Since Bone played a prominent role in our raft trip down the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon, I decided to republish his history and an interview he did. This is mainly for the folks who follow my blog and aren’t familiar with his exploits. Many of you will have read today and tomorrow’s posts.
Sometime in the 1900s Bone started his life as part of a horse wandering through the Sierra Nevada Mountains. The horse was allegedly eaten by a bear. Bone ended up in a high mountain meadow practicing Zen and being nibbled on by a miscreant rodent.
1977: He was ‘discovered’ by two lost backpackers (Curt Mekemson and Tom Lovering) on the Tahoe Yosemite Trail above Lake Tahoe and launched his career of wandering the world.
1980-81: Bone commenced his first World Tour with Tom. He visited Asia including Japan, Hong Kong, Bombay, Delhi and Katmandu where he trekked to the base of Mt. Everest. He then wandered on to spend spring and summer in Europe stopping off in Greece, Spain, Portugal, France, Italy, Austria, Liechtenstein, Luxembourg, Germany, Belgium, England and Ireland. Getting cold, Bone headed south and hitched a ride in back of a truck through Algeria, Niger, Chad, Nigeria, Cameroon, Central African Republic, Zaire, Sudan, Kenya (where he crossed the Equator), Tanzania, Zambia, Zimbabwe, Botswana and South Africa. He signed on with Tom as crew of a sailboat in Cape Town and headed north to Mallorca, stopping off on the islands of St. Helena, Ascension, Cape Verde and Madeira. Back in Europe he explored his possible Viking roots in Sweden, Norway and Finland.
1983-86: Bone assumed Cheechako status and moved to Alaska with Curt where he was stalked by a grizzly bear on the Kenai Peninsula, explored Prince William Sound by kayak, learned to winter camp in 30 degree below zero weather while listening to wolves howl, backpacked in the Brooks Range north of the Arctic Circle, and discussed the finer points of eating salmon with Great Brown Bears in Katmai National Park. He escaped briefly to the warmer climate of Hawaii and participated in New Orleans Mardi Gras.
1986: He backpacked the Western US for five months with Curt exploring the Grand Canyon, the Gila Wilderness of New Mexico, the Rockies, and the Wind River Mountains of Wyoming before returning to his beloved Sierras.
1989: Bone went on a six month 10,000-mile solo bike tour with Curt around North America visiting 18 states and 4 Canadian provinces. He ended his journey by meeting Peggy.
In the spring of 1989 I left Sacramento on my bike for a 10,000 mile solo trip around North America. Everything I would need to survive for six months on the road was packed on my bike, some 60 pounds of gear. It wasn’t totally solo. Bone was riding in my handle bar bag.
1990: The International Society of the BONE was formed at Senior Frogs in Mazatlan, Mexico, where Bone spent the afternoon being pickled in a pitcher of margaritas and being kissed by lovely senoritas.
1991-97: Various members of International Society accompanied Bone on numerous adventures. Highlights included a White House Press Conference with Bill Clinton, being blessed by the Pope in St. Peter’s Square, visiting with Michelangelo’s David, going deep-sea diving in the South Pacific and Caribbean, doing a Jane Austin tour of England, and exploring the Yucatan Peninsula. A group adopted him as a good luck charm and took him back to visit the base of Mt. Everest one year and to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro another.
1998-99: Bone embarked on 40,000-mile journey in the van, Xanadu, through the US, Canada and Mexico with Peggy and Curt, visiting over 30 National Parks, driving the Alaska and Baja Highways, checking out Smokey the Bear’s and Calamity Jane’s graves, kayaking in the Sea of Cortez, leaf peeping in Vermont, jetting to the Bahamas, pursuing flying saucers in Roswell, New Mexico, and completing his visits to all 50 states, etc. etc. etc.
2000-02: Bone journeys up the Amazon, returns to Europe, cruises to Belize, Cancun and the Cayman’s, and goes to New Zealand where a misguided customs agent tries to arrest and jail him as animal matter.
2003: Bone undertakes a 360-mile backpack trip in celebration of his discovery and Curt’s 60th birthday. They begin at Squaw Valley near Lake Tahoe and end by climbing Mt. Whitney. Various friends join them along the way.
2004: Bone visits Hemingway’s grave in Idaho, goes horseback riding with Australians and Bahamians in Montana, and makes his first pilgrimage to Burning Man in Nevada, a very Bone like type of place. He also jets off to Costa Rica.
2005-2007: Bone returns to Burning Man twice and revisits Europe twice including special stopovers in Portugal, France, Holland, Germany, and Belgium. He also revisits Mexico.
2008 – 2011: Bone commences another exploration of North America. This time he travels in the van, Quivera, along with Curt, Peggy, and Eeyore the Jackass. His journey takes him over 75,000 miles of American Roads. In May of 2010 he helps Curt initiate his blog, and rafts 280 miles down the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon.
2012-2018: Bone goes into semi-retirement in Southern Oregon. Please note the semi, however. He continues the exploration of the West Coast ranging from Big Sur to Vancouver Island, where he kayaks for a week in search of Killer Whales. He wanders through England and Scotland helping Curt find his roots and spends a week traveling by Canal Boat. Later, he returns to Europe again, traveling through the Mediterranean visiting Turkey, Santorini and other Greek Islands, Dubrovnik, Venice, Rome, Pompeii, Florence, and Barcelona. He returns to Burning Man several times. On one trip, he is married to the lovely Bonetta, who he met while exploring a swamp in Florida. Rumor has it that it was a shotgun wedding. This past year he traveled with Peggy and me on our 10,000 mile trip around North America retracing my bike route and with fellow blogger Crystal Truelove to visit with Native Americans of the Cherokee Nation in Oklahoma.
TOMORROW’S POST: You won’t want to miss the interview with Bone!
I always think that Christmas letters deserve a little humor. Here’s how I started out this year’s:
Santa Claus is threatening to stay at the North Pole this year. Apparently, we’ve been naughty. We’re not high on his brotherly love charts. But the jolly old elf is the forgiving type. He’s seen a lot during the last thousand or so years he’s been practicing his trade. The good times come and go. Regardless, I’m pretty sure he will be here at our house. Not that we’ve behaved so well (“Speak for yourself,” Peggy says), but his reindeer have developed a thing for the does that hang out on our property. Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner and Blitzen will be by— with or without Santa. And Rudolph will be here with or without any of them! He is particularly enamored with one of our beautiful brown-eyed girls. Apparently, it’s mutual. It will be interesting to see if any of next year’s kids can fly, or have shiny red noses.
Okay, okay. Peggy just pointed out I am being bad again and may very well end up with lumps of coal in my stockings. “Santa’s tolerance only goes so far,” she warns! To forego that possibility, I’ll leave you with some photos from our winter wonderland we’ve taken over the last few years.
WE WOULD LIKE TO WISH EACH OF YOU AND YOUR FAMILIES THE VERY BEST OF HOLIDAYS THIS YEAR AND A HAPPY AND HEALTHY NEW YEAR.
Curt and Peggy
I am going to get to the cows and their four stomachs, but first I want to cover our stay at Rockaway Beach, which is about 15 miles north of Tillamook on Highway 101. Our suite looked out on the ocean. We could watch the waves roll in and hear the continuous roar of the ocean. Wintry skies brought rain but the clouds were also great for beautiful sunsets. We headed out whenever there was a break in the weather, and even when there wasn’t. We walked the beach, visited local shops, and ate out at the town’s restaurants. Thanksgiving dinner was at Grumpy’s and Mrs. Grumpy hovered over us to make sure we ate our veggies. How much more down-home can you get? The complete meal, which included all of the Thanksgiving favorites, cost a whopping 12 bucks. “I want it to be affordable for everyone,” Mrs. Grumpy primly informed us.
Small shops had the usual touristy stuff found in coastal tourist shops everywhere. “Go to Flamingo Jims,” we were urged. As to why it was named Flamingo in an area where the tropical bird would freeze, I didn’t have a clue. But we went. And we weren’t disappointed; it was filled to the brim with cheap souvenirs. We wandered around and checked out T-shirts, mermaids and sea shells. We could have bought a sand dollar for a dollar, but Peggy prefers to find her own. I was reminded of this old tongue twister. Try saying it as fast as you can without a mistake.
She sells sea shells by the sea shore.
The shells she sells are surely seashells.
So if she sells shells on the seashore,
I’m sure she sells seashore shells.
The beach seemed to go on forever. One end was dominated by the sea rocks that Rockaway Beach is famous for; the other by a forest covered mountain. If you look at the rocks from the right angle, they make an excellent sea dragon. Welcome to Oregon, Nessie! A creek divided the beach about halfway along. Sea gulls patrolled the waterfront, checking out both the ocean and tourists for possible food. A small boy threw out a couple of pieces of bread and was suddenly surrounded by 50 of the birds, in seconds! They seemed to materialize out of nowhere. How do they do that?
When we ran out of things to do in Rockaway, we drove 15-miles south to Tillamook. I’ve already done posts on Cape Meares, Munson Creek Falls, and some very wet alpacas. On our way, we decided to check out a small county park in Barview and found the Coast Guard practicing air to sea rescue missions by helicopter, which is what our son Tony does.
In Tillamook, it is almost required that people stop off at Tillamook Cheese and Ice Cream factory. The cheese is good and can be found throughout the US, but the ice cream is to die for. Our refrigerator is always stocked with a half-gallon. I should probably weigh 300 pounds but we limit our consumption to Date Night, which falls on Wednesday, as it has for the past 27 years.
When we were out and about and lost, we also came on the Latimer Quilt and Textile Museum where I found the alpacas. Peggy’s love of quilting demanded a visit. We found numerous quilts, a doll collection, looms, and a lot of history.
WEDNESDAY’S PHOTO POST: Join Peggy and me as we explore the Greek island of Santorini.
Peggy has been lobbying for a tour of Oregon waterfalls for quite a while. So, when I read that Munson Creek Falls was near Tillamook, I knew we would have to pay a visit on our recent trip to the coast. We drove over to Tillamook from Rockaway Beach where we were staying and then south for seven miles following Highway 101. Along the way, we passed the giant blimp hangar built during World War II that now serves as an air museum. I visited the hangar a couple of years ago when I was passing through the area. Close to the turnoff, we also passed the campground where I had stayed. At the time, I wasn’t aware of the falls— I’d been too busy counting rabbits.
A sign along 101 told us to turn inland for the falls. We followed a narrow, pothole filled road that became narrower as we went, making it more difficult to dodge the potholes that were simultaneously becoming deeper and more numerous! The short three and a half miles felt like twenty. We finally reached the parking lot, however, and discovered that we had entered a rainforest. Trees covered in moss gave a magical feel to the area. An easy, quarter of a mile trail led off toward the falls. More moss-covered trees and rocks, the dashing Munson Creek, brightly colored fallen leaves, mushrooms and ferns lined the trail.
Our first view of the falls assured us that we had made the right decision to make the trip. Water shot out from the top and tumbled some 319 feet to the bottom, making Munson Creek Falls the highest on the Oregon coat. Halfway down a log jam gave testimony to the power of the stream. The rainforest provided a dramatic backdrop. We wandered around seeking various vantage points to appreciate the beauty, and finally, being satiated, hiked back to the parking lot. The drive out went much faster, or so it seemed.
Photos: Most of the photos I use on this blog are taken by either Peggy or me. Photos without attribution are taken by me. I always note any other sources such as the Air Museum above.
NEXT POSTS: Almost everyone I know who tries to maintain a blog while writing books runs into a challenge with time. There isn’t enough. Solutions range from dropping out of the blogosphere for a while to limiting blogs. I am going to try something else for the next month. If it doesn’t work, I’ll have to a move to a more dramatic solution. Here’s what I am going to try: On Mondays I will do my usual travel blog; on Wednesdays I will put up photos from my collection of 76,000; on Fridays, I am going to blog my book on MisAdventures. The theory is that this will allow me most of the week to work on the book. We’ll see.
WEDNESDAY: We will drop down to the South Island of New Zealand and visit the beautiful Milford Sound.
Towering cliffs, abundant sea life, a lighthouse, massive rocks rising out of the ocean, the Octopus Tree, and an old-growth forest of Sitka Spruce… How could we resist? With the sun tentatively breaking through the clouds, Peggy and I grabbed our cameras, packed our raingear, and headed out to Cape Meares, which is located about 30 minutes away from Tillamook, Oregon.
But first, our stomachs demanded lunch, so we stopped at the Pelican Brewing Company in Tillamook for a hamburger and, of course, a beer. Peggy and I shared a pint of tasteful ale. The Northwest is noted for its great craft beers and Pelican has some dandies. Several have won national and international awards.
Having tamed our hunger and thirst, we headed out to the coast and were soon perched on an overlook admiring the Three Arch Rocks, so named because each one contains an arch. Of greater significance, the rocks are known for their large nesting colonies of Common Murres, Cormorants, Western Gulls, storm-petrels, auklets, Black Oystercatchers, Tufted Puffins, and Pigeon Guillemots. In 1907, Teddy Roosevelt declared the area a wildlife sanctuary, the first in the US west of the Mississippi. He did so on the recommendation of a pair of young conservationists, William Finley and Herman Bohlman, who had watched hunters decimate the sea lion population on the rocks, and even worse, observed local ‘sportsmen’ row out to the rocks on Sundays and use the birds for target practice, killing thousands.
We drove on to the Cape Meares Lighthouse where a sign in the parking lot suggested a detour toward the Octopus Tree that sent our imaginations spiraling out of control. Was this a magic tree of fantasy lore? Would we be swept up in its tentacles? Naturally, we had to check it out. The tree turned out to be a Sitka Spruce with eight trunk-like limbs that once made it into Ripley’s Believe It or Not. The story behind its unique shape is that the local Tillamook Indians shaped it to grow that way, created a sacred site where elders could gather to make important decisions and Shamans would travel on their mystical journeys. A few yards away from the tree, a plunging cliff provided more views of the Three Arch Rocks, this time backlit by the sun. Peggy found a man operating a camera drone on the edge of the cliff, capturing pictures of the 200-foot drop off that we weren’t willing to lean out far enough to get.
Walking back toward the lighthouse, we found more cliffs on the other side of the peninsula where the lighthouse sits. These featured a waterfall that tumbled down into the ocean. We also noticed white guano (bird poop) decorating the cliff sides, a sure sign that birds build their nests along the cliffs. Imagine being a young bird looking over the edge of your nest and pondering your fate.
A sign at the site informed us that baby birds are either flyers or jumpers. Murrelet chicks, who are fliers, have been observed pacing back and forth in their nest for a couple of days, flapping their wings frantically, and nervously peering over the edge before they finally take the plunge. It’s worse for Common Murres. Their mom kicks them out of the nest when they are three weeks old… before they can fly! No Mom of the Year there. They simply stand on the edge and jump, hoping that their stubby wings will guide them to them into the ocean instead of the rocks below. Dad patiently waits in the ocean where he will take over parenting responsibilities for a few weeks until the babies can fend for themselves. Meanwhile, a whole host of hungry predators are waiting below chanting “Crash! Crash! Crash!”
While I am on the subject of birds and food, I learned at Cape Meares that the Tufted Puffins have a barbed tongue that they use to spear fish. They can get three or so minnow-sized fish on their tongue at once. The first one is pushed up the tongue by the second and the second by the third. The barbs hold them in place until, I assume, baby birds wrest them free. I also found out that a pair of Peregrine Falcons were known to nest in the area. These birds are the fastest animals in the world. They fly high above their prey, fold their wings and literally fall, or dive, hitting speeds up to 250 miles per hour (402 KPH) before smacking into their dinner.
At 38-feet tall, The Cape Meares Lighthouse is known for being the shortest lighthouse in Oregon. Given that it stands on a 217-foot tall cliff, however, size probably doesn’t matter. The lighthouse was built on location but the first order Fresnel lens (pronounced ‘fraynel’) was wrestled up the cliff in 1899 using a wood crane built from local timber. The lens had been manufactured in France and shipped around Cape Horn and up the coast to Oregon. It was built with four primary lenses and four bull’s-eye lenses providing light that can be seen 21 miles out at sea.
NEXT POST: Peggy and I make our way through a rainforest to the highest waterfall on the Oregon Coast.
I looked out my window and caught Bad Kitty and Fire Face laughing their heads off, so to speak.
“We fooled you,” they roared. “You thought we were scary! We were wearing costumes.”
“I am actually a very friendly kitty,” claimed Bad Kitty. “My real name is Pumpkin Kitty. My teeth were false. It was fake news. He, he.”
“And I’m known as Oak Ball because I am shaped like one,” Fire Face chortled. “My mother was a pumpkin but my father was an oak tree. Linda was right! That’s why my eyes and mouth have an oak leaf look.”
“We are on our way back to the Great Pumpkin Patch in the sky, but we’ll be back again someday,” I heard them exclaim as they rolled off down into our canyon.
And thus the tale of two wandering pumpkins draws to a close. I did promise Christie I would reference other ghostly experiences I have had and blogged about before moving on, however. Here are the links and a brief description.
The Attack of the Graveyard Ghost: My sister, Nancy, is deathly afraid of ghosts, which was a serious problem when we lived next to the Graveyard. It was made worse by the fact that her boyfriend lived next-door but she had to walk past the Graveyard to see him. She was walking home alone one night when it happened. A ghost attacked her… https://wandering-through-time-and-place.me/2013/10/30/
The Ghosts of Fort Mifflin: Fort Mifflin, located next to Philadelphia, is supposed to be one of the most haunted sites in America. Peggy and I went there on one dark Halloween night with thoughts of reconnecting with my dead ancestors who had been killed there during the Revolutionary War. One had been cut in half by a cannon ball! We weren’t really expecting to find any ghosts, but then some weird things happened that had Peggy and I scrambling to find other people…
The Disappearing Scottish Woman: Peggy and I were off in Scotland pursuing yet another dead ancestor, this time a Scottish martyr from the 1600s. I had walked over to a woman who was standing on a porch to ask permission to cross her property and she disappeared. Things don’t get much more spooky. Read on… https://wandering-through-time-and-place.me/2016/10/31/
Next up: The petroglyphs of Lava Beds National Monument
The polls are closed; the ballot box stuffed; the votes counted. Bad Kitty is the winner! “I think you knew that most of your followers were cat lovers,” Peggy sniffed. “It’s going to be Indian food,” I crowed, already tasting hot lamb curry.
But Fire Face had his fans. And lest you feel too much sympathy for my highly competitive, ever-lovely wife, let me note that she has beaten me far more frequently than I have beaten her over our years of pumpkin carving competition! She’ll be back next year and “Watch out, Curt!”
Here’s what some of you had to say…
Animal Couriers: “Oh, you know us, it has to be pumpkin number 2! They are both fab.”
Dave Ply: “As for my choice, both are excellent, it’s a tough call, but as I’m a cat guy I have to go with scary kitty. (I always used to have black cats)”
Linda: “Despite the fact that I live with a creature I currently refer to as the Devil Cat, I’m going to have to go with Number 1 — with this caveat. I don’t see the carving as fire, but as autumn leaves.”
Christie: “I would vote with Bad Kitty, and only because this looks like a reminiscence of Demon”
Andrew: “My favourite pumpkin carving has to be no. 2 – but only by a whisker!”
Dave Kingsbury: “Fire Face made me feel uneasy but I was even more discomforted by Bad Kitty’s expression so the latter gets my vote. But well done both!”
Phil: “Fire Face is very cross-quarter day, but the artistry of Bad Kitty is hard to resist.”
Rebel Girl: “Fire Face all the way!”
Alison: “With trepidation, not wanting to offend either of you, I choose Bad Kitty!”
You can see what Peggy meant by cat lovers. (grin) Take Animal Couriers, for example, they make their living by transporting cats and dogs throughout Europe!
Peggy and I thank you for your participation. We had a lot of fun with the carving and the competition. And, as part of my Halloween series, I was pleased to bring you a glimpse of the incredible Jack-o-Lantern Spectacular of Providence, Rhode Island.
Correction: One of my friends pointed out that it is Linus not Charlie Brown that believes in the Great Pumpkin, which I incorrectly stated in my last post. Thanks!
LATE BREAKING NEWS: Scary Cat Becomes Scaredy Cat; Ground Squirrel De-fangs Bad Kitty
It was inevitable, or make that, highly edible. It was simply a matter of time before the wildlife around our area decided that the scariness of our pumpkins was outweighed by their resemblance to lunch. Deer have stopped by several times to stare at the pumpkins and warily circle them. They are endlessly curious about new things and have a written in stone philosophy: If it tastes good eat it. The fierce way the pumpkins glared at them, however, made our hoofed friends reluctant to take the first bite.
A ground squirrel had no such trepidation. It had already discovered that pumpkin was good-by meticulously picking out all of the seeds from the mishmash of pumpkin innards that Peggy had left outside for woodland creatures. It only required a leap of the imagination to hop up on our patio table and start chowing down on Bad Kitty’s teeth. I couldn’t catch the culprit in action, but when I questioned her later, she had pumpkin on her breath. There is a photo of the results below the curious deer.
Where to next: Peggy and I will soon be heading for the north coast of Oregon and the south coast of Washington to celebrate our 25th Anniversary. There will be lots to share ranging from wintry ocean scenes, to colorful coastal towns, to a bridge that a young Kurt Cobain hid out under, to the land where vampires and werewolves wandered in the Twilight series. But that’s a couple of weeks off. In the meantime, I’ll slip in more of my petroglyph series, starting with Lava Beds National Monument in north-eastern California.
Today marks the end of my seven-day tribute to Halloween where I have featured the Jack-o-Lantern Spectacular in Providence, Rhode Island. Peggy and I have returned home to Oregon where we square off against each other in our annual pumpkin carving contest.
The day has arrived. The Great Pumpkin has risen out of his pumpkin patch and is flying across the sky, delivering candy and other goodies to girls and boys around the world. At least Charlie Brown believes he has, even if he can’t persuade his sidekicks and Snoopy that he exists. There are no lack of children out here in the real world who are willing to pay homage to the Great Pumpkin, however, especially if it involves dressing up in costumes and filling bags with candy. I remember my own childhood when my brother and I would pillage far and wide to load our gunny sacks. Then we would come home to admire our booty and stuff ourselves. On the scary side of things, we would hide out in the Graveyard next to our home and jump out to scare other children when they came knocking at doors in our neighborhood. (Little kids can really run fast.) It was all in good fun, one of the greatest days in the year— at least from our perspective.
While it was all about kids back then, adults have adopted the holiday as well today. Millions don costumes as they head off to work and to party.
Pumpkin carving has been an integral part of my Halloween since I first met up with Peggy. For many years we even had a pumpkin carving contest with other members of my family. That finally ended after a quarter of a century, but Peggy and I still look forward to out annual carving activities. And, we are pleased to note, our children and grandchildren have followed suit! Our two pumpkins from this year are displayed below. Using pumpkins from the Jack-o-Lantern Spectacular for inspiration, Peggy and I are having our own contest! And you are the judges. Please note the one you like. I’ll report on the winner and who carved the pumpkin in my next post. Whoever wins get the dinner out of his or her choice. In other words, there is no loser.
Thanks for choosing! And Happy Halloween from Peggy and Curt.
Peggy and I have been in Connecticut for the past couple of weeks. We went back to visit with our son, daughter-in-law, and grandkids, but I also hoped to get in some serious leaf-peeping. New England is world-famous for its fall colors and we had once spent a month in Maine, Vermont and New Hampshire during the height of the season. We wanted more!
It wasn’t to be. It had been a warm fall in Connecticut and the leaves were being stubborn. Just as we were preparing to leave, a few trees had started to turn, but it was nothing in comparison to what we had experienced. Maybe the states north of Connecticut were having better luck. We packed our bags, took Amtrak to Boston, and flew back home to Oregon.
As we dropped into Medford from Portland, I glanced down at the ground and was greeted with bursts of yellow and red. Apparently, our trees had decided to show us that the grass isn’t always greener on the other side of the fence, that the trees in New England aren’t always more colorful than the trees out West.
The drive home through Jacksonville and up and over into the Applegate Valley was spectacular. I thought to myself, “Who needs New England?” And I vowed that my camera and I would be up early the next morning to capture some of the color. I started with our yard and then took the Upper Applegate River road to Highway 238 and down into Jacksonville, stopping at the McKee Covered Bridge, Valley View Winery, and a favorite hiking trail. I finished off in Jacksonville, which was simply riotous with color.
NEXT POST: Our kids took us to the Jack-o-Lantern Spectacular in Providence, Rhode Island while we were visiting and spectacular it was with over 5.000 pumpkins ranging from traditional to art carving. Starting on Wednesday, I will do a daily countdown up until Halloween featuring some or our favorites. You will want to check this out.