My regular posts are postponed while I tell you of our weekend of uncertainty in Mineral King.
I went up the hill with a friend/cabin neighbor on Friday morning. She picked me up at 10:30, and we did not arrive at our cabins until 1 p.m. I used the word “harrowing” to describe the drive, and while Trail Guy wasn’t there, he said the word was too strong. So, I pulled it back to “intense”.
For the first 6.5 miles, we encountered many large trucks heading down, since we timed our drive poorly and coincided with the shift change. There was a great deal of backing up and waiting in turnouts and vaguely wide spots.
We had to give our names and cabin #s at Lookout Point to be checked off a list of folks going to close their cabins. We were told that the Mineral King trails were closed to recreating, and sent a few hundred yards ahead to wait for the signal to proceed.
When we were released, we encountered crew after crew brushing along the road and over the bank. There were big pick-ups, trucks, and really big trucks along the road and in the road, so we crept along in between and around. I didn’t take many photos of people as we passed because it felt rude. I missed one great shot of a crew all lying on the road and the bank during a break, but it is seared in my memory.
Since a picture is worth a thousand words, here are several thousand words worth of the drive up.
looking back downThis is looking back down the road behind us.
It was smoky in Mineral King, but we were greatly relieved to have arrived in a place of peace.
Tomorrow I will tell you more about our weekend of uncertainty.
I am now down the hill from a long weekend in Mineral King and since a great number of my blog readers want Mineral King information, I will tell you about it this week.
The road is now closed. We were not evacuated, but were escorted out this morning. Everyone wanting to leave had to meet at the Conifer Gate at 10 a.m. Those who didn’t leave are “sheltering in place” for 48-72 hours. We were under an Evacuation Warning.
Saturday evening a pair of men from the Tulare County Sheriff’s Office came around, warning us of impending road closure and tacking notices on the doors of all the cabins (whether or not they were occupied or had been closed for the season).
What to do? Begin packing up? Nope. Take a walk and enjoy what time remained.
Nope, we were NOT recreating, an activity that was forbidden when we were admitted entrance for the purpose of closing our cabins.
We spent Sunday in uncertainty—close for the season? Simply drain and anticipate a return? Take down as much as possible? Leave things up in case of a return later this fall?
Fortunately, we did a lot of paring down of our belongings, packing, and loading the pickups. (The Botmobile is a bit smallish, so we rely heavily on the generosity of The Farmer with his Massive Pick-em-up Truck, HUGE!)
“Fortunately”?
Yeppers. A Park official showed up around 8 on Monday morning to tell us to be at the Conifer Gate by 10 a.m. We got a move on, and made it.
We stopped at the Silver City Store so I could rescue my unsold paintings and cards, and headed down to Conifer.
Tomorrow I’ll show and tell you more about the Weekend of Uncertainty.
A friend with property in the line of the current fire (Coffeepot Fire) called on Tuesday to say that fixed wing aircraft were dipping water out of Lake Kaweah. Trail Guy said, “Do you mean helicopters?”
Friend said, “No, fixed wings”.
Trail Guy told me, and I said, “Do you mean helicopters?”
He said, “No, fixed wings”.
I said, “Let’s go see!”
So, we did.
We weren’t sure where to stop around the lake and tried a few turnouts, eventually picking a road down to the water. Trail Guy felt certain they’d be dipping from closer to the inlet than the dam, and since he was driving, that’s the viewpoint we chose. (He is usually right about those types of things.)
We sat on the tailgate waiting and watching.
Almost immediately, 2 planes arrived. I circled one in red so you can pick it out here.
Almost exactly ten minutes later, they returned.
We sure do know how to have a good time around here.
P.S. This is how the fire looked from LookOut Point yesterday afternoon: 3123 acres with 915 personnel. They could have stopped it at 1 acre!!!
My sister and brother-in-law hold a big yard sale once every year or two. We work well together “playing store”, and many other people bring their items. It is a tremendous amount of work to make sure all items are in top shape, priced with the seller’s initials, setting up tables (which often get brought from other participants), and working the displays to look the best possible. We create “departments” in our “store”, and work them all day long to keep them orderly and appealing. Talking to people, helping them find what they are seeking, keeping track of the sales so the money goes to the right person, finding a box or bag as needed. . . these were 3 long days of prep and selling.
This is Day 2 with 1/2 as much merchandise.Toys were the biggest seller; Christmas decor the least desired category.
We tried to fit a walk in around the neighborhood each day I was there, and the yards were so beautiful. It is fascinating to see what people can grow when there aren’t deer or 100+ degree days (although they had a few before I arrived).
My favorite house on our regular walks.
Attending a church with more members than the population of Three Rivers is always a thrill. The staff has more folks than attend my church on any regular Sunday. They actually played a game in the minutes before the service started—Will wonders ever cease for me in the land of Giant Churches?
We picked blueberries one morning. Blueberries are a perfect you-pick crop—no thorns, no bugs, no heat. I only brought home 16 pounds this year since we didn’t bring any husbands or reluctant child laborers with us. I could have picked much longer, but our list of errands that day was extensive.
Everything in Oregon was beautiful, including the areas across the street from the U-Pick Farm (Fordyce).
Leaving was both difficult (I love my Oregon family and friends and only see them once a year) and urgent (I love home). On the previous 2 Oregon driving trips, I stopped at a friend’s place north of Sacramento because it is a chance to be together. However, this year I just felt compelled to get home. It could have been the 2 texts from different friends (in Visalia and Exeter) asking if we were okay because they could see flames up our way. (Turned out to be fine). Or it could have been a delusion that driving 13 hours in one day is no big thing. (It IS a Big Thing.)
If I’d been a passenger, there’d be more scenery photos. So much to paint, but there’s not a lot of market for these images among my tens of followers.
When someone drives the same long route multiple times, there are highlights along the way, specific places and sites to watch for. In Oregon, I used to see a covered bridge on the east side of 5, but it hasn’t shown up for several years and I have forgotten the name in order to look it up on the web.
I saw an enormous number of hubcaps each time the highway made a strong curve, the kind that warns you of your speed and tells you to drop to 50 mph. (No photos of hubcaps because I had both hands firmly placed on the wheel.) In Northern California, Mt. Shasta is a big landmark, nay, A HUGE landmark. Truck Village, south of Weed is fun to see.
South of Red Bluff, it goes flat, so there isn’t much that compels me to take pictures. The shadows on these hills somewhere north of Coalinga/Harris Ranch caught my attention. By then I stopped caring exactly where I was as long as I was heading home.
There were only 2 traffic situations: one was a wreck south of Sacramento that left debris in the road, causing people to crawl along to dodge it. The other was roadwork at dusk, where we got squeezed into one lane and eventually were driving on the paved shoulder. It was interesting to see three CHPs with their flashing lights, present to support CalTrans, I guess. I was completely surrounded by big rigs
Thirteen hours and 10 minutes after leaving Salem, Oregon, I staggered into my own house, stupid tired and happy and relieved.
Trail Guy was happy too, not just to have me home, but also to have our good pick-’em-up truck back.
People think that Oregon is green, and you may have heard it said that in Oregon, people don’t tan—they rust. In August, Oregon is golden. There are barns, lots of trees, and golden fields, hills, countryside. There are many rolling hills, some steep grades and curves with lots of warning signs about excessive speeds, and signs that warn you of your current speed and say to slow down. It is beautiful to me, and maybe it is more beautiful because it isn’t hot like at home.
It didn’t take long to get from Weed to the Oregon border, a wimpy little 300 mile morning drive in contrast to the boring 468 miles on the previous day.
I got to Salem in time to go with my sister to a hair salon, and then the beautician (is that the right title?) fit me in for a haircut. Isn’t that funny? I went 3 years without a haircut, then got one in Texas and next another in Oregon. Where shall I get my hair cut next time??
Oregon seems ideal in the summer. Enough sun, not hot, and incredible gardening! Of course they have many wet cold days in the winter, which is much longer than what passes for winter in Central California, but in summer it is fabulous.
To top off all the gloriousness, I was able to help a special girl learn a few things about colored pencils.
Hey! That makes this a business trip.
Never mind. We only acknowledge Fernando in tax prep as the vehicle for business. Oh well.
Once a year I visit my mom, my sister and her family in Oregon. Flying is an expensive and hasslesome way to travel, so I choose to drive the 750 miles. I can haul stuff in my our pick-’em-up truck, not stand in lines, have transportation when I arrive, AND set my own schedule. (We aren’t going to address the price of gas, which runs $1.50-$2.00 less per gallon in Oregon AND someone else will actually put the gas in for you!)
For some reason, this year I found the drive to be quite boring until I was well north of Sacramento. In previous years, I have enjoyed the scenery of the Central Valley, all the agriculture, and open spaces. This year I just wanted to get into the rolling hills with oaks, the way things look as you approach Red Bluff and then beyond.
Five audio books from the library (on CD, because my our pick-’em-up truck is a 2003—you got a problem with that??) were on the passenger seat. I tried to listen to As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner because I’ve never read his work. Nope. Repetitive mindless conversations by unexplained characters caused me to quit after the first CD. I switched to Rise and Shine by Anna Quindlen, which held my attention far better.
Last year I drove the entire distance in one day on the longest day of the year. This year I have been feeling less robust, so I stopped in the quaint but sad little town of Weed, named after Abner Weed, a lumber man. The Hi-Lo Motel is charming and has a great cafe. The room was very basic, lacking a microwave, a fridge, and most shocking of all, it lacked a coffee maker. (The sign on the mirror warns against monetary penalties for smoking in the room including marij. in its forbidden substances, because after all, this is the town of Weed.)
The cafe had good food and bad spelling.
Before settling in for the evening, I took a walk around their downtown. I have done that in the past, and once again was struck by the beautiful sidewalks, newly planted trees, hanging flower baskets, and empty buildings. I noticed thrift shops, real estate offices, dispensaries, liquor stores, 2 very small banks, and most buildings with broken or open windows in an upper story.
There were some newer homes on a hill, and some very well-kept older homes in a few downtown blocks. Mt. Shasta was visible from many places on my walk.
Everyone I talked to who lived and worked in Weed was kind, helpful, unhurried, and genuinely friendly. I asked one person what kept people in town, thinking about employment. She said a lumber mill, the Crystal Geyser bottling plant, travelers, a community college, and of course, those dispensaries.
The next morning at 6 (I was eager to reach Salem), I walked to the Valero gas station and “food mart” (meaning processed convenience fake food) for coffee, and the very kind clerk didn’t charge me! (I had my own mug—did that matter?)
Then, I hit the road for the last 300-miles, a picturesque quick trip compared to the first part of the road trip to Oregon. My destination was Salem, the capital city.
The bottom part of the Timber Gap/Monarch/Sawtooth trail is usually dusty, hot, and always steep, with steps that seem to be made for giraffes. One morning I walked up it a ways, intending to go to the junction.
The trailhead is another site of the Park’s neglect. There is nothing indicating what trail you are on, which could be a problem if you’d never been there before.
And that’s all the photos that turned out because I was shooting directly into the sun. Well, there is another one of some stupid hon-yock hiking with his dog, but it also shows the face of a friend who probably wouldn’t mind, but I am not putting her on the world wide web without her permission.
So, let’s move on to noticing other things.
Noticing
The Timber Gap trail wasn’t dusty because it rained the evening before. There was a bit of a puddle-flood on the road, but Trail Guy reverted to Road Guy and solved it.
I didn’t photograph it after it drained because that would be ugly.
My neighbor’s cone flowers (a native wildflower, not actually planted by her) began blooming at the beginning of August.
A few weeks ago I did a little pruning around the cabin and discovered the weirdest branch.
On the way down the hill that weekend, we saw a fire from a lightning strike.
I sure hope it doesn’t turn into a conflagration, as a similar strike in a nearby location did a few years ago.
That’s too grim of a thought to leave with you. Here, have a look up the road at Sawtooth and the residual clouds from that dastardly storm. No, the storm was good, the lightning was dastardly.
One day a friend and I made the 2 mile round trip walk to Crystal Creek to fulfill my overwhelmingly vigorous commitment to exercise. (No need to be impressed.)
We realized that this is the first year we both sort of like goldenrod and concluded it must be the abundance, because it looks better in a mass than as a singleton.
We also admired the tremendous variety of colors and the extraordinary height of the grasses.
The flowers are good if you pay attention, and since I am all about noticing things this year, I am paying attention.
Crystal Creek looks kind of sorry this year, but it is just because we aren’t used to it flowing in a different channel with the main one dried up.
And, heading back is a familiar scene, looking toward Timber Gap. I decided to walk a mile or so up that trail for my next “excursion”.
Instead of hiking, I am taking short walks of about 2 miles round trip.
I thought I was seeing a new flower; after some careful study (about 5 seconds), I realized that it is sulfur flower as it is aging.
Sulfur flower, young-ish sulfur flower, aging
I love the intense greenery of the thimble berry bushes that grow so faithfully across the Spring Creek bridge.
This might be known as Eagle Creek. You can count on fireweed in early August at Spring Creek.
By the Honeymoon Cabin
The Honeymoon Cabin sits at the beginning of that trail, the tiny museum of the Mineral King Preservation Society. There is a tree that confounds me each time I paint it, and I decided to study it. It is a large juniper, with a smaller (comparatively speaking) branch coming out of it on the side, not 2 separate trees. In between the 2 parts is a weird growth, with a board on top of the weirdness.
The big old juniper just downstream has a wonky top. My friend said there used to be a footbridge across the creek in the vicinity, and we both thought that when the juniper falls, there will be a footbridge again.
This time when I tried to photograph my mystery flower, I had a dime in my pocket for comparison’s sake. And I decided it made a nice photo of greenery with a blurry Farewell Gap in the distance.
This painting is inching forward. It wants wildflowers (fiddleneck) next, maybe some distant shrubs.
That:
The book about TB got sent to the publisher/printer and then put on hold because it needed “hyperlinks” in order to be an e-book. Hunh?? I learned how to do this, then after 2 hours, I remembered that the manuscript could not be sent from my laptop because the Mac scrambles the index (Word and Mac are not very good teammates.) This meant a trip to Visalia and 1-1/2 hours of fumbling around on the author’s HP to no avail. Wow, I am clumsy on that machine which is NOT intuitive. We made the good decision to scrap an e-book.
Another Thing:
It is bear season in Three Rivers. This doesn’t mean you can get tags and shoot bears; it means that they are active. (Thank you for use of the photo, JM!)
