Wondrous Campsite

It was before nine in the morning when the two vans, one with GoWild on the side, pulled up. They disgorged a dozen yammerers eager to meet and greet; there was one woman.

In my boxer skivvies and naught else, I hailed their fearless leader to inquire of their intentions. "We're on an adventure!" he said.

Overhearing, I realized there was no room for me at their party and there was certainly no consideration of my presence.

Piling their baggage in front of the info board, an intense exchange went round over who had which and how many bottles; the scotch was of particular concern.

I packed and was able to leave just as the trailer with their mules arrived.

The Mules & the Only Backpack

I took the first side road I came to. Perusing my 1:24000 scale maps, it looked as if there might be water. And so it was that we found ourselves tucked into one of those special places that keeps me wandering. The stream was about 12 feet wide with a deep enough pool that, in my twelve-dollar Walmart slip-ons, made filling the jugs ezee-pezee. Within less than a minute my feet were freezing. 

The site was close to the road but the traffic was so sparse it wasn't an issue.

When I went into a roof box for something I must've hit the ON button cuz suddenly I noticed 'em.

I'd found 'em earlier in the year half draped on a tree at the far end of a forest road. The control box was about 20 feet out from the tree with the string lying on the ground; I figured it was my turn to have 'em.

There's a timer that turns 'em off at some point that's past my bedtime so I've yet to tell how long they go. But it seems a nice way to alert the late-comers that this site is occupied.

I thought about teleporting to the group of self-absorbeds to thank them for the motivation, but I was too busy just enjoying this wondrous camp at Indian Creek.

It's So Nice We Had This Time Together

Almost 9,000 ft (2.74km) not far from Los Alamos 

Annual Boot Cleaning (with fly swatter)

Hours Later

Mentioned in Diane Ackerman's

One Hundred Names For Love: A Memoir

about her husband's stroke

It got warm at mid-day

When she was 19 she had

one of these...and car-camped in it.

Parting is always tough

Home Movie

(only meaningful if you were there)

4wdr low needed to get to the hilltop idyll.

Way out in the woods,

I tried to view it as an art installation.

The Cure

Girl Camping - a blog

Languishing in ABQ awaiting meeting with cardiologist I discovered Girl Camping.

Creative expression.......http://girl-camping.blogspot.com/2016/04/go-ahead-act-up-little.html

Incessant

I meet with Dr. Khoo on Tuesday sometime. The receptionist said she was scheduling for late August but after I submitted my New-Patient-Packet she apparently decided I needed to be seen right away. We don't have a time specified...just Tuesday.

It seemed like too much effort to load up and drive to the hills for two nights, but all the Friday night blatting (rumor has it a loud muffler gives the boys an erection) and incessant barkings convinced me otherwise.

Alex Gregory: Cartoonist

Fenton Lake here I come! (There's dispersed camping outside the park.)

The Promontory

It was a booger-bear of a road out to the promontory, but that, of course, helps keep the traffic down.

At just over 8,000 feet it was comfortable even at midday while below, in the valley, temperatures came close to 37 degrees Celsius (100 degrees Fahrenheit).

Northbound From ABQ

I thought Tuesday might be too early to start haranguing about renewing my prescription for my heart medication. I finally, after MANY HOURS over the course of the week, got it done at 5:00p.m. yesterday, Friday. 

Having wrangled suicidal ideation since age seven, and now having spent nearly the entire week facilitating my longevity, the irony prompts a look at myself with a derisive question & ridiculous answer: "Me...sleight-of-mind? Absolutely!"

More Walmarts per-capita than any other U.S. city
(It says alot about the [lack of] culture)

Rumor has it it's gonna get hot in ABQ today. Hopefully it'll be cooler up by Taos.

Any suggestions for dispersed camping up that way?

Mt. Wrightson Wilderness

It irks me that they allow cattle grazing in wilderness. I throw rocks at 'em tuh keep 'em from leaving their shit near camp. As you know, where there's shit, there're flies...or soon will be.
It's a magnificent view! The road ends at a trailhead where in addition to hikers and mountain bikes, dogs are welcome. There's a lot of traffic.

But I've been getting "revenge" by flagging down the homeward-bound and proselytizing for Western Watersheds Project. I've been surprised by how many have been receptive. Hopefully, they'll send money.

This Spring Chicken (ocotillo) is starting to fluff out (put on leaves) ahead of all the others. But the tall folk are gearing up; they're startin' tuh put on buds.

You can see Whipple Observatory on the peak near Phoebe's upper right edge. I think that's Pete Mountain that the upper "bit" of the ocotillo is lying acrosst.

Whipple has an interesting history. It seems Fred Lawrence Whipple (died 2004, age 97) thought, sometime in the 1930s, the Smithsonian really needed a bona-fide astronomical installation i.e., a telescope. He apparently had the connections. But you may wanna research it further. The foregoing was from memory...a fastly-failing resource.

It Ain't Kansas - Los Padres National Forest

It ain''t Kansas. They drive like they gots sumwharz tuh go and they wants YOU tuh git outa the way. If you get outa line it may take uh halfn hour for yuh tuh git an opening so as tuh git back in. Yessir, there's peoples end-tuh-end. And no end in sight.

But we're be'un watched out for. (I guess since I ain't no drunk thet meenz ah mus be uh phool.) 

As preface to what follows, please take a moment to read An Average Life's blogpost of 10/25/16; it lends fine context to my tale.

At a remote campground that was empty I got out to read the regs & fees. I then went up the road where I stopped to look over the walk-in tent sites, remembering to roll up the window so the cat couldn't get out. A little further I came to the main campground and toodled about, stopping to compliment a young woman on her beautiful, full length, aubergine gown. It was nice to see someone dressed in something more original than the grey t-shirt 'n' khaki shorts uniform. I returned to the remote place, filled out the form, paid the fee and discovered, upon unloading the car, that I didn't have a cat.

I suffer from loss issues. Thus, my first reaction was, "Oh well, it was inevitable. I'll get over it." But then, after about ten minutes, years of therapy kicked in and I began thinking of where she might've gotten out. I began calling as I walked back to the C.G. pay station. Circling the area and continuing to call, I practically fell over when she came trotting across an open area heading for the nearby woods. She stopped to sniff the leg of a picnic table (she enjoys making fun of dogs) before jumping onto a low limb of a tree and and (are you watching?) pantomiming checking the tie-downs on her packboard before heading off into the wilds. I called and she paused, letting me get near enough (sssoOOO beneficent) to grab her. Cuddling her in my arms, I asked if she wanted to leave, if she was unhappy with me. Her quick glance with frightened eyes reassured me it wasn't about me. She's just a kitten and wanted to get out. 

The next evening, after driving for too long, we were forced into a campground where many of the sites, although empty, were reserved. With nowhere else to go, I chose the first one, fortuitously separated from the others, and unloaded the absolute minimum. I figured we'd keep it warm for them and when they showed up it'd take mere minutes to get packed and out of the way. I hoped to get a few hours sleep, enough to be able to drive on to somewhere. The ranger, who was kind enough to have waited until we finished our repast, was having none of it. "Move on, buddy. And be quick about it." I know I'd have been grateful if I'd been the reservee.

In my haste I forgot to close the back door. I'd looped the end of Smith's lead over the gearshift lever but, about 500 feet from the campsite, looked down and noticed it wasn't there. As I braked to a stop, the back door slammed shut. I soon realized, I was, once again, catless.

It was pitch dark and the woods were dense. A steep ravine, a fav exploratorium of hers, loomed its depths next to the road. I walked about with my flashlight, hoping no one else would show up and scare her. I scanned the campsite, calling into the night. I imagined her entangled lead, preventing her from responding. Existentialist correlaries and Waiting for Godot played about my (alleged) psyche. 

She came trotting down the boulevard with her lead trailing, "Thanks for waiting. You left the door open so I figured it was okay to get out. Ha, ha!" When I stooped to intercept her, she veered and quickened her pace, but my foot, always chancey with one eye (the left is blind), found its mark and I was able to reel her in.  An hour later, crispy-crittered to the hilt, we checked into the aforementioned remote C.G.  

The next day was better. After 12 miles of steep, narrow and winding up to the Figueroa Recreation Area (Hah! No muttering of generators up here!), we found a little knoll. There, between the steepyer (like pointyer but slantyer) slopes of the Sierra Madre mountains in the Los Padres National Forest, amongst the oaks, where much of the land is either up or down, I noticed a faint track of tires. Walking it, they soon disappeared. But upon turning to return, and with the light now behind me, I could see a vague suggestion. And we didn't even need 4WD. With all the trees (uhg!) Smith was in heaven!

Her exuberance is wonderful. It brought a full-on laugh when she came racing out of the forest, leaped in through the bathroom window and, with zuchinni tail in full-fluff (mock anger/terror), exited, still at fullspeed, stage right, through the front passenger door. My hair, blown by the afterdraft, streamed out beside my head and I reeled back expecting a herd of jackals to be hot on her heels.

The next day A few miles down the road the gods had left this little hidey-hole (see photo) open. It's atop the mountain overlooking Santa Barbara about 1,000 feet before the gun club (BLAM!! BLAM!! BLAM, BLAM, BLAM!!!). We surmised they'd forgotten their night vision stuff cuz it got quiet after dark.

The weather's fyne. Upper 70s to low 80s during the day. Nights in the 60s and, at these elevations, no fog.


NOTE: The local Nat'l Forest cop gave hard time cuz yer sposedly only ''llowed tuh be one car length fum duh pavement. Everything I've read said 300 feet, but, of course, I didn't have it to hand. As per his authority, he took umbrage at the suggestion he didn't know the law.

Hiiiiigh Burner CooOOOooking (to the tune of Smoke On the Water)

I've never been much for multi-tasking. Definite proof came the other day when I tho't to take a moment to check the stock market. 

Those were grade A, Seelekt, Italian sausages. 

Priest's Hole - John Day River, Oregon

Dennis Prince (see Kindness of Strangers) alerted me to Priest's Hole. If he hadn't, I doubt I'd have noticed the small sign at the turnoff. It's a beautiful spot and being Lucky Herrmann, the most beautiful campspot was available. But they're all good. And there's even a pit toilet.

Nearing Camp

If you backtrack from the pit toilet to the turnoff that leads "upriver" and go maybe about 1/4 mile (at the most) there's a turn to the right that goes down through the trees as seen in the photo above and below. 

Shielded From View

Oxbow

Just beyond the trees is the "landing" from which I took the next few pictures. It's big enough for a couple of medium-size rigs. 

View at Camp

Lucky Herrmann

Salton Sea

It was late afternoon as I headed east on highway 78 toward the Salton Sea. I was envisioning an idyllic beach-side camp with the crying of gulls and a mermaid or two.

At the junction with 86 the wind was blowing so hard I had tuh use my 'mergincy brake tuh stop. It was crosswise as I turned north and whilst I drove thar wuz airborne rat'lerz, a herd of javalinas four feet off the ground, and a brick porta-potty whut comed acrosst the highway. Thar warn't no way tuh camp!

Some miles up the road we rounded the mountain and the wind abated. I tried several tracks looking for a camp but all led to private property.

It was almost dark when, with  failing hope I turned onto what I tho't of as my last-ditch chance. It took me throo bordering stands of tamarisk too high to see over until I emerged on a "pristine" beach complete with pelicans, seagulls and my own "freshwater" slough.  Once again I thanked my lucky stars for bringing me home.

Quebradas Backcountry Byway - New Mexico

Desert Solitude At Its Finest

To the West - The (snowcapped) Magdalena Mountains

It's a little-known area about an hour and a half south of Albuquerque. Solitude and slightly warmer temperatures make the 24-mile-long Quebradas Backcountry Byway a great Fall and Winter destination. Getting on the Byway is a bit tricky; it's worth a look at Google Maps.

A link to a free pdf with geologic information and directions...

http://geoinfo.nmt.edu/publications/fieldguides/quebradas/


DIRECTIONS

The 24-mile-long dirt road can be accessed from the north via I-25 or from the south via Highway 380. It is most often accessed from the north end, via Exit 152 (the Escondida exit) off I-25, just a couple of miles north of Socorro. After exiting the freeway, turn right (east) about 1,000 feet to the "T." Turn left (north) toward Escondida Lake. In just over a mile, turn right (East) again at the Escondida Lake sign. Continue East past Escondida Lake (anywhere else on the planet this would be called a puddle) across the Rio Grande. At the village of Pueblito (a T-intersection with no stop sign) turn right (south) and proceed about a mile to the junction of the Bosquecito Road with the Back Country Byway (A-152). This is mile 0.0. Follow the road to the left at this junction.

From the south: The turnoff from 380 is 11 miles east of the village of San Antonio (380 is accessible from Exit 139 off I-25). Turn north onto A-129 and drive 3 miles to the junction with A-152. Turn left here; Stop 10, the last "information stop" in A Geologic Guide to the Quebradas Back Country Bywayat the southern end, is just west of this junction. You may notice the cautionary bit in the Geologic Guide about the need for four-wheel-drive and/or high clearance. The image below shows what it's like. I doubt if yer cadillac will even wince.

Former winter R.V. -- when a mudroom was a desirable amenity

Reprovisioning in Baker City or Mr. Nose Does it Again!

Every now and then things come together in a way that makes me think I must not have been all THAT bad. I mean, as a devout agnostic, karma sort of hovers on the edge of my grab-bag, but when I find myself in a place like this, with an excellent reisling to boot, I occasionally ponder the whys and wherefores. Fortunately, Mr. Stomach usually comes to my aid. I then give up on the imponderables and ask: What's for supper?

It was early evening when the usual nick-o'-time Forest Access Road appeared. Up through barren hills we went; up, up until finally...forest. I kept going.

The map showed a campground and given the remoteness of the area I figured there had to be a flat, dispersed spot too. Compelled by In-say-shuh-bull Curtiosity (nod to Kipling), I cruised the 'burb-in-duh-woodz campgound. I was surprised to see how many (Yikes!) people there were. I looked out the back door (a smaller Forest Rd) where a guy on an ATV went by three feet away engrossed in scrutinizing the woods. I ignored him.

Back on the main drag, I soon came to The Spot. Included in the deal was a cute li'l babblin' brook. The vague odeur of cow occasionally wafted but there were few flies or mosquitoes.

In the morning I took my time. (A purely  relative concept here.) After coffee, breakfast, bath and katas, at around 3:00 p.m., I found myself commandeering The Egg. The road climbed a while then descended...WAY descended. I almost turned back. Mr. Nose said, "Keep going."

After many miles I came to a tight switchback with a view. It was here I looked down onto one of the sweetest trout streams I'd seen in weeks. After descending, a bridge hove into the lane and signage indicated the road might parallel it for a while. At the junction with its little brother, an even SWEETER stream, Mr. Nose said go East. I made the turn.

We climbed again. At times a bit above the stream, but always coming back. As I came to the edge of a sunlit meadow straight outta Nat'l Geographic I saw the sign.

2008 - A fine year

Near the end of the road I made camp.

Now to the point...

Knowing I was headed into the Eagle Cap Wilderness I had stopped in Baker City (E of Bend) for supplies.

One of the fun things about traveling is local wines. It's an excuse (as if we need one) to keep the cellar well-stocked.

The large supermarket was bit overwhelming so I sought an  advisor. Nearby was a woman stocking the dairy section. Upon inquiring as to her knowledge of the wine section, she launched into a discourse on merlots.

Concerned about giving offense, I hinted at my predilection for reisling. She shifted gears so smoothly I immediately abandoned myself to her guidance.

She allowed as how she and her sister-in-law, a Muscat fan, occasionally compromised with a reisling.  After I selected the Covey Run I asked her opinion. She assured me it was good.

And so it is. But all this is about an aspect of the lifestyle I want to discuss. I've been accused of having a high tolerance for inconvenience. While this may be true, I'm hardly a masochist. I mitigate the hardships, such as they are, when I can.

For instance, getting water is often a bit of an endeavor. In today's case I'm forced to hike down a hill, across a wide expanse of unshaded, burning-hot streambed to the trickle of pure, mountain stream.

The View From Camp

Having arrived at the water's edge after maybe 2.5 minutes and stooped to fill the 3 1/2 gallon bathtub, I am in need of fortification.

Now here's the "high tolerance" part....I've taken to keeping an open bottle in the stream. Today's selection is the Covey Run (2008) mentioned above. I fill a glass, then, with the fruit of the vine coursing through my veins I can now face the arduous haul up the hill.

And nothing goes better with a fine reisling than sitting on the bank of a cirque-fed stream watching the trout gaily water-walk (like Flipper...or Michael Jackson),  while  the sun sets over the Eagle Cap Wilderness.

Survived Another Water-Haul

Ever since I was a youth I've followed Mr. Nose. He has yet to let me down.

Churminz Ahead!!

The Spot (click to largen)

I'm sure you've seen it too...orange cones across the entrance to the site; or yellow crime scene tape.

Every now and then I find a spot that seems appropriate for some kind of warning. Occasionally, it's a case of the "tight squeeze" where there's not enough room for another camper to turn around. But more often, like most folks in the wilds, I just don't want to be disturbed.

Of course, it's not ALL about me. Out of consideration for others, I feel it's only fair to offer some warning. Having been raised by a pair (female & male) of unaffiliated nudists, I do all I can to uphold the family values and keep the laundry loads to a minimum.

Warning!! Warning!! Germans Ahead!!

Thus, when I chanced upon this flag in a thrift store in Whitehorse, the capitol of The Yukon, I knew I'd found what I needed. And even though I feel there's no place for politics in the woods, it is, after all, meant in good humor.