Burning Man or Burning House… When Forest Fire Threatens

 

Heavy smoke from local forest fires fills southern Oregon’s Upper Applegate Valley where we live.

 

I left our home on the way to Burning Man with the heavy smoke of the surrounding forest fires filling the air in Applegate Valley like an evil fog. Once again we had an inversion; there was nowhere for the smoke to go so it was hanging around and hassling our lungs.

The forest service folks said there wasn’t much to worry about. We might have bad smoke, but the fires were good. They were the type that make their way along the ground, clean out the dead wood, and leave the forest feeling healthy. Naturally, there was an if attached. The wind could change; the heat could skyrocket; the fire could cease its peaceful ramble through the woods and become a raging inferno. Conditions were extreme.

Trusting a fire to behave is something like trusting a tropical depression in the Gulf to behave. Sometimes the depression simply goes away; but occasionally, it morphs into a horrendous hurricane with devastating floods. Hello Harvey. Our thoughts are with our friends and all the other people in southeast Texas who are suffering from the torrential downpour.

The forest service people in our area also told us that they didn’t have enough personnel to seriously tackle the fires creeping through our woods, even if they wanted to. The Chetco Fire over near the coast, some 50 miles away, had been declared the worst fire in the nation, at least for now. Even the local firefighters had headed for the coast. The town of Brookings was being threatened, and firefighters go where the threats are the greatest.

I was happy to escape. I drove down through the Rogue Valley. Smoky. I drove up and across the Cascade Mountains. Smoky. I drove down into the Klamath Basin, past Klamath Lake, past Klamath Falls. Smoky. Finally, down around Tule Lake across the border in northern California, down where Japanese-American citizens were once corralled behind barbed wire fences like cattle, the smoke begin to clear. I breathed a sigh of relief. I breathed fresh air.

A sign outside of Tule Lake told me there were no services for the next 70 miles. Not many of California’s 39 million people live in the remote northeastern part of the state. I checked my gas gauge. Not a problem; I made it to Alturas with a quarter tank left. Gas prices had shot up, however— partly because of the towns remote location, partly to make money off of the increased traffic to Burning Man, and partly because of Harvey’s romp through the Gulf and along the Gulf Coast. I am sure that you have noticed that gas prices shoot up within hours when the oil industry has a problem. It takes months for them to creep back down.  Or is this just my imagination?

I bought gas. I also bought apples, oranges and salad mix at the Holiday Market. (California won’t let you bring fresh fruit and vegetables into the state.) My destination for the day was Cedarville, a mere 26 miles away up and over the Warner Mountains from Alturas. I like the small town. It perches on the very edge of California. Off to the east are the vast open spaces of the Nevada’s Black Rock Desert where lonely ranches, windmills, sagebrush, jack rabbits and rattlesnakes rule.  Cedarville likes Burning Man. The majority of the Northwest’s large population of Burners pass through the town. A couple of years ago, a local gas station owner told me he pumps as much gas during the week of Burning Man as he does the whole rest of the year.

My normal routine is to spend the night in the town and then drive the 90 plus miles to Burning Man early the next morning. I checked out the fairgrounds where I was going to camp and then headed for the Country Hearth Restaurant. It’s a small-town kind of eatery that moves at its own slow pace but serves excellent food. I had my traditional last meal before heading into the desert and then went out to the van for a final call to Peggy. Phone service is non-existent to highly unlikely in Black Rock City. A large brindle dog offered me a wag or two, sat on the sidewalk, and watched me make the call.

Peggy greeted me with her usual chirpy welcome and then told me that the sheriff had just been by our house. “We are under a Level 1 fire alert!” Our endless days of smoke were threatening to turn into something much more serious. Level 1 is a warning. Be aware, the fire is threatening to come your way. Level 2 is you should be packed up. Leaving is highly recommended. Level 3 is get out now. You may be too late.

“I’m coming home,” was my immediate response.

“No, Curt,” Peggy replied. “I have everything under control. You need to head on into Burning Man.” She knows how much I look forward to the event. And I had no doubt that Peggy had things under control. She’s cool under pressure and highly organized. Plus, we have great neighbors. But that wasn’t the issue. Having to abandon our home and possibly lose it to fire wasn’t something she should face alone. She was insistent, however.

“Let me think about it,” I concluded. I went back to the fairgrounds and broke out a beer. It didn’t take much thinking. I was not going to leave Peggy home by herself. I called her back.

“No, no, no, Curt,” she made one final plea. But I reaffirmed I wasn’t going to leave her alone. I also said I wanted to say goodbye to our home if it was in danger of burning down. And finally, I told her I would head back to Burning Man if the situation improved. I think it was the latter that convinced her.

………

It’s a strange feeling to walk through your home and figure out what to take and what to leave behind when a forest fire threatens. In ways, it’s a walk down memory lane. There’s so much history. Some things are easy: medical and financial records. Others are more complicated. I love our books, for example, but there is no way we are going to pack up a couple of thousand. Maybe I’ll pull a dozen. A few family albums from our childhood, some art work with meaning, original materials from Berkeley’s Free Speech Movement, my genealogical files, Peggy’s quilts, some clothes— whatever we take has to fit in our pickup.The digital age helps. Much is on-line.

Peggy and I spent time outside yesterday, prepping the house. Most was already done. We live in an area prone to forest fires, so we have ‘defensible space.’ Plants, except for lavender, which is fire resistant, are away from our walls. Lower limbs have been cut away from trees. I’ve weed whacked most of the weeds near our house, but now wish I had done more. Too late. Plus, the fire people have a ban on all gas-powered tools. I did some hoe work and Peggy raked, The heat and the smoke made things much worse. Three hours was our max. We drank lots of water. A cold shower afterwards felt good.

We’ve decided on an action plan. There is really nothing else we can do here. Hanging out and manning a garden hose during a Level 3 situation is not an option for us. We will pack the truck today. There is a community meeting hosted by the forest service that we will attend tonight. Tomorrow Peggy will head for Sacramento to escape the smoke and I will resume my trip to Burning Man. We are pretty sure our property is safe. If not…

Peggy smiles. “Maybe it’s time to buy another small RV and hit the open road again.”

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No-see-um Camp, a Sacred Grove, and Cougar Poop

No-see-um camp, which we expected to be bug infested, turned out to be nestled among trees that made me think of a sacred grove.

Part II of our hike up Cook and Green Creek to the Pacific Crest Trail through the Rogue River National Forest.

Our goal for the day was No-see-um Camp, which seems like a very poor place to set up your tent. If you have spent much time outdoors, you will recognize no-see-ums as particularly nasty little bugs. I first encountered them when backpacking on the Appalachian Trail in Maine. It had rained for a solid week and every biting bug in existence had considered us fair game. While mosquitoes had treated our bug repellant as an hors d’oeuvre, no-see-ums had come after us with knives and forks. Later, I watched a moose in Alaska dash wildly about and roll in a snow bank to escape the tiny, nefarious fiends. Fortunately, we didn’t find any no-see-ums in No-see-um camp. It was quite the opposite. I decided we had arrived in a sacred grove.

Sacred groves go almost as far back as humanity. Think of the Druids and their oaks. In West Africa, where I served in the Peace Corps, huge cottonwoods were thought to contain living spirits and I often found offerings at their bases. It’s important to keep the forest spirits happy.

No-see-um camp had more species of trees than I have ever found in a single location, many of them were giants. From our camp, I could see Douglas fir, sugar pine, white fir, blue spruce, chinquapin, big leaf maple, and yew. Just up the trail I found a ponderosa pine. Cook and Green Creek with its cool, refreshing water bubbled and burbled and roared its way down the canyon just behind our tent. I figured it was an excellent place to commune with nature spirits and Peggy found a camp guardian up in the trees, which I thought was quite pagan of her.

Another view looking up from our campsite on Cook and Green Creek. This one features big leaf maples.

There is a reason for their name!

We also had chinquapin growing in the grove. This prickly thing covers the trees nuts, which are said to be tasty.

Giant sugar pines with their large cones and giant Douglas firs with their small cones surrounded us.

I found a large ponderosa pine near by. Do you know what made the line of holes? It was a sapsucker, a kind of woodpecker. It will return to eat any insects that have entered the holes.

Cook and Green Creek flowed just behind our tent. It was burbling here.

Small waterfalls added a slight roar.

And I found the way the water flowed over a rock to be intriguing.

The downed tree next to our tent provided a good perspective on the size of the larger trees.

This odd tree growth just above our site served as Peggy’s camp guardian. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

The Guardian’s tree was also impressive.

We used our layover day as an opportunity to do a nine mile hike up to the pass and back. Going up, we entertained ourselves by enjoying flowers and other plant life while looking for signs of wildlife. And yes, I have more animal poop, scat, to share with you. I’ll bet you’re excited.

A shelf fungus.

Any idea what is happening here? Carpenter ants were making their nest. They are a fairly large ant that literally cut off small, sawdust-size chunks of wood and then bring it out to the edge where they dump it on to the sawdust pile at the bottom of the photo.

Peggy poses beside a fallen tree.

Which happened to feature another wood sculpture that Peggy determined was a dragon.

We found these unusual cones that actually grow directly on the limbs of the trunks and limbs of the knob cone pine.

Okay, I put up pretty, or at least I hope interesting photos, and then I put up poop. Why? Half the fun of wilderness travel is knowing what you are seeing around you. Scat (poop) is one way of telling what animals are using the trail you are on. This happens to be cougar, or mountain lion scat. The twisted piece on the end is fairly definitive of the cat family. Size suggests cougar. It was dry, so we were in little danger of an immediate encounter.

Since we are on animal signs, any idea of what made this? Odds are it was a porcupine. They chew off the outer bark to get to the nutritious, inner bark.

This attractive small waterfall, provided cool water to drink with our  lunch. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

After lunch on our way up to the pass, we found this attractive Blue Spruce…

And a flower, which is known as Ranger’s buttons.

On top, we met Rambo, Dogondo, and Double D: three PCT through hikers. Their names are their trail names. They had started at the Mexican border and been backpacking since April, covering close to 1000 miles. They were skinny and ever so eager to reach Oregon, which was just up the trail. One of them told me that Sasquatch (Big Foot) had been rooting around outside his tent the night before.

Rambo, a PCT through hiker from Riverside, California.

Dogondo, a PCT through hiker from Chicago.

Double D, a PCT through hiker from Kansas City.

We raced on our way back down from the pass. I was careful to keep Peggy behind me. She thinks that she is a greyhound when she gets out in front going down a hill. I once sprained my ankle trying to keep up with her coming off of Muir Pass on the John Muir Trail and had to hobble another 80 miles before we finally climbed up and over Mt. Whitney and out. Taught me.

Peggy, all set to go, wearing one of her favorite T-shirts.

The Cook and Green Trail and Some Really Weird Trees… Part I

The way madrone trees shed their bark is strange enough without having a pair of eyes staring out at you. We found this specimen along the lower end of the Cook and Green Trail.

 

Today’s post will take you along with Peggy and me on our latest backpacking adventure. This time, the trailhead was a mere 30 minutes from our house! The Cook and Green Trail follows Cook and Green Creek up to Cook and Green Pass where it connects into the Pacific Crest Trail, the PCT. (That’s a lot of Cook and Green; they were gold miners who worked the area in the 1870s and 80s.) Starting at the pass, we could have made a right turn and hiked to Mexico or a left turn and hiked to Canada. Another time. (grin)

Peggy points out a PCT marker showing the trail south. Had we followed it, we could have been to Mexico in a thousand miles.

We were greeted by a pair of signs at the Cook and Green trailhead, which I found amusing. Both were products of the US Forest Service. I don’t think the hand on the first poster is that of America’s preeminent spokesperson for fire prevention, Smokey the Bear; I think it belongs to Bigfoot! The second sign warned us about bears. Serious stuff.

Did this sign use Bigfoot to emphasize fire prevention? Or is it a clawless Smokey? It’s puzzling.

It’s smart to be aware of bears when backpacking, but you should not let them keep you out of the woods.

I am a veteran of the backcountry of Yosemite, where the bears actually run a school on how to steal backpacker’s food. (Fake news, but just barely.) So I wasn’t too worried about the bears of the Rogue River and Klamath National Forests. Still, the poster is worth reviewing. Avoid confrontation: That’s always sage advice when you are dealing with a grumpy animal that can outrun you, outweighs you, and comes with long claws and sharp teeth. You don’t want to surprise them and you don’t want to get between a mother and her cubs. That having been said, bears aren’t particularly interested in eating people.  If they were, they would move into towns where there are lots of people to eat. Mainly, they prefer to avoid humans, like most sensible wild animals.

Your food? Well, that’s a horse of a different color, or at least a bear that has hung out around careless people. When I see bear poop that includes bits and pieces of the plastic used to package  freeze-dried backpackers’ food, I know to be on the lookout. BTW, a Yosemite bear would laugh at the advice to hang your food high in a tree. Guess what, bears climb trees. And if mama bear can’t climb a tree in Yosemite to retrieve your chow, she sends her babies up. The advice in Yosemite used to be that your food bag had to be at least nine feet off of the ground and nine feet away from the trunk, with no ropes hanging down! I’ve watched bears play tether ball with food that wasn’t hung high enough. Now the park rangers want you to carry plastic bear-proof barrels. I’ve never worried much about bears when away from Yosemite. Still, care is called for.

It’s good advice about dogs. Way back in history, I was out backpacking with my first father-in-law’s Springer Spaniel, Sparky, and came across a bear. Sparky jumped behind me and then stuck her head out between my legs and started barking vociferously. The bear stopped and growled before ambling on. I told Sparky that if the bear had charged I would have picked her up and tossed her out in front of me.

The Cook Green Trail begins its journey through a burned-out area. In 2012, we watched from our home as huge billows of smoke climbed above the forest and a fleet of helicopters used large buckets to dip water out of Applegate Reservoir, one mile above our home, to fight the Fort Complex fire. It was only a few miles away, and we watched nervously. Today, new growth is returning to the area as nature performs one of her miracles.

This photo captures the area where the Fort Complex Fire stopped burning along the Cook and Green Trail. It’s a good example of burned and non burned forest. On the burned side, the green near the ground shows where the forest is beginning to recover.

While the hike through the burned-out area was interesting, our fun began on the other side. Peggy came across a mile marker that she felt needed to be decorated, a madrone tree featured eyes peering out from its strange, peeling bark, several oak trees were dressed in moss, tree roots created weird sculptures, and the Mother of All Roots stood higher than me.

Someone, probably the forest service, had placed mile markers along the first section of the Cook and Green Trail. Peggy decided to decorate the marker by adding sugar pine cones beside the marker and rocks in front.

I thought these moss-covered live oaks were quite unique.

This is a close up of the tree moss.

We also found this interesting growth. At first I thought it was stag horn moss but it may be a lichen.

Tree roots can create fun sculptures. I’m not sure I would want to meet up with this one on a dark night!

More ordinary, but still interesting, this root had taken a detour around a rock and captured it.

And here we have the Mother of All Roots!

I stood next to it just before the root connected to the trunk to provide perspective. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

NEXT BLOG: We hike on to No-see-um camp, which turns out to be closer to a sacred grove than a bug infested swamp, and hike up to Cook Green Pass where we find PCT through hikers and mountain lion sign.

 

Azalea Lake and Bigfoot’s Big Foot…

We found this carving of Bigfoot (Sasquatch) on a stump at our campsite on Azalea Lake in the Red Butte Wilderness.

The Red Butte Wilderness: Part II

In my last post, Peggy and I backpacked into the Red Buttes Wilderness, which is located about 10 miles from us at the crow flies. Our objective was to reach Azalea Lake but about half way there, our bodies had another idea. Camp. Today’s post starts off  the next morning. 

Our bodies grumped as we made them get out of bed to finish the hike. Loudly.

Not far from our camp, we passed the lonely grave of Sylvan Gosliner, Ruby Gosliner and Alma Pratt. Their airplane had crashed in the canyon in 1945 on a return trip to Portland from San Francisco. Why, has never been determined. The forest service had retrieved the body of the pilot while relatives of the Gosliners and Pratt had chosen to bury their family members beside the trail. It’s a beautiful location. Wreckage of the plane can still be found in the canyon below.

The rock covered grave of Sylvan and Ruby Gosliner and Alma Pratt along Butte Fork Creek with its simple bronze marker.

Red cedars replaced the pines as we continued our climb through the dry forest, while cheerful tiger lilies and other flowers brightened our way whenever we crossed a stream. Eventually we arrived at Red Cedar Basin. Peggy zonked out on a flat rock while I wandered around the meadow, which was filled with corn lilies. Had there been water, it would have become camp. But Azalea Lake beckoned. We dutifully shouldered our packs and completed the trip. We found an attractive campsite and settled in for the afternoon and next day. Numerous insects greeted our arrival and some came by to take blood donations. By seven PM, Peggy had disappeared into the tent. She’s been known to disappear inside at the buzz of the first mosquito— leaving me outside to entertain our flying and crawling visitors.

Red cedars replaced Douglas fir and sugar pine trees as we climbed in elevation.

While the forest was dry with limited vegetation most of the way, it changed whenever we came to streams, turning into a vibrant flower garden with flowers such as this tiger lily…

Wild iris…

And Indian paintbrush.

I caught Peggy napping at Cedar Basin…

And she caught me in our camp at Azalea Lake.

Azalea Lake is a jewel located in a basin surrounded by peaks and ringed by azaleas. Tall, incredibly straight lodgepole pines provided us with shade on our layover day as we hung out, snacked, read, and went for a hike around the lake, where we found a couple backpacking and carrying a tent, literally. Noisy chickarees (small tree squirrels) scolded us for our intrusion. As did the always vociferous Stellar jays. Quieter birds such as robins, Juncos, and fly catchers merely went about their business of scrounging for food as the sun made its way across the sky. A Pileated Woodpecker caught our attention with a more stentorian call.

Azalea Lake nestles between peaks in the Red Butte Wilderness. I took this photo on our first trip into the area. The peak on the left and the draw is featured below in the setting sun photos.

An early morning shot on this trip…

And an evening shot.

Azaleas surround the lake but we arrived when most of the blooms were gone. We did manage to find these however.

And some interesting bear grass.

A close up.

We also found these two backpackers carrying a tent. “You have to let me take your photo,” I insisted. “We are only moving a couple of hundred yards to find a better campsite,” they explained, a bit sheepishly.

Incredibly straight lodgepole pines provided shade for our camp. The dead tree provides a good example of just how straight these trees grow and why they served as center ‘lodge poles’ for roofs on early pioneer cabins.

As the sun prepared to say goodnight, it bathed the surrounding peaks in soft light, an event that always sends me scurrying with my camera. Peggy and I hiked down the trail but couldn’t catch any clear shots through the trees. A surprise was waiting for us back at camp, however: an ingenious carving of Bigfoot. I don’t know how we had missed it; we had walked by it several times. I considered the discovery a sign that I needed to go out again to capture a photo of the alpenglow— and just possibly the illusive giant.

Trees blocked our view of the peaks above Azalea Lake as the sun began to set.

The Bigfoot carving in our camp at Azalea Lake.

While Peggy stayed in camp, I made my way through the trees to a meadow at the base of the peaks. A half dry, meandering stream had created a small marsh. Looking up, I had an unobstructed view of the rocks above. I worked my way around the meadow for different perspectives. A draw made its way up the mountain, providing access for animals crossing over the peaks. Apparently, it was well used. The meadow was full of deer sign; there were tracks galore.

A meadow with a small marsh sat at the base of the peak.

The small meadow gave me a clear view of the sun setting on the peak.

A draw made its way up the side of the mountain and provided access for wildlife to the lake.

Numerous deer tracks suggested that the draw was well used.

A large track caught my attention and I stopped to check it out. Something heavy had landed and launched on the spot, apparently in a hurry. A huge bear was my first thought since the depression was a good two inches deep. The deer tracks were closer to a half-inch and bent grass was all I was leaving. I looked around nervously. But something wasn’t right.

  • A bear would have left another track beside it. There was nothing.
  • The print was oblong, very long. Bear prints tend to be more rounded.
  • The paw prints weren’t showing any claw marks, which you normally see on bears. In fact, they looked more like toes!

I found myself getting excited. Had I discovered a track of Bigfoot’s big foot?! I rested my boot alongside the track. I have big feet myself, size 14 American (49 European). The track was seven inches longer, over 20 inches long (50.8 centimeters)! I did a more thorough search for other tracks. A more expert tracker may have found something, but I didn’t. My thought was the creature who made the track was bipedal and running. It had traveled from the dry ground to the marshy area and back to the dry ground.

Was my imagination working overtime? Was I creating a Big Foot where none existed? Maybe. I took photos using my boot and 5×3 inch camera case for comparison and returned to camp to share my treasure with Peggy.

The depression stretched from the front of the foot on the left to the heel mark on the upper right. My 3×5 inch camera case is for comparison.

The impression on the left looked like a toe print to me.

My own size 14 shoe was dwarfed by the print.

The next morning, we were awakened at five AM by a loud thump outside our tent. It sounded a lot like a deer. The deer that live in our neighborhood are forever thumping across the wooden deck next to our bedroom. We sat up with a start and stared through the mosquito screen of our tent.

“There’s something huge and brown beside our packs!” Peggy declared. They were located maybe 15-feet away.

We scrambled for our glasses. We’re both blind as bats without them. Yes, there was something big and brown. A big brown doe. We laughed. For some reason, the doe kept circling our camp for the next hour. Sleep was not an option. We were up early and had our breakfast of oatmeal, coffee and dried apricots. By 8:30 we were packed and ready to go. The trip back to the truck took us half the time of the hike in. And yes, our bodies continued to whine, but only half as much.

NEXT BLOG: Peggy and I head out on another backpacking adventure near our home in Southern Oregon. There’s no Bigfoot, but we discover some really weird natural wood sculptures, and we camp in a beautiful grove of trees where there were more varieties than I have ever seen in one location. Many of them were giants.  I thought of it as a sacred grove.

An Ancient Forest of Giant Trees—and Bigfoot… The Red Butte Wilderness: Part I

Peggy checks out a large sugar pine along the Butte Fork Creek that runs through the heart of the Red Buttes Wilderness. Eventually the creek empties into the Applegate River that runs by our house.

 

A friend once asked (with a grin), why I believed in flying saucers. “Because I saw one,” was my tart reply. And I did. A saucer-shaped object flew into a cloud in Sacramento going one direction and then flew out going another. It accelerated rapidly and disappeared in a couple of seconds. It was enough proof for me.

“And what about Bigfoot?” he followed up, his smile widening to Cheshire proportions. My response was different. I smiled back.

“Because the world can use a little magic; and it’s fun.”

I’m not anti-science or scientific proof. Quite the opposite. Of the magazines we subscribe to, Scientific American is the one I read cover to cover. Religiously. Some 70 books on science grace our library shelves. (I just counted them.) They range from Brian Greene’s The Elegant Universe to Richard Feynman’s The Pleasure of Finding Things Out. I’ll confess here, however, that the far-out edge of science looks a lot like magic to me.  Imagine entangled photons mirroring each other’s actions simultaneously over hundreds and even billions of miles. Or how about parallel universes existing side by side on and on to infinity?

Scientifically speaking, however, Bigfoot hardly has a leg to stand on, or a foot, even a big, hairy one. Blurry photos, a few hairs, footprints and little else constitute proof. There’s not even a body or bones. If Bigfoot, or Sasquatch, or Yeti, or any of the other names the species goes by around the world exist, they must have an Einstein-level genius at camouflage, hiding and misdirection.

What exists are numerous sightings, often collaborated by other people. A close relative of mine, who prefers to remain un-named, recently told me that one of the big fellows had run across a logging road in front of him up near Oregon’s McKenzie River in the early 70s. He’d never said anything about the incident. I didn’t get his reticence. Had it been me, I would have been screaming the news from the top of Mt. Hood. But he was working in a conservative industry at the time, and felt they might not appreciate his encounter with the giant. It is such sightings, however, often by responsible, sober-type people, that provide hope for Bigfoot’s existence, the frosting on the magical cake.

The Red Buttes Wilderness, located on the remote, northern edge of California in the Siskiyou Mountains, is prime Bigfoot country. We can see the Buttes from our house in southern Oregon, some 10 miles away as the crow flies. We went backpacking in the area three years ago and decided to go again last week. Giant red cedars, sugar cone pines, white pines and Douglas firs dominate the area. They’re the type of trees that make the logging industry salivate. They would have been cut down decades ago except for the difficulty of getting them out. Now they are protected in one of America’s rare virgin forests. If I were Bigfoot, it’s a place I would certainly want to live.

The Red Butte Mountains of Northern California and Southern Oregon.

The Red Butte Mountains as they appear from our patio.

The world’s only Bigfoot trap is located about five miles from where we live. A miner was once hired to build a cabin beneath the trap and given a tranquilizer gun and a pair of large handcuffs to capture the big guy. Only bears were caught. The doors have long since been welded shut. Otherwise they might have trapped some of the teenagers that insist on spray painting the trap with graffiti. 

Peggy and I drove up a pothole-strewn forest service road to the Shoofly Trailhead to begin our adventure. Just beyond a large parking area, the trail dropped quickly for a half mile or so to the Butte Fork of the Applegate River and then followed the creek uphill for 7-8 miles to Azalea Lake, which was our destination.  We made a leisurely trip of it, letting our time-tested bodies adjust to being on the trail again. At about five miles, they decided they’d done enough adjusting and went searching for a campsite. It was a wimpy thing to do, but our minds gave them leeway for being out on the trail at all. Following are some photos of what we took along the way.

The Butte Fork of the Applegate River is right where the Shoofly Trail meets up with the Butte Forks Trail. It makes for a wonderfully refreshing stop, either going or coming.

Another photo of Butte Fork Creek.

Portions of the Red Butte Wilderness resemble a rainforest. Other areas are quite dry.

Peggy and some of the large trees that live along Butte Fork Creek.

She holds up a sugar pine cone we found beside the trail.

An old cabin built by the Civilian Conservation Corp out of red cedar in the 1930s, still exists along the trail. For a while it was used by the forest service to house a forest fire fighting crew. Given its age, I decided to show it in black and white.

A view of Rattlesnake Mountain and Desolation Peak from the Butte Fork Trail.

There came a point, just under these trees next to a small stream, that our bodies decided it was time to camp. While I ranged far above and below the trail looking for a suitable campsite, Peggy found one nearby!

There was just enough space for our small tent.

It came with a bower…

A small reflecting pool with cool water…

And a pair of shelf fungus that seemed to want to talk.

I soon whipped up a quick dinner and we crawled into the tent as soon as the sun had dropped behind the canyon walls.

NEXT POST: We hike on to the pretty Azalea Lake and I (possibly) find proof of Bigfoot’s existence! (Peggy and I are off on another backpacking trip. I’ll respond to comments and check in on blogs when we return.)

 

Just too Cute to Ignore… When Fawns Come to Visit

Missy, a Black Tail Deer, brought by her baby for a visit yesterday. The kid was all legs and just a few days old. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

I had intended to put up a blog on Big Sur today, but then one of the does that hangs out on our property decided to bring by her fawn for a visit yesterday evening. It was just too cute to ignore and Peggy quickly grabbed her camera. So Big Sur can wait until later in the week! I’ve also taken several photos of the local deer herd over the past few weeks and one very bad squirrel, so I am adding them to the post. It has been a while since I’ve featured anything on the zoo we normally call our yard. Enjoy…

Missy and her baby. The kid’s older sister was there too and joined in the grooming, which is something I hadn’t seen before. Normally does drive off their kids from the previous year when they have a new baby. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

Wait up Mom! (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

Our five acres on the Upper Applegate River in Southern Oregon at times resembles a zoo as I’ve already noted. A deer herd, foxes, coyotes, skunks, raccoons, possums and squirrels make their home here. Earlier this week, our neighbor reported that a momma bear with two cubs was making the rounds. We quickly put bungee cords on our garbage cans!

My writing chair looks out on our backyard, which can be hazardous to the writing process. I glanced out the window the other day and a whole herd of deer had settled in for a nap.

We call this guy Little Buck. I think he is commenting on the lack of apples. He’s another of Missy’s children. Actually, he was born two years ago. Missy had driven him and his sister off last year when she had a fawn. When the fawn had an unfortunate encounter with a car, Missy re-adopted her children.

Another shot of Little Buck. His antlers are still in velvet. Bucks lose their velvet in late summer in preparation for mating season debates over who gets the girl. Little Buck will likely be a spike with no points on his antlers this year, which will leave him out of the competition.

This fellow is obviously on his way to becoming at least a ‘forked horn’ with two points. The bucks usually join together in a guys’ club until mating season. Little Buck, who is something of a momma’s boy, still hangs out with Missy and his sister.

I took this photo of Missy in our backyard a few weeks ago before she had her fawn. She is maybe 15 feet away from where I write and often keeps me company along with Little Buck and Sis.

There are lots of gray squirrels who live up in the trees and ground squirrels who live in burrows on our property. And they all love birdseed! If you accuse them of stealing it, however, they all deny they have been anywhere near the bird feeder. They claim things like executive privilege, or say they can’t remember, or plead the fifth, or argue that the information is classified. I have a T-shirt I like to wear that reflects their behavior.

Birdseed? What birdseed?

A close-up. The cheeks are an absolute give-away.

Three days ago I caught a culprit with the goods up on the railing of our deck. He still denied any knowledge of bird seed even though sunflower seed shells were scattered all over the railing. When I pointed this out to him, he, um… well, wait and see for yourself.

I looked out our bedroom window and spotted a ground squirrel eating what looked a lot like bird seed.

When I pointed out that he was surrounded by empty sunflower seed shells he claimed they proved nothing.

When I suggested he was lying, he spit out a shell and gave me an internationally recognized salute! Check out his right paw.

Just in case I didn’t get it!

That’s it for today. (grin) On Friday, I’ll be back with the post on Big Sur.

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From Sea Gulls to Sea Lions to Sea Lights… The Oregon Coast Series

The Heceta Head Lighthouse is one of the most photographed lighthouses in the US.

My older brother, Marshall, is visiting this week and it has taken us back in time, back to our childhood, a time with mixed reviews— and back to when Marshall was living in Oregon. I am going to skip over the early years here, but the Oregon time is relevant. First, however, a little on Marshall: He is a homeless man with a red cargo van and a healthy bank account.

I’ve mentioned our families wandering ways before. I think it is genetic. Both sides arrived in the US before it was the US and immediately started making their way west. Marshall likes to say if it weren’t for the Pacific Ocean, we still would be. For the past several years he has lived in the Southern United States and migrated with the weather, basking in the warmth of southern Florida in the winter and hiding out from the heat in the mountains of North Carolina during the summer. His rule is that he never camps in any one place for more than two weeks.

He takes great pride in his freedom, and in his ability to live inexpensively. For example, he always camps for free. He loves the outdoors and satisfies his love by camping in beautiful locations. He is also an avid reader, consuming a book every two days. I’ve never know him to be happier than he has been since he decided to become homeless in 2002 when he turned 61.

Three years ago, he discovered that he had throat and mouth cancer. He tackled it with a sense of humor his doctor couldn’t believe and continued to camp out while he had his treatments. Marshall has now been declared cancer free. He can continue roaming until he can’t any more. He decided to move west, however. He will now migrate between Arizona and Oregon. We will be one of his regular stop offs.

And this brings us back to Oregon and my post today on the Oregon Sea Lion Cave and the Heceta Head Lighthouse. In the late 1970s, Marshall and a partner bought an old motel on the Oregon coast about six miles north of Heceta Head and eight miles north of the Sea Lion Cave. It was a rambling, funky old place called Gull Haven. Professors from the University of Oregon, writers, and others needing an occasional escape could stay there for $10 per night. Marshall installed our 75-year-old dad there and he happily ran the place while he wandered up and down the coast— taking photos, painting landscapes, collecting rocks, and gathering mussels off the rocks to cook up and eat.

Gull Haven in 1979 when my brother owned it and my father managed it.

Naturally, I went up to visit. I was living in Sacramento at the time. Pop had tried to feed me mussels, no thanks, and showed me around the area. He had photographed the Heceta Lighthouse numerous times, and painted it once. I visited the Sea Lion Cave on my own, descending into the depths to the sounds and smells of a hundred or so sea lions. The sound was substantial and the smell… well, it was odoriferous. It isn’t one you forget, although I’ve since come to the conclusion that the sea-lion cave smells like a petunia patch in comparison to cattle feed lots in California’s Central Valley.

After a year or so Marshall sold the motel— cheap. And didn’t tell me he was going to. I never have totally forgiven him; I would have been sorely tempted to buy it. Today, it is a beautiful B&B known as Ocean Haven. Go here to check it out.

The Ocean Haven B&B north of Florence, Oregon.

Gull Haven today. Or Ocean Haven as it is known now with its magnificent views of the Pacific Ocean.

I visited the area again a few weeks ago when Peggy was back East. Following are some photos I took of the Lighthouse and the Sea Lion Cave.

A distant view of the Heceta Lighthouse. It sits 205 feet above the sea.

The first order Fresnel Lens in the tower of 56-foot tall lighthouse shines a beam that is visible for 21 miles out in the ocean, making it the most powerful lighthouse on the Oregon coast.

This picture of the Fresnel Lens is found on the ground floor of the lighthouse. Our guide told us that when one of the bottom glass sections broke a few years ago, it cost as much to replace as the whole light cost originally.

A final view of the lighthouse. Over 1000 barrels of blasting powder were required to create a flat space on Heceta Head to build the lighthouse.

This is a view of the lighthouse keeper’s home seen from the trail leading up to the lighthouse.

When the lighthouse was automated in the 70s, it was turned over to Lane Community College for classes. Not bad, eh? Today it is a B&B. The house also comes with its own ghost named Rue. It is said that she doesn’t like change.

A view of the Cape Creek Bridge from the lighthouse.

And a close up. The Cape Creek Bridge is one of several gorgeous bridges along the Oregon coast.

The small bay created by Cape Creek is also quite scenic. The lighthouse sits on the hill to the right.

A sea-gull takes off from the beach of the Cape Creek Cove. I took this photo (and the two above) on an earlier trip.

A final view from the lighthouse. If you look closely, you will see the Sea Lion Caves building on the distant headland. Find the cut made for Highway 101 as it snakes its way along the cliffs and follow it to the far right.

Over 100 sea lions (eared seals) were in the cave when I visited. An elevator whisks visitors down into the main cave.

Steller Sea Lions live for about 20 years. They can swim up to 17 miles per hour.

This big fellow had his head back and was barking most of the time I was in the cave.

I found the drama of the waves in the cave to be as interesting as the seals.

The rock in the middle is also prime seal territory. The waves actually washed over it as I watched, leaving only two sea lions on top.

A final view of the rock with its two sea lions and the big guy.

NEXT BLOGS:

Wednesday: Bone is Found!

Friday: The Tribes of Burning Man…

Next week I will be traveling down around Big Sur, Carmel, Monterey and Santa Cruz on the Central Coast of California. It may be blog-break time. 🙂

 

 

 

 

What Makes a Lighthouse So Appealing?

The Coquille Lighthouse sits on a point jutting out into the Coquille River opposite of Bandon, Oregon. Its replacement, an automated beacon, can be seen on the left across the river on the South Jetty. A glimpse of the Pacific Ocean appears on the right. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

 

I am sure that there are people who drive by lighthouses never noticing their existence. I am not one. There is something romantic about them that pulls me in. Maybe it is their historic role: saving mariners from crashing into rocky shoals and other shoreline hazards. Or maybe it is their isolation and the thought of a lighthouse keeper’s lonely life. Having a bit of hermit in me, I can easily envision such a life-style, assuming, of course, that I have my good buddy and a boatload of books along. Or possibly it’s their setting along dramatic ocean and lake shorelines. Rocky shorelines offer beauty as well as hazards.

The history of the Coquille River Lighthouse was closely tied to the logging industry. Early lumber barons wanted to get at the virgin forests located along the Coquille River. Access was relatively easy, assuming ships could cross the hazardous bar located at the mouth of the river next to Bandon. A jetty was built out into the ocean, which led to the creation of a deep channel. The lighthouse was built to guide ships along this channel. The 1890 funding proposal stated:

“A light of the fourth order with a fog-signal, at this point, would enable vessels bound into the river to hold on close to the bar during the night so that they would be in a position to cross at the next high water. The light would also serve as a coast light and would be of much service to vessels bound up and down the river.”

“A light of the fourth order,” refers to the type of the Fresnel lens used in the lighthouse. Fresnel lens are made up of multiple lens arranged in concentric circles around the light source. If you’ve been in a lighthouse, you will have likely seen one. They range in size from the first to the sixth order. Fourth order Fresnel lights could normally be seen for 15 miles out to sea and were commonly used to guide mariners into harbor mouths.

A Fresnel lens of the sixth order on display at the Columbia River Maritime Museum in Astoria, Oregon. This light could be seen for about five miles and would be used in harbors and along rivers.

Funding was approved by Congress and the lighthouse was functioning by the mid-1890s. It was operated up until 1939 when the Coast Guard took it over and determined that a less expensive, automated beacon placed on the end of the Bandon South Jetty would work as well. The abandoned lighthouse was neglected up until 1976 when it was taken over by the state of Oregon as part of Bullard’s Beach State Park. A joint effort by the state and the Army Corps of Engineers restored the lighthouse as an historic attraction. Various efforts since have maintained it, much to the enjoyment of thousands of visitors— including us.

Peggy and I stayed at the state park while we were visiting Bandon and used one of our mornings to go over and check out the Coquille Lighthouse, North Jetty and Bullard’s Beach. The following photos record our visit.

Peggy and I walked around the lighthouse to capture photos from various angles. I took this from the river’s edge. Low tide enabled me to shoot from below the tide line. The North Jetty stretches off to the left.

Peggy caught this close up.

And I took this picture looking over sea grass. Parts of Bandon can be seen across the river. We were on our way to walk out the North Jetty.

One of the first things that struck me about the jetty was the amount of driftwood piled up along it. This reflects the power of the ocean. It also warns that you wouldn’t want to be anywhere near the jetty in a storm.

Peggy posed for me in front of this large stump on top of the jetty, a remnant of logging up the river and along the coast.

I returned the favor posing for Peggy out toward the end of the jetty. A wave can be seen breaking over the end. And this is at low tide! We stayed far back. I would bet that people have been swept off of here while trying to photograph winter waves. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

I appreciated the sea gulls adding a touch of sea life to my photo. One wave hits the end of the jetty while another rolls in. Watch out for the ninth!

A pair of seals with their big dark eyes swam along the side of the jetty and checked us out. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

A view north from the jetty along Bullard’s Beach shows again how much driftwood (drift logs?) is brought in by winter storms.

Peggy took this shot looking up from Bullard’s Beach toward the lighthouse.

And this photo of a fort someone had built taking advantage of the driftwood. You can imagine the amount of fun kids would have building and playing in such a fort. Adults too. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

I added a close up.

Walking along the beach we found a flock of Sanderlings. These small shorebirds are a delight to watch as they charge in unison along the beach following the tide as it rises and falls in search of delectable bugs. I liked the reflection provided by the receding water. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

Get too close and off they fly, whirling in unison as they head a few yards up the beach to continue their endless search for dinner.

I’ll close today with this final shot of the coastal land that backs up to Bullard’s Beach.

NEXT BLOGS:

Wednesday: While Bone waits to be found, we continue our backpack trip down the Tahoe-Yosemite Trail— finding our way through deep snow, crossing a raging river, and running from kamikaze mosquitoes.

Friday: Murals and other wild/weird art of Burning Man.

Monday: I travel north up Oregon’s coast and explore a cave filled with lions, sea lions that is.

 

Let’s Celebrate the Earth… It’s Earth Day 2017!

Without environmental awareness and action, this magnificent Brown Pelican would no longer be flying. By the 1960s, DDT, which was used extensively in controlling insects, had come close to wiping out the species.

On April 22, 1970, I was running a recruitment campaign for Peace Corps at the University of California in Davis. It was one of those beautiful spring days in the Central Valley of California where green grass covers the valley floor and pushes on up into the foothills, the birds are busy declaring their love, and everything seems to bloom at once.  Inspired, I had gone out for an early morning walk along the American River in Sacramento before heading to work. When I arrived on campus around 9:00, booths had sprung up across the large open quad that is the heart of the University, and a sense of excitement filled the air.

It was Earth Day I, ground zero in America’s efforts to save its environment, to return to an earlier time in American history, back before our rivers and air became a cheap way to dispose of industrial wastes, back before the value of our remaining wild areas had only been measured in the minerals that could be mined, or oil that could be produced, or trees that could be cut down, back before agricultural production was determined by the number of poisonous chemicals we could pour on plants and the antibodies and hormones we could pump into our livestock, back before America’s ‘greatness’ was measured in terms of how many times we could blow up the world with our nuclear weapons, and the amount of wealth that could be concentrated in the top one percent of our society.

Rachel Carson had provided the initial impulse for the environmental movement with her classic book, Silent Spring, published in 1962. The original idea for Earth Day had come from US Senator Gaylord Nelson, a Democrat from Wisconsin, after he had witnessed the devastation caused by the Santa Barbara oil spill. He had noted student activism on American college campuses in support of human rights and in opposition to war and felt that some of the energy might be captured for saving the environment. Nelson had recruited Senator Pete McCloskey, a moderate Republican from California, and the two of them had gone on to organize the nation-wide teach-in on college campuses that had become Earth Day I.

I had quickly given up any pretense of recruiting for Peace Corps that day and instead spent my time walking from booth to booth and talking to young people and organizations about the challenges we faced on the environmental front, about their hopes and dreams for the future. Something happened to me that day. I became a believer in the importance of turning back the clock, of making America great again from an environmental perspective, and of redefining progress to include clean air and clean water, and wild places we could still enjoy and escape to.

Within two months, I had left my job as Director of Peace Corps Public Affairs in Northern California and Nevada and become Executive Director of a fledgling environmental center in Sacramento. On a national level, 1970 saw creation of the Environmental Protection Agency and the passage of the Clean Air, Clean Water, and Endangered Species Acts. But the battle was just beginning. And nowhere was this clearer than in California. The then governor of the state, the man who would be president, Ronald Reagan, had already declared in the battle to preserve the redwoods, “…a tree is a tree, how many more do you need to look at?” The timber industry, and apparently, the governor, still looked at a 2000-year-old forest giant and saw 480,000 board feet of lumber.

Redwood

This ancient redwood is located in Redwoods National Park on the northern coast of California. Is the approximate three million dollars worth of lumber that cutting it down would bring worth more than its beauty or the 1500 years it has taken to produce it? Or to the joy it will continue to bring to our children and grandchildren for generations to come?

In 1990, Earth Day appropriately went international. Some 200 million people in 141 countries carried the fight for clean air, clean water, and for the protection of wild places and wild animals onto the world stage.

Today, in the US, after 50 years of making progress in cleaning our air and water, in saving endangered species, in setting aside wild and beautiful areas, in developing clean energy, and in recycling our waste, the man who is President has declared war on environmental protection. He has proposed drastic cuts in the Environmental Protection Agency’s budget and appointed a man to head the agency who is a dedicated opponent of the organization. He has denied the science behind global warming and moved to pull the US out of international efforts to solve the problem. And this is just for starters according to his campaign promises. Apparently “Making America Great Again” includes returning to the days when making a profit always trumped protecting the earth. But who knows? Our President is known to change his mind.

But the battle to save the earth, and that is what it is, is not just a US problem; it is a world-wide problem. It doesn’t matter today whether you are reading this post today from Nigeria, or Australia, or France, or Canada, or England, or Russia, or Brazil, or Singapore, or any of the other 160 countries from which people frequently or occasionally check in on my blog, the fight for clean air and water, for healthy food, for wild places, and for wild animals is a fight for all of us. Future generations of people, not to mention lions and tigers and frogs and trees and elephants and butterflies will say thank you.

The photos today (taken by Peggy and me) are to remind us of just how precious this world we live in is.

 

Grand Canyon National Park is one of the World’s great natural wonders. There were plans to dam the canyon and flood it with water until people who loved its beauty stepped in and stopped the effort.

The world is full of natural beauty… including this waterfall in Milford Sound, New Zealand.

Sunset at Sea Kayak Adventure's campsite on Hanson Island in Johnstone Strait. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

Sunset in Queen Charlotte Strait off the coast of Vancouver Island, British Columbia.

Scotch Broom found on the American River Parkway. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

Scotch Broom found along a wild roadside in Scotland.

Yosemite's Half Dome captured on a hazy day. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

John Muir who wandered the Sierra Nevada Mountains was the founder of the Sierra Club and an early conservationist. His love of Yosemite led to national protection for the area, and the photographer, Ansel Adams, would make Half Dome, seen here, world-famous. I have spent 50 years of my life wandering the Sierras.

The deserts of the world have their own beauty. This is Death Valley.

For my last photo today, I can’t resist posting a picture from our front porch in Southern Oregon that I took a couple of months ago. Peggy and I are blessed to live in an area of great natural beauty. Every day we are reminded of the importance of protecting the environment.

 

Happy Earth Day from Curt and Peggy!

 

Bandon, Oregon… An Attractive Coastal Town Where Trash Becomes Art

Trash gathered along the coastline near Bandon, Oregon is turned into art by the nonprofit organization, Washed Ashore. In this case, the artists have created a puffin.

 

Here’s something to think about:

A study carried out by the World Economic Forum and Ellen MacArthur Foundation predicts that the plastic we are dumping into the ocean will weigh more than the fish in a short 30 years. While most of this plastic circles the ocean as sludge following currents known as gyres, a significant amount washes up on our beaches creating hazards for wildlife and visual pollution for the rest of us. Even the most pristine locations fall victim to this onslaught.

When Peggy and I drove into the small town of Bandon on the coast of Oregon two weeks ago, we spotted several colorful sculptures of marine life that immediately caught out attention. On closer inspection, we found out they were made out of trash collected from the local beaches and turned into sculptures by a local organization named Washed Ashore.

The non-profit is the creation of Bandon artist Angela Haseltine Pozzi who decided to do something about the pollution that was cluttering local beaches in 2010 and begin turning the trash into art.

“First you just want people to stop and look at the art,” Angela noted. “And then you want to have them stop and think about the problem.”

It certainly worked with us.

Today, hundreds of volunteers join with Angela and her staff in creating sculptures that travel the country and even the world creating awareness about our use of the oceans as a garbage dump. Last year, a number of Washed Ashore’s sea creatures even made it to the Smithsonian National Zoo in Washington DC.

This delightful fish is another example of Washed Ashore’s artistic endeavors. Note the old phone on the fish’s nose right above the child’s sand shovel.

Here is the puffin featured at the beginning of the post…

And this is a view of tide pool life created from trash.

A closeup of the feathers on the puffin’s chest.

A head on view of the fish with it’s scary teeth and trashy mouth.

Peggy, who always makes sure that her trash is properly disposed of and recycled, can stick her hand in the fish’s mouth without any fear of retribution.

But here’s what it might be like if she dumped her trash in the ocean! (She really is a good sport when serving as a model. “Look like it is biting you,” I had told her.)

Most towns along the Oregon coast spread out along Highway 101 like strip malls and feature the same motels, gas stations and fast food joints you can expect to find anywhere else in the US. Peggy and I have discovered, however, that most of these small communities also had the foresight to save their historic districts. These in turn have become attractions for tourists, a source of important jobs and dollars.

Bandon welcomes visitors and provides activities that range from walking on its beautiful beaches, to shopping and eating in town, to playing golf on some of Oregon’s finest golf courses.

The other side of this sign over Bandon’s main street welcomes you to Old Town. This side looks out on busy Highway 101 from the historic district.

Such is the case with Bandon. Peggy and I wandered around Old Town and did our bit for the local economy. We bought books in a fun little bookstore, nibbled our way through a chocolate store, and quaffed a couple of pints of Guinness at an Irish pub. We even checked out a store that is dedicated to producing and selling candy made with cranberries. It turns out that Bandon grows over 90% of Oregon’s cranberry crop and 5% of the nation’s!

I would describe the Old Town area as fun and funky. The nature of the original town has been preserved without pretensions.

As you might imagine, the town’s access to the ocean guarantees an abundance of fresh seafood. I liked the sense of humor reflected by the fish.

An attractive boardwalk featuring several works of art fronts the Coquille River and forms the northern border to Old Town. We concluded our visit to Bandon by strolling along the walkway, checking out the marina, and admiring the art.

A world globe we found on Brandon’s Boardwalk conveniently located where we were.

A regal seahorse checked us out…

A carved turtle grinned at us…

And led me to focus in on its smile.

A friendly harbor seal…

Gave us a look that seemed to say, “Feed me a fish, please.”

And a crab did what crabs do so well— look crabby.

My favorite, however, was this octopus. I took several shots.

Back lit by the sun, he looked a little scary, like something out of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.

I decided to use my last photo to introduce my next post on Bandon (next Monday). Peggy and I will cross the Coquille River to check out this lighthouse and the ocean beach next to it. We are looking at the lighthouse from Bandon’s Boardwalk.

NEXT POSTS:

 

Wednesday: I begin a three-part series that focuses on a backpack trip near Lake Tahoe where we found Bone.

Friday: I will continue my photo essays on the art of Burning Man.

Monday: I’ll wrap up the Bandon, Oregon series with a trip to the Coquille Lighthouse and the surrounding area.