while we are in the more protected areas of the Inland Passage.
The one stop we made on our way to Bella Coola, came shortly after we had crossed Dixon Entrance and were in the more sheltered waters near Namu. 8 kayakers were getting their crafts ready for a week paddling the inlet and exploring the islands of the Namu area. It was fascinating to watch them cram sleeping bags, extra clothing, and personal items into each kayak. The leaders of this expedition also had loaded such foodstuffs as steaks, potatoes, salad makings, desserts, and fruit for this trip. I noticed they were taking pineapples and bananas, and asked the guide where he had managed to find room for them. "Right next to the honeydew melons", he replied. No roughing it on that trip!
When it was time to launch, the ferry came to a complete stop in the water and the doors to the auto deck were opened. Next the crew loaded a ramp down near the water, and connected it securely to the deck. Now, one by one, the kayakers brought their boats to the front of the auto deck, and placed them on a makeshift ramp. Then, slowly, each kayak slid down to the water level ramp where the crew helped the kayakers into their boat. And off they paddled. They were lucky, it was neither raining nor windy that afternoon, but as I watched them paddle away, I realized that was not the perfect vacation for me.
Without a stop on our route, we arrived in Bella Coola about 90 minutes earlier than planned. Without a stop on our route, Missy was more than happy to be released from her perch in the camper. We found a nice boondocking site less than 500 feet from the ferry dock. Tomorrow we will explore the town, with a stop at "Kopas", the combination jewelry/clothing/ book /curio store. We will probably hear at least one story about the Hill from one of the loquacious locals. Then we will be off for the interior, with fishing stops at Anahim and Nimpo Lakes. Bring on the trout!
Postcard: Back to the Chilcotin
June 11, 2001
From its vantage point on a table in our living room, a picture book tells our story. "The Chilcotin, British Columbia's Last Frontier", is a collection of superb photos of that area bounded on the west by the coastal town of Bella Coola, and on the east by Williams Lake. Pictures of the coastal rainforests, vie with pictures of myriad lakes, beautiful mountains of granite and ores, (aptly called the Rainbow Mountains) and pictures of B.C.'s "wild west", the cowboy country near Williams Lake. This book has been on our coffee table for three years. We have been waiting that long to return to the Chilcotin.
We loaded our small (11 foot) slide-in camper into the back of the Dodge dually, and headed north. We no longer cross the border at the Peace Arch x for all its beauty, the wait can take a toll on one's nerves. We crossed without incident or delay at Clearbrook (highway 139 north of Bellingham in the U.S. x highway 13 in B.C.), and drove to Horseshoe Bay, just outside Vancouver. Our destination this night was a small RV park about 60 km up the Sunshine Coast, the west side of the B.C. mainland.
Sunshine Coast Resort sits on a series of terraces looking over a placid inlet. The entrance to the small park is down a very steep hill -- it would not be practical for an RV longer than 24 or 25 feet. But for our camper, it is perfect. We camped on neatly trimmed grassy lawns, looking down at a small marina. I love reading various boat names, and one in the marina tonight really caught my attention. "Toys R Me!" (The R was, of course, reversed). The owners are making improvements to the park; they have paved the entrance drive since we were last here, and now are working on the restrooms. At the top of the hill is a small pub, and we enjoyed having an after dinner beer while watching the last game of the hockey season. Very Canadian!
Next morning, en route to the Earl's Cove ferry, (a distance of less than 20 miles), we detoured toward the tiny town of Egmont and Skookumchuck Narrows. Last visit, we could drive part way out to see the Narrows and watch their incredible tidal flows. Three years ago, we watched a tug go through the Narrows, and saw its tow catch up with the tug and float side by side down the hazardous rapids. But currently that road is closed, and on this rainy morning, we opted not to take the extra long hike to the Narrows.
Disembarking the ferry at Saltery Cove, we were off to revisit the Mermaid. We walked on those rocks so warm in the August sun of three years past, and looked out where the mermaid rests in 60 feet of water. She still welcomes the scuba divers of summer, but today we were her only visitors.
We had not planned to get so far so fast. We could have continued on to Vancouver Island this afternoon, but chose to spend the day exploring the farthest reaches of Highway 101. Lund, a tiny community (several houses, a small hotel and marina), is 23 km north of Powell River, and one of the departure points for Desolation Sound. Okeover Arm Provincial Park is a small no frills park, where you can camp under towering trees, but its main attraction is the beach. Acres and acres and acres of oysters! We were walking on layers of them, and they weren't attached to huge rocks as is so often the case -- these were just lying on the beach, waiting to be picked up. To be picked up by anyone who had a license for oystering -- and the inability to read. The prominently placed sign reads, "Oyster gathering prohibited between May 15 and September 1". Clams, however, are O.K. I spoke with a couple who were gathering clams for a family feast the following day, and learned that this beach gets little clamming or oystering pressure -- they thought the only reason the sign had been posted was that the Department of Fisheries wants even more oysters on the beach.
The annual round Vancouver Island sailing race has started, and as the morning ferry came in to Comox , we saw at least 20 boats, all of various sizes, all sailing various tacks, each trying to outguess the other skippers. We drove north through Campbell River, and this evening are camped at Ripple Rock RV Park. This park is a new find for us, although it has been here for 10 years. Level asphalt sites right on the water, suitable for the largest rigs, each with a grassy lawn in front, and a fabulous view of the north end of Seymour Narrows. Just 1/2 km north is Brown's Bay, with a small marina and a floating restaurant. As an added bonus, the cruise ships bound for Alaska come right by the park. We picked up a list of these ships in the office, and found that, tonight, three huge liners will be making an appearance. Seymour Narrows is among the narrowest channels these cruise ships have in these waters, and the park is on the deep side. Thus the boats pass very close to the park. Add to all this the reportedly excellent fishing. We'll be back, as it would be a fabulous park for our motorhome.
And tonight, around 11:00 we watched as the Volendam, Norwegian Wind and Sun Princess cruised by, one after the next, lights ablaze. Headed north in the most glamorous style.
Tomorrow we will continue north toward Port Hardy and the Thursday ferry to Bella Coola. Bring on the Chilcotin!