tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55412081243608960162024-03-12T02:18:53.414-07:00Running From MooseADVENTURES ON THE BACKROADS AND TRAILS OF NORTH AMERICAKelly Templehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16736282169474219178noreply@blogger.comBlogger125125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541208124360896016.post-79332790325308323482023-06-30T16:38:00.000-07:002023-06-30T16:38:55.497-07:00Old Mines and Cactus Spines: Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument<p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Jd8xZ0UMSgHrFzNGTKUUAZ77fbvd4cnor9qd7YVeOOVGyivNSMSHi3IIHLa86kXsqCaim3rm8D95tOHUiqOYNOedTyPODJIxPeCntIAr4eExX4M3HCBWlff_XO3tr66kXofNvouN9S5E1h63z1QRFDrwS2aSAg-bv2HALIotkp6HMiRCOtzbqNHofKE/s4032/OP_Header.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2483" data-original-width="4032" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Jd8xZ0UMSgHrFzNGTKUUAZ77fbvd4cnor9qd7YVeOOVGyivNSMSHi3IIHLa86kXsqCaim3rm8D95tOHUiqOYNOedTyPODJIxPeCntIAr4eExX4M3HCBWlff_XO3tr66kXofNvouN9S5E1h63z1QRFDrwS2aSAg-bv2HALIotkp6HMiRCOtzbqNHofKE/w640-h392/OP_Header.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><b><span style="font-size: large;">Oh my god, they weren't kidding.</span></b><div><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div><div><span><i>I found myself hunkered down in a sumo squat, naked and afraid of the water spraying out of the shower head. Hot! So hot! Searing, surface-of-the-sun hot. Why did I bother wearing sunscreen when the shower was threatening to give me worse burns than the Arizona sun could ever dish out?</i></span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><b>After a long hike in the hot desert sun</b>, the campground showers sounded like heaven. I had fantasized about this moment the last two miles of the hike as the ravens cawed and the cactus loomed, stubbornly refusing to offer shade. A nice cool shower was just the ticket, I thought. The empty campground guaranteed I'd be the only one in the restroom, a luxury during our two week camping trip. It's gonna be great!</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>A sign posted on the bathroom door noted the shower water was warmed by a solar device on the roof and to use with care, it could be very hot. It was fairly early in the morning so I figured the water wouldn't have had THAT much time to heat. Besides, I could always mix it with cold, right?</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Nope. The water was on or it was off, no hot/cold mixing available. And apparently the pipes were plumbed straight through hell before leading to the shower head. The only saving grace: the shower head shot out a misty spray. You know, the normally annoying sputtering flow you find in the cheapest hotels. With the finesse of a Marine crossing under barbed wire with a dash of coyote stalking unsuspecting prey, I squatted on the periphery of the spray, quickly ducking in and out of the flow trying to rinse the shampoo and soap without losing any skin, staying as far as possible from the source of the scorching inferno coming out of the wall. Good thing we were the only ones in the campground. My screaming obscenities would have been a little disturbing for fellow campers. I'm pretty sure the ravens were used to it.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3-KoKRn_bq4fuYqKJMfzqStz4e9xoL-lMM0boABfCrXdjZT-w3E-FDI5dkMuHE5uia31fReG8NTEd8Yfjm9sbpBXfNKj1dELskIhJyON5sy73s-NwNx8DKYb5dfOReoQ67C6EX7YNwP7LeO6tj11JdP6m9LoyVf3SuG2oNm8FvvBljLevbDnfMIZd/s4032/OP_MineStoreWindow%20view.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="443" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3-KoKRn_bq4fuYqKJMfzqStz4e9xoL-lMM0boABfCrXdjZT-w3E-FDI5dkMuHE5uia31fReG8NTEd8Yfjm9sbpBXfNKj1dELskIhJyON5sy73s-NwNx8DKYb5dfOReoQ67C6EX7YNwP7LeO6tj11JdP6m9LoyVf3SuG2oNm8FvvBljLevbDnfMIZd/w591-h443/OP_MineStoreWindow%20view.jpg" width="591" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">A look through the Victoria Mine Store window, Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><b><span style="font-size: large;">If you visit different desert regions</span></b> often enough you start to notice they are not all built the same. After visiting Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument I have to say the Sonoran desert is my favorite by far. It's lush by desert standards - so many different strains of cactus mixed with Palo Verde trees, mesquite and creosote bushes, some grasses and scores of birds, mammals, reptiles and insects. The park is named for the Organ Pipe cactus which grows here, one of the only places in the U.S. it grows this far north.<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbhCn0eFzzVcivEO5RvN58k-oM5n7Lc1yQqr6U0CpgSe8Sl8WzhG7XRFRBtXmcoXArdVw_Lhke73jn8y-FvYyiOcXQtcpElh_KR35CiTZvtkQTrDfPu7xZ98Fy8iMV-zcP23Ai7874j44S5HR5OwTBXhYk06nD_2yn4bNmHUFhhD11REFLC_vycow2/s5184/OP_Organ%20Pipe%20alone.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbhCn0eFzzVcivEO5RvN58k-oM5n7Lc1yQqr6U0CpgSe8Sl8WzhG7XRFRBtXmcoXArdVw_Lhke73jn8y-FvYyiOcXQtcpElh_KR35CiTZvtkQTrDfPu7xZ98Fy8iMV-zcP23Ai7874j44S5HR5OwTBXhYk06nD_2yn4bNmHUFhhD11REFLC_vycow2/w400-h265/OP_Organ%20Pipe%20alone.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">Organ Pipe cactus, for which the park was named</span>.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><b>Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument</b> is located in Arizona, so far south you can literally see the border with Mexico from the campground. It wasn't always this way. Sure, the border has been there all along, but there wasn't a wall built when we first visited 25 years ago. Back then it was a rickety barbed wire fence, just three strings of wire marking the international border. It was (and still is) a pretty desolate area, hot and dry as deserts are known to be, so not an attractive spot to cross in those days. With the increase in border patrol at the popular crossing spots near cities, migrants have been forced to go further and further out to cross over. As a result, many people were dying in their quest to get in to the U.S. The wall was erected in the last few years despite the protests, lawsuits and warnings of archaeologists, biologists, ecologists, and many of the parks devoted fans (you can read more about this <a href="https://www.npca.org/articles/2325-the-border-wall-is-destroying-what-this-park-was-created-to-protect" target="_blank">here</a>). </p><p>This park is actually part of a larger international park, it's sister lying on the Mexican side of the border. Wildlife used to cross unhindered, moving with the seasons and food sources up and down the mountains. Studies are still ongoing to determine just how the wall is affecting the many endangered species that share this area.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNE_x3HIBqZUTvZtq9QOAI7Qy58j7_aGrVzlh8-0emFVnvla2qwfq1xhPWI_X8uPvZyjrO4JJRZ_kiY2WBgCDUT_PfkJEgL8Rzcyu2iJE3u3nfbSEJz533FwAVWiPzVjlEIt5hpukr1LDMlftZpU1dKOz9tujcGDTuBW3xRq__sIm1BCw-jcEo1Rtt/s4032/OP_The%20Wall.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="443" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNE_x3HIBqZUTvZtq9QOAI7Qy58j7_aGrVzlh8-0emFVnvla2qwfq1xhPWI_X8uPvZyjrO4JJRZ_kiY2WBgCDUT_PfkJEgL8Rzcyu2iJE3u3nfbSEJz533FwAVWiPzVjlEIt5hpukr1LDMlftZpU1dKOz9tujcGDTuBW3xRq__sIm1BCw-jcEo1Rtt/w590-h443/OP_The%20Wall.jpg" width="590" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">The wall can be seen slicing the park in half, the black line to the left on the mountain side.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><b>We visited this year in late May 2023</b>, off season for this park (high season is January-March). It was a warm 94 degrees when we arrived, but nothing like what we have experienced in Death Valley in May. Being used to California's brutal 6-months-in-advance, highly competitive campground usage we had made reservations ahead of our arrival. Lo and behold when we showed up we were one of two parties occupying the place. Two out of 208 campsites. </p><p>It was a luxury, and well worth the heat to enjoy our own slice of beautiful desert. We had our own campground loop, with our own toilets and showers. We even had our own personal pack of coyotes serenading us each evening. It was heaven, especially after spending the previous four nights packed in with 3000 other campers at Overland Expo in Flagstaff.</p><p>We decided to get up early the next morning and take a hike to Victoria Mine, taking advantage of the early morning light (not to mention the cooler temperatures). </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNBX-yR-YfpDCX7xyi1ct6LAqHl9Wb-hhATwpq-zBsVnl36bk6BDBQG5SZQAPq8W9PnjM7e7gakOxbzVxe_WhTpBrI8ar1gzRHpbC56VKwTkFWiatKEuIKkae74VXsDH-r4b0LXI91nAGPRtd_MAGJke-0GSm_yZPwkS7wtrIFoRrfpAbEk54lzRyb/s4032/OP_Trail%20Sign.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNBX-yR-YfpDCX7xyi1ct6LAqHl9Wb-hhATwpq-zBsVnl36bk6BDBQG5SZQAPq8W9PnjM7e7gakOxbzVxe_WhTpBrI8ar1gzRHpbC56VKwTkFWiatKEuIKkae74VXsDH-r4b0LXI91nAGPRtd_MAGJke-0GSm_yZPwkS7wtrIFoRrfpAbEk54lzRyb/s320/OP_Trail%20Sign.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><b>Victoria Mine has quite a history:</b> it's one of the oldest silver mines in southern Arizona. I couldn't find a reference to the year it was established, but it was taken over in 1880 by an unsavory character named Cipriano Ortega. This guy sounded (and by all accounts acted) like a bad mafia dude. Shady dealings and unexplained murders happened around "La Americana" during his ownership, but it pulled in $80,000 worth of silver ore making him one of the richest unsavory characters. Around 1899 it was sold to an American businessman who renamed it Victoria Mine after the storekeeper's wife. </p><p>The remains of the stone store building are still there, along with several mine shafts that have been carefully covered and locked to keep the curious from killing themselves. It's a fun place to poke around, with lots of old mine remnants along with the usual glass shards and old tin cans laying around.</p><p><b>The trail starts right out of the campground</b> and dips in and out of several washes among the huge saguaro cactus and sage brush. We saw small animals scurry away from us and hide under the scrubby bushes as we crunched through the gravel in the washes. Early morning is the best time to see the mostly nocturnal and diurnal animals here.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHiq_ZKiLm8-igW3zbkSNeJjSVuxCn99-8DMLxjF6giNFp_DJKn6H5-Kz0_40GreRoE20dT-AoP0ZXHKBn6rYhhlXQfeeGx2j_DJGpVS9heac6mT3R808Ql_7CeukVkxeT6ponQuIPxDzOtfMkvgX4zUeA2wNZVjqZX4rOyqxbtRc-ONYJ9VRNUtWnAuI/s5184/OP_RavenonSaguaro.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHiq_ZKiLm8-igW3zbkSNeJjSVuxCn99-8DMLxjF6giNFp_DJKn6H5-Kz0_40GreRoE20dT-AoP0ZXHKBn6rYhhlXQfeeGx2j_DJGpVS9heac6mT3R808Ql_7CeukVkxeT6ponQuIPxDzOtfMkvgX4zUeA2wNZVjqZX4rOyqxbtRc-ONYJ9VRNUtWnAuI/w640-h424/OP_RavenonSaguaro.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">A raven alerts his cousins there are invaders on the trail this morning.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>It took about an hour to get to the mine (2.2 miles). We poked around, threw rocks in the mine shafts (because that's what you do, right?) and took photos of the old store and rusty equipment left behind by the mine's owners. Warning signs were posted alerting us the area is used by smugglers and other desperate people, and to call 911 if any strange activity was observed. Of course, there is no cell service out there so not sure how that would help. In any case, we did not detect any weirdness other than the creepy history surrounding the notorious owner of 1880.</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitRa048e23LB7NOXI8NvlzJIUcQJKF_5DnvbIpSg8QDBLBLh8CNcDwReI0sQGzeGFA-hPCv3qnFm2IJleK_TjCaYMjaFCxARzxg-RnM3WbVCvsxmk3TeuWk2BXLJiOHxxCzi_j728BfgyloxjUQMU508ueSpAfSWrRqoRfFJFFgdWVnArZivy7jE1c8Fw/s5184/OP_Victoria%20Mine%20Overview.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitRa048e23LB7NOXI8NvlzJIUcQJKF_5DnvbIpSg8QDBLBLh8CNcDwReI0sQGzeGFA-hPCv3qnFm2IJleK_TjCaYMjaFCxARzxg-RnM3WbVCvsxmk3TeuWk2BXLJiOHxxCzi_j728BfgyloxjUQMU508ueSpAfSWrRqoRfFJFFgdWVnArZivy7jE1c8Fw/w640-h424/OP_Victoria%20Mine%20Overview.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">Victoria Mine area<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiigAN2IWu6QZo2ZUWuKZRwfhdPHj2BjMwbkF8cymgqaiMc3zUyg55UtSWf8wyf8TD8U1FzvKalsZHSva9WrcnByew1hTMP563urN18HQxcGv7t1kX6n9N86rwjGQOATz7sHaysNSY1l7rqQnK02ntViNE9HBUwN3VLUe7Ye-G8w5_DEC2TeTV4bFNqRQ/s5184/OP_MineWheel.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiigAN2IWu6QZo2ZUWuKZRwfhdPHj2BjMwbkF8cymgqaiMc3zUyg55UtSWf8wyf8TD8U1FzvKalsZHSva9WrcnByew1hTMP563urN18HQxcGv7t1kX6n9N86rwjGQOATz7sHaysNSY1l7rqQnK02ntViNE9HBUwN3VLUe7Ye-G8w5_DEC2TeTV4bFNqRQ/w400-h264/OP_MineWheel.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">Bits and pieces of the Victoria Mine lay around the site.</span></td></tr></tbody></table></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVohlODmkqTSans35wCRCUYwp8lqrdgikpE3CHtvqi0p8SQhgPn5ghatUngeRNFXxK5wgKfKJwY0TbTvPLEMJUGuoykrwLRTxh5Ncyu_1sfDoF6m15xJzxkgikUVNqRzHL1EDOFtWeuDIw-Zhnqki9-HVzT8E_RwlN1LePRb4Ylqaaw_hHtr-jMGm0jLs/s4032/OP_MarkontrailSaguaro.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVohlODmkqTSans35wCRCUYwp8lqrdgikpE3CHtvqi0p8SQhgPn5ghatUngeRNFXxK5wgKfKJwY0TbTvPLEMJUGuoykrwLRTxh5Ncyu_1sfDoF6m15xJzxkgikUVNqRzHL1EDOFtWeuDIw-Zhnqki9-HVzT8E_RwlN1LePRb4Ylqaaw_hHtr-jMGm0jLs/w640-h480/OP_MarkontrailSaguaro.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">Mark makes his way through the giant saguaro groves, Victoria Mine trail.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>We contemplated continuing on to the connecting trails to Lost Cabin and points beyond, but it was already getting into the 80s at 8am, not a promising outlook for another two hours on the trail. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Back at camp,</b> we ate some nice cool yogurt and granola sitting in the shade of the truck, washing it down with jugs of water. It's always a good idea to hydrate, but especially so in the desert. Dehydration is no fun, and it only has to happen once before you start chugging water at every opportunity (yes, I was the stupid one who didn't think I needed to carry so much water on one of our first hikes in Anza Borrego. Never again!) It was during breakfast we first noticed the little hairy circle around Mark's ankle. "That's strange," Mark brushed at them. "crap! It's cactus spines!" Out came the reading glasses and tweezers as I slowly pulled each little spine out as Mark winced. They were so fine he hadn't even noticed when he brushed into them. They most likely came from the low growing beavertail cactus that tend to grow under other bushes lining the trails.</div><div><br /></div><div>During the hike I had noticed one of my feet had an occasional stabbing pain. I brushed it off at the time, figuring it was a little rock caught in my boot. After pulling Mark's spines, I took my boot off to empty it only to find a long cactus spine had pierced through the leather, gone through my heavy wool sock and was embedded in the side of my foot. Mark's turn with the tweezers as I winced. This place is brutal.</div><div><br /></div><div>Considering the temperature, we decided the Ajo Mountain drive in our air conditioned truck sounded like a great idea.</div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZETlMEkU0ggudwdtuzWZ43wgXnRLJfAPKAGe9vEfnqF2Yb04FBnN79mtUCHGriQEij22_Bd-gVs9vFmonzQPUUtKxG-A8kYDWwwRwZ4useAoWs4e3RRAe-9gcsODjlpSeAh69WsugExVC-6IoikG2ZdKD83H-zF95ALx0tUUH2PdfPrYFmUofV-yEiTU/s5184/OP_MarkonTrail%20Sunrise.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZETlMEkU0ggudwdtuzWZ43wgXnRLJfAPKAGe9vEfnqF2Yb04FBnN79mtUCHGriQEij22_Bd-gVs9vFmonzQPUUtKxG-A8kYDWwwRwZ4useAoWs4e3RRAe-9gcsODjlpSeAh69WsugExVC-6IoikG2ZdKD83H-zF95ALx0tUUH2PdfPrYFmUofV-yEiTU/s320/OP_MarkonTrail%20Sunrise.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Ajo Mountain Drive is 21 miles of dirt road,</b> looping up and through the Ajo Mountains on the east side of the park. The road is one way with plenty of pull outs which makes it a pleasant, relaxed drive. Not that we saw anyone else, but I can imagine it gets a little crowded in high season. The road is graded for normal passenger cars, so you don't need 4WD and high clearance, but I wouldn't recommend a low slung sports car or long RV/trailer.</div><div><br /></div><div>We received a trail guide at the Visitor's Center with numbered stops and comprehensive information regarding the area's flora and fauna. It even included a handy pronunciation table that succeeded in training me out of pronouncing the "g" in saguaro (it's sa-WAR-row not sa-GWAR-oh). Make sure to take note of your mileage when you start the drive: the guide stops have the incremental mileage noted. We didn't, and ended up estimating each stop. It didn't really matter though, the entire drive was beautiful with plenty of blooming cactus and notable canyons along the way (click <a href="https://www.nps.gov/orpi/planyourvisit/upload/AMD-Booklet-2023-web-compressed.pdf" target="_blank">here</a> to access the online guide).</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgES3lPzDI6gRGcKy-rg07D5I1W7wpxRb77_uRsFDLOn0frqURs0i3221RMzgf48GYSRyKOWD_F_3nDhTC-2ls9dkUQgexA0nq9OSPXi5Qm3bzAqGvtEFN0vqznXmFMtRo-Gx6cESFaucV5d8Q0QED101C3HoukE26Ce2vM0cSzfAl_lYc_hVwwKdGYi0o/s4032/OP_Agave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgES3lPzDI6gRGcKy-rg07D5I1W7wpxRb77_uRsFDLOn0frqURs0i3221RMzgf48GYSRyKOWD_F_3nDhTC-2ls9dkUQgexA0nq9OSPXi5Qm3bzAqGvtEFN0vqznXmFMtRo-Gx6cESFaucV5d8Q0QED101C3HoukE26Ce2vM0cSzfAl_lYc_hVwwKdGYi0o/w300-h400/OP_Agave.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">An agave in bloom</span></td></tr></tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGYYHs5Eto51Qf4cxnQ_uzZ_M1ShfrYwxirHRUWudUqbBprKp78ommvUS3ShS0KfKHvyTF5F9PjKyzMVfo5dI7hrszAmn7iz2VowUM7Bd4dILgAgmt4byIRrF3lN6O1K_f7tN80s9nlJ3Dwm3KHW2gGprArRrQLEl-MaV9RaQctPiysuMw-lzm71yOf44/s4032/OP_Agave%20bloom%20closeup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGYYHs5Eto51Qf4cxnQ_uzZ_M1ShfrYwxirHRUWudUqbBprKp78ommvUS3ShS0KfKHvyTF5F9PjKyzMVfo5dI7hrszAmn7iz2VowUM7Bd4dILgAgmt4byIRrF3lN6O1K_f7tN80s9nlJ3Dwm3KHW2gGprArRrQLEl-MaV9RaQctPiysuMw-lzm71yOf44/w300-h400/OP_Agave%20bloom%20closeup.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">Closeup of the blossoms</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>We did the short hike into Arch Canyon</b>, located about 9 miles into the drive. It's about a mile one way, and climbs into a surprisingly narrow canyon lush with cactus, lizards and bandits. Well, we didn't see any bandits, but we could imagine it would make a great hideout. The canyon is named for the two arches on the ridge above. It was a nice little hike, cooler in the higher altitude of the Ajo mountains.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoBQpy28A7quvcZt7QgTtIup9VvA92IIlw4gae4qPJKUQ7mtsJjOYjEcpdHtqu9vGiIMo1IUcr-Xeu-hCBCYd5-nw5pmU_r80WbVR1ytLNZqoSpVYI_z8wLh6mvAW3VT05tWVxfInpJhNcnW3iAS3fMGPi7nXNXxF1w8XuNCQhq7QDP5QMIs6LSlnxXJU/s4032/OP_MarkLooksUpatArches.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoBQpy28A7quvcZt7QgTtIup9VvA92IIlw4gae4qPJKUQ7mtsJjOYjEcpdHtqu9vGiIMo1IUcr-Xeu-hCBCYd5-nw5pmU_r80WbVR1ytLNZqoSpVYI_z8wLh6mvAW3VT05tWVxfInpJhNcnW3iAS3fMGPi7nXNXxF1w8XuNCQhq7QDP5QMIs6LSlnxXJU/w640-h480/OP_MarkLooksUpatArches.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">The start of the Arch Canyon trail. Mark is looking at the arches, up on the ridge above.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdwliMAgXVFUFw1ISNic7rBc09W8cbozlDUkCkvEmOfpwuRO2sTMfm_j1Q-rROHorfqXvIW3OB8jgHo6VTIPOsUg1mcynk7rd2zC_ybP-hKS2fsOJnLlIhBNaQ9zht1n0l4TDccTIf0xsoc2tZ5aNMcI0lcY3ufzNL-YwwDUkFY8pmh_OcW9Ea0qggNt8/s5184/OP_Arches%20closeup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdwliMAgXVFUFw1ISNic7rBc09W8cbozlDUkCkvEmOfpwuRO2sTMfm_j1Q-rROHorfqXvIW3OB8jgHo6VTIPOsUg1mcynk7rd2zC_ybP-hKS2fsOJnLlIhBNaQ9zht1n0l4TDccTIf0xsoc2tZ5aNMcI0lcY3ufzNL-YwwDUkFY8pmh_OcW9Ea0qggNt8/w400-h265/OP_Arches%20closeup.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">Closeup of the arches. See the tiny one on top of the larger opening?</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiio_Bp9QKjZcxqO6UtCCQHDWBNXXFUQvCoWJGsFEMV74ifbFhn8UEZnbumpRjuwC3W-662u9RMr3H9c1qqXpB5Cxw-vwr9HJ08wnqnGX5VVcmRdTKpStnZrf59Sg697GE1W4FuON9w-HmpPYG35h0v7tPsLqhC6CY1s4ym7CiIxIIjBTj3nQTkx4ipSXc/s5184/OP_Arch%20Canyon%20trail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiio_Bp9QKjZcxqO6UtCCQHDWBNXXFUQvCoWJGsFEMV74ifbFhn8UEZnbumpRjuwC3W-662u9RMr3H9c1qqXpB5Cxw-vwr9HJ08wnqnGX5VVcmRdTKpStnZrf59Sg697GE1W4FuON9w-HmpPYG35h0v7tPsLqhC6CY1s4ym7CiIxIIjBTj3nQTkx4ipSXc/s320/OP_Arch%20Canyon%20trail.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">Further up the canyon</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU9hXnAbEPyuizFrkFUFKwG8WGbw6mRLkOoy_Y2HaNUWwtS4zBCLprPYDBOG45mfWtalVhoaxZP0vDBMZe5YgHq_T7meUJpmIT4ewDZkFGEg8rOY-8zsOqPftGJHo2gGHS7AyGIwNXMbKM2fQlOsA29t0Gv5Tt3wuVS6XqBdUokgtcE5OHhxl37ys0PqI/s5184/OP_Looking%20back%20at%20truck%20Arch%20Cnyn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU9hXnAbEPyuizFrkFUFKwG8WGbw6mRLkOoy_Y2HaNUWwtS4zBCLprPYDBOG45mfWtalVhoaxZP0vDBMZe5YgHq_T7meUJpmIT4ewDZkFGEg8rOY-8zsOqPftGJHo2gGHS7AyGIwNXMbKM2fQlOsA29t0Gv5Tt3wuVS6XqBdUokgtcE5OHhxl37ys0PqI/s320/OP_Looking%20back%20at%20truck%20Arch%20Cnyn.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">Looking back at the truck from the trail</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuCkZx2EzCI9UzKSxznlsFngS0C7RtmZtt4QRP2oST8LifvAbyuj3QYxAOpq3TtTXMglZ-Bck5Mp1pu2WGVTHXdHaYrrV5WJsOq27m7d2aePWll0eFNFGWxjVFNqRx6aIAJnfiv5v-a36utbTsBxISbbU9gSkJv95yadYbKjhXYWzqZNJJHL-cGkkGIfU/s3992/OP_Bees%20on%20Saguaro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2910" data-original-width="3992" height="464" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuCkZx2EzCI9UzKSxznlsFngS0C7RtmZtt4QRP2oST8LifvAbyuj3QYxAOpq3TtTXMglZ-Bck5Mp1pu2WGVTHXdHaYrrV5WJsOq27m7d2aePWll0eFNFGWxjVFNqRx6aIAJnfiv5v-a36utbTsBxISbbU9gSkJv95yadYbKjhXYWzqZNJJHL-cGkkGIfU/w640-h464/OP_Bees%20on%20Saguaro.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">Bees buzz on saguaro blossoms</span></td></tr></tbody></table></div><br /><div>There are a few picnic areas along the road, with covered tables and restrooms if you need a nice place to rest. We enjoyed the drive, and all the info the booklet offered. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIdd3PnbkOLcD_K0VR6lYfY39AoQ4CZDfJC-KRXpi7BQPpEj40PDppcZE5fZRBiacEQPN6NLgsvzHfeqNsZ-2gz8ovAuAn8m7a-5DgQJ8w5JCmyiROHyOIEmLTAKm_zbshSLRhwdDR5ZnXHDwF2a_bhLbZqGl-xKzRI6XpU9C9jefD1aCrfm9VbZPcqWQ/s4555/OP_Saguaros.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2776" data-original-width="4555" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIdd3PnbkOLcD_K0VR6lYfY39AoQ4CZDfJC-KRXpi7BQPpEj40PDppcZE5fZRBiacEQPN6NLgsvzHfeqNsZ-2gz8ovAuAn8m7a-5DgQJ8w5JCmyiROHyOIEmLTAKm_zbshSLRhwdDR5ZnXHDwF2a_bhLbZqGl-xKzRI6XpU9C9jefD1aCrfm9VbZPcqWQ/w400-h243/OP_Saguaros.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><b>We stopped in at the Visitor's Center </b>and took advantage of the air conditioned building to check out the displays and do a little browsing in the store. The rangers were nice, and eager to answer any questions we had. Honestly, I think they were glad for some company, the park was that empty. </div><div><br /></div><div>The park is huge. The last time we had visited we were allowed to drive the whole perimeter. Currently, the western and southern roads (South Puerto Blanco Road) is closed due to border activity, effectively cutting off half the park from the public. It's too bad, there are some beautiful views and nice hikes in that area. Hopefully in the near future this area will be open again. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Back at camp,</b> we poured ourselves an icy drink and had a snack, pulling our chairs around the truck to follow the shade. It really was a grand view, the sun was setting making the entire desert glow in a warm amber color. We were glowing too, it had been a wonderful day full of nice hikes, surprising discoveries, and surreal vistas. </div><div><br /></div><div>Or maybe it was our skin, still raw from those scorching showers. </div><div><br /></div><div>In any case, we would do it again in a heartbeat.</div>Kelly Templehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16736282169474219178noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541208124360896016.post-22747911927147579592022-09-30T18:13:00.001-07:002022-09-30T22:18:33.681-07:00The Dangers of Internet Dating: A Love Story<p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>It all started back in 2008.</b></span> While cruising the internet, Mark came across her picture and was smitten. He didn't make a move for a few months, but checked to see if her picture was still posted once in a while. He couldn't get her off his mind.</p><p>Our hometown has a parade every May, and every May we walk downtown with our lawn chairs and dutifully line up to watch the floats and marching bands and cheer the firetrucks and hometown heroes as they pass by. That year as we waved at our favorites and cheered for the local veterans, Mark suddenly stood up and yelled "There she is! There's that girl I saw online!"</p><p>After the parade we packed up and met some friends for lunch. I could tell Mark was distracted, and it takes a lot to distract this man from a meal. "Is it her again?" I asked. He just nodded with a slight smile. I could tell I was in trouble. </p><p>Walking out of the restaurant fate would be sealed: there she was, right across the street. "You should go say hi!" our no good, rotten friends urged Mark. "You should just see what she's like, you know you want to." He watched her shyly from across the street then we walked home. I thought I had dodged a bullet.</p><p>It didn't take long after arriving home that day before Mark was pacing around the house. "Let's go downtown again. I just want to meet her, that's all. I just want to meet her and maybe take a walk with her."</p><p>After eighteen years of marriage, I thought I knew when to indulge my husband and when to draw the line. Apparently, I was only fooling myself. "I'm not sure we're ready for this commitment but fine, we can go talk to her."</p><p>Against my better judgement, we talked to her, walked with her, then brought her home to live with us. That's when the excitement began.</p><p><b><span style="font-size: medium;">She was completely wild.</span></b> A terrible houseguest, she would spread her possessions around the house, spill food without cleaning it up and verbally attack us if we didn't do her bidding. Her bathroom habits were too horrible to describe and her people skills were just a step above those. It was almost as if she had never shared a house with roommates before.</p><p>Incredibly, Mark and I kept trying to make something of this relationship. It seemed wrong to cast her back out on the street with all the other homeless and after a few years things settled down a bit. It was still like living with the Tasmanian Devil, but we learned a few tricks to get her to act like a lady. She was a complete nut for peanut butter, so we kept that on hand at all times in case we needed a bribe. We bought her toys, took long walks with her, bought her fancy treats. We changed our lives to fit her schedule and everyone was happier for it.</p><p>With all the special attention you'd think she'd be grateful. Instead, she acted like an unwilling hostage. True, we wouldn't allow her to leave the house by herself, we didn't trust her to go out unescorted. She resented that and plotted her escapes carefully. Leave the door unlocked and expect to spend the rest of the afternoon searching the streets and alleys around the neighborhood. Open the gate to take out the garbage can and she'd bolt straight down the street in the blink of an eye. She was a keen listener, but only to alert her to our presence so she could run faster in the opposite direction. </p><p>She did have her redeeming features. She loved to have visitors and ruthlessly reminded us she'd gladly go home with them if only we'd let her. She loved to run and play, and once tired out liked to spend time with us on the couch in the evenings. She was ever watchful and didn't hesitate to confront strangers that wandered into our yard.</p><p><b><span style="font-size: medium;">What finally slowed her down</span></b> was a horrific accident during one of her escapes. Hip dislocated, legs torn and bleeding, she finally allowed me to catch up to her and carry her home. I called Mark at work and he rushed home to take her to the ER. She spent a week in the hospital, refusing to eat or pee until we showed up to help her. She was grateful after all, but only on her own terms.</p><p>We roomed with her for fourteen years until this week. Arthritis from her old hip injury severely limiting her activities over the last year, she contracted a kidney infection she couldn't beat. We tried several rounds of antibiotics and pain medications to no avail. It came time for her to make a choice, and we helped her make it. She died a dignified death, an independent old lady finally ready to rest.</p><p><b><span style="font-size: medium;">It's really quiet around here now. </span></b>The toys are in the basket where they belong, the bed is empty, the floor is clean where the crumbs always gathered. A green leash is hanging unused on the back of the closet door, swinging out every time we open it to grab a coat. </p><p>I was an unwilling partner in this threesome at first, but eventually I came to respect this other woman in my life. She had a mind of her own and was never unwilling to share her thoughts with us. She did as she pleased and occasionally let us know she appreciated our service. She was neither loyal or polite, but she was ours and we miss her terribly. I'm pretty sure she is now terrorizing another family somewhere out there, first luring them with her good looks then forcing them to bend to her will. </p><p><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Rest in peace Tiga.</span></b> You taught me the benefits of deep breathing and puzzle toys with peanut butter and how to deal with unimaginable annoyance. You also showed me how to age gracefully with few complaints and how I should never, ever let anyone stand in the way of what I really want.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYZhxCs0jrotnqVUIWw9tiV-nghLgSCs-iGhxrcK4oxnDikxMBCuVF2svOLZ_LsajDCLg3Iyt5d5BqTUi66_WtkigMbahYFb18ovYpk8qObmNsE4hc1f943USf-4gG2leYRAMN22iqQ_ppFAkml_uW9l1G4zHHVj_FSskkXVW3cjFUlVBgJj3iy_L3/s3072/TigaRIP.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="3072" height="340" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYZhxCs0jrotnqVUIWw9tiV-nghLgSCs-iGhxrcK4oxnDikxMBCuVF2svOLZ_LsajDCLg3Iyt5d5BqTUi66_WtkigMbahYFb18ovYpk8qObmNsE4hc1f943USf-4gG2leYRAMN22iqQ_ppFAkml_uW9l1G4zHHVj_FSskkXVW3cjFUlVBgJj3iy_L3/w511-h340/TigaRIP.jpg" width="511" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tiga: May 2007(?) - September 2022</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><i>NOTE: If you are thinking of adopting an animal, please check with your local shelter first. They are a wonderful resource for not only finding the right animal to fit your lifestyle, but helping to make the transition from a wild stray to a loving companion for life.</i></p>Kelly Templehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16736282169474219178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541208124360896016.post-58959493315826198782022-06-21T17:12:00.001-07:002022-06-29T21:21:47.607-07:00Stories in Place: The Old Guard<p> <b><span style="font-size: large;">We pulled into our campsite</span></b> and found them sitting at our picnic bench, the two of them with their backs turned to each other, gazing over opposite ends of the campground. As we got out of the truck they turned to face us with big grins.</p><p>"Hey, we were just making sure no one messed with the roadrunner nest. Where you guys been? Out sight seeing today?"</p><p>Neither Mark or I were new to camping on our first trip to Death Valley in 1995, but being the youngest couple in the campground was a new experience for us. Death Valley in the spring attracts the Snowbird population, those ubiquitous retired traveling couples roaming the US and Mexico in their gigantic "rigs". On our first visit to the Furnace Creek campground, the entire place was packed with large RVs and trailers, almost invariably maneuvered by the husband while the wives stayed squirreled away in the rig, presumably cooking up dinner, knitting, or otherwise occupied. It was hard to tell, we rarely saw the wives. This arrangement left the old guys free to futz around the RV, adjusting this, fixing that, and keeping an eye out for interesting activity in the campground. The minute we pulled into our site, their attention turned to us.</p><p>When we arrived, the campground host showed us to the spot and explained there was a roadrunner's nest in the tree behind our site. She asked us to please move carefully around the tree and to not let anyone harass the parents as they delivered special treats like lizard tails and bugs to their fledglings. It was an honor to be trusted and a thrill to see the birds so bold as to build their home in a bustling campground. Problem was, the old guys found out.</p><p>Every time we left to explore the valley, they would saunter over to our picnic table, shooting the breeze and watching the other campers. I'm sure there was a running commentary on what old George was doing with his rig or how Jerry was terrible at backing his trailer or how Bob seemed to be letting maintenance go on that generator. Some good natured ribbing seemed to be a requirement for these old birds. The tribe traveled the same roads, visited the same places, and they all seemed to either know each other or know someone who knew the others.</p><p>Our particular Old Guards consisted mainly of two codgers: Wendell and Berkeley. Wendell was camped right across the road from us in his huge fifth wheel trailer. He often spoke of his wife, but in the 7 days we were there we never actually saw her. His hobbies included weaving new webbing onto old camp chair frames, wiping dust off his shining impeccable trailer and telling bad jokes. Berkeley was sort of the odd man out. He was traveling in a homemade wooden camper affixed to the back of a decrepit Mazda truck. Each night when he prepared his can of Dinty Moore stew he'd fire up his one burner stove, huge flames shooting to the ceiling. It's a miracle he didn't burn his entire rig to the ground. He dressed like the old college professor that he was, leather elbow patches and all. His hobbies included complaining about his ex-wife and expounding on the virtues of the road. What most excited him though, was a really good deal. </p><p>Since they spent their waking hours hanging around the campground, they seemed to be starved for news. Each day when we returned, we'd find them at our table hungry to talk about where we'd been and give us advice about where we should have gone. It was hard to tell if they had actually ever been themselves, the stories were at times...suspect.</p><p>It got so bad sometimes we'd drift past the campground on the main road and if we saw them at our spot we'd go into the village and park there for awhile, not ready to face another grilling yet. We felt a little bad about it, but sometimes you have to do what you have to do to keep your sanity.</p><p>By the end of the week we had heard all the stories (some of them twice) and as we packed to leave they hung out and made helpful suggestions about our route home. Berkeley thought it was about time to mosey too, and spent the better part of two hours trying to convince us to join him in Las Vegas. "Found a great deal at Fitzgeralds! Gonna catch me a girly show!" Sounds great Berkeley, maybe next time.</p><p>I think about those guys a lot nowadays. They were annoying, funny and helpful. They did have some good pointers about places in the valley to visit, and tips about camping spots. We provided entertainment and a new ear to listen to those stories.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcP8INFhtU6EAX030pmLa38wya2IHhAGFyVbhMhZy888KxBgg_2WiskTPxa5w1_seIiUAk4XJdxFw1_gbnSAX_zHiHQd6rlIRZGTU_B-rJVQuXHaov5fNXW0MBJNPsKN-VUGNh3MK7YLvMyp2pt9EVoSWa9KVF3hdCr_RjQ_zjX6GwDerO567VvdQn/s1024/Teakettle%20JunctionJPG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcP8INFhtU6EAX030pmLa38wya2IHhAGFyVbhMhZy888KxBgg_2WiskTPxa5w1_seIiUAk4XJdxFw1_gbnSAX_zHiHQd6rlIRZGTU_B-rJVQuXHaov5fNXW0MBJNPsKN-VUGNh3MK7YLvMyp2pt9EVoSWa9KVF3hdCr_RjQ_zjX6GwDerO567VvdQn/s320/Teakettle%20JunctionJPG.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><b>Thinking back on those days</b> it's hard to believe we are drifting into "old guard" territory ourselves now. We're not quite traditional retirement age, but we've decided to quit the working world and start checking off our bucket list a bit early. When we pull into a new campground we sometimes see those young couples in their small truck or tent and have to check ourselves. Let the young folks explore on their own, they'll figure it out. And only tell those stories once, but only if they ask.</p><p><br /></p>Kelly Templehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16736282169474219178noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541208124360896016.post-83469394923055168652020-07-27T19:34:00.003-07:002020-07-28T08:24:52.367-07:00Stories in Place: Bill & Debbie<div><i>(This pandemic has put a cramp in our camp, so I thought I'd start a series of short stories from our travels. You know, those kinds of stories that go around the campfire after a day of exploring, and may get repeated more than once over the years. I hope you enjoy them as much as we enjoy telling them. Pull up a camp chair and grab a beverage. Let's Story in Place together.)</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGeELj9T9ncqtVyu2aVTxECO_51PDPZGqf9sDir68Eq-ZwQCZaW0wic3l6AJQbAghF3K3S0OiGNGJkjoD78Na2cBxe_QtJeqIH8yDhv3PKNI3FpQAADYbmLrmDMNfLiteZz8B_U4vU0eM/s2048/Bill%2526Debbie.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1761" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGeELj9T9ncqtVyu2aVTxECO_51PDPZGqf9sDir68Eq-ZwQCZaW0wic3l6AJQbAghF3K3S0OiGNGJkjoD78Na2cBxe_QtJeqIH8yDhv3PKNI3FpQAADYbmLrmDMNfLiteZz8B_U4vU0eM/s320/Bill%2526Debbie.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><br /><div><b><font size="5">The first time it happened, it was kind of funny.</font></b></div><div><br /></div><div>"Bill! Debbie! So nice to see you again!"</div><div><br /></div><div>A huge safari guide trotted over and embraced me in a giant bear hug, lifting me off my feet. "What are you two doing back here? I thought you were on your way to Serengeti!"</div><div><br /></div><div>Mark and I exchanged looks of confusion. "We just got here this afternoon."</div><div><br /></div><div>"No! Don't be kidders. Why have you come back?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"We were in Tarangire this morning, and drove up today. We plan to see the crater tomorrow. I think you might be thinking of someone else?"</div><div><br /></div><div>Now the confusion was on the guide's face. He shrugged his shoulders and laughed. "Well, welcome then. How are you liking Tanzania?"</div><div><br /></div><div>That was our second day of camping on our own in Africa. </div><div><br /></div><div>Our next stop in Serengeti was a picnic area at the entrance of the park. We were gathering our paperwork to check in and pay our fees when another guide pulled up next to us and smiled in that familiar way of distant friends meeting again. "Bill! I can't believe we are seeing each other again so soon!" He shook Mark's hand through the open window and smiled across to me. "And Debbie, you look well!"</div><div><br /></div><div>Almost every stop we made, we were "recognized" and greeted warmly by the wrong names. We decided it was a lucky thing that Bill and Debbie were so highly regarded. Imagine if they had been jerks? We stopped correcting people after awhile and just went with it. Why not? How could we possibly measure up to this mysterious other couple? Would they think so highly of us if we told them our real names? Or would they shake their heads and mutter in disgust about how this Mark and Kelly would never hold a candle to Bill and Debbie. Might as well take advantage of the goodwill and jovial conversation.</div><div><br /></div><div>When we returned to <a href="https://shawsafaris.co.tz" target="_blank">Shaw Safari</a> headquarters at Twiga Lodge two weeks later, we told the story of being mistaken for Bill and Debbie at every turn. The owner Paul Sweet laughed and explained "Bill and Debbie went on the same circuit you did and were ahead of you by a week. You must have run into some of the same guides they did along the way." Apparently it's hard to tell white people apart, especially when we travel in pairs in yellow Land Rovers. </div><div><br /></div><div>Someday, we'd like to run into the real Bill & Debbie. From what we've heard, they're a real kick in the pants.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Kelly Templehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16736282169474219178noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541208124360896016.post-74041491684067798012020-05-25T11:05:00.001-07:002020-05-25T11:08:28.149-07:00Stories in Place: The Most Fun Possible<i>(This pandemic has put a cramp in our camp, so I thought I'd start a series of short stories from our travels. You know, those kinds of stories that go around the campfire after a day of exploring, and may get repeated more than once over the years. I hope you enjoy them as much as we enjoy telling them. Pull up a camp chair and grab a beverage. Let's Story in Place together.)</i><br />
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<b style="font-size: x-large;">We looked over the map </b>of Quartz Lake State Park and saw there was a trail that ran the circumference, a perfect way to get our bearings on our first day in Alaska. We went back to the camper and threw a few water bottles into a backpack, slapped a little more Deet behind our ears and set off to the trailhead. On our way back across the campground we ran into the host as she was loading firewood into a bin.<br />
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"Hey guys! Did you just get in today?"<br />
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We told her we had crossed the state border this morning and were excited to check out the scenery. Did she have any advice about what there was to see in the park? We thought we'd take the loop trail around the lake.<br />
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"Well, that's probably the best way to see it. You might want to go the other way though, the trail comes through at the other end of the campground over there." She pointed back the way we had come. "The other day, a mama grizzly made a kill and she and her cubs are hanging out working on the dead moose over this way. The carcass is pretty much right on the trail. You can go that way if you want, just keep an eye out."<br />
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Hiking suddenly didn't seem to be such a great idea. We might not be the smartest tools in the shed, but we did know that no matter which way you walked in a circle, you would eventually be coming back to where you started. And if that involved crossing between a grizzly and her food, or worse, between her and her cubs, we might not be completing that circle at all.<br />
<br />
You know, it's kind of hot out and that lake looks really nice. Maybe we should go swimming instead.<br />
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Back at the camper, we changed into our suits and headed to the small beach and boat ramp area. We were the only ones there save for an older woman and a kid about nine years old. The boy was splashing in the shallow swimming area that was cordoned off from the rest of the lake. We threw our towels down a respectful distance from them and waded in. It wasn't warm, but it wasn't as cold as Tahoe like we thought it might be. I slowly waded in easing past that belly mark that's so hard to acclimate, as Mark took the plunge and swam out to the roped off edge. The little boy watched us a minute then turned to his grandma.<br />
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"Granny? Can I swim out to where that man is?"<br />
<br />
"No Conner, I don't think he wants you hanging around him."<br />
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"But Granny, I'm sure it would be ok with him." he turned and looked at Mark. "It would be ok right?"<br />
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"I don't know, I think you should do whatever your Grandma says. I don't want you to get into trouble." Grandma shook her head, with that 'I'm trying not to smile and give in' look.<br />
<br />
"No, Conner, I don't want you to go out too far. I wouldn't be able to get to you if you got into trouble."<br />
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"He would save me! He can swim, didn't you see him?"<br />
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Mark swam back to where I was, trying not to lure the boy out too far and into trouble with his granny. We walked back up onto the beach and sat on our towels. Grandma told us she watches Conner for a few weeks every summer while his parents were working at the Air Force base near Fairbanks. We told her where we were from and chatted awhile. Meanwhile Conner looked back and forth between his Granny and Mark, looking impatient.<br />
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When Mark and I got up to go back in the water, Conner was ready with his pitch:<br />
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"You know Granny, when I come visit you I want to have a lot of fun and I think swimming out into the lake with this man would be really fun. I really want to have the most fun possible while I'm here. Can't I?"<br />
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<b>This is how our motto came to be.</b> This nine year old boy's pitch to his granny is printed on the back of our cards, on the intro to this blog, and is always in the backs of our minds no matter where we go or what we're doing. Shouldn't everyone have the most fun possible while they're here?<br />
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Conner was able to get his wish. Mark gave him pointers on how to keep afloat, and helped him touch the rope and swim back to shore. Conner was thrilled, and it made us smile. Having the most fun possible often includes making sure others are having fun too.<br />
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<i>May you all have the most fun possible on this Memorial Day weekend. Stay safe my friends.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>RunningFromMoosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02634860397653475751noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541208124360896016.post-23322048438304116242020-05-20T16:35:00.000-07:002020-05-20T16:35:15.689-07:00Stories in Place: The Toast<i>(This pandemic has put a cramp in our camp, so I thought I'd start a series of short stories from our travels. You know, those kinds of stories that go around the campfire after a day of exploring, and may get repeated more than once over the years. I hope you enjoy them as much as we enjoy telling them. Pull up a camp chair and grab a beverage. Let's Story in Place together.)</i><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Traditions.</span></b><br />
<br />
Everyone has them. We probably have too many for our own good. One that started in Hawaii many years ago involves viewing the sunset from the beach every night, toasting to another day well spent. This tradition has spilled over onto our camping trips: every night we try to find the best vantage point to watch the sun as it sets, clinking glasses (or plastic cups or water bottles or whatever we have at hand) as the sun sinks below the horizon.<br />
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On the last night of a week-long camping trip last year we found ourselves at Patrick's Point State Park on the northern coast of California. The fog had been so thick the entire day it might as well have been raining. The dogs were wet, cold and shivering, and we were all of those things plus annoyed with them for being so whiny. Just as we wiped them down and shoved them in the camper so we could start dinner in peace, the fog finally started to lift. Mark poured himself a glass of wine, I grabbed my water bottle and we walked out to the edge of the nearby cliff.<br />
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The sunset was looking to be a good one, but our vantage point here wasn't the best. The cliff was facing northwest, and the sun was around the corner, too many trees were blocking our view. We consulted the map board near the trailhead and we found a spot called "Wedding Rock" that looked to be just the right place to view a sunset.<br />
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We walked down the trail that followed the meandering cliff side, weaving in and out of the trees and up and down the gullies. Mud from all the fog made it slippery, and tree roots threatened to trip us up as we walked faster and faster trying to beat the sun.<br />
<br />
"How far was it supposed to be?"<br />
<br />
"I don't know, I think a mile? Two?"<br />
<br />
"We're not going to make it. We better pick up speed."<br />
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Faster and faster, we ran down the trail, Mark holding his glass in front of him carefully as he tried to compensate for the joggling pace. A little slopped over now and then and he would lick his hand. None would be going to waste. "Go go go! We're almost there!"<br />
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We could see the large rock ahead of us, the trail weaving it's way down the cliff side before a stairway cut into the stone switchbacked up the huge chunk of granite. The sun was just touching the horizon and starting to cast an orange glow. Why do we do these things? Just as we were reaching the last set of stairs, Mark caught his foot on the edge of a rock and almost took a tumble. He recovered, but most of his wine did not.<br />
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"Craaaaaaappppp!"<br />
<br />
Twenty-nine years of marriage entitles one to certain rights. There are always times when it's best to sympathize and express concern and sympathy. And then there are those other times, hard earned through years of sacrifice for the sake of harmony.<br />
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I started giggling, feeling sort of superior for having brought my water bottle with an actual lid. I tried to hold it back, but I was not winning the battle. I could hardly breathe from trying to climb all those stairs while laughing so hard my eyes were watering and blurring my vision. Mark took it pretty well. He glared a little and beat me to the top, just as the sun sunk below the ocean edge. I staggered to the rock wall once I caught up and looked in awe. It really was beautiful.<br />
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With what little was left in the glass, we toasted another successful trip, and another beautiful sunset. All was right in the world, and that half glass of remaining wine was sipped as we admired the fading colors from our perch on Wedding Rock. We lingered a while enjoying the scenery then started down the stairs.<br />
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"Did you bring a flashlight?"<br />
<br />
"I thought you did."<br />
<br />
<br />Kelly Templehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16736282169474219178noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541208124360896016.post-44205926480211108472020-05-17T19:52:00.001-07:002020-05-17T19:52:29.833-07:00Stories in Place: A Room With No View<i>(This pandemic has put a cramp in our camp, so I thought I'd start a series of short stories from our travels. You know, those kinds of stories that go around the campfire after a day of exploring, and may get repeated more than once over the years. I hope you enjoy them as much as we enjoy telling them. Pull up a camp chair and grab a beverage. Let's Story in Place together.)</i><br />
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We pulled into the parking lot at the end of the Dalton Highway, </b>500 miles and two days after leaving Fairbanks. We had passed a forest fire, crossed over the Arctic Circle, avoided flying gravel from passing oil field trucks, survived hoards of thirsty mosquitoes and managed to get to Deadhorse with all tires intact and gas to spare. Success!<br />
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We had read that this particular parking lot was a good place (re: only place) to camp in this oil town on Prudhoe Bay. It wasn't pretty; a bare gravel lot surrounded by those temporary buildings that can be hauled in on the back of trucks, low flat roofed and looking as beat as we felt after 300+ miles of gravel washboard road. We'd seen worse.<br />
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We walked around and checked out the facilities. There were none. Hmmmm. Having camped in middle-of-nowhere places before, it had never been a problem. We don't have "facilities" in our camper, but we are equipped with hand trowels and TP kit that do quite nicely in those cases. Problem was, we'd never had to deal with camping in the middle of a populated area without a tree or bush within 100 miles. Not to mention the 24 hour daylight wiping out any chance for cover-of-darkness activity. This was going to take a little finesse.<br />
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We walked over to what served as a bulletin board for the area: a small piece of plywood nailed to the side of a building. A cartoon polar bear was posted with a warning:<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">WARNING</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Large female polar bear with cub has been raiding campers in this area! </span></b></div>
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<b>Please secure all food and do not leave dishes, garbage or any scented item in an accessible area. Please heed this warning, polar bears have been known to kill humans.</b></div>
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"I'm not really feeling this Mark." </div>
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Our camper has soft sides once it's popped up, easily reached by a standing adult polar bear and easily breached by those 12" polar bear claws. We could theoretically pull out the bench seat and sleep on that, avoiding popping the top and exposing ourselves as prey. It would be tight but would avoid those paw swipes that would haunt our dreams all night. </div>
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It just so happened we had researched a place we could stay once we made it here, a place with actual walls and beds: The Arctic Caribou Inn. Sounds rustic and quaint, doesn't it? We thought so. And we just happened to be a few steps from the entrance, so we decided to check it out.</div>
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The double door entrance was deeply recessed between two buildings, the better to shelter it from what I imagine is the relentless cold wind. The front office was a half wall with a plexiglass window running from countertop to ceiling. The guy reclining in the desk chair looked up and smiled. </div>
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"Do you have any rooms for tonight? We just came in from Fairbanks and thought we'd check." The desk clerk laughed "Oh yeah, the place is pretty empty at the moment. How many nights?" </div>
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We signed up for one night, and after making arrangements for a tour of the oil fields later that day, paid for one of the most expensive (to that date) hotel rooms we'd ever rented: $120.00. This was in 2004, and we very rarely stayed in hotels (why, when you can camp?).</div>
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So, for $120.00 we got: two twin beds, one of which is roughly level with the floor, that was also roughly level. Brown indoor/outdoor carpet blanketing a small room, large enough for the aforementioned beds and two small dressers. The bathroom had a small enough step up from room level that it caused you to miss the fact that it was there and trip headlong into the shower. The shower itself was just large enough to close the door behind you once you entered, but god help you if you dropped the soap.<br />
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We threw our bags on one of the beds, and they promptly rolled off to the floor. Wedging them on the bed again, we sat down and realized there was a serious sag on one side. Some negotiation was going to be necessary to decide who was going to be sleeping in that one. We flipped on the small TV on top of the dresser, a wonder after 3 weeks on the road with nothing but the radio to keep us company. The satellite service picked up a few channels clearly, and a whole lot of static on the rest of the dial. The view from the one small window looked out at another room ten feet across a small alley.<br />
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We walked down the corridor to get our bearings, and take in the amenities. A narrow hallway connected the portable units with that brown indoor/outdoor carpet tying everything together. The carpet was ripped in spots, but repaired neatly with duct tape. There was a leak in the ceiling in the middle of the hall, which dripped with cheery regularity into a 5 gallon bucket. A common room had an ancient coffeepot and those tube like cereal dispensers lined up on the counter. They offered meals three times a day with a set menu, which was posted on a coffee stained flyer on the door.<br />
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Another couple walked out of their room as we passed by. Tight smiles and shrugged shoulders were exchanged, as we silently acknowledged our shared situation. Really though, we weren't going to be picky about it. This was the only place within 600 miles that didn't include grizzly and polar bear room service. And it was an Inn after all. Quaint, in an oilfield worker barracks kind of way.<br />
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That night, after a tour of the oil fields that (in part) made our 9,000 mile road trip possible, we found ourselves sitting on the edge of a twin bed eating PBJs and Fritos with a chocolate milk chaser, watching Seinfeld reruns in a room on the edge of the Arctic Ocean. Dinner never tasted so good.</div>
Kelly Templehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16736282169474219178noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541208124360896016.post-81547909950667165032020-05-14T17:41:00.001-07:002020-05-14T17:41:10.975-07:00Stories in Place: A Rat Tale<i>(This pandemic has put a cramp in our camp, so I thought I'd start a series of short stories from our travels. You know, those kinds of stories that go around the campfire after a day of exploring, and may get repeated more than once over the years. I hope you enjoy them as much as we enjoy telling them. Pull up a camp chair and grab a beverage. Let's Story in Place together.)</i><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">We had just pulled in to the campground </span></b>in Mojave National Preserve, tired from the 10 hour drive that began at five o'clock that morning. Mark popped the camper up as I set out our chairs and brought out the traditional pre-dinner drinks and snacks. It was a lovely afternoon, the sunset casting that desert glow on the surrounding mountains. I took out the camera and tried my best to capture the uncaptureable - that magic light you can only see in the desert with your own eyeballs.<br />
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As we settled into the chairs and congratulated ourselves on the beautiful weather, we saw something moving across the road. Rabbit we figured, there are hundreds of them around here. Nope, too small. What is that? It hesitated in the sage brush a moment, then suddenly dashed across the road. Rat! And a big one. It made a beeline toward us, and while we sat dumbstruck with our mouths hanging open it suddenly hooked left, scrambling up the front tire and out of sight under the truck.<br />
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What the hell?<br />
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We've had trouble with kangaroo rats in the desert before; once one was able to break into our storage bin in the camper and nibble into the bottom of our spare bag of pretzels (always have a spare bag of pretzels!) but they usually have the decency to attack in the middle of the night, when we are blissfully unaware. This one was outright brazen.<br />
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Mark popped the hood to see if he could find it in the engine compartment, where it appeared to be headed. I went into the back of the camper to make sure the turnbuckle hatches were closed, the perfect little doorways for unwanted visitors. All was buttoned up.<br />
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There it was! Sitting on the frame rail under the engine, it's little black eyeball staring straight into Mark's outraged gray ones. Mark pounded on the fender, shouted, and pushed on the truck, rocking it on the axles. Rat held on, in defiance. Ok fine, Mark started the engine, revving it louder and louder, hoping to either blast it out with noise or the heat. Rat scrambled down the rail and held on under the truck bed. If our ears could pick up that particular octave I think we would have heard tiny squeaking laughter.<br />
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That's it! Mark slammed the hood closed, climbed in the truck and started driving around the campground loop. "He'll either jump or get squished! I don't care which but he's not going to chew the wires up tonight!" I stood in the campsite and watched as the truck, with camper popped up and waste container dragging at it's side, disappear over the hill, then reappear 5 minutes later as he made his way around the big loop, taking a second lap for good measure.<br />
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When he returned we inspected all the areas we could think a rat might be, and it was nowhere to be found. "I got him!" Mark declared, not all that confidently (rats have a way of making one feel a bit uneasy). Guess it's time to cook dinner.<br />
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We opened the camper door and found everything that had been on the counter and bench seat had crashed to the floor. Our cups, the veggies, a can of beans and tortillas we had taken out for dinner, our sunglasses, an empty can of coke. Lying right in the middle of the pile, our camera that I had thrown on the counter when I was checking the turnbuckle doors. Shit.<br />
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If there is luck to be had, it was in the way the camera fell. It landed on the edge of the lens, and the outer most layer was the polarizer filter. The rim was bent and the filter was cracked, a bummer, but it had saved the actual lens and camera from further damage. It was pricey, but nothing close to a brand new Canon EOS 7D with a wide angle lens.<br />
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Much to our relief we were able to pick up a new polarizer filter in Moab and get some spectacular shots in Canyonlands later on in the trip. The truck kept running like a champ throughout so we assumed the rat found another more amenable vehicle to hijack. That or it jumped ship in Utah before it snacked on wire insulation.<br />
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Because I know you were wondering, our backup pretzels were safe, untouched by rat lips. We shared them with our buddies as we told this story around the campfire, a satisfying end to a trip that could have taken a considerable turn for the worse.<br />
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<br />Kelly Templehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16736282169474219178noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541208124360896016.post-54517158093075481882020-04-15T18:40:00.000-07:002020-05-02T17:11:38.031-07:00Don't Fence Me In<i><b>Give me land, lots of land and the starry skies above</b></i><br />
<i><b>Don't fence me in</b></i><br />
<i><b>Let me ride through the wide open country that I love</b></i><br />
<i><b>Don't fence me in</b></i><br />
<i><b>Let me be by myself in the evenin' breeze</b></i><br />
<i><b>And listen to the murmur of the cottonwood trees</b></i><br />
<i><b>Send me off forever but I ask you please</b></i><br />
<i><b>Don't fence me in</b></i><br />
<i><b>-Cole Porter and Robert Fletcher</b></i><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">I find it highly ironic</span></b> that in the middle of a pandemic, instructed to stay at least 6 feet away from other people, I find myself feeling trapped. My first instinct when this thing started was to get in the truck and take off to the desert. Anywhere away from the city, from the six-feet-still-feels-too-close and the eerily quiet streets and the grocery stores packed with spaced out patrons and the pharmacies with empty shelves and the hospitals with white tents erected in parking lots in anticipation of a surge of patients.<br />
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My mood has bounced between, "hey this is ok, better than being sick!" to "i hate this, i hate this, i hate this." I've self-medicated with chocolate to the point my adventure pants are starting to tighten, and those are the <i>stretchy</i> ones. I pace the house from one room to the next, seeing projects I could start but never quite get settled enough to begin. I thought it would help to have a list going. So far, I've only managed to check off "find yeast online to buy" and "change toothbrush." At least my dental hygiene won't suffer from all the chocolate I'm eating.<br />
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<b>I am now working from home, </b>having been part of the third wave of workers to be outfitted with all the necessary equipment to work remotely. I have a pretty sweet work station set up, complete with dual monitors and headset. All the conveniences of work with none of the free snacks. Damn office mates keep interrupting my meetings with their snoring, not to mention the pile of fur that accumulates under my chair from all the extra scratching they insist upon.<br />
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My coping mechanism has been to allow myself a really deeply satisfying wallow in pity about once a week. I just let myself go there, morose self-pity, full on oh-woe-is-me-this-sucks-and-it's-not-getting-better depths of despair. The lower I go and the whinier I get starts to strike me funny, then I come back to the "hey, it's better than getting sick!" stage.<br />
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<b>Easter Sunday was a weird experience.</b> I'm not religious and have never associated it with much more than a chance to eat a nice dinner with family and consume a terrifying amount of chocolate eggs, but that chance was not available this year. We did have an hour Zoom session with most of Mark's family, which was fun but not the same. My favorite chocolate house of worship has closed for the duration: <a href="https://www.sees.com/">Sees Candies</a>, the makers of the best chocolate Easter eggs in the world, has ceased production until it's safe for their workers to come back. In place of exercise that day, we went for a neighborhood walk with the goal of passing by all the churches we could find within our area. We hit 10 on our three mile walk, all closed for business. Even Jesus was depressed, and it takes a lot to get that guy down.<br />
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<b>I realize how lucky Mark and I are </b>to still be employed, housed, and (over)fed. So far, all our relatives are well and we are healthy and live in a nice walkable neighborhood with many helpful and friendly neighbors we could rely on in a pinch. But if <i>freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose </i>never meant anything before, it surely does now. If we take off to the desert now we risk not being here if something happens to our folks. We risk possibly spreading the virus to others through gas pumps and quick grocery stops along the way. We risk tracking something home from a far away place and spreading it to our community which has, so far, been spared the worst of it.<br />
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So I will sit in my work chair, mute my headset when the snoring commences, wallow in self-pity occasionally and ride this out with the rest of you. Freedom can wait, and I know we can do this.<br />
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I just don't wanna.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Land, lots of land, nary a fence in sight.<br />Alabama Hills, Eastern Sierras CA</span></td></tr>
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<br />Kelly Templehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16736282169474219178noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541208124360896016.post-40313189688900661192020-03-24T20:51:00.000-07:002020-05-02T17:12:28.604-07:00Strange Days Indeed<i><b>Nobody told me there'd be days like these</b></i><br />
<i><b>Nobody told me there'd be days like these</b></i><br />
<i><b>Strange days indeed...</b></i><br />
<b><i>-John Lennon</i></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">
I'm beginning to regret</span></b><b style="font-size: x-large;"> </b>my decision<span style="font-size: large; font-weight: bold;"> </span>to re-read Stephen King's <u>The Stand</u>. I started reading it when I first learned about the Coronavirus outbreak in China and it's more than a little creepy that its progression is following the storyline of the book so closely.<br />
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No, this virus is not killing 99.4% of the population, but the societal parallels are absolutely haunting. It starts in a small region and quickly skips across the country, carried by highway patrolmen, traveling salesmen, and vacationing families. In the book it's spread worldwide by airline passengers and some nefarious doings by the CIA, but who needs them nowadays, with the relatively cheap travel offered around the world? Cruise ships anyone?<br />
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At first, people are sympathetic and helpful. Gradually, they start getting paranoid and defensive, blocking off towns from outsiders to try to stem the spread. Hoarding and looting ensues and fights break out over loaves of bread. Stephen King didn't mention anything about toilet paper, but I guess even he couldn't have imagined that little tidbit.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">I'm still working</span></b> and I can't figure out if that makes me lucky or not. On the one hand, I'm still getting a paycheck and I'm not stuck at home all day with only food and TV to keep me occupied. On the other, I'm being exposed to 50 people each day who go home and are exposed to <i>their </i>families and possibly tracking things in to work with them every morning. We have some really good safety measures in place—they take our temperature before we enter the building, someone sanitizes all shared surfaces three times a day and we are all keeping the required 6' away from one another and washing the skin off our hands—but there's always that creepy feeling in the back of my mind. We're all hypersensitive to any sign of illness. A sip of tea went down the wrong pipe the other morning and I held the cough in all day long not wanting to get that look from my co-workers. I was so relieved to get in the car that afternoon, my own cootie cocoon where coughing is allowed.<br />
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My company makes parts that are used in medical testing devices, the optical filters we make are used to detect viruses. We are literally working on the Coronavirus problem, so we are considered an "Essential Business". I even have a letter in my glove box to prove it, in case they start cracking down on people moving around when they should be home social distancing. I would love to say I designed these life-saving parts myself but lo, I am but a lowly customer service person. I think I'm going to keep that letter even after this is over, just to make myself feel more important.<br />
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Mark is working from home for the foreseeable future. There's only so many production meetings one can have when there's no production going on, but managers find a way to keep busy. There's going to be some heavy-duty planning when it's announced that things will open up again. When he's not checking emails and holding virtual meetings, the house has arranged to keep him busy. So far, the washing machine has popped a hose, the kitchen sink sprung a leak, and our home computer died. He's a handy guy, so he fixed the first two and arranged for repair of the last. And he was so looking forward to TV and snacks...<br />
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<b>It's highly ironic</b> that our typical vacations would be much safer than staying home, but we are barred from leaving. Camping out in the middle of the desert is pretty much guaranteed virus free. Our camper has come in handy though, even here at home. We store extra food, water and even the ever more valuable toilet paper and sanitizing wipes in there. All that teasing about the zombie apocalypse vehicle was worth it in the end, eh?<br />
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I've learned a lot from this experience, but I'm not sure what to do with this knowledge.<br />
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<b>Hand sanitizer tastes terrible</b>: the first time you pick up a snack without letting the hand sanitizer completely dry will be your last.<br />
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<b>My almost 80 year old mother has a better grasp of emojis than I do</b>: she texted me a Coronavirus symbol before I even knew such a thing existed.<br />
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<b>There are two types of people in this world:</b> Those that can joke about the new reality, and those that slip into panic mode immediately and consequently really REALLY don't enjoy the other type of people. You might be able to guess what category I fall into. Sorry Jeremy.<br />
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<i>I hope you are all safely holed up somewhere,</i> or doing the best you can to limit your exposure. In this day and age of internet connectivity, there are ways to stay in touch without touching so we're all lucky that way. I'm hoping this thing will be contained as soon as possible, and things can get back to somewhat normal for everyones sake.<br />
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In the meantime, I'll be cruising back and forth to work in my cootie cocoon, coughing when I feel like it and waving my Very Important Person Letter for everyone to see. Not to worry though, my tongue has been thoroughly sanitized.Kelly Templehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16736282169474219178noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541208124360896016.post-14934619557337173452019-11-14T21:41:00.000-08:002019-11-14T21:41:02.963-08:00Iceland Part IV: Camping in Iceland<b><span style="font-size: large;">Here's how it works: </span></b>pull into the campground and idle the vehicle slowly around the grassy field. Scan the grounds for anything that could stand in as a windbreak (bushes, fence, berm, larger vehicle). Note the location of the bathrooms–you'll want to park closer if it looks like rain– then find a space big enough to accommodate your vehicle as well as your travel buddy's, since you lost them a bit ago to a grocery store, museum, or unscheduled sightseeing mission but you know they'll be turning up sooner or later. Make a choice, back in, then put the car in neutral, letting it roll until it finds the flattest, most level position possible. Get out of the car and stretch. Now you're camping in Iceland!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMB891qhH7vsQ2lMzVci51PfAoAw1QuQ19uaua8Ymgo08sII9_D8ldXUMWQp43DxyaqGxrxoBhJ-QKb5M71VRuNXuzEds2reh6T-f2j36JOIdcEq0GBpef6ipUGtfyl4O3ESDYnKHH0FY/s1600/CG_Drangsnes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMB891qhH7vsQ2lMzVci51PfAoAw1QuQ19uaua8Ymgo08sII9_D8ldXUMWQp43DxyaqGxrxoBhJ-QKb5M71VRuNXuzEds2reh6T-f2j36JOIdcEq0GBpef6ipUGtfyl4O3ESDYnKHH0FY/s640/CG_Drangsnes.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">A berm and some foliage goes a long way to protect us from the wind that seemed to be ever-present in Iceland.<br />Drangsnes Campground</span></td></tr>
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<b>If you're going camping to get away from it all, </b>slip away and have some alone time to spend in the wilderness, Iceland is not your place. Don't get me wrong, there's plenty of spots where you'll find yourself alone with nature, spectacular viewpoints and amazing vistas, they're just not located in the campgrounds. You might get lucky and be the first one to arrive at a site and have a bit of peace and quiet for a bit. Sooner or later though, you will have company.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzBTLAkMKvP_wSuLxyzr2nnCSLyhB-vk1ALFJNQEs-4pTmbR34yJY_5pPLUXRMSIdTUV8JBCuJiBuHdRhA5eCUmbHaBWjie9C1mO24J96zqh6tPXkFY395CmnvVaFDIV6btXJpJ_zVLDY/s1600/CG_No+pooping.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzBTLAkMKvP_wSuLxyzr2nnCSLyhB-vk1ALFJNQEs-4pTmbR34yJY_5pPLUXRMSIdTUV8JBCuJiBuHdRhA5eCUmbHaBWjie9C1mO24J96zqh6tPXkFY395CmnvVaFDIV6btXJpJ_zVLDY/s200/CG_No+pooping.jpg" width="200" /></a>Wild camping is prohibited in Iceland. I think they want to discourage people from driving off road (also strictly prohibited) and destroying the thick layers of moss that cover all that lava rock. It takes years to recover from just human foot traffic, I can only imagine how long is would take the land to recover from off-road vehicle tracks. They also have a big problem with public defecation. I know, it's disgusting to think about. Imagine how disgusting it would be to look out your farmhouse window and see some tourist squatting in your field? For all these reasons (plus I'm sure they appreciate the fees collected) staying in campgrounds is required.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Not much more than a place to park, camping in Myvatn was crowded, <br />but close to many attractions in the geothermally active area. <br />It had a great view of the lake though.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8U0ThzIVUUjmxcN-xJvPM5JyiV9vFpdhQ28glX1B-uoKcIYyT2pLWnVKSM4wGw4vGSf6hBkYJnWm6GsmRvnP7ClyVXYTn9JQ67K07ry32RCw8txngFw2S5Ov-slGAtdOtsUzFYH8Z0Bc/s1600/CG_BoatsMyvatn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8U0ThzIVUUjmxcN-xJvPM5JyiV9vFpdhQ28glX1B-uoKcIYyT2pLWnVKSM4wGw4vGSf6hBkYJnWm6GsmRvnP7ClyVXYTn9JQ67K07ry32RCw8txngFw2S5Ov-slGAtdOtsUzFYH8Z0Bc/s640/CG_BoatsMyvatn.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The sun sets over Lake Myvatn. Ok, this place isn't half bad.</span></td></tr>
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<b>The campgrounds in Iceland are generally big open fields.</b> You can chose your spot with care, leaving a bit of room between you and the closest neighbor, but eventually you'll have another vehicle slide in beside you. The coziness extends to other areas as well. Most of the campgrounds we stayed in had shared facilities; you might find yourself brushing your teeth next to a big burly guy standing next to a cute twenty-something woman. The feet in the next stall might be petite pink tennis shoes or giant hiking boots. Showers were often the same setup. Nothing says togetherness like stepping out of the shower next to a hairy dude that's been backpacking his way around Iceland for the last three months.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Pg9S-hKX73sEceKHo3-sHrItLS99V-nUwc7-oLiJMrb7EtFUey6IHMyT3D04APjn7L0dbdLkZ-5yR55Wmai95wLz7931t5WBt2XSAJmWgLaxoz8p85waFF8WQshTFlB1OlARN9g0T9M/s1600/CG_Farmhouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Pg9S-hKX73sEceKHo3-sHrItLS99V-nUwc7-oLiJMrb7EtFUey6IHMyT3D04APjn7L0dbdLkZ-5yR55Wmai95wLz7931t5WBt2XSAJmWgLaxoz8p85waFF8WQshTFlB1OlARN9g0T9M/s400/CG_Farmhouse.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">This campground was located on a farm. Being in a remote spot, we expected to have to pay cash. Our host came out with a hand held card reader and took care of our payment with little fuss, although she had to walk up a hill and hold the reader in the air to catch the wifi from the farmhouse.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCtSIMT9U0s5JzQB6KxfsmGSCObP_m9C9nUQNlQiNgHk2mbSaI6m_nC-rY_IJ9qQ6jjrGZTXiRIcT_lUDUSArScntzDIF65HHZX0ro5rbqNzfx0HwpeviCBi6NlqsHB5vxbnsqlqBLp7w/s1600/CG_Barn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCtSIMT9U0s5JzQB6KxfsmGSCObP_m9C9nUQNlQiNgHk2mbSaI6m_nC-rY_IJ9qQ6jjrGZTXiRIcT_lUDUSArScntzDIF65HHZX0ro5rbqNzfx0HwpeviCBi6NlqsHB5vxbnsqlqBLp7w/s640/CG_Barn.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The barn, and another great sunset</span></td></tr>
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<b>One of the most notable facilities </b>was in the Northern Iceland town of Drangsnes. There was a large building that I think was used as a hostel (it appeared to be closed for the season). In the room to the side of this building there were two bathroom stalls, a washer/dryer with a laundry sink and counter, two shower stalls with two shower heads each, and a picnic table in the middle. One rainy evening there were at least ten people in there: a couple doing their laundry, someone in the toilet stall doing what one does in a toilet stall, and a group of campers making dinner at the picnic table. All this in a healthy cloud of steam rolling out from one of the shower stalls, the ambience being enhanced by the freshly showered young lady dressing in the corner. It took some getting used to, coming from the strictly segregated facilities of our apparently prudish U.S. National Parks.<br />
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In truth, after a few nights we did get used to the arrangement and came to appreciate the fact that the campgrounds were so numerous. There is so much to see in Iceland, and such a large amount of ground to cover, it was nice to know the nearest campground was never too far away.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDS4FgaKh_lJzg8oRsiU28HV90T-2HyvfGgHV8i17-h3unNf1ktTvA8-77oxHI0R8fZOaNJbwx4t_sCW3IkKDKclOqgiX7xiYFXc3mdQnoQ5vuD1-gHQG5Kls59_H9dj9AKqvel5yla3M/s1600/CG_highlands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDS4FgaKh_lJzg8oRsiU28HV90T-2HyvfGgHV8i17-h3unNf1ktTvA8-77oxHI0R8fZOaNJbwx4t_sCW3IkKDKclOqgiX7xiYFXc3mdQnoQ5vuD1-gHQG5Kls59_H9dj9AKqvel5yla3M/s640/CG_highlands.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">This was the least crowded, most remotely located campground we visited.<br />The bridge led across a warm river to a hot spring, fed by a hot waterfall.<br />I'll let you find it if you decide to go. It was spectacular.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguRzjAHl3qktLMfa_9JlyYjUasmOPI1FVs8MogUzFsFmzIrqlnh0Ff5gs1pK_tlwuNNXNrnBaQLQxU5KyMj3IK_opRXi-0ChTtDnqp_U26Pifc4MfGV91w596IgOE2_G5xIFejaFcMUSI/s1600/CG_Hofn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguRzjAHl3qktLMfa_9JlyYjUasmOPI1FVs8MogUzFsFmzIrqlnh0Ff5gs1pK_tlwuNNXNrnBaQLQxU5KyMj3IK_opRXi-0ChTtDnqp_U26Pifc4MfGV91w596IgOE2_G5xIFejaFcMUSI/s640/CG_Hofn.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Sometimes you stop when it's convenient.<br />This campground in Hofn was huge and sort of industrial. It had tiered parking areas built on a slight rise in town.<br />Here's Mark surveying our 15 foot slice of heaven.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixxWoC7ofdk_A2uOeSuJY0UUolnVG3qgPfRTjXWYlDXCoST1Jy7HMwtEB_2yUYV6zyR4vX0w7SjGw35ZvotmygOcdWb0zWpKFocxvihKgTuz9EuSn7TMd9_N3hGQjg7N1j9E5HZnnvoUI/s1600/CG_Skaftafell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixxWoC7ofdk_A2uOeSuJY0UUolnVG3qgPfRTjXWYlDXCoST1Jy7HMwtEB_2yUYV6zyR4vX0w7SjGw35ZvotmygOcdWb0zWpKFocxvihKgTuz9EuSn7TMd9_N3hGQjg7N1j9E5HZnnvoUI/s640/CG_Skaftafell.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The Skaftafell National Park campground had great views, and was very crowded. It was also the only one that had some laid out sites you could choose from. It was an interesting social experiment; we noticed mostly Americans chose the separated sites, the Europeans opting to park side by side in the parking lot style area. Go with what you know I guess.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0OGyEXjLAT38DtiZGWIMZibmRk9aOX_L_rkw7jq6Hdb0xvSzkH3ROZ8DJpg8wrozPDooCVD7nq4k_VwMVJfcia1qDa_cZJK7AV_GJA3TPNtOhV4__DKR8P5dundR_dgFgfzLdXtQj6ns/s1600/CG_Landmannalaugar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0OGyEXjLAT38DtiZGWIMZibmRk9aOX_L_rkw7jq6Hdb0xvSzkH3ROZ8DJpg8wrozPDooCVD7nq4k_VwMVJfcia1qDa_cZJK7AV_GJA3TPNtOhV4__DKR8P5dundR_dgFgfzLdXtQj6ns/s640/CG_Landmannalaugar.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">High in the mountains nestled between two active volcanoes, Landmannalaugar was our coldest, dampest night spent in Iceland. We got rain then snow, and the campground was just a gravel parking lot, but in the morning we woke up to an amazing view.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM5PocCIeZXRaFZPWsCM89Ust1boRBZmg1fnu6rHD9Uipmz04kmq2rlNFOoymMsaFoJQElBv3UQiZ9555f13oNwTzbu0AVcZHdNc3UHOn7DZVDxawnndkBMaZCrc-WGlawaa2hUjkoaoM/s1600/CG_Landmannalaugar+view.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="943" data-original-width="1600" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM5PocCIeZXRaFZPWsCM89Ust1boRBZmg1fnu6rHD9Uipmz04kmq2rlNFOoymMsaFoJQElBv3UQiZ9555f13oNwTzbu0AVcZHdNc3UHOn7DZVDxawnndkBMaZCrc-WGlawaa2hUjkoaoM/s640/CG_Landmannalaugar+view.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The view from our rear window in the morning.<br />Landmannalaugar</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF8P4Z5vYS8WLIomiYJQbp6qISh_Vtwosw0BrwWRo4ueEMvnwi_ehLOAoAEDXJOJnVPec8xUX5BvR0ahDRw341cJRZrXDoDx2GBaH_hDVTGkIGb0IGlM8tWq1uyOhmXpHiak1uQsL5vr4/s1600/CG_Sheep+tracks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF8P4Z5vYS8WLIomiYJQbp6qISh_Vtwosw0BrwWRo4ueEMvnwi_ehLOAoAEDXJOJnVPec8xUX5BvR0ahDRw341cJRZrXDoDx2GBaH_hDVTGkIGb0IGlM8tWq1uyOhmXpHiak1uQsL5vr4/s400/CG_Sheep+tracks.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Our campground host one night. <br />This one was closed for the season, but we stayed there anyway and were treated to a Northern Lights show that night.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh10nnhwuMdoqysZxOW_PhIwEMgyC5-KhWpA6UJtW_NiFuB5gYDn2uZdNQXhyphenhyphenLT9IHu7aZvw-oyPGAWj983hcERw3TYWxTP2q-Mrtds7VGoWwHID9L-SnzNXpjtwiV6NZkU11N4xCd9rFY/s1600/CG_Us+in+chairs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh10nnhwuMdoqysZxOW_PhIwEMgyC5-KhWpA6UJtW_NiFuB5gYDn2uZdNQXhyphenhyphenLT9IHu7aZvw-oyPGAWj983hcERw3TYWxTP2q-Mrtds7VGoWwHID9L-SnzNXpjtwiV6NZkU11N4xCd9rFY/s640/CG_Us+in+chairs.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Watching the whales swim by from the berm above our campsite.<br />Drangsnes Campground<br />(Photo credit: LeeWhay Pasek, OverlandWithUs)</span></td></tr>
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<br />Kelly Templehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16736282169474219178noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541208124360896016.post-30409401019194941122019-10-16T21:30:00.000-07:002019-10-16T21:35:03.601-07:00Iceland Part III: Siggi and the Lighthouse<b><span style="font-size: large;">We lasted 33 hours</span></b> before we fell into bed in our van, exhausted but happy to be camping in Iceland at last. Our friends Ryan and LeeWhay, who had shipped their Sprinter van over a few weeks previous, were at the campground to greet us, and Rasa, Craig and their friend Michelle had shown up a bit later in the truck/camper they had rented for the trip. It seemed hard to believe that we were meeting up with them in such a faraway place. But first, we're really tired guys...<br />
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The next day we popped awake early, ready to start this adventure.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4yw1L-xNogokPGDqj21bb2Xu-lJAUWIXk4puURW5fnCuZgTku02xzDdJNtJX4PdfIRBWj78oXoe4z9g8L7KZISk5dOFArw3Zl-Z24oDEkEI6pBUEEaPySEML9OSdqmsuAe7BapFZiqbw/s1600/LH_From+beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1578" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4yw1L-xNogokPGDqj21bb2Xu-lJAUWIXk4puURW5fnCuZgTku02xzDdJNtJX4PdfIRBWj78oXoe4z9g8L7KZISk5dOFArw3Zl-Z24oDEkEI6pBUEEaPySEML9OSdqmsuAe7BapFZiqbw/s200/LH_From+beach.jpg" width="196" /></a></div>
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<b>We met Siggi at the door of the Gar∂skagi lighthouse.</b> He seemed a bit grumpy when we said hello after passing him on the walkway. At first, we didn't know he worked there, we thought he was just hanging around enjoying the view like we were. When he told us we could come in and have a cup of coffee, we politely declined after looking over the small menu posted at the door. Four bucks for a cup of coffee seemed steep, and we were enjoying the weather and exploring the old boats and historical plaques scattered around the park there. He made a comment about how Americans always just wanted to take selfies and drive off to the next waterfall, then drifted inside.<br />
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Huh. Ok.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2jzPm2Xz4dIZRtqvPCh9qf9ZowZ5oa6ZB6E9A9Tjz5mWhayTsCWqNEHeTywICab12jsazTsYEGXlaeXXuJhJEQCFrDxECe_gygVjRi4gFXWHMcZ9VdDHYUGakpep8F0vAbNCtCPgNUio/s1600/LH_BoatNewLH.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2jzPm2Xz4dIZRtqvPCh9qf9ZowZ5oa6ZB6E9A9Tjz5mWhayTsCWqNEHeTywICab12jsazTsYEGXlaeXXuJhJEQCFrDxECe_gygVjRi4gFXWHMcZ9VdDHYUGakpep8F0vAbNCtCPgNUio/s400/LH_BoatNewLH.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">An old fishing boat was moored in the parking lot of Gar∂skaga Park.<br />Behind it, the "new" lighthouse, built in 1944.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRxN0vE5FzSTbR_UbT3UILpl68A1W6wnESx5RcTTscUGc5vJqJsPidDSHdii0YyvGBdeWss4TCu9gkpj8p_AUYI3LCUOww29bQBnmqQODu_X7EWcTqAW-Ur3-LtKzGoAjR1ZIyrKX1ClA/s1600/LH_ViewfromBoat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRxN0vE5FzSTbR_UbT3UILpl68A1W6wnESx5RcTTscUGc5vJqJsPidDSHdii0YyvGBdeWss4TCu9gkpj8p_AUYI3LCUOww29bQBnmqQODu_X7EWcTqAW-Ur3-LtKzGoAjR1ZIyrKX1ClA/s320/LH_ViewfromBoat.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">A view from the top deck of the "Holmsteinn Gar∂i"</span></td></tr>
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<b>Our friends had an appointment in town</b> and had to leave us, so we made lunch in the van and looked at the map. Today was supposed to be a relaxed, get-used-to-Iceland day and it happened to be a bright sunny one at that. It was nice not to have a set itinerary.<br />
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"You know, why did we come here?" I asked Mark. "To see stuff and find out what Iceland is like, right?"<br />
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We tossed around that thought for a bit, and decided the perfect introduction to Iceland and its people was grousing about Americans in the lighthouse just a few yards away.<br />
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"Let's do it."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAkJdro2U9ryYSuWbs1nk6CCKZL3xD2-e5tz7gRkj0SwwYPPm_r-j1-4vfzthU8KBYB9CiM_8ou7SEnSVuE8Djcx3Tv5H0HChkvvN0FsHswfQw0yjnUeN_gZElLweXZ_MtN9FGVSG1vY8/s1600/LH_Lighthouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAkJdro2U9ryYSuWbs1nk6CCKZL3xD2-e5tz7gRkj0SwwYPPm_r-j1-4vfzthU8KBYB9CiM_8ou7SEnSVuE8Djcx3Tv5H0HChkvvN0FsHswfQw0yjnUeN_gZElLweXZ_MtN9FGVSG1vY8/s320/LH_Lighthouse.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Gar∂skagaviti Lighthouse</span></td></tr>
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<strong>We walked in the door</strong> and found the guy fussing with the tables and chairs. I don't think he recognized us from our initial meeting outside. We told him we'd like a coffee and hot chocolate, and with that he visibly brightened. "Oh! Good! Sit down, I'll get it ready for you."<br />
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With the price of a cup of coffee, you get a tour of one of Iceland's oldest lighthouses. Our host introduced himself as Siggi, and he lived in the nearby town of Sandger∂i. He told us the lighthouse had been built by women in 1897 to guide their fisherman husbands home from sea. It was, he said with a flourish, The Lighthouse of Love.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNka_rUfrnYl79JcxwsnUs_GoPJ_7NK9sJkFg7t8poSVsDplga1-truTBYpGsTaqHn4Uh1Ay5ukCaYFepKapswhBIKWqagmbZk2qfQgsHYHNoOGx-ltekctKN7c_1VUbClxGzANlL1Nug/s1600/LH_View+from+top.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNka_rUfrnYl79JcxwsnUs_GoPJ_7NK9sJkFg7t8poSVsDplga1-truTBYpGsTaqHn4Uh1Ay5ukCaYFepKapswhBIKWqagmbZk2qfQgsHYHNoOGx-ltekctKN7c_1VUbClxGzANlL1Nug/s320/LH_View+from+top.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The view from inside the cupola.</span></td></tr>
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With that, he sent us up the set of rickety ladders (God I love a country that trusts you to not hurt yourself!) leading to the roof and cupola where the light used to reside (a newer, taller lighthouse was constructed a short way inland, making this one obsolete in 1944). It was a great view, and I can imagine a fantastic place to view whales and dolphins that sometimes swim by. We took some photos and squinted in the sun and wind, then came back down for the rest of story.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeCBkXCpFgkC98m52UdHJeDDrNrWUAOuEBURSs-tP0GpLmJTRwZ6OyPlW2fjZ2UOqE51se2CCkAB_NvETfOJ6F9lD2_xvN5bIkbLoFJdPIbnPq42zZ4KFCzXwN6qEwoXOh4rUxQOsopXA/s1600/LH_Mark+at+Top.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeCBkXCpFgkC98m52UdHJeDDrNrWUAOuEBURSs-tP0GpLmJTRwZ6OyPlW2fjZ2UOqE51se2CCkAB_NvETfOJ6F9lD2_xvN5bIkbLoFJdPIbnPq42zZ4KFCzXwN6qEwoXOh4rUxQOsopXA/s320/LH_Mark+at+Top.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Mark stands ghost-like inside the tower of the lighthouse.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ3V6prSeD3Ylb9u2yJ2uosacNsPNTsE3XKfIy2aOO1log_TXmhejKkFpTQ50FESWHShpr09tYw_LgJO2Ucq3lT5mnMSj1m8-ripq8wFsWnNjg7uqlX7t69AiLq43JAYnpjdvVvVlJH2A/s1600/LH_View+back+from+top.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ3V6prSeD3Ylb9u2yJ2uosacNsPNTsE3XKfIy2aOO1log_TXmhejKkFpTQ50FESWHShpr09tYw_LgJO2Ucq3lT5mnMSj1m8-ripq8wFsWnNjg7uqlX7t69AiLq43JAYnpjdvVvVlJH2A/s640/LH_View+back+from+top.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The view back toward the new lighthouse.</span></td></tr>
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<br />
<b>From here, I will paraphrase Siggi:</b><br />
<br />
Icelandic people are different from others. They treat their women with respect, no different from the men. There is little divorce, and women are strong and smart. Icelandic men don't feel they need to prove anything, and are happy to share everything with their wives (at this point I punched Mark in the arm). Siggi pointed out that he was a highly respected football (soccer) coach, and he had trained many winning teams for Iceland. He could have any woman he wanted, but he was happy with his wife. "Why would I want more?" (Mark received another punch).<br />
<br />
This lighthouse was built by women because they decided too many fisherman were dying at sea. They designed it so it would have thick walls to withstand the winds, and a bright light that would guide them home. Each stone was placed with care, knowing each one would contribute to a family that would not lose a loved one.<br />
<br />
He regaled us with stories about the Vikings (Wikings!) and how they claimed to have discovered Iceland. How did they discover a place where we were already living? They did not discover Iceland! He told us about Leif Eriksson who sailed to Iceland with his mother from Norway and became a great explorer in part by spending time here. He sailed to Greenland and hunted walrus so he could sell their skins and make money to build a ship. He told us how Icelanders like Italians, but they were full of bologna when they claimed Columbus discovered America. How could he discover a place that Leif had already discovered four hundred years before? (At this point I couldn't help myself, I told him there were some Native Americans that might have a problem with that. Siggi just shrugged and kept talking)<br />
<br />
He told us about tourism that has become a boon for Iceland, but also a source of amusement to the locals. The Reykjanes peninsula, on which the lighthouse was built, is at the confluence of the polar waters from the north near Greenland and the warm Atlantic Gulf stream, the cold and warm currents meet right at the point. This not only causes treacherous seas, but contributes to a warmer climate with more clear days–the best place in Iceland to view the Northern Lights. He said the Japanese believe a child conceived under the Aurora Borealis will be blessed with good luck, and that before there were enough hotels built here the locals told their children not to wander around here after dark, there were so many Japanese couples trying to make luck. Now they have built a special hotel with skylights in the rooms over the beds. They call them Production Rooms. Siggi winked and smiled.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdVj-2xoJNbxT3iQE56-art5IWZZMGQTVWy3m0BmUDmEc1XvVOFMVLfqCreDUsGawsrIoCiBCnQ-Zqsq1LwCv7uys3K8nAFcW_27-lN9ttAUE_z9RPbGkcIX9WyS8B4yV-TS2u20FQsB8/s1600/LH_Rock+art.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1508" data-original-width="1600" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdVj-2xoJNbxT3iQE56-art5IWZZMGQTVWy3m0BmUDmEc1XvVOFMVLfqCreDUsGawsrIoCiBCnQ-Zqsq1LwCv7uys3K8nAFcW_27-lN9ttAUE_z9RPbGkcIX9WyS8B4yV-TS2u20FQsB8/s200/LH_Rock+art.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<b>At the end of the story,</b> Siggi got up and disappeared into the kitchen, talking as he went. "Now, there is a saying that the women in Iceland have. No matter how hard it gets, you must always remember to be thankful. You could lose your husband to the sea, but you still have your children to remember him by. You might have only fish to eat, but at least you have something to eat. Life might seem hard, but there will always be someone that needs more help than you." He walked back to us and held open both hands. In each palm, he had a small lava rock, smooth and black. "Carry this with you and let it be a reminder of everything you are thankful for. Keep it in your pocket, and once a day pull it out, remind yourself that there is much in life to be thankful for."<br />
<br />
We took the rocks from him and rolled them around between our fingers. There was something comforting about the way they felt, this tiny bit of Iceland small enough to carry with us. We slipped them into our pockets and thanked Siggi for a wonderful time. An hour had passed, the coffee and hot chocolate was gone and it was time to say goodbye.<br />
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<b>Back in the van</b>, we took the stones from our pockets and looked at them again. We didn't know how much a (slightly) grumpy guy telling (slightly) tall tales in an old lighthouse could brighten our day, but we knew we were thankful he did.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkNUFuFIp-wvjUZ8ukglycSVD-I3f83wVjemX2-FCaHp18jxD30HbjFJcRnVbM6WbEQx6RBhbxbCdSzg2mO2HNr-I4SDstTRsjY_H9gASskNqg4jth7Q8zFO2ECakL37NpL8GG__Rwfc0/s1600/LH_SiggiMark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1043" data-original-width="1600" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkNUFuFIp-wvjUZ8ukglycSVD-I3f83wVjemX2-FCaHp18jxD30HbjFJcRnVbM6WbEQx6RBhbxbCdSzg2mO2HNr-I4SDstTRsjY_H9gASskNqg4jth7Q8zFO2ECakL37NpL8GG__Rwfc0/s640/LH_SiggiMark.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Siggi and Mark inside the cafe at The Lighthouse of Love</span></td></tr>
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<i>(Next up: Camping in Iceland)</i><br />
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Kelly Templehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16736282169474219178noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541208124360896016.post-65773401766987756782019-10-13T20:57:00.000-07:002019-10-13T20:57:32.266-07:00Iceland Part II: Transportation and Food<strong><span style="font-size: large;">The taxi dropped us off</span></strong> at the <a href="https://cozycampers.is/">Cozy Campers</a> headquarters, located in a neighborhood that was a strange mix of industrial and residential. The driver helped us unload our bags and thankfully, as we wheeled them into the office, a worker ran out and handed him what looked like a voucher. He seemed happy with it, so we were released from the worry the poor guy wouldn't get paid.<br />
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The office had a nice reception room with plush couches and chairs with a fake fireplace that was glowing with electric flames. Lining one wall was shelving and a small glass-doored refrigerator loaded with jars, cans and bottles of food items, some half empty. A young woman at the counter asked for our names. In case you were wondering, we knew how to pronounce them.<br />
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"Ah! Yes, here you are." She pulled up our information in the computer and printed out our paperwork. "Two weeks, returning on September 14?"<br />
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We signed everywhere she pointed, promising not to take the van off-road, acknowledging any traffic tickets or driver induced accidents were our problem, and most importantly, that we would be fully responsible for any damage caused by unsafe water crossings. Yes, water crossings. This is a thing in Iceland.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn2tCJ8tl6T4ZdTtRYms-lK-0dz4kNMmSvkMnYf5jzX8EFJQVeg3-PvyS6L1lbeDatiCw2a9z7WrHErQwWYMpg5bhnRc5ygCeYpxMC4Osh3k7KAJS8FU7PViMZPq4pWGnwJlTY6SQQjV8/s1600/Camper_NoneSmoke.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="489" data-original-width="1600" height="96" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn2tCJ8tl6T4ZdTtRYms-lK-0dz4kNMmSvkMnYf5jzX8EFJQVeg3-PvyS6L1lbeDatiCw2a9z7WrHErQwWYMpg5bhnRc5ygCeYpxMC4Osh3k7KAJS8FU7PViMZPq4pWGnwJlTY6SQQjV8/s320/Camper_NoneSmoke.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>She took us outside and showed us the camper van</b>, our home for the next two weeks. The front was a regular mini-van set up, a bench seat with room for three passengers or in our case, two passengers and all our camera equipment. The back was accessed by a sliding side door. Inside was a bench seat that cleverly converted to a bed at night, with storage underneath for pillows, feather comforters, and a bottom sheet, along with anything else we wanted to stow away. The other wall and back of the camper had a built in counter top/cabinet system where our pots and pans, tea kettle, stove and kitchen utensils/plates/cups/bowls were stored. The large cabinet across the back had plenty of room for food items. There was a small built in sink with a faucet and a small fridge wedged in there too.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEeJZUy-nGAML3P-kGmNkdcmQ7Ph7ggpkvUYiEytPyXxbDhZEnxqk-qEr4gB021vVhWMtCNGcruLmXbnkGs1CgyoteuCPdOaRfPnbL8xvmixNdW7dfMBUqU8bhdsjKbycowinAF_UaqpM/s1600/Camper_FrontSeat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEeJZUy-nGAML3P-kGmNkdcmQ7Ph7ggpkvUYiEytPyXxbDhZEnxqk-qEr4gB021vVhWMtCNGcruLmXbnkGs1CgyoteuCPdOaRfPnbL8xvmixNdW7dfMBUqU8bhdsjKbycowinAF_UaqpM/s400/Camper_FrontSeat.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The extra seat came in handy when one of our occasionally friends needed a ride.<br />Most of the time though, it was taken up by our camera equipment.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoijaZfsyluMozu61xFIAfEYoJBqmqFyZkFNjHO2zbsvVMN6QBRSICcs-hJcafR59S-43pmjXitSRM0cgAA3BPfvf3p8v5YpJObAfIzGX8N4gNGGzLkKeC6BOUq_vmFKpKZN1UMqOQjg4/s1600/Camper_IntwMap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoijaZfsyluMozu61xFIAfEYoJBqmqFyZkFNjHO2zbsvVMN6QBRSICcs-hJcafR59S-43pmjXitSRM0cgAA3BPfvf3p8v5YpJObAfIzGX8N4gNGGzLkKeC6BOUq_vmFKpKZN1UMqOQjg4/s400/Camper_IntwMap.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The interior included a couch with pillows, fridge, and even a handy map on the wall with all the major roads listed (including the roads we were banned from taking)</span></td></tr>
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<b>The back hatch opened up</b> to reveal more storage, the water tank with easy snap connections (so removal for refilling was quick and painless), and the camper battery. The battery ran the faucet, the fridge, the cool LED lighting system that was built in to the cabinetry, and most importantly, the heater. This battery was charged when the van was running, and if it went low only took a few minutes of running the engine to top back up.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZcyYXVmLOpGlhIqZz2wqSYByRrgWCCfWdYQzJvSZWqJsM3vUQYgm8chzdL27oAzXIc-z9Iia1ky013FWHBhAng0a4joOnWw4aOEPjFHYKSYXTn7x9Htd3mLGtTR8UUHGtVYsfEjGM-Rg/s1600/Camper_Back.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZcyYXVmLOpGlhIqZz2wqSYByRrgWCCfWdYQzJvSZWqJsM3vUQYgm8chzdL27oAzXIc-z9Iia1ky013FWHBhAng0a4joOnWw4aOEPjFHYKSYXTn7x9Htd3mLGtTR8UUHGtVYsfEjGM-Rg/s400/Camper_Back.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">There was extra storage in the back, perfect for beer, soda and boxed food.</span></td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5oI16ghcOe4jD9pOMXcVcK6A9Kdd5ttTgTlKeAlvBX0rDSlZ8Pt3n2_bU9-umQfiw8cILQvjE1j0-e25kjviKhqLV23spuYq0bb8tpcLvbRVPiKZO3BEyh0Ztmx03O2K3Qa65Zacu91g/s1600/Camper_WaterElec.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5oI16ghcOe4jD9pOMXcVcK6A9Kdd5ttTgTlKeAlvBX0rDSlZ8Pt3n2_bU9-umQfiw8cILQvjE1j0-e25kjviKhqLV23spuYq0bb8tpcLvbRVPiKZO3BEyh0Ztmx03O2K3Qa65Zacu91g/s320/Camper_WaterElec.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Water bin and electrical, simple and effective.</span></td></tr>
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It all looked pretty straightforward, so after walking around the vehicle noting any existing dings in the paint, we went back inside to finish off the paperwork. After signing a few more things, and getting handouts explaining road signs that are unique to Iceland, she told us to help ourselves to any food on the shelves or in the fridge.<br />
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This was new to us, but turned out to be a common and delightful occurrence throughout our trip. Here and at most of the campgrounds, there was a spot set aside for extra food and stove fuel canisters. People were welcome to help themselves, and those that were finishing up their trip and found they overbought were welcome to leave their extras. I wish this would catch on in the States, what a great idea. Of course you'd run the risk of having people sue because they got sick, or worse, someone would decide to poison something and leave it for a hapless victim. Maybe not such a good idea in the US.<br />
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We picked up salt, some spices and condiments, oatmeal, and a packet of little tiny sausages that looked good, then loaded our luggage and free food into the van. We sat in the parking lot for a minute trying to get our bearings.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKudQpdvdfDAPI8doeh3tmhc424QniF2k64yX5mJxdIc1K9x_kijegYm38dWgqgoOOEcvsl9AdvCoHc4tmQbKv-XUbJy6Vc9AQtoTyUOkxHru9nz1eQkAlTXIqlsoMGav6_LRh3gafuCk/s1600/Camper_MarkBack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKudQpdvdfDAPI8doeh3tmhc424QniF2k64yX5mJxdIc1K9x_kijegYm38dWgqgoOOEcvsl9AdvCoHc4tmQbKv-XUbJy6Vc9AQtoTyUOkxHru9nz1eQkAlTXIqlsoMGav6_LRh3gafuCk/s640/Camper_MarkBack.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Mark demonstrates the best feature of a full size hatch door: it doubled as an awning in the rain enabling us to cook outdoors in bad weather.</span></td></tr>
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<br />
<strong>Before leaving the airport,</strong> we stopped by the ATM and got some cash, and we had also purchased a SIM card for our phone. Verizon had a number of options for overseas use, but they had all worked out to be more expensive than the SIM card. We bought one that was good for unlimited data and cell use for 14 days, just enough to cover us until we got to the apartment we would be staying in for the last few days of the trip (WiFi included!). This meant our phone number was changed to an Icelandic one, but it allowed us to have the use of our phone for navigation, texting relatives back home, email, and who are we kidding, the occasional Instagram moment. I typed in "grocery stores" and Google maps came up with a few options nearby, then we were off.<br />
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<b>We made a list before we left home</b>, having learned a basic math lesson in Tanzania:<br />
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New Country+No Sleep+Unfamiliar Labels=Hungry Campers<br />
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We weren't going to get caught out again! Armed with our handy list, we arrived at a <a href="https://kronan.is/">Kronan</a> Grocery store ready for quick and efficient shopping. Piece of cake!<br />
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The store looked just like grocery stores here. There were aisles for baked goods, cereals, chips, sodas. Instead of cold cases they had an entire room that was chilled, you entered through separate doors to get to the dairy, eggs and chilled meats. For the most part, there was at least some english on the labels so we could tell what we were buying. We had to guess the jam flavor by inspecting the color, and the juice luckily had the mix of fruits displayed on the label. There were some American brands—especially kids cereal interestingly enough—but most were European.<br />
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The produce area looked the same as well, except for the lack of diversity. There were piles of hot house tomatoes, bins of apples, potatoes, and some greens like broccoli and lettuce. There was very little citrus of any kind, and certainly no pineapple or mango or other warm climate type fruit, not surprising given the latitude of Iceland. What was in great abundance though, were zeros. As in lots and lots of extra zeros on the price markers.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcdu_NCt_ClfcVY0GQMEfPV-BjPdtRv6kYGKTC0GmaLwW_990zzdhw4OQ9NLT6VtVBh_XQ7xhnZqzfvPo7Hf1gm6Bf5P_r_FmVTfsu22dLGciwJZlHJClWMp5MG9_bcbboHOLQYQPsoog/s1600/money-money-money-everything-you-need-to-know-about-the-icelandic-krona-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="555" data-original-width="1280" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcdu_NCt_ClfcVY0GQMEfPV-BjPdtRv6kYGKTC0GmaLwW_990zzdhw4OQ9NLT6VtVBh_XQ7xhnZqzfvPo7Hf1gm6Bf5P_r_FmVTfsu22dLGciwJZlHJClWMp5MG9_bcbboHOLQYQPsoog/s320/money-money-money-everything-you-need-to-know-about-the-icelandic-krona-6.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Photo credit: <a href="https://www.whatson.is/money-money-money-everything-need-know-icelandic-krona/">What's On</a>)</td></tr>
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<b>Virtually everything in Iceland is imported.</b> They have geothermally heated greenhouses where they grow certain vegetables, and of course sheep and some dairy farms, but everything else comes in by boat or plane. This is costly of course, and it shows up on the price tags. We stood in awe as our yogurt, granola, apples, milk and bread added up on the monitor. Throw in some cheese, a few cokes and some chips and it bumped up much quicker. We walked out with two smallish bags of groceries having paid well over $100. Guess we'll be eating a lot of PBJs on this trip.<br />
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(A word about alcohol in Iceland: Beer, wine and liquor are not sold in grocery stores here. There are separate stores, Vinbudin, that are the only ones authorized to sell it. They have limited hours and are not as plentiful as grocery stores; we mostly saw them in the larger towns. If we thought the grocery prices were high, a visit to a Vinbudin put that thought to rest: A six pack of beer was $25.00. Fun Beer Fact: it was illegal to make or buy beer in Iceland until March 1, 1989. That's right, 1989. To this day, March 1st is a National Holiday called, fittingly, Beer Day.)<br />
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Out in the parking lot, we loaded our purchases with great care, not wanting to lose even one precious carrot. It was time to take this van to its natural habitat, the campground in Hafnarfjör∂ur<span style="color: #272727;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">where our friends would meet us. On the ride over, we practiced saying the </span>town name;<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span style="caret-color: rgb(39, 39, 39);">Hahf-nahr-Fyor-thish. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #272727;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(39, 39, 39);"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #272727;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(39, 39, 39);">Or something like that.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #272727;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(39, 39, 39);"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #272727;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(39, 39, 39);"><i>(Next up: we take this van on the road and meet Siggi at his lighthouse cafe.)</i></span></span><br />
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.Kelly Templehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16736282169474219178noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541208124360896016.post-81332488974750746712019-10-05T16:20:00.001-07:002019-10-05T16:20:35.998-07:00Iceland Part I: Touchdown<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: large;">We landed at the Keflavik airport</span></b><b style="font-size: x-large;"> </b>tired and wired, ready to start this Icelandic adventure but lulled into an irritated malaise after a two hour wait for customs. Three very full flights had arrived within minutes of each other, clogging the tiny airport with a mob of tourists anxiously holding their passports open to the proper page. Two stoic and humorless customs agents were stamping as fast as they could.<br />
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Once outside the airport the cold wind slapped us into the realization we were now just below the Arctic Circle. The sun was low and very bright, something our bloodshot eyes weren't ready for since they were still under the impression it was 3am PST. After a little sleepless confusion, we found the Flybus (that had been sitting in front of us all along) and climbed aboard.<br />
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<b>We had rented a 4x4 VW van</b> from <a href="https://cozycampers.is/">Cozy Campers</a> for our two week adventure almost a year ago. After an extensive internet search, we decided they offered the vehicle closest to our needs: bedding, stove, cookware and utensils, heater and fridge, all packed in an all-wheel drive van with higher clearance for rough road driving. All this at an exorbitant Icelandic price that was right in line with all the other exorbitant Icelandic van rental places. What set them apart from the others was their offer to transport us from the airport to their shop, and also get us back to Reykjavik once we were finished with our trip. It was nice not to have to worry about arranging transportation after an all-night flight to a foreign country.</div>
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Now where is that bus? Oh yeah, we're sitting in it...</div>
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<b>The bus trundled down the Reykjanes Peninsula</b> on Highway 41, heading for the Reykjavik BSI (bus terminal). From there we were to catch a <a href="http://www.hreyfill.is/">Hreyfill Taxi </a>to the Cozy Camper headquarters a few kilometers away. Despite being a major tourist destination, Iceland's international airport is not located in its biggest city. Keflavik is an hour from Reykjavik, and virtually everyone needs to get to Reykjavik to start their vacation. Thus the bus ride with lots of company.<br />
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<b>It was a pretty drive</b> in the morning sun, views of small harbors, distant farmhouses and acres and acres of lava scrolled by as we stared out the windows. We were struck by how much this countryside looked like the lava fields of the Big Island of Hawaii. We passed an Ikea as we headed into the city, looking so familiar it seemed out of place. The bus arrived at the station and dropped us off with a bunch of other bleary-eyed passengers. We stood in the cold wind in the parking lot and looked around. The first thing that struck us was that Reykjavik, although the country's largest city, didn't seem that big. The main bus terminal is not much bigger than a small train station in the US or Europe. The second thing that occurred to us was we needed to pee, and we weren't sure just how long it would take to get to Cozy Campers.</div>
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We entered the terminal and found a row of seats with other confused passengers milling around. There was a bathroom in the corner, blocked by an automated gate. We had been warned by the guide books about this, but it still took us by surprise: in many places in Iceland you have to pay to play, so to speak. Luckily, there was a card reader to accept our (roughly) $1 each. We had stopped at an ATM for Icelandic Krona (ISK) before leaving the airport, but didn't have any change to feed the machine yet.<br />
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Feeling lighter and a bit more relaxed, we stepped out the door to the area devoted to shuttle buses and taxis. Here, we had our first lesson in the complexities of the ancient Icelandic dialect. We asked a shuttle bus driver if he could direct us to the Hreyfill taxis.<br />
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"Hray-Fill?" he looked at us like we were speaking some sort of inscrutable language. "I have never heard of this company."<br />
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I showed him the printout from Cozy Campers, where it clearly stated "Hreyfill".<br />
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"Oh!" Frayvitchl! Why didn't you say so? There's one right over there."<br />
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A shiny black Subaru was idling at the curb. In the front window, a Frayvitchl sign was glowing on the dash, only it was spelled "Hreyfill". The older gentleman got out and helped us load our luggage in the back.<br />
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"Where do you wish to go?"<br />
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"Cozy Campers please." We weren't even going to attempt the street name, so we handed him the printout with the address. "They said if we used your company they would pay for the ride."<br />
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"I <i>hope</i> they do." he mumbled under his breath. Mark and I exchanged looks, then shrugged. They were going to have to work it out, we were too tired to care.<br />
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<em>(In the next post, we pick up the camper and are introduced to the fine art of food shopping in Iceland)</em></div>
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Kelly Templehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16736282169474219178noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541208124360896016.post-46635331759659017172019-08-08T19:37:00.001-07:002019-08-08T19:37:44.752-07:00Oh Deer.<strong><span style="font-size: large;">We left Blair, Nebraska</span></strong> en route to Phoenix, Arizona (why? a story for another post) before dawn. By the looks of it, we had missed a major hailstorm just minutes before passing through Omaha. Cars were spun around, lanes were closed and emergency vehicles were lined up with lights flashing, illuminating the piles of bright white hail on the sides of the road. Glad we didn't get mixed up in that! Once clear of the big city, we were flying down Interstate 80 at 75mph, the most comfortable speed for our truck with the camper loaded.<br />
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Around 7am we always start looking for the next available coffee shop on the road. This 4100 mile road trip sometimes required extensive research to find a caffeine stop, the sparsely populated areas we were traveling through were a particular challenge. I was scrolling through the Google Maps "Coffee" search feature trying to estimate just how far we'd have to drive for a cup of energy when<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">BAM!</span></b><br />
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"What the hell was that?"<br />
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I looked up at Mark, his eyes wide and hands shaking a bit on the wheel. "Deer."<br />
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It was only then I realized the lower half of the driver's side windshield had a deer head-sized indentation, and Mark's lap and most of the front seat was covered with fine shards of glass. He slowly eased the truck over into the breakdown lane and moved as far as possible off the road. Unfortunately, because of the torrential rain Nebraska had suffered all year, the ground on the side of the highway was a gooey, tire sucking mess. We were off the road, but not far enough off to be comfortable opening the driver's side door so close to the traffic lane.<br />
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I hopped out and dug around in the glove box for napkins to help brush the glass off Mark's lap and the seat. We were so pumped with adrenaline we didn't realize every brush against the shards was making tiny cuts in our fingers and bare legs. After getting most of it onto the floor mats, I peeked around the side of the truck and signaled when it was safe for him to get out.<br />
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Holy shit.<br />
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It happened so fast it was hard to tell exactly what happened, but judging from the body damage we pieced it together. The deer was running from the median strip across the lanes, hitting the front quarter panel with it's chest, it's head whipping around and smashing the window. From there its body must have flipped and slammed and slid down the side of the truck, shearing off the driver's side mirror and leaving it hanging by its now useless electrical connections. The body (because I'm pretty sure it was an instant death) must have flipped around again because there was a huge dent in the back quarter panel as well, just beneath the camper. There was deer hair and feces smeared over the back side panel, brush guards of the bumper, and under the camper rail, the icing on the cake if you will.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Interstate 80, where cars go 80, and deer play chicken.</span></td></tr>
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The only thing Mark remembers seeing is the deer's eyes in the windshield before it hit. I think it still haunts him today.<br />
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After calming down a little, and brushing more glass off the seat, we got back in and limped our way to the next exit, listening for any weird engine sounds, unsure if anything but the body damage we had seen was affected. Milford was the closest town, so we headed there on the advice of the nice ladies at the gas station at the exit.<br />
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<strong>Milford is exactly seven blocks long.</strong> It looked like it served the farmers in the area, having a small grocery, a small coffee shop, a small auto repair shop, a one pump gas station, and various empty store fronts. We stopped in for coffee, mostly to gather our wits a bit since we had no need for caffiene at this point. The owner shook her head as she poured our drinks, "My husband hit a deer last week. So scary!"<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Head smack</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Where once there was an electronic adjustable mirror, only shredded wire remains.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6dviru8fl-pNRmoDS1phxnEzkmZDrkE8c2s8U-XEuCVMWqQ_eXqy8L7CSHy1Rcr_AHmvMlwMJGc-7NFdHlkhelEb4tPmKAZ1TJY4-M5i9ZibkQ9Y1ZbdUD_yHXukKPO8N8E8geJWeTYE/s1600/Back+panel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6dviru8fl-pNRmoDS1phxnEzkmZDrkE8c2s8U-XEuCVMWqQ_eXqy8L7CSHy1Rcr_AHmvMlwMJGc-7NFdHlkhelEb4tPmKAZ1TJY4-M5i9ZibkQ9Y1ZbdUD_yHXukKPO8N8E8geJWeTYE/s320/Back+panel.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Seriously reconfigured quarter panel</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The auto shop there had just opened for business for the day, and after expressing their sympathy told us their windshield guy only came in once a week. They said our best bet was to drive back to Lincoln and find an auto glass place there.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYydIyN357LEcns3nOF9x3jymoJJkByIi4yAmWmvI-CyBNwjipvm-G223sZOsXsJBbRvhLdqlRzoY2ASzT1GXWK0_Pxe-dnt6cMP10DHsXYnos1DVwP1icCKQ67rzK-yz-SBkIuK6-yic/s1600/Hair+and+poop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYydIyN357LEcns3nOF9x3jymoJJkByIi4yAmWmvI-CyBNwjipvm-G223sZOsXsJBbRvhLdqlRzoY2ASzT1GXWK0_Pxe-dnt6cMP10DHsXYnos1DVwP1icCKQ67rzK-yz-SBkIuK6-yic/s320/Hair+and+poop.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The deer left more than dents.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Not wanting to get back on the interstate with a damaged windshield and no side mirror, we took the frontage road the 20 miles back to the city of Lincoln. As Mark carefully peered around the smashed part of the windshield, I googled "auto glass replacement" and made my way down the list of shops, calling for appointments. The first place said they could get us in the next day. Nope! Not gonna stay another night in Nebraska, as nice as our visit had been. The next place said they could get us in around noon. Better than tomorrow! We made the appointment just as we crossed the Lincoln city limits.<br />
<br />
<strong>Having nowhere else to go,</strong> and very nervous driving around in a damaged truck, we drove straight to <a href="http://www.capitalautoglassne.com/">Capital Auto Glass</a> and parked in front. We went inside and asked if we could hang out until our appointment time. The guy offered us coffee, and also offered to call around for a new side mirror. Another customer in the waiting room overheard our story and offered to drive us somewhere and buy us breakfast. As we were talking to him, a delivery truck pulled up with our windshield and the shop manager told the warehouse guy to pull our truck in. They moved our appointment to the front of the line and by the time our windshield was in, the mirror had arrived and they installed that too. All in all, we drove away with a sparkling new windshield and a gently used mirror exactly one hour and thirty minutes after driving into town.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm5grkGuABKN9PAFiOXzvtUOXMN2H7e9FARuO_0WdguM2u619O5TN80DlKZhZz1_nYCy4kdzwaBwyK3WBNZuFWuL3OoTjS3fHwcQPQuyKnYO4Y-U9-p0qB6jkUY8fzPFwUMAfx3fIgqLM/s1600/The+Good+Guys.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm5grkGuABKN9PAFiOXzvtUOXMN2H7e9FARuO_0WdguM2u619O5TN80DlKZhZz1_nYCy4kdzwaBwyK3WBNZuFWuL3OoTjS3fHwcQPQuyKnYO4Y-U9-p0qB6jkUY8fzPFwUMAfx3fIgqLM/s400/The+Good+Guys.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The good guys in this story. If you ever find yourself in Lincoln, NE with busted glass, call them.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
Deer hit: 7:30am</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Arrival at glass repair shop: 9:00am</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Back on the road: 10:30am</div>
<br />
Incredibly, we made it to our scheduled campsite in Colorado that day before sunset.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4mInsxg88b4hwLj2FlwbYv8PY3KMRSkifP0uIe3rzhesIVH2B1EyFMiwjpPbvgAKHuyfqrl_jiGSsTu5Cxy_dpZVWxWB7isIKhhyphenhyphenK39OPGSW41vLeexiBlytQGY6lg3CpBHZ1ch6xMwE/s1600/Deer+Crossing+Sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="466" data-original-width="466" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4mInsxg88b4hwLj2FlwbYv8PY3KMRSkifP0uIe3rzhesIVH2B1EyFMiwjpPbvgAKHuyfqrl_jiGSsTu5Cxy_dpZVWxWB7isIKhhyphenhyphenK39OPGSW41vLeexiBlytQGY6lg3CpBHZ1ch6xMwE/s200/Deer+Crossing+Sign.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<strong>Over the last 18 years</strong> we estimate we have driven an average of 6,500 miles annually in the interstates, rural highways, county lanes and backroads of every western state and Canadian province. While we have hit a few small animals and run over a couple of unfortunate reptiles, we have never even come close to hitting a deer.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw4NDd1NnAzTMxSTmKmGlEnZidnvm8YAzVKIyrWutRG0wz4_rHIBeBDjBMxTRMPLe3lHbJvjasrnjzCwClE5q8HPCuPB2yk2_JqmwejWT45iCkYUxBCqAfoK7RfHLpKbzTOtyq0ZhXpBw/s1600/IMG_3920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw4NDd1NnAzTMxSTmKmGlEnZidnvm8YAzVKIyrWutRG0wz4_rHIBeBDjBMxTRMPLe3lHbJvjasrnjzCwClE5q8HPCuPB2yk2_JqmwejWT45iCkYUxBCqAfoK7RfHLpKbzTOtyq0ZhXpBw/s320/IMG_3920.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<b>Moral of this story:</b> If you must hit a deer, do it in Nebraska. The state might not have towering mountains, deep canyons or dramatic coastlines, but damn they have the nicest, most helpful people on earth.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij_UdbI_S4dsHlJd19U-7HIEo2Rbb09ILWrsbVgYLCRrYwLuirZmmLLsrATxOEFCUD4d0gBpwoBA_gAAY4rgniuvzpNWkIbtsi0WFutnysB4-BmZuAOfmMEXm9GMRVwSLq1TUBoavZbmk/s1600/Sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="128" data-original-width="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij_UdbI_S4dsHlJd19U-7HIEo2Rbb09ILWrsbVgYLCRrYwLuirZmmLLsrATxOEFCUD4d0gBpwoBA_gAAY4rgniuvzpNWkIbtsi0WFutnysB4-BmZuAOfmMEXm9GMRVwSLq1TUBoavZbmk/s1600/Sign.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
We are deeply indebted to you Nebraska. We'd love to visit again, but honestly, we aren't sure our old truck can take any more hits from your hulking corn-fed wildlife.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ4Qs7U1Rc9jPDndSHr7Y2xPiPCrvyddnaGvrsF4h8zUVCP23SHrJqzbdVdR0uMBei60TzNQrBeTkYFfkrAyEqdgmbEQtx6Eecv81vv15lxDBUhHUzAOT7jCcBFkKBY3QeTI8Rm7pHo5k/s1600/Deer+on+road_Zoomed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1180" data-original-width="1515" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ4Qs7U1Rc9jPDndSHr7Y2xPiPCrvyddnaGvrsF4h8zUVCP23SHrJqzbdVdR0uMBei60TzNQrBeTkYFfkrAyEqdgmbEQtx6Eecv81vv15lxDBUhHUzAOT7jCcBFkKBY3QeTI8Rm7pHo5k/s400/Deer+on+road_Zoomed.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">On our way back on 80, we passed our old friend. <br />R.I.P. Deer</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />Kelly Templehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16736282169474219178noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541208124360896016.post-37951634315663730402019-04-03T19:35:00.000-07:002019-04-04T08:06:01.622-07:00Eternal Questions of the Midnight Mind<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI2W88-_R3BGGkOVuBJ0CW0gmNMblhLiDQrh4BgLIFftwJgBn6cl1A2B6sBXeszYsp8k5TpcyMa30uMJ7lu3OxGw6ptDZR-83ADmdMq0fYInuiF3Ta-IUs-zt_fD6tFEeHWEiNn75oiQs/s1600/Looking+for+answers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1418" data-original-width="1600" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI2W88-_R3BGGkOVuBJ0CW0gmNMblhLiDQrh4BgLIFftwJgBn6cl1A2B6sBXeszYsp8k5TpcyMa30uMJ7lu3OxGw6ptDZR-83ADmdMq0fYInuiF3Ta-IUs-zt_fD6tFEeHWEiNn75oiQs/s200/Looking+for+answers.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">My birthday is almost upon me,</span></b> and honestly, I'm feeling it this year. Something about being so close to (and in some instances, qualifying for) a senior discount is unsettling.<br />
<br />
I used to tell myself that it's just a number, it doesn't matter how old I am as long as I feel ok and can physically do what I want, but lately I've been overtaken by doubt. The weirdest worries start creeping in while I'm laying in bed not sleeping because I'm getting to the age where sleep is actually a problem and hey! that's another worry, isn't not sleeping bad for you? Here's just a sampling of what's running through my head at 2am. And 3am. Then again at 4am:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>What if I actually succeed at losing the middle aged spread I've gained and end up looking worse? Is the fat filling in the lurking wrinkles and making me look younger?</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>How is it possible to have so many gray hairs, but the ones that are starting to sprout on my chin are my original hair color? And why do they grow so fast?</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Is my indigestion an oncoming heart attack, or is it due to the fact I ate a cookie after dinner? And how is it I used to be able to eat cookies for dinner and suffer no ill effects?</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>How can I fall asleep on the couch in front of the TV at 8:30pm and sleep like the dead, but when I drag myself to bed at 10:00pm I'm wide awake?</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>How much money do I need before I can retire? How long will I live? And what does cat food taste like anyway?</li>
</ul>
<br />
<b>Mark and I always argue about who will go first.</b> "I'm out before you," I'll say, "you're in much better shape." " Oh no, I'm going first," he insists, "women always live longer than men." Now I'm starting to think, yeah, I do want to go first–I don't want to figure out how to live without Mark around–<i>but not yet. </i>I'm not done with life, I've got too many things left on my bucket list, which seems to be continually growing.<br />
<br />
While I do admit parts are starting to break down a little (my knees complain a bit if I walk or run too far, that wrinkle-filling weight isn't going away fast, even with knee-pain-inducing levels of exercise) I still feel relatively good. I haven't had any major health problems, nothing's really tripped me up yet.<br />
<br />
That uneasy feeling though, it won't go away. It feels like something is out there that I need to do, but I don't know what it is, and I feel like I'm running out of time. Somebody needs to give me a hint, because my old brain just can't seem to come up with it.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOCasnmY6hCeWwzLb5z5tw0dkI8I5QocHzURD4cr2cfhxNTzNtXiYTX_DW7ax8hyphenhyphen1IWOZDFwrNCng06ZAFjUGxvED2sFK0Zibhn9932rINu5WeoMoBpGX-dnsxExKN8N3WxvIO1BSuSCI/s1600/Rhyolite+house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOCasnmY6hCeWwzLb5z5tw0dkI8I5QocHzURD4cr2cfhxNTzNtXiYTX_DW7ax8hyphenhyphen1IWOZDFwrNCng06ZAFjUGxvED2sFK0Zibhn9932rINu5WeoMoBpGX-dnsxExKN8N3WxvIO1BSuSCI/s320/Rhyolite+house.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Future retirement location?</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">We might be able to afford this fixer-upper when we retire.</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 255);">Rhyolite, NV</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I<b> think about all my older relatives </b>and how they dealt with this. Everyone seems to have a different approach. Mark's grandfather, who retired in his 50s and lived well into his 90s, always had the same response for the 20+ years I knew him:<br />
<br />
"How ya doing Grandpa?"<br />
"Mildewing"<br />
<br />
I always know my Mom is doing ok when she responds "Functioning normally." My family isn't super expressive, but it gets the point across.<br />
<br />
On the flip side, a few of the older relatives used to go into great, blush-inducing detail about their woes, to the point you wanted to tear your eyes out and stuff them in your ears so you didn't have to bear witness anymore. I think it made them feel better though, to get it off their elderly minds and shift the worry to someone else for a bit. That, and toward the end I don't think there was much else for them to talk about.<br />
<br />
<b>I have a notion that not many people have it figured out,</b> at least that's my hope. I can't be the only one who doesn't know what she wants to be when she grows up yet. I'll just keep plugging away and hope I'll stumble across the answer one of these days. And, if life turns out to have no higher purpose, then perhaps I can find happiness in knowing I did the best I could, and didn't make too many people unhappy in the process (myself included).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSKhxQPgl6bD-5Nxbmtal9_XkNonXrcUgYR2LFYep4YgDokQtFsxxW5Wp988jiYqR5v2PTaP6BWrO6zrfRy-ioH_IqembavvwqHDrOgRrg8V2yfdGo-swHHVi72id_IlRdxvcLkD2yiOk/s1600/IMG_8598.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSKhxQPgl6bD-5Nxbmtal9_XkNonXrcUgYR2LFYep4YgDokQtFsxxW5Wp988jiYqR5v2PTaP6BWrO6zrfRy-ioH_IqembavvwqHDrOgRrg8V2yfdGo-swHHVi72id_IlRdxvcLkD2yiOk/s200/IMG_8598.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<i><b>May you all have a successful and fulfilling April,</b></i> the month of my (and many others of course) birth.<br />
<br />
And if you think of what it was we were supposed to be doing, drop me a line will you?<br />
<br />
<br />Kelly Templehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16736282169474219178noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541208124360896016.post-10567559019963567172019-03-23T13:14:00.000-07:002019-03-23T13:14:08.728-07:00The Oregon Coast Part II: The Campgrounds<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0B4HDF7SWVzK7S8CM3X99Zftqp0anCJWqb_8OVfuntNNBfKu_AxOwN8zRk082ut2K954_uLxgXwaA1JEQYh4bSdOVZCyW7OoEfBIhsuYHHVnnPYbPbgx8mxCRPhyQRNIRvnoooP9TCXM/s1600/CG_CapeBlancoBeach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0B4HDF7SWVzK7S8CM3X99Zftqp0anCJWqb_8OVfuntNNBfKu_AxOwN8zRk082ut2K954_uLxgXwaA1JEQYh4bSdOVZCyW7OoEfBIhsuYHHVnnPYbPbgx8mxCRPhyQRNIRvnoooP9TCXM/s640/CG_CapeBlancoBeach.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The long beach of Cape Blanco</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Oregon is a funny state.</span></b><br />
<br />
For us, it's always been our "drive-over" state: we've crossed it in one day on our way to Alaska, Idaho, and of course Washington; we've dipped in and out when traveling in the most northern parts of California and along the western edge of Idaho. I feel bad we haven't taken the time to explore it more thoroughly because it truly is a beautiful place.<br />
<br />
It's quirky too. As of January 1, 2018, Oregon passed a law allowing you to pump your own gas <i>in certain areas</i>. Yes, you read that right, Oregon had a ban on self-serve gas pumps, and still does for most of the state. And I tell you, nothing feels as emasculating as sitting in your full size 4x4 truck with 4" lift kit, winch bumper and heavy duty brush guards while an elderly woman struggles to lift the pump high enough to reach the gas filler. The state has various reasons not to allow the average citizen to pump their own: health hazard, fire hazard, and requiring proper training are a few. All I know is if all gas stations in Oregon suddenly went fully self-serve tomorrow, there would be a steep learning curve for many. Twice I saw big burly guys standing bewildered in front of the pump, not sure where to put their credit card. The elderly attendant helped one of them, gently taking the card out of the guy's hand and sliding it through the reader. She was kind about it, but I believe I saw a hint of a smirk on her face.<br />
<br />
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<b>We were pleasantly surprised by the lack of crowds in Oregon. </b>We were dumbstruck to find an open campsite on a holiday weekend, a feat that could never happen in California. Finding a campsite without a reservation in our home state anytime between Memorial Day and Labor Day is a frustrating and discouraging experience. Unless you know where and when you want to be and have the forethought to reserve a site six months in advance, you are out of luck. Far too many people and not enough campgrounds make for a sad trip if you're not prepared to camp off the grid–if you can even find a place that allows that. (Unfortunately, there are now more restrictions on camping on BLM and National Forest lands for various reasons we won't get into here. Far too depressing.)<br />
<br />
Oregon State Parks rely on volunteers to host the campgrounds and from what we saw, they take their jobs very seriously. There are rules to camping which most people follow on their own. Oh sure, over the years we've occasionally had trouble with people using generators during quiet hours and maybe a few groups that get a little loud around a campfire. Never have I felt more confident that our camp neighbors would be good citizens than in Oregon. We were greeted when we rolled in, handed the rules when we paid, checked on 10 minutes after setting up, and hailed every half hour by the old guy in the golf cart "just checking up on things." The place was spotless and organized and patrolled as closely as any military zone.<br />
<br />
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<b>It feels funny to write this</b> (being pretty close to a member of this group ourselves) but it was strange to travel in a place where the predominant population is in the "white retirement age" demographic. The lack of diversity is jarring at first. We wandered into the full campground on the Sunday of Labor Day weekend, walked the loops and realized there was not one group or individual of any shade of anything but white there. And the average age of the campers, if I had to guess, was 62. An interesting development for a state that boasts the proud city of Portland, an urban area of young professionals that can out-liberal San Francisco on a good day, well known for it's free-thinkers and inclusivity (is that a word? If so they coined it in Portland).<br />
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<b>We camped every night of the trip,</b> a total of 6 nights in 6 different campgrounds in Oregon, and every one was run the same way. Each had at least two hosts for campground duty, and in one we counted six designated host campsites, resplendent with fifth wheel trailers, temporary fencing for small barking dogs, decorative wind socks and reclining camp chairs on astroturf rugs. While it seemed a bit like overkill, we appreciated the fact that they cared so much for the parks because it really showed. Not a spec of trash anywhere, and thoughtful hosts were willing to answer any question we had. It was a lovely experience, so much so that we wouldn't mind going back every year. Here's a rundown of the campgrounds we visited:<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Alfred A. Loeb State Park</span></b><br />
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<b>Our first stop in Oregon just outside Brookings</b>, just on the other side of the California state line. Located along the Chetco River, it's a pretty park with river access for boats, swimming and fishing. There's a nice little nature trail loop and driving access to the river bank if you feel you must drive onto the gravel beach. Being a holiday weekend, several families in big trucks were parked along the beach and had set up umbrellas and barbecues for a picnic. It was surprisingly hot that day; once we drove even a few miles east on Chetco River Road away from the coast the weather turned uncomfortably warm.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglF79uAmtJmZc0greSFMzQIdSwQQSL_0neDScqsdVPi7is-Z0nDHGfS_Q1dacndZruLgoYzks63AzWJTieRpNl5WEhXM7H3qSnViUkDFeGH3vX3gL-w3V5PRR0JEdjMkk5suKX5sbnFsY/s1600/CG_AELoeb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglF79uAmtJmZc0greSFMzQIdSwQQSL_0neDScqsdVPi7is-Z0nDHGfS_Q1dacndZruLgoYzks63AzWJTieRpNl5WEhXM7H3qSnViUkDFeGH3vX3gL-w3V5PRR0JEdjMkk5suKX5sbnFsY/s640/CG_AELoeb.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The dogs hopped out of the truck and assumed the camping position. They enjoyed their time at Alfred A. Loeb State Park.</span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Umpqua Lighthouse State Park</span></b><br />
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<b>A beautiful campground tucked in the trees</b> in the hills above the ocean. You couldn't see the beach from there, but that was a blessing in disguise; the adjacent Oregon Dunes National Recreation Area and beach was open to ATVs and the hill that separated us from them blocked the whining engine noises. There was a pretty little lake accessible by trail from the campground. After dinner that night, we walked the trail all the way around and had it mostly to ourselves. In fact, we pretty much had the whole campground to ourselves.<br />
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The lighthouse and visitor's center is a short drive from the campground. You could walk, but to my knowledge there was no trail so you'd have to take your chances on the narrow road. Same story with the beach access.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU2CgNVk2QW9R9Nxx2_9RuwA7FSQtoyGrp2NtJ63fOkw8B__YABS2kCr-zy9hVSOUtp_lEPDN6KiUgpnNV1YL7wVUdcemMX1O23tMwd7HCicOehT33BjfS2X_OMj5cdVBD2qYA4_K3MDE/s1600/CG_LkMarieUmpqua.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU2CgNVk2QW9R9Nxx2_9RuwA7FSQtoyGrp2NtJ63fOkw8B__YABS2kCr-zy9hVSOUtp_lEPDN6KiUgpnNV1YL7wVUdcemMX1O23tMwd7HCicOehT33BjfS2X_OMj5cdVBD2qYA4_K3MDE/s400/CG_LkMarieUmpqua.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Lake Marie, accessible directly from the campground at Umpqua Lighthouse State Park</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">There was a nice trail that ran around the lake, as shown by Hiker Mark.<br />Umpqua Lighthouse State Park</span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Trask River County Campground, Tillamook County</span></b><br />
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We were looking for a campground as close as possible to our northernmost goal: the Tillamook Cheese factory. We wanted to be close enough to get there around opening time, stuff ourselves with cheese and ice cream, then dart back out to the coast to get into Cape Lookout campground before it filled up. It's a great spot along the Trask River, which actually runs along the backside of the campsites. We found ourselves the only ones there, so chose the very best spot along the river. Our only complaint was the extravagant fees they charged. The river sites were $37.83, and we were expected to add tax, and an extra $6.00 fee PER DOG. That came to a grand total of $53.58 for the pleasure of a pit toilet, water faucet (across the campground) and a beat up wooden picnic table. It was almost worth it to have the place to ourselves, but with those prices they could've offered hors d'oeuvres or something...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFvTMvTWM40FN8LMzkCUYxO4eA72D9X1xGUyhp3-eNB8Hi5_eW8Env1AM22ZTD2I3R-U7I3fXQi5kvNA_wuTGRUXbqdzIPaa3bnGroCLpS1L8gBdiTTk9OtxFfVhBQhRJuHDC2eUvGsZ0/s1600/CG_TraskRiverallalone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFvTMvTWM40FN8LMzkCUYxO4eA72D9X1xGUyhp3-eNB8Hi5_eW8Env1AM22ZTD2I3R-U7I3fXQi5kvNA_wuTGRUXbqdzIPaa3bnGroCLpS1L8gBdiTTk9OtxFfVhBQhRJuHDC2eUvGsZ0/s640/CG_TraskRiverallalone.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Our lonely campsite in Trask River Campground. It was quiet, that's for sure.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhWsQx3PNUdhcxJ53RGVUauOOm4fqqM_LeHnmPMIhVihiLu8bpbrxxAnLywyN_x-wivgftD-1fo5FucRudHZSlEm7-kdLU2pg9EzvqHBGL_tk0_D0ZOxUK2olAJZMZLeN_bCEeKSCBvqA/s1600/CG_River+Trask+River.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhWsQx3PNUdhcxJ53RGVUauOOm4fqqM_LeHnmPMIhVihiLu8bpbrxxAnLywyN_x-wivgftD-1fo5FucRudHZSlEm7-kdLU2pg9EzvqHBGL_tk0_D0ZOxUK2olAJZMZLeN_bCEeKSCBvqA/s400/CG_River+Trask+River.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The Trask River runs through it. Pools along the river behind our campsite.</span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Cape Lookout State Park</span></b><br />
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This was Mark's favorite campground of the trip. Situated on a sand spit between Netarts Bay and the ocean, it's a pleasant mix of sand, trees, hiking trails and warm sandy beach. The dogs had a great time too, since in Oregon they allow leashed dogs on both hiking trails and on the beach (another California no-no in most places). There is a choice of forested and sandy dune sites, and it's a short walk to either the beach or trailheads that lead to Cape Lookout point. This park is only one and a half hours from Portland, which must have accounted for the crowds–we got one of the last sites when we pulled in at noon–so reservations during peak season are probably a good idea.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHp2YO3045XedQBJZ-xocoLxdS0yD9331d27MbVpLbG6Rtn6_t67fFOJLwUGPG6hnxcLGuEuPnhNL_ajz98FPRJV7-Azuy_1nH9hYKQRZOAxGCS29a08aUkhZvGoq5dO3dvz80ukYnZ0Y/s1600/CG_CapeLookoutBeach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHp2YO3045XedQBJZ-xocoLxdS0yD9331d27MbVpLbG6Rtn6_t67fFOJLwUGPG6hnxcLGuEuPnhNL_ajz98FPRJV7-Azuy_1nH9hYKQRZOAxGCS29a08aUkhZvGoq5dO3dvz80ukYnZ0Y/s400/CG_CapeLookoutBeach.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The wide beach, Cape Lookout in the distance.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin-EGIPkgxZ3GrMrBPgiztjCVDUo3l7FQIMkjWCKcM2k6ngaIkdpNCcMN-S7JqrX6lq9jw1AcZiDEDo9bgw2n9GiTkSzNuN88LJSs7NhYwK1c6jbD3T5dFb1oi4wSH7JyNQ9c58qyqkNo/s1600/CG_CapeLookouttrail2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin-EGIPkgxZ3GrMrBPgiztjCVDUo3l7FQIMkjWCKcM2k6ngaIkdpNCcMN-S7JqrX6lq9jw1AcZiDEDo9bgw2n9GiTkSzNuN88LJSs7NhYwK1c6jbD3T5dFb1oi4wSH7JyNQ9c58qyqkNo/s640/CG_CapeLookouttrail2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The trail that leads to Cape Lookout point.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguzTqQPF3UdjNbc8PmsZSJuCQGs1KwbQWW4DhkFDquFesgx2FSRAHO3V8yGomqP12DLf5bXbQIvRqn0XpRFleTUwVu3OldU9dWYjYy4lSa_5JcduvNiOjZdZqcEe3ZVrsiAUKx44dsPQw/s1600/CG_CapeLookoutmussels.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguzTqQPF3UdjNbc8PmsZSJuCQGs1KwbQWW4DhkFDquFesgx2FSRAHO3V8yGomqP12DLf5bXbQIvRqn0XpRFleTUwVu3OldU9dWYjYy4lSa_5JcduvNiOjZdZqcEe3ZVrsiAUKx44dsPQw/s400/CG_CapeLookoutmussels.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Thick forests of mussels grew on the rocky cliffs along the beach.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEtEnKC3AEFBr2elH-h__ruGd3QEschYALUXhysCDV-RfQrbSSucIjsvX5RFSSuOWNXFAeeBUWG4mGZyoKrG-DG1uZFQeOb4Cc95zgFOA5hzLUc9LvWhjS3LgIgvsDj03PBo7IQyK71Sg/s1600/CG_CapeLookoutsunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEtEnKC3AEFBr2elH-h__ruGd3QEschYALUXhysCDV-RfQrbSSucIjsvX5RFSSuOWNXFAeeBUWG4mGZyoKrG-DG1uZFQeOb4Cc95zgFOA5hzLUc9LvWhjS3LgIgvsDj03PBo7IQyK71Sg/s400/CG_CapeLookoutsunset.jpg" width="263" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The sun sets as the waves rolled in at Cape Lookout beach.</span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Cape Perpetua National Forest</span></b><br />
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This campground is situated along a creek that runs the length of a small shaded valley. The sites were well spaced along the one road that leads both in and out of the campground (no loops). There are hiking trails up the valley to the Giant Spruce Tree and out to the coast, where there is a nice visitor's center with maps and information about the area. There were multiple natural wonders to explore there: A blow hole, tide pools, a beautiful uncrowded beach and the interesting Devil's Churn. A long crack in the volcanic rock allows the waves to roll way up the hillside until the ever narrowing crack causes the water to break and slosh around. It reminded me of the old washing machine we had before the water saving front loader models became the norm.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzJeWPZ4WqkIMbbLpXz9mKmp33fi_xyXktbKHHnP1OEtEMzsIiReFRC_IZAgCYEQw79P03C0amr7zxIKWqrV12NzqvqMkkgAxAVEZMRn1LkKGZ1ayXhb3Necd4JHs4rr5IqvlESclAToQ/s1600/CG_GiantSprucebase.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzJeWPZ4WqkIMbbLpXz9mKmp33fi_xyXktbKHHnP1OEtEMzsIiReFRC_IZAgCYEQw79P03C0amr7zxIKWqrV12NzqvqMkkgAxAVEZMRn1LkKGZ1ayXhb3Necd4JHs4rr5IqvlESclAToQ/s400/CG_GiantSprucebase.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The base of the Giant Spruce, with Mark and the dogs for scale.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The cove and beach at Cape Perpetua</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNxNDc3LdsuS6udwgZ_JPC0Wi9bpDuTaQqsd0G1ikDGGjG309GoFcqyvhPrXRe_psLVZG3tPJqa7dit4LomFc3wN37ph3TVVEIPuH14PteUdiK2xPcn-QmftO7uty7t0DFdJN_mwM13EU/s1600/CG_DevilsChurn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: blue;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNxNDc3LdsuS6udwgZ_JPC0Wi9bpDuTaQqsd0G1ikDGGjG309GoFcqyvhPrXRe_psLVZG3tPJqa7dit4LomFc3wN37ph3TVVEIPuH14PteUdiK2xPcn-QmftO7uty7t0DFdJN_mwM13EU/s400/CG_DevilsChurn.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The Devil's Churn.<br />Why does the Devil get credit for all the cool things in nature?</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBk3qm4YK3VnaLmCK9eiE_Z4GPngByeKWHU0EBd0SEq6tMpp3835GwdhRfb2JIfhv3Ll-QeSVOy4MNpRiOBZEdg9vXwc9uyNEX-nj15A5jKcVvkBu5PN_RcAa_e3Ue5fpkuDdb1ay_32I/s1600/CGStarfishCapePerpetuaBumped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBk3qm4YK3VnaLmCK9eiE_Z4GPngByeKWHU0EBd0SEq6tMpp3835GwdhRfb2JIfhv3Ll-QeSVOy4MNpRiOBZEdg9vXwc9uyNEX-nj15A5jKcVvkBu5PN_RcAa_e3Ue5fpkuDdb1ay_32I/s400/CGStarfishCapePerpetuaBumped.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">There was much to find in the tide pools at Cape Perpetua</span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Cape Blanco State Park</span></b><br />
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Now this, this was MY favorite of them all. A beautiful campground set in the trees along a bluff that overlooks a long narrow stretch of sand. A picturesque lighthouse, so perfectly placed on the windswept grassy bluff it looked to be a painted backdrop. There was a road leading from the campground down to the beach (if you needed it, we walked down) with bluff side benches available to watch the spectacular sunset. There was also a historic ranch house there, the Patrick Hughes House, with friendly docents that were eager to give you a tour and share the history of the area. It was quiet, comfortable, beautiful, perfect. It didn't hurt that it was also warm and wind-free that day. When I am having a bad day at work I think about this place. Just writing about it makes me smile.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQDilv2KdpwimOu5amDVrn9zjGsftycXl0Zqqum9MaXawaX7Rv2HoV0LLzIOC22qcDWesC5alw43nQsYcvkV-G27A4gfpA71EgxPvnAZbzy3TL_KJIzw_hyphenhyphenLaeh69zW5Agco6cFPlrI18/s1600/CG_CapeBlancoCamp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQDilv2KdpwimOu5amDVrn9zjGsftycXl0Zqqum9MaXawaX7Rv2HoV0LLzIOC22qcDWesC5alw43nQsYcvkV-G27A4gfpA71EgxPvnAZbzy3TL_KJIzw_hyphenhyphenLaeh69zW5Agco6cFPlrI18/s400/CG_CapeBlancoCamp.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Our campsite was huge, and I swear, one of the twelve campground hosts must have vacuumed it before our arrival, it was so clean.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjr212BZz3xMQ4VVcAKBC-LAJF3WSEitP3-5gpCCrOIrCzRYEcmkiM7N8pZkBwOoor65O0f-vAHKy4LRsHME4B0zJHnltlSHQDSBLXxHG4B9SWsjALHv69EIbQrJ2by0fkDbtc6NxFwQ4/s1600/CG_View+down+to+PHughes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjr212BZz3xMQ4VVcAKBC-LAJF3WSEitP3-5gpCCrOIrCzRYEcmkiM7N8pZkBwOoor65O0f-vAHKy4LRsHME4B0zJHnltlSHQDSBLXxHG4B9SWsjALHv69EIbQrJ2by0fkDbtc6NxFwQ4/s640/CG_View+down+to+PHughes.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Even the roads in the park were gorgeous.<br />The road down to the Patrick Hughes House.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM5OdhFFumuxYHSROrjN5DvShEKKuQ9HjgFsNfwM_6F0nIS6xZE2hwpQ6BlnbNSb078prZxzLkjXevHa7FyPCX_7tBFXNKONRZqozRT_kw-tybI1mnNl0hXeTUaJvdjMpLVLumthUtQME/s1600/CG_CapeBlancoLH.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM5OdhFFumuxYHSROrjN5DvShEKKuQ9HjgFsNfwM_6F0nIS6xZE2hwpQ6BlnbNSb078prZxzLkjXevHa7FyPCX_7tBFXNKONRZqozRT_kw-tybI1mnNl0hXeTUaJvdjMpLVLumthUtQME/s400/CG_CapeBlancoLH.jpg" width="263" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The picture perfect Cape Blanco Lighthouse.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi75Q5pLquB-WxxZjcHzIryrV0ZcVie13WTDN4DXiG5IevS06GapkQfxeB2clK2VjZIGnXqqr7NpnVHgMLJ581GhyKO09Rea03Z08DnR88hV5Cfvu6r72YV_QpL1GE6XHjPYWqionwEOzs/s1600/CG_CampBlancoSunset_Cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="555" data-original-width="1600" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi75Q5pLquB-WxxZjcHzIryrV0ZcVie13WTDN4DXiG5IevS06GapkQfxeB2clK2VjZIGnXqqr7NpnVHgMLJ581GhyKO09Rea03Z08DnR88hV5Cfvu6r72YV_QpL1GE6XHjPYWqionwEOzs/s640/CG_CampBlancoSunset_Cropped.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The sun sets over Cape Blanco, making for a stunning last night on the Oregon Coast.</span></td></tr>
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<br />Kelly Templehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16736282169474219178noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541208124360896016.post-63681206916152197602019-01-01T09:54:00.000-08:002019-01-01T09:54:22.248-08:002018: The Rearview<b>I was paging through our pictures</b> from 2018 and realized it can be summed up nicely with a pictorial essay. Here's the year in a nutshell:<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">JANUARY</span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirpo8egrkbor10jLCp2nBx729ZjtVrvt3rCPjhDQFIbN0EnUpKICVTswzmaxDvpfG2xAOxqTjZ0fWUckV2zHKMFYVDZJ4cBu9uokf1bY_KxDchXlH59XcTXfudr2coNFkbzmpj3IDQng0/s1600/January18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirpo8egrkbor10jLCp2nBx729ZjtVrvt3rCPjhDQFIbN0EnUpKICVTswzmaxDvpfG2xAOxqTjZ0fWUckV2zHKMFYVDZJ4cBu9uokf1bY_KxDchXlH59XcTXfudr2coNFkbzmpj3IDQng0/s640/January18.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Mark stands forlornly at the locked gate at Pt. Reyes National Park Lighthouse stairs. Notice all the other unsuspecting tourists gobbed up on the platform behind him. </span></td></tr>
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<b>It started with a government shutdown.</b> Sound familiar anyone? We went out to Point Reyes National Park on our annual trip to the lighthouse and when we arrived found the gate padlocked shut. Due to the government shutdown at midnight that very night, all national parks had been closed. It was a gorgeous day out there though, and we made the best of it by picnicking on the beach and watching the surfers dodge the elephant seals.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">FEBRUARY</span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQboTu3clkD7XALU7XiaPNRLh2Xr645pd11_YeDNq1fIggi9Jvd9RL828neJ9ARr43eHgXr-wKFKYhWyLblbXjuWNt3dkFoX8g555wDJ5xG0phfsq1W7z3miLwk1I15yBt9SZuYKBNdH8/s1600/Feb18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQboTu3clkD7XALU7XiaPNRLh2Xr645pd11_YeDNq1fIggi9Jvd9RL828neJ9ARr43eHgXr-wKFKYhWyLblbXjuWNt3dkFoX8g555wDJ5xG0phfsq1W7z3miLwk1I15yBt9SZuYKBNdH8/s640/Feb18.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">A Green Sea Turtle cruises by and gives u a chin nod.</span></td></tr>
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<b>A fabulous trip to Maui</b> had us snorkeling every day with sea turtles, sharks and whales and ended with a new ambition/obsession for Mark: become a helicopter pilot. </div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">MARCH</span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha_R7MWpr2OpfSSOQovq_WCCqe3rDUIXPmHe-tZFmwgz3UEL4lFXCznATbzx1q6hyEYs37giygnRIdIM6SVOqpA0jymZUwxBMMUQ3xUIR0Uf8AAjVlWJLJWlEATIdev32_WK9XExjxV4s/s1600/March18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha_R7MWpr2OpfSSOQovq_WCCqe3rDUIXPmHe-tZFmwgz3UEL4lFXCznATbzx1q6hyEYs37giygnRIdIM6SVOqpA0jymZUwxBMMUQ3xUIR0Uf8AAjVlWJLJWlEATIdev32_WK9XExjxV4s/s640/March18.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">We took pity on the new owner and cleaned it inside and out. We were a little worried that the dog hair was the only thing holding it together.</span></td></tr>
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<b>A fond farewell</b> to a partner that had been with us for over 28 years. Our Honda Civic had been our car since before we were married and taken us on many adventures. It was a sad day, and I still miss having a vehicle I can park next to the grocery cart corral without a care.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">APRIL</span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj585vB-oZZP33PCjonGHXyiWoZ9HEmcRQzGYJOKrrYEUWzK4Gs4mLhMqI4uW-kiCpN2a3qzR92YeRqsiOes9_AmYbuRQPQv3GdUJ63NICxM_6MKoG50B3Db0AdPn2O1XN43beIGLftn7k/s1600/April18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj585vB-oZZP33PCjonGHXyiWoZ9HEmcRQzGYJOKrrYEUWzK4Gs4mLhMqI4uW-kiCpN2a3qzR92YeRqsiOes9_AmYbuRQPQv3GdUJ63NICxM_6MKoG50B3Db0AdPn2O1XN43beIGLftn7k/s320/April18.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">April brought an abundance of sweet peas.</span></td></tr>
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<b>A bumper crop of flowers</b> in the garden signified spring's arrival. We finally had a normal rain year and the flowers were deeply appreciative.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">MAY</span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfNVwwbCHYeqmjES4X8yeIT4_NMJ8MjHRidOwUqOHu_mg67gi1S3nEyW7Lzxw7wcApOpJnsM4_oocDrcAXQqUQueNOLQ2ordPsDAAhSzxZITUrePHxG7Rw0caT7L3ike9FSHqSsSC0x2U/s1600/May18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfNVwwbCHYeqmjES4X8yeIT4_NMJ8MjHRidOwUqOHu_mg67gi1S3nEyW7Lzxw7wcApOpJnsM4_oocDrcAXQqUQueNOLQ2ordPsDAAhSzxZITUrePHxG7Rw0caT7L3ike9FSHqSsSC0x2U/s640/May18.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Turns out the road to Tibbets Arch, our first campsite before descending onto the White Rim Trail, was much more difficult than any of the actual White Rim road. We lost our trailer hitch electrical assembly and some of the paint on our back bumper to a sharp drop off on the way out.</span></td></tr>
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<b>Our annual trip to <a href="https://www.overlandexpo.com/">Overland Expo</a> </b>was a launching point for another Utah adventure with friends. The White Rim Trail was even better done in three days, and a lot less scary for me the second time around. </div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">JUNE</span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUWArSATvnXN8SdYpnh_SAIXU0NqeWHksmotim_Kg3mmg81idXMQIHxErXRHeHkuvxvPiOE3ixx_OiYm1EC-mrAEZ_YJ91xkR0-cwxo4cLAjT4hmHm3Dg5I1w2v2ZWOLqL74Ubf65mv5A/s1600/June18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUWArSATvnXN8SdYpnh_SAIXU0NqeWHksmotim_Kg3mmg81idXMQIHxErXRHeHkuvxvPiOE3ixx_OiYm1EC-mrAEZ_YJ91xkR0-cwxo4cLAjT4hmHm3Dg5I1w2v2ZWOLqL74Ubf65mv5A/s320/June18.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Ginger, snickerdoodles and chocolate chip were just a few of the flavors coming out of the oven in June.</span></td></tr>
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<b>Ah, June. </b>Do I hear wedding bells? Turns out the latest trend in weddings is to have cookies instead of (or in addition to) cake. Two of my co-workers asked if I would make cookies for their weddings, and who was I to say no? After countless test batches, sampling flavors and measuring yield per batch, it was the big day. An industry was born and I was unable to even look at butter for weeks afterward.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">JULY</span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1rECPc9LwzxBanq_X3gFlXVnJmmqu4MPVFXzHqjERhntSFDartAfUPUJ7RrDTNIPnWU262LgCey7pUDkZVZ9na5PxGjbSJza_w_3VVufZLbHNKVGpNh5i6oRLhFF-KjRGPXQjf_0yb0g/s1600/July18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1rECPc9LwzxBanq_X3gFlXVnJmmqu4MPVFXzHqjERhntSFDartAfUPUJ7RrDTNIPnWU262LgCey7pUDkZVZ9na5PxGjbSJza_w_3VVufZLbHNKVGpNh5i6oRLhFF-KjRGPXQjf_0yb0g/s640/July18.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Gold Lake in Lakes Basin Recreation Area. The smoke shut us out of Yosemite, and kept us from doing a planned hike to the Sierra Buttes. Maybe next year...</span></td></tr>
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<b>If 2018 had a signature smell,</b> it would be smoke. Wildfires raging in Yosemite closed the park the day before we were to leave on our annual camping trip there, so we improvised by going north to Plumas-Eureka State Park. It was a lovely time, perfect weather but for all the smoke in the air. We thought it was coming from the Yosemite fire, but while we were happily, obliviously out of cell phone range, Lake County was going up in flames in what turned out to be the largest wildfire in state history. It didn't matter which way the wind blew, the smoke was settling over us regardless.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">AUGUST</span></b></div>
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<b>It was time.</b> Since the beginning of the drought in 2013, the lawn in our front yard had steadily turned from grass to an interesting assemblage of "native" plants. Dandelions, privet, oxalis, and of course crabgrass had taken over our entire yard, embarrassing us and annoying our neighbors. We decided to reduce the lawn footprint and plant drought resistant borders, but first had to move all of our irrigation lines and sprinkler heads. Somehow when we put the lawn in twenty years ago this type of work was much easier. Every night we went to bed and listened to our joints moan in pain. Getting old sucks.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">SEPTEMBER</span></b></div>
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<b>A drive up the coast of Oregon</b> capped off our camping season. It was a spectacular trip, one for the books, with perfect weather, uncrowded campgrounds and cheese. Lots of cheese.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">OCTOBER</span></b></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Sans-camper, our truck doesn't look all that big. Still hell to park in a busy lot though.</span></td></tr>
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<b>For our anniversary,</b> we decided to rent a cabin in Tahoe before it got too cold. Autumn in Tahoe is probably my favorite season–still sunny days, chilly nights and best of all, hardly any people. We had a great time walking the dogs in the forest, visiting the ice cream shop every afternoon and soaking in the hot tub under the stars at night. Although we weren't camping, we made a run up to our favorite camp spot in the mountains just to say hello. The trees were brilliant yellow but the air was nippy. I was glad we had a cabin to go home to every night.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">NOVEMBER</span></b></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">This pic is actually from September, but this represents about all that happened in November.</span></td></tr>
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<b>Let's see.</b> The <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Camp_Fire_(2018)">Camp Fire</a> wiped out Paradise and sent a plume of smoke over Sonoma County for days. In only a year and a month, that fire wiped out Santa Rosa's previous record number of lives and dwellings lost. We were forced to stay indoors for two weeks because of the alarmingly unhealthy air quality, but felt guilty complaining knowing what the poor people of Paradise were going through. We missed out on a Thanksgiving trip with our buddies to <a href="https://www.desertusa.com/desert-trails/diablo.html">El Camino del Diablo</a> because we planned to spend the holidays with our families, but we both got the flu right before Thanksgiving and were unable to enjoy our favorite meal of the year. It was cold, it was rainy, and there was no camping or adventuring happening. Not a great month.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">DECEMBER</span></b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Ice plant, as far as the eye can see.<br />Sonoma Coast State Park</span></td></tr>
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<b>Once we started feeling better</b>, we started to enjoy the season a bit. Miracles started to occur, such as finishing Christmas shopping with two weeks to spare, and rain that happened during the week leaving the sun for the weekends to enjoy. We took a trip out to the coast just before Christmas and found ourselves almost alone, on a wind-free, sunny gorgeous day. How could we not stop for fish and chips? The year was ending on a high note and we expect next year to follow suit. </div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">To all of you, here's to a safe, happy and adventurous 2019!</span></i></div>
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Kelly Templehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16736282169474219178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541208124360896016.post-55122602479188104462018-11-14T19:31:00.000-08:002018-11-14T19:31:10.750-08:00The Oregon Coast Part I: Redwoods and Lumberjacks<span style="font-size: large;"><b>This morning</b></span><b><span style="font-size: large;"> I woke up with an icy nose,</span></b> a sure sign that autumn has actually arrived in my neighborhood. It's the start of the long slow descent into winter and all it brings with it: Thanksgiving with it's brown food and tradition (my favorite holiday, somehow traitorous for being positioned at the beginning of my least favorite time of year); Christmas with it's festive decorations and holiday lights to fight the dark gloom of Pacific Standard Time; then on to New Year's Eve, always slightly melancholy for me though I can't put my finger on exactly why. The true descent is after that: the cold nights, the gloomy gray days, the calendar refusing to turn it's page into warmth and sun. Around January 15th I start browsing websites for the best airfare to Hawaii, and park myself on that webcam pointed at the beach in Maui, the hypnotic sound of waves lapping on warm shores lulling my chilled self. When I close my eyes I can feel the tropical breeze and sea spray on my face. When I open them I realize it was just the heater vent kicking on mixing with my salty tears of despair.<br />
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Did I mention I hate the cold? Perhaps I'm not the only one.<br />
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Although California is known for it's sun and endless summer, those perky songs you've heard were really written about Southern California. Up here in the north, it's not exactly surfing weather all year round. Sure, compared to Montana we're downright tropical, but we've got our share of below freezing nights and cool cloudy days. I feel guilty hoping for warm weather when we could really use the rain. Perhaps if I wished for warm rain? Who am I kidding. I'm screwed.<br />
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I'm smart enough to realize I need something to look forward to if I'm to survive another winter, so we're in the midst of planning a trip to the desert in February. I think I'll live. In the meantime, I have memories of a great summer spent camping in the Sierras and an absolutely magical trip up the Oregon coast we took in September.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggEexmgGECSFaiZ7EHQeSOqANbkbGUmfqPi10K2w60O-9mQh8OvEzBOku9iH4xZVYJsA5QcvG0lDECe2TX3Yi4nbNtTFcw4FMESkzmPEuL6LJB2NLqdchKKJiHKfiiIJiqMlnUBye8TW4/s1600/OC_Misty+coast_Wide.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="627" data-original-width="1600" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggEexmgGECSFaiZ7EHQeSOqANbkbGUmfqPi10K2w60O-9mQh8OvEzBOku9iH4xZVYJsA5QcvG0lDECe2TX3Yi4nbNtTFcw4FMESkzmPEuL6LJB2NLqdchKKJiHKfiiIJiqMlnUBye8TW4/s640/OC_Misty+coast_Wide.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b>On a summer break during college,</b> I took a trip north with my boyfriend at the time, camping all the way up the coast until we reached Canada. I had such fond memories of that trip (though strangely, none for said boyfriend) that I had always wanted to do it again. Mark was game, so early in September we made it happen. I must say, I had an even better time with Mark (much to his relief).<br />
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We dubbed it "The 101 Trip" since we'd be traveling Highway 101 the entire way. Our ultimate goal was to reach Tillamook Creamery, one of the fondest of fond memories from my long ago trip. A tour of a creamery with free cheese samples at the end? How can it get any better?<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">First stop was the Avenue of the Giants</span>,</b> camping in among the tallest trees in the world. California redwoods are amazing and these trees are some of my first memories as a kid. Standing next to one as big around as the family car, looking up 30 stories to the top waving in the breeze, the trees were almost impossible to comprehend. Most of them were there long before I was born, and they will be there (with any luck) long after I die. There's something assuring about that, knowing they'll be watching over things for us when we no longer can.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbeBGi4QOstIc8mPzii25-AuscX-zKZMsgtaMk0mNt-2FhhFnZV3nfdjE4AoeQ2ip0OkkLTR7-WyGOnm-fYdq19U5OiHbkcdhxGCzhxSzuj6yVsDln19_Du0ajWIfK8PQo097qe8W-hPA/s1600/OC_HiddenSpringsSign.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbeBGi4QOstIc8mPzii25-AuscX-zKZMsgtaMk0mNt-2FhhFnZV3nfdjE4AoeQ2ip0OkkLTR7-WyGOnm-fYdq19U5OiHbkcdhxGCzhxSzuj6yVsDln19_Du0ajWIfK8PQo097qe8W-hPA/s200/OC_HiddenSpringsSign.png" width="200" /></a></div>
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<b>We camped in Hidden Springs Campground in Humboldt Redwoods State Park.</b> Set along the south fork of the Eel river, it's a beautiful campground with well spaced sites that allow for privacy and quiet camping. It was a great way to start our trip, watching the huge swaying trees above us as we ate dinner. Nothing quite equals a meal prepared on a thick wooden picnic table, eaten while being pelted with redwood needles as they rain down from the above. What bowl of pasta isn't improved by tree bits? We sat up late that night, squinting up through the narrow gap in the trees trying to spot a satellite passing overhead. One of our traditions, we can't turn in for the night until we've spied one.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkQvRKhswYRVd2C9CNMud21pdJtWS1wHDQ_ngTMSEz1ARa7iIi5MRx9y7fXimUpq8KYRfb5-xmt4dOxrjFJal4XjJyw98EQ56MgMKLo3XGhtB1f1ea3E1l5hXu5Mqrlh0pnq2Jz-gpeqc/s1600/OC_HiddenSprgsCamp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkQvRKhswYRVd2C9CNMud21pdJtWS1wHDQ_ngTMSEz1ARa7iIi5MRx9y7fXimUpq8KYRfb5-xmt4dOxrjFJal4XjJyw98EQ56MgMKLo3XGhtB1f1ea3E1l5hXu5Mqrlh0pnq2Jz-gpeqc/s400/OC_HiddenSprgsCamp.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Our campsite was a short hike down from the road.<br />It overlooked a deep ravine filled with trees and chittering squirrels that kept our dogs on alert.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdn-wk2E8UmMiMFGbVB6JK2afH1PYrp-gd11QV_bewo9mgJ6gkXbJyPdvUSGVcPUy7xU6f0tB7LWyXkOvGLd9M390Nbgp1VU4DOMZqwDpWyfBzADuM_SJK5OXWbsdotqnvltQC4KWkmUo/s1600/OC_Unloading+back.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: blue;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdn-wk2E8UmMiMFGbVB6JK2afH1PYrp-gd11QV_bewo9mgJ6gkXbJyPdvUSGVcPUy7xU6f0tB7LWyXkOvGLd9M390Nbgp1VU4DOMZqwDpWyfBzADuM_SJK5OXWbsdotqnvltQC4KWkmUo/s400/OC_Unloading+back.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">We parked on the road and carried our dining room down to our redwood suite.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">A relaxing day in camp, Hidden Springs CG<br />Humboldt Redwoods State Park</span></td></tr>
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<b>It was a quiet night. </b>We got up early and went for a run before breaking camp, trying to get a little exercise in before our day of driving. Luckily, the campground had brand new showers right across from our site. A few quarters later we were clean and ready to roll.<br />
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<b>I had always wanted to stop in and eat at the Samoa Cookhouse,</b> the stuff of legends in my family. My dad once took a two day motorcycle trip with the express purpose of having breakfast there. Having passed it by multiple times during my life, I wasn't going to let it happen again. I didn't have trouble convincing Mark; turns out he had the same idea.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Photo Credit: Samoa Cookhouse</span></td></tr>
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<b>Located on a spit just west of Eureka California, </b><a href="http://www.samoacookhouse.net/samoa-cookhouse-museum.html">Samoa Cookhouse</a> started as the Hammond Lumber Company cookhouse in the late 1800s, serving the loggers and longshoremen as they systematically chopped down the redwoods and shipped them down to San Francisco and points beyond. The company kitchen served up three hot meals every day but Sunday evenings, when the lumberman got leftovers. If you've ever heard "eat like a lumberjack" you can imagine the size of the servings.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Photo Credit: Humboldt State University Library</span></td></tr>
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When the lumber industry wound down in the 1960s, there was talk of closing the cookhouse. The head cook wouldn't hear of it, and talked the company owner into opening the dining room to the public. It's our great fortune that he did. The kitchen has been cranking out these huge meals ever since it opened in 1890, 128 years of caloric history.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhytgqE8twnnRlaOMaa86HRgmdjmN_6DM3oaVoFjfFm64Hsham07tPzfMCMzbFf3P6pqI1IJQvXKCGWV398xhZllAC0DnmvOve8javGbXlEU-aYQesVSKQ8vKU6EsY_MFk54TIjTCPWgds/s1600/OC_Dining+Room.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="186" data-original-width="272" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhytgqE8twnnRlaOMaa86HRgmdjmN_6DM3oaVoFjfFm64Hsham07tPzfMCMzbFf3P6pqI1IJQvXKCGWV398xhZllAC0DnmvOve8javGbXlEU-aYQesVSKQ8vKU6EsY_MFk54TIjTCPWgds/s200/OC_Dining+Room.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The dining room<br />(Photo Credit: Samoa Cookhouse.net)</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoi_nmjf8Y01wfgwwZO3_Olm2YjLlWqh3w7Hk2AGnpINWoyorU0yuXcTvz6cpznO7Oc0uXNT5pwXxHQFibs0WMegOU7GCp3x4E-umaAlnwGD3n0LSAyU79kva-n91-DvwTQ6KKFHXoL78/s1600/OC_French+Toast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoi_nmjf8Y01wfgwwZO3_Olm2YjLlWqh3w7Hk2AGnpINWoyorU0yuXcTvz6cpznO7Oc0uXNT5pwXxHQFibs0WMegOU7GCp3x4E-umaAlnwGD3n0LSAyU79kva-n91-DvwTQ6KKFHXoL78/s200/OC_French+Toast.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Round 1</span></td></tr>
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<b>They have a set menu</b> (and price) for every meal at the Cookhouse. They post it on a white board every day and you can decide if you want it or you can leave, none of those namby-pamby choices found at those hoity-toity restaurants. The food is impressive in quantity as well as quality. French toast was on the menu that day and I guess they figured out how to make it after 128 years of practice, because we thought it was the best we ever had. Huge slices of house made bread trundled out on a cart with pitchers of maple syrup and a side of sausage and scrambled eggs. Did I mention every breakfast starts with biscuits and sausage gravy? Not ordinarily something I'd order, but hot damn they were good! Everything is washed down with the jug of coffee and orange juice that comes with the meal. By the end, we barely had the energy to push ourselves away from the long communal table.<br />
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Stuffed to the gills, we tottered into the museum adjoining the dining room and looked with glazed eyes at the tools of the lumber trade hung on the walls and display cases. I have no idea how those lumberjacks were able to get back to work after eating like this, but apparently they did with efficiency. There are very few old-growth redwood stands left in the state of California.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRIJM4xLpNhb9Xe8YsaFtip3rGMkMtG_MzSqOGbrArV3o1w-QNWamo5xHH2m-DxJa_yTAIllrEtTLWY2L-cPEN-fug_Jk8eS6IwRlm5ybdSsthzrryCHv9goHRGlbaU2Vf_BmCl2wpva4/s1600/OC-StumpLumberjacks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="294" data-original-width="363" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRIJM4xLpNhb9Xe8YsaFtip3rGMkMtG_MzSqOGbrArV3o1w-QNWamo5xHH2m-DxJa_yTAIllrEtTLWY2L-cPEN-fug_Jk8eS6IwRlm5ybdSsthzrryCHv9goHRGlbaU2Vf_BmCl2wpva4/s320/OC-StumpLumberjacks.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Photo Credit: Pacific Lumber Co. Scotia, CA</span></td></tr>
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<b>If it's possible to feel sick and silly-happy at the same time,</b> that's how we felt when we left. The place is as addictive as it is bad for you. We were ready to go back and do it again for dinner–we heard they were having fried chicken that night...<br />
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But onward and upward, we were on our way to Oregon and a little indigestion wasn't going to stop us! Pants a little tighter and cholesterol a bit higher, after several attempts we were able to hoist ourselves into the truck and were on the road again.Kelly Templehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16736282169474219178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541208124360896016.post-30111784207248213252018-06-09T08:25:00.000-07:002018-06-13T11:29:08.560-07:00Canyonlands National Park: The White Rim Redux<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir60iT8Mzzc-cgsYlHM-vwJD_ykMpDhbVrlOIMknExJERXjA96vVtwp-G8s_jKk0D596fQErypJyo2yDII_5yXOJpUCBcMN7wj7rWQIk72jbjuoC23KBQSAAL3aU9nyspwfeW_IQDy5JM/s1600/WR2_View.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir60iT8Mzzc-cgsYlHM-vwJD_ykMpDhbVrlOIMknExJERXjA96vVtwp-G8s_jKk0D596fQErypJyo2yDII_5yXOJpUCBcMN7wj7rWQIk72jbjuoC23KBQSAAL3aU9nyspwfeW_IQDy5JM/s640/WR2_View.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The White Rim Road stretches off into the distance.</span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The trip had started off so well.</span></b><br />
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After getting to our second campsite on the White Rim Road, I walked to the edge and peered over at what had been the most terrifying part of the trip last time through: the dreaded switchbacks that led down the ridge at Murphy Hogback. A pleasant sight greeted me: the park service had smoothed the road out and gotten rid of the loose and crumbling rock along the ledge. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but it even looked slightly wider. This was going to be a piece of cake! I went back to camp where we toasted another successful day on the rim of Canyonlands. We stayed up late that night, telling those that hadn't been with us in 2016 about discovering a wrecked truck at the bottom of the switchbacks and how the driver had been airlifted out just three weeks before we had gone through (you can read about our first trip <a href="http://www.runningfrommoose.com/2016/08/canyonlands-national-park-white-rim-road.html">here</a>).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMFUHKGP1NJuaggLqdaToL-eA34c8__u1E5gapyjAb3QHeUROx209HbhYmnc4DEWwqkCa3i4kKCXad_c0yzsxM6PQAxUrPUXQ4nZS5U020chygZrkQPRdfy14hI2eECaHvSqw6WStyBN4/s1600/WR2_New+and+Improved+Hogback.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMFUHKGP1NJuaggLqdaToL-eA34c8__u1E5gapyjAb3QHeUROx209HbhYmnc4DEWwqkCa3i4kKCXad_c0yzsxM6PQAxUrPUXQ4nZS5U020chygZrkQPRdfy14hI2eECaHvSqw6WStyBN4/s400/WR2_New+and+Improved+Hogback.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The new and improved Murphy Hogback route. <br />In 2016 this stretch of the road was covered with loose shale.</span></td></tr>
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The next morning as we packed up camp, Mark emerged from the camper with a grim look on his face.<br />
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"What's up?" I asked him.<br />
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"I don't want to tell you."<br />
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This is never a good sign.<br />
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He held out a clenched fist and opened his fingers. Lying on his dirt-laced palm was an eyebolt, sheered off at the base where it was supposed to be secured to the camper. Somewhere along the road the day before, the front driver's side bolt had snapped, leaving us with only three tie downs securing the camper to the truck bed.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlBjMKiFtK0MDBFzDA-lfv93zoYW7N98AlfiQ8-HYqf-owlTkF60Qj_kLRXCJA5KZMOM5RWgWmiP2MEoSe60o0GhNj_roopbgplQ4E4MqE35m2jIxv5deDrjLneEleTOTU67JVCfoI42g/s1600/WR2_Sheared+Eyebolt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1300" data-original-width="1600" height="162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlBjMKiFtK0MDBFzDA-lfv93zoYW7N98AlfiQ8-HYqf-owlTkF60Qj_kLRXCJA5KZMOM5RWgWmiP2MEoSe60o0GhNj_roopbgplQ4E4MqE35m2jIxv5deDrjLneEleTOTU67JVCfoI42g/s200/WR2_Sheared+Eyebolt.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The source of indigestion.</span></td></tr>
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We were forty miles from the nearest paved road, and about seventy miles to the nearest town. We still had 35 miles of rough, four wheel driving just to get out of this canyon. All these calculations were going through my head while we stared at the broken eyebolt.<br />
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Suddenly my oatmeal wasn't sitting so well.<br />
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We had extra turnbuckles with us, having learned our lesson ages ago when we lost a few in an accident (you can read about that one <a href="http://www.runningfrommoose.com/2013/04/utah-part-ii-hail-mary-pass.html">here</a>), but you need eyebolts to hook the turnbuckles in, so the extras wouldn't do us any good. Our friends offered a few solutions involving tow straps and ratchet systems, but none seemed viable. In the end, we decided to tighten the remaining three turnbuckles, drive as carefully as we could and keep our eyes on the mirrors. Our friend Mel helpfully offered to bring up the rear "in case you drop anything along the way."<br />
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Thanks Mel.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfNzLg_ZDUoT-N3OSlOXKW4_jdi4LR5wU3ai60RPSJGwir40-BCZJ9mfTcSKCWxOlUFRUlF4CjvA_Ta4oWgDCmIqs3D6ui2KAOG8V0CaW5ZhMRNH4StijB8qUB-fUW45DKAfaXiFcpmH8/s1600/WR2_S+turn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfNzLg_ZDUoT-N3OSlOXKW4_jdi4LR5wU3ai60RPSJGwir40-BCZJ9mfTcSKCWxOlUFRUlF4CjvA_Ta4oWgDCmIqs3D6ui2KAOG8V0CaW5ZhMRNH4StijB8qUB-fUW45DKAfaXiFcpmH8/s320/WR2_S+turn.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Now I suppose we could be the kind of people</span></b> to play it safe and stay on nice smooth roads, camp in organized campgrounds, maybe stopping somewhere for ice cream in the afternoons. Sounds lovely don't you think? If a problem were to crop up, we could just cruise into the nearest mechanics shop, or better yet, head back home for a quick fix. For some unfathomable reason, we're not that kind of people.<br />
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Actually, other than the occasional hiccup like this, traveling on tough roads is completely fathomable.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">A mesa at sunset looking for all the world like Australia's Uluru.</span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">There is little on earth </span></b>that compares to finding yourself in a place where the lizards outnumber the people; where red monoliths soar hundreds of feet above your head, and huge rivers slide by another few hundred feet below. Lacing around Canyonlands National Park's Islands in the Sky District, the White Rim Road is 100 miles of 4WD trail that roughly follows the Colorado and Green rivers as they course through the park. Viewed from above, it looks kind of like a kindergartner's scribbled outline of the African continent.<br />
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Viewed from ground level, it's positively amazing.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBI1Bi_mr1PSTYddXHZ9kMsxRKZ1-8Qututn_JfPODxfzir8vnRoHrIhYN-LUl7xNXjPbrAunLodFnBW6hGsZJWLnWCECiXuBa3pkM-A8cgF6nbjKPLLBI1pNLoIW-iGZ7RzDoS_byRC4/s1600/White+Rim+Google.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="252" data-original-width="271" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBI1Bi_mr1PSTYddXHZ9kMsxRKZ1-8Qututn_JfPODxfzir8vnRoHrIhYN-LUl7xNXjPbrAunLodFnBW6hGsZJWLnWCECiXuBa3pkM-A8cgF6nbjKPLLBI1pNLoIW-iGZ7RzDoS_byRC4/s200/White+Rim+Google.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Google's view of the White Rim Road</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><span style="color: blue;">Our view.</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">Sunset on the White Rim Road<br />Canyonlands National Park</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Six months before, </span></b>our friends had texted us asking if we'd like to join them for another go on the White Rim. We had done it two years previous, but had to complete the trip in only two days, having only gotten reservations for one night. We had been unable to stop and check out many of the side trips and trails then, but this time around they were able to reserve two nights.<br />
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It made all the difference.<br />
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We had six vehicles in our group: Andrew in his Nissan Xterra, Craig and Rasa in their Toyota Tacoma, Ron in his brand new Chevy Colorado (brave man!), Mel in his Jeep Wrangler, George in his Mercedes Unimog accompanied by Ryan and LeeWhay, and of course we had our trusty Ford F250 with <a href="https://www.fourwh.com/">Four Wheel Camper</a>.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">All but the Toyota.</span></td></tr>
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We started our trip at the Islands in the Sky Visitor's Center. After checking the conditions (always a good idea), checking out the displays and perusing the gift shop we were ready to go. We lined up at the entrance to the first challenge: the Shafer Switchbacks.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbgc5soIVgxuDsz5X5DVmK6R6zGvuJtTI0PrdDAv8HTV9d6NzJ_2xhoaoFufGd4KJRt4-2i85ryaHsUK8w3WHyqsafli4TodVKut3071eLqGENuH8m0Peb7CYqbaTBWdWZL0D68CSXw18/s1600/WR2_Shafer+switchbacks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbgc5soIVgxuDsz5X5DVmK6R6zGvuJtTI0PrdDAv8HTV9d6NzJ_2xhoaoFufGd4KJRt4-2i85ryaHsUK8w3WHyqsafli4TodVKut3071eLqGENuH8m0Peb7CYqbaTBWdWZL0D68CSXw18/s640/WR2_Shafer+switchbacks.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><span style="color: blue;">The Shafer Switchbacks snake down the canyon joining the White Rim Road below.</span><br />
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This is always the most crowded spot on the White Rim. Many people make a quick day trip down the switchbacks, visit a few sites along the first few miles of the road, then head back up. We encountered lines of paid jeep tours, individuals in their vehicles, bicyclists and even a few photographers on foot coming back up as we descended. Luckily, this part of the road is pretty wide, or at least it has enough turnouts to give room to pass.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE_HcBGJdOpgR2DWwewe4lelMk6TZNCLo9RTghJ3B7XEIX1OB-UetMouvAVcExR9bHXX0RlkMkrDsvlCzkcJ4YLFj2lwQ-uuQbJXPBT4rg32jdGLOq5SbXId9vUg2NFSvfjbpwuY2UQms/s1600/WR2+Bike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE_HcBGJdOpgR2DWwewe4lelMk6TZNCLo9RTghJ3B7XEIX1OB-UetMouvAVcExR9bHXX0RlkMkrDsvlCzkcJ4YLFj2lwQ-uuQbJXPBT4rg32jdGLOq5SbXId9vUg2NFSvfjbpwuY2UQms/s400/WR2+Bike.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">A bicyclist makes his way down the switchbacks.</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgalSG0gKmOQlTPzIQps5XSqDlL-AQinI7jOfSntoLchfoudAtke2AteVFbMmXKYXgTY09Lsz2DiVUR6Pt8sW3yi2_ycRgCMaMko6F9W_gJG9aRvtLZFdFs3fFnmjSfnUqEJDRhL6AsODM/s1600/WR2+3+descending.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgalSG0gKmOQlTPzIQps5XSqDlL-AQinI7jOfSntoLchfoudAtke2AteVFbMmXKYXgTY09Lsz2DiVUR6Pt8sW3yi2_ycRgCMaMko6F9W_gJG9aRvtLZFdFs3fFnmjSfnUqEJDRhL6AsODM/s400/WR2+3+descending.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Descending the switchbacks</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhb8vug8uuHmi-GUu4O3mZsT3Jv9MfglsurFCoLfemENbZwshJunOlqHRFyx-K6R1t5z8KqCmoDY13w9_e-MbGTXrMu1q-8wMjcjXsE2mr2EcCPLXs6C_QahDKL5tVG9cqqWgUhKz_nNY/s1600/WR2+Mog+%2526+Chevy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhb8vug8uuHmi-GUu4O3mZsT3Jv9MfglsurFCoLfemENbZwshJunOlqHRFyx-K6R1t5z8KqCmoDY13w9_e-MbGTXrMu1q-8wMjcjXsE2mr2EcCPLXs6C_QahDKL5tVG9cqqWgUhKz_nNY/s400/WR2+Mog+%2526+Chevy.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The Mog and Chevy make their way down</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_MBYCJjF8eqWSqqpvpaT0Zkwl66rmkwt8HrZW8CtrXiUNHE7Lk95wnTK5h9rvNuGVnFWdZSnBVCJ1DzIkyq_l4qOHGBEN5g_M38b359p6Lq_hZAKJOzcZ0PjNLH1ms21RSMCZWUSsDtg/s1600/WR2+Andrew+little.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_MBYCJjF8eqWSqqpvpaT0Zkwl66rmkwt8HrZW8CtrXiUNHE7Lk95wnTK5h9rvNuGVnFWdZSnBVCJ1DzIkyq_l4qOHGBEN5g_M38b359p6Lq_hZAKJOzcZ0PjNLH1ms21RSMCZWUSsDtg/s640/WR2+Andrew+little.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Andrew's Xterra is dwarfed by the massive cliffside</span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">We stopped in at the Gooseneck Overlook</span></b> and...well...looked over. It was a great place to get some dramatic photos of the Unimog. George has a business importing these beasts and selling them here in the U.S. (You can find more about them at <a href="http://unimogcenter.com/">UnimogCenter.com</a>). As Andrew took some photos, the rest of us milled around and dared each other to get closer to the edge.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Qy3dzl816AdOsH8mTwxntJr4ygm45BAY1TlUWO3WByerJSm4sep0HM2uErhQ_AHszKW6yG2ALdYcZg8AifbEgYp5xVMUyhnnB8I71MmhZeUXuGSQqj12YvBpeYiBtgU7Llyt2dQOgCk/s1600/WR2+Photographer+Andrew.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1284" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Qy3dzl816AdOsH8mTwxntJr4ygm45BAY1TlUWO3WByerJSm4sep0HM2uErhQ_AHszKW6yG2ALdYcZg8AifbEgYp5xVMUyhnnB8I71MmhZeUXuGSQqj12YvBpeYiBtgU7Llyt2dQOgCk/s320/WR2+Photographer+Andrew.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Andrew lines up a shot...</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXpKg1IpIFmbw7D42cNAicq8HUquZe4tp7WrTwj8-a5Me_1xuXK1COI4xgwbYNcmphf28Af-96kJKMrAVCx7yid2YeUrTgpt2XXoa6kwZ1wYykilVMF4fip3-aGC24fLXj6KVc0FXXwdc/s1600/WR2+Mog+Beauty+Shot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1153" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXpKg1IpIFmbw7D42cNAicq8HUquZe4tp7WrTwj8-a5Me_1xuXK1COI4xgwbYNcmphf28Af-96kJKMrAVCx7yid2YeUrTgpt2XXoa6kwZ1wYykilVMF4fip3-aGC24fLXj6KVc0FXXwdc/s320/WR2+Mog+Beauty+Shot.jpg" width="230" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">...of the Unimog on the edge...</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP_IsFaSgL2YawDUpnw8TTqVzzwFcrowqJTRlpPx3iJQnywvBGbKE10ABDMQ5D3s5ls4zULHwPOKUHPApwnEXVLkVEQjHrMmfpo_GdBicloqPSarnuYDtgKshUg2z3cSr9Skas1RpwEhA/s1600/WR2+Friends.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1391" data-original-width="1600" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP_IsFaSgL2YawDUpnw8TTqVzzwFcrowqJTRlpPx3iJQnywvBGbKE10ABDMQ5D3s5ls4zULHwPOKUHPApwnEXVLkVEQjHrMmfpo_GdBicloqPSarnuYDtgKshUg2z3cSr9Skas1RpwEhA/s320/WR2+Friends.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">...while we mill around.<br />(From left: Ron messing with his camera, LeeWhay, Mark, Rasa and Mel)</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijDtDt9y1kCE8MXaR7J-iNKT3qYQXjC4G8xhq1dDAvyz8xUXm2Jo4WC_Wh2GTCrIU9-rEd09S5-A0JpVlH1SI-vUEZ9Mv-hOD0Ju-75fVU1eyxmf_6shbePxWSw2G0HttZ3Qxno5-AWXc/s1600/WR2+The+River.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijDtDt9y1kCE8MXaR7J-iNKT3qYQXjC4G8xhq1dDAvyz8xUXm2Jo4WC_Wh2GTCrIU9-rEd09S5-A0JpVlH1SI-vUEZ9Mv-hOD0Ju-75fVU1eyxmf_6shbePxWSw2G0HttZ3Qxno5-AWXc/s640/WR2+The+River.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The view of the river from Goosenecks.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg21giwFZPmp1rF2xYy2QmWpZCf2vxniog6goR800Rj1Ey3AUUhfpSzOagBciW5WEKfulAcgHPgAJtcR9W5ywk1ZKE7a9j71GSeaGhVbp91MkAOrymz2TzEi5K6he5vK2UBsFB2aUlqPQw/s1600/WR2+Lineup+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg21giwFZPmp1rF2xYy2QmWpZCf2vxniog6goR800Rj1Ey3AUUhfpSzOagBciW5WEKfulAcgHPgAJtcR9W5ywk1ZKE7a9j71GSeaGhVbp91MkAOrymz2TzEi5K6he5vK2UBsFB2aUlqPQw/s400/WR2+Lineup+2.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">All lined up for the road ahead.</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7FTLbHrsTYNX9DLSanUPe2THBIdMkBdoL6nHFOYwrsEuUX1R-tPE4TdqSdG130Dh-aKyWbilRYg3-iZdQ1xTkqjmxcgGuevzwnC90071Q-e7p4z1hB__EHmtkN4jCnmJzeMrDnQnvwp8/s1600/WR2_Cactus+flower.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7FTLbHrsTYNX9DLSanUPe2THBIdMkBdoL6nHFOYwrsEuUX1R-tPE4TdqSdG130Dh-aKyWbilRYg3-iZdQ1xTkqjmxcgGuevzwnC90071Q-e7p4z1hB__EHmtkN4jCnmJzeMrDnQnvwp8/s200/WR2_Cactus+flower.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh197k25KNMSRSeoLn9HZEM_fdi7escAl2paHk4FgQhZwB7h5g-w2CZSyeRrtRq6V9kqOiKWc0heklgUDxyAxdm2Kr9d5qJjkyxJGB2C4yBM11yvm5thMmfUNAa-DyV70qnxID6YDDZU14/s1600/WR2_Airport+Camp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1009" data-original-width="1600" height="401" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh197k25KNMSRSeoLn9HZEM_fdi7escAl2paHk4FgQhZwB7h5g-w2CZSyeRrtRq6V9kqOiKWc0heklgUDxyAxdm2Kr9d5qJjkyxJGB2C4yBM11yvm5thMmfUNAa-DyV70qnxID6YDDZU14/s640/WR2_Airport+Camp.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Our first night was spent at Airport Campground.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWApxnM_5oXPqJqJb2t6COz3M34sJfzEQSrPClXyIFmJWhafVOe1usZXofO8OfQ0IIGpSvp9ocmXE0fU-qBaqkmDvmDk2-c8JHvzXI5WfRgPWyJjNSFayChQyAg1nVDV57_9v0xo1dnIQ/s1600/WR2_Raven.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1449" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWApxnM_5oXPqJqJb2t6COz3M34sJfzEQSrPClXyIFmJWhafVOe1usZXofO8OfQ0IIGpSvp9ocmXE0fU-qBaqkmDvmDk2-c8JHvzXI5WfRgPWyJjNSFayChQyAg1nVDV57_9v0xo1dnIQ/s200/WR2_Raven.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Our raven friend</span></td></tr>
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<b>We spent the first night</b> at the Airport campground, where we discovered we were being followed. Everywhere we stopped that day, a curious raven circled overhead and landed on various trees and bushes just out of reach. I'm not sure if he called ahead and alerted his buddies along the way, or if the same raven actually followed us throughout the trip (they don't wear name tags and they all dress alike). For two days, everywhere we stopped a raven would land nearby and monitor our progress.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAhAtyxIA0fplLNa0Xp4cy75LIYjLxLRSvd6W0XMMI2sE96GkzTV7aepiDLEwhk5sKsJ6_Wl8agImJjVgruvJb1xaURMCliIqxQp5-2hi6a2xWyshve0vNFKvKYKHxoFtwMyoY_QPyprM/s1600/WR2_Airport+tower.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAhAtyxIA0fplLNa0Xp4cy75LIYjLxLRSvd6W0XMMI2sE96GkzTV7aepiDLEwhk5sKsJ6_Wl8agImJjVgruvJb1xaURMCliIqxQp5-2hi6a2xWyshve0vNFKvKYKHxoFtwMyoY_QPyprM/s400/WR2_Airport+tower.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The Airport Tower</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDYTItHOqB-PYUX7RF2RZZv0L4sqnB8L1-K9Ckhjl2VoP_E6hR2Ew2MhOMaA0ExPeLRLNxTxGwJkxVJwPgRwyQntP4DQ5ICX5slEjN4sC1gMRyu_tEGYCH_U3i-RFVnGj5o0yEkvEqveE/s1600/WR2_White+rock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDYTItHOqB-PYUX7RF2RZZv0L4sqnB8L1-K9Ckhjl2VoP_E6hR2Ew2MhOMaA0ExPeLRLNxTxGwJkxVJwPgRwyQntP4DQ5ICX5slEjN4sC1gMRyu_tEGYCH_U3i-RFVnGj5o0yEkvEqveE/s320/WR2_White+rock.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Some of the white rim has fallen down the canyon walls.</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDfNpXNu8xNNlRikxMictY0KVCxobtxq-3fxiUrtq-YwZuPmakpdEhH9K2RQoZ4_OH9ds7XMqHDazC3hd1-Tic3iRIRrmTxhtDU-OS78wIFb2yB5b4RuVmoXnxPECcshG0onWZ7oJTGQA/s1600/WR2_Slickrock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDfNpXNu8xNNlRikxMictY0KVCxobtxq-3fxiUrtq-YwZuPmakpdEhH9K2RQoZ4_OH9ds7XMqHDazC3hd1-Tic3iRIRrmTxhtDU-OS78wIFb2yB5b4RuVmoXnxPECcshG0onWZ7oJTGQA/s640/WR2_Slickrock.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">A close up of the slick rock that makes up a lot of the roadbed. Beautiful, but it makes for slow driving at times.</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8j3UFUJUZSYt3imzchj4ZeK306_OL2v7tKOweKGozAOaEennOBSBNqKSDBRypGoCiRiwFYb5hi7dVOi9Du6HjzUVhDktGMoH5vsETszkFfWAaFXu31vMm7-IWf4ZKGe5RtB4QwGqufnU/s1600/WR2_CastleSquare.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1389" data-original-width="1600" height="346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8j3UFUJUZSYt3imzchj4ZeK306_OL2v7tKOweKGozAOaEennOBSBNqKSDBRypGoCiRiwFYb5hi7dVOi9Du6HjzUVhDktGMoH5vsETszkFfWAaFXu31vMm7-IWf4ZKGe5RtB4QwGqufnU/s400/WR2_CastleSquare.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">As the sun set that night, the shadows made castle-like outlines of the "fins" of the canyon.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR_zu7nJuNy4KKmxXtX-G3inoC3OUZ1rbCaeImWb4zGJrsGOPMOysgllCW2fRTct9-oRwNasmtN9sI-jWKzvg040OIXNYD-bJC_VjlTHu2Z3nVOxKPHQF901FSbaV51EpURsYXKTZn18A/s1600/WR2+Washer+Woman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1090" data-original-width="1600" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR_zu7nJuNy4KKmxXtX-G3inoC3OUZ1rbCaeImWb4zGJrsGOPMOysgllCW2fRTct9-oRwNasmtN9sI-jWKzvg040OIXNYD-bJC_VjlTHu2Z3nVOxKPHQF901FSbaV51EpURsYXKTZn18A/s320/WR2+Washer+Woman.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The formation known as "Washer Woman" looms above at sunset.</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi53e7Mq9g2Zdq0ZFVD3Gqwk6gGI7wBj_SzUpvniwaTVJFGxWEJvO4pQcmaY1k298T6vM3K4By2pB0qQlLCq6g-fQ2JurAO2aLb-nIW5gO3rxqn-d3yL6QRs0k99XDNzXqNmV16xbWmgIk/s1600/WR2_grass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi53e7Mq9g2Zdq0ZFVD3Gqwk6gGI7wBj_SzUpvniwaTVJFGxWEJvO4pQcmaY1k298T6vM3K4By2pB0qQlLCq6g-fQ2JurAO2aLb-nIW5gO3rxqn-d3yL6QRs0k99XDNzXqNmV16xbWmgIk/s200/WR2_grass.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">In the morning</span></b> we had a leisurely breakfast then headed off to our next stop: White Crack.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWEbqkv1ZHvXmKgyORIOP4qFpo368ZygACqWvwDJjixL3K0EYmC0P_X5kS8iBNTp8m_HtrcX3oekv4UGTx2-4slQ8HsarXoqCQyb5OLuCv8h-XSy7Nj0GdW8vvO17yzuCBKmAU8RQHqbI/s1600/WR2_Mark+at+white+crack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWEbqkv1ZHvXmKgyORIOP4qFpo368ZygACqWvwDJjixL3K0EYmC0P_X5kS8iBNTp8m_HtrcX3oekv4UGTx2-4slQ8HsarXoqCQyb5OLuCv8h-XSy7Nj0GdW8vvO17yzuCBKmAU8RQHqbI/s320/WR2_Mark+at+white+crack.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Mark helpfully stands in as a scale marker.<br />White Crack</span></td></tr>
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<b>White Crack, </b>besides being the fodder for countless schoolyard jokes, is a long deep crack in the white layer of rock that is the namesake of White Rim Road. It's located at about the halfway point on the southern-most tip, down a one mile side road. A short hiking trail from the parking area leads to the crack, and a gorgeous view of the canyon.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNnQtAcw-TJw5qp4xaaPNoizBbJ7SigkH-F2c1DSUYwUOHAJU2KnfIToZ7VZAd-jskarS1vTlkhlrfICg6qha0L3VHn7-Dkyh3WLYr66ePK14MhF94s2VDZ8DxRmQ1b_VIqaobo-PJslk/s1600/SR2_Baby+Rattle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1150" data-original-width="1600" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNnQtAcw-TJw5qp4xaaPNoizBbJ7SigkH-F2c1DSUYwUOHAJU2KnfIToZ7VZAd-jskarS1vTlkhlrfICg6qha0L3VHn7-Dkyh3WLYr66ePK14MhF94s2VDZ8DxRmQ1b_VIqaobo-PJslk/s320/SR2_Baby+Rattle.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">We found a baby rattlesnake hiding under some brush.</span></td></tr>
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We stopped here and there along the road during the ride to take photos and generally oohh and awww over the scenery. Driving along sheer cliff edges, and sometimes <i>on</i> the overhanging rock never fails to give you the willies. Strict attention to the road is a must, and it's nice to get out and enjoy the view without risking a painful and possibly fatal mistake.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6ENdSQHmeZn3dZn7cOmnDdFGuAdJzefRyONR70P2FN5vmNoG010tkexcYwJN7yNHJj0VftamdWeOC-lwMDkT5owrGKpjJhuka_Fm5BWEg2VXWCwxh_sftv0QhvF9Y9gV8cGdynzSlCrc/s1600/WR2_Mark+looking+out+WC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6ENdSQHmeZn3dZn7cOmnDdFGuAdJzefRyONR70P2FN5vmNoG010tkexcYwJN7yNHJj0VftamdWeOC-lwMDkT5owrGKpjJhuka_Fm5BWEg2VXWCwxh_sftv0QhvF9Y9gV8cGdynzSlCrc/s400/WR2_Mark+looking+out+WC.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The view from the end of the trail.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5OoI_UQ9orctYdpmAuF97MlT-jf86nxCBIxQlAL-P-JjL8Aj6H9vdymaYNn1M4a_h4aFbNr1JyC7FfhRbxGi6xWA3ARDqJucEz2eXJCDO4T41bxC2ukFj51Um6MCTI-Ro_VPKlUrEV0g/s1600/WR2+White+Crack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5OoI_UQ9orctYdpmAuF97MlT-jf86nxCBIxQlAL-P-JjL8Aj6H9vdymaYNn1M4a_h4aFbNr1JyC7FfhRbxGi6xWA3ARDqJucEz2eXJCDO4T41bxC2ukFj51Um6MCTI-Ro_VPKlUrEV0g/s320/WR2+White+Crack.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The crack</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZUwcTGwxp7lFlg8fOycL4zYbJSwUprMyS_28PlN6NR8cccyaWxubAteKspp3NtXlnj-umfL3sLvfyuopAXrVnT5XzBEoOMZcleV7KMoo1hpTKSZY8XvblTjhxsSbwyOP3Q2i9rkMUgd8/s1600/WR2_Road+between+mesas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZUwcTGwxp7lFlg8fOycL4zYbJSwUprMyS_28PlN6NR8cccyaWxubAteKspp3NtXlnj-umfL3sLvfyuopAXrVnT5XzBEoOMZcleV7KMoo1hpTKSZY8XvblTjhxsSbwyOP3Q2i9rkMUgd8/s640/WR2_Road+between+mesas.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The road cuts between mesas in the distance.</span></td></tr>
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<b>Our second night's reservations</b> were at Murphy Hogback, the site of my mental anguish from the previous trip. Before discovering our broken eyebolt, we enjoyed it thoroughly; I think it was my favorite campsite on the White Rim.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqhCZpuFzrGtA3twXKMKK3W8dBPGD8IGCCfL851u6BjkOs38gZhBHym9GmjUpU24DX9Wv_HHRSw2zl-Nyk23x0IVBHtN1_-xGsZ0rKpjyNFHk1RF3tFOKwinLXIdM9z7Q6gREXs5AoCt4/s1600/WR2+View+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqhCZpuFzrGtA3twXKMKK3W8dBPGD8IGCCfL851u6BjkOs38gZhBHym9GmjUpU24DX9Wv_HHRSw2zl-Nyk23x0IVBHtN1_-xGsZ0rKpjyNFHk1RF3tFOKwinLXIdM9z7Q6gREXs5AoCt4/s640/WR2+View+3.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The impossibly wonderful view</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbLWShPJdhihoUQs0MkpXwmGFuQyaWZh8ZjKvut-Vx7JyeheGTuY7tEz1vnXx4x2NA7FHYfO_WScN9QvVv1IGHjjFQJZoOITo992huLgMqusDvq_kBhh_3y9JMJHBVPUqQ9fGz6a7lKXY/s1600/WR2_Mel+Andrew+up+switch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbLWShPJdhihoUQs0MkpXwmGFuQyaWZh8ZjKvut-Vx7JyeheGTuY7tEz1vnXx4x2NA7FHYfO_WScN9QvVv1IGHjjFQJZoOITo992huLgMqusDvq_kBhh_3y9JMJHBVPUqQ9fGz6a7lKXY/s400/WR2_Mel+Andrew+up+switch.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Andrew starts up Murphy Hogback as Mel waits his turn</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHt0V4tzbWrnmRhAG7lk2ytxHEbDjdZuBclJNbZ1F-7GNUo6PzVL9mIbngWM6GaNpcSkUyc9TeiTO6dUAFLBs7PiFXOGWsiIAheNfqQD1VBQ7hcrxhHFUApr8wI2izWg5yGWeOuQgD11I/s1600/Mog+Up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHt0V4tzbWrnmRhAG7lk2ytxHEbDjdZuBclJNbZ1F-7GNUo6PzVL9mIbngWM6GaNpcSkUyc9TeiTO6dUAFLBs7PiFXOGWsiIAheNfqQD1VBQ7hcrxhHFUApr8wI2izWg5yGWeOuQgD11I/s640/Mog+Up.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Yes, it really is that steep in places.</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjac1QmSQrM4VbSFOKg_YHiDEhlr1a5noUMx8dO37EqIPh_AzzAET4xgxfPkcsu3qvdV1QOs4wmDlvaHUNySKuUFPl4BT33aq-QDeWeh0dcDNKKTxV4e1EdSE_VsDTTmcWOwU-x26T-4Xc/s1600/WR2_Up+hogback+thru+windshield.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjac1QmSQrM4VbSFOKg_YHiDEhlr1a5noUMx8dO37EqIPh_AzzAET4xgxfPkcsu3qvdV1QOs4wmDlvaHUNySKuUFPl4BT33aq-QDeWeh0dcDNKKTxV4e1EdSE_VsDTTmcWOwU-x26T-4Xc/s320/WR2_Up+hogback+thru+windshield.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">What it looks like from the cab as you go up the switchbacks</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Ej7yqdMCFtLef771UqzwhIqNleRV9jiiG_lpdnrrhB5dI9jMT1lcrmLqO8R72H27AQr9X9Noa3AC2qTuRHWKmdqJtUGfdN43Hrvwbnt1VhGyQDEB1jNHrUJRdfpnxWa3ApXMlTe4yyI/s1600/WR2+View+from+hogback.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Ej7yqdMCFtLef771UqzwhIqNleRV9jiiG_lpdnrrhB5dI9jMT1lcrmLqO8R72H27AQr9X9Noa3AC2qTuRHWKmdqJtUGfdN43Hrvwbnt1VhGyQDEB1jNHrUJRdfpnxWa3ApXMlTe4yyI/s640/WR2+View+from+hogback.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The view back where we came from</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZddEL93RwNIDmBkwM34RDVHoLM02RNpmGxwYabDihkxSLOcCpNCjRMaufdb_7IdImIvylvy77ShzXLk7FDRXmEgsQO6W37-P-AW0SIagVd_aLiO0k1WeGqcDS_lfZLHbsUwKMMCP4G5E/s1600/WR2_Desert+Iguana.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1044" data-original-width="1600" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZddEL93RwNIDmBkwM34RDVHoLM02RNpmGxwYabDihkxSLOcCpNCjRMaufdb_7IdImIvylvy77ShzXLk7FDRXmEgsQO6W37-P-AW0SIagVd_aLiO0k1WeGqcDS_lfZLHbsUwKMMCP4G5E/s400/WR2_Desert+Iguana.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">A lizard poses for a shot</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhusD0lBj4RqchFRsynLzrYVDqe-7udiAKUWKJxLJN0ssceQ2ZwyZ68qu7j-_AqzGFNvXJkHCFbzOQrrZOHxfHpKL631OoWpaflZQEW04YWy7tX4V78iFYlpQxwj7nflGs1QogUhpflptE/s1600/Ron+in+the+wild.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhusD0lBj4RqchFRsynLzrYVDqe-7udiAKUWKJxLJN0ssceQ2ZwyZ68qu7j-_AqzGFNvXJkHCFbzOQrrZOHxfHpKL631OoWpaflZQEW04YWy7tX4V78iFYlpQxwj7nflGs1QogUhpflptE/s640/Ron+in+the+wild.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Ron sets up in Murphy Hogback Campground</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnmFTF5r46seNmr5vxcOjPvKtr0w7T0cxRZBbR408WMWevMuTLxDLXTAA20Dc1o-0ZdDCz5CwL512IRxNG_T8_-hRK_qybrJLsc9IyHlyhetwJEwlgKP2FpbwcdtpIZ-dvWuIRCnKUvgI/s1600/WR2_Sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="760" data-original-width="1600" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnmFTF5r46seNmr5vxcOjPvKtr0w7T0cxRZBbR408WMWevMuTLxDLXTAA20Dc1o-0ZdDCz5CwL512IRxNG_T8_-hRK_qybrJLsc9IyHlyhetwJEwlgKP2FpbwcdtpIZ-dvWuIRCnKUvgI/s400/WR2_Sunset.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Sunset that night</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWX1CZtD5_237KMPG4s347D4gO4fkgWGJpbDHzQQWWkNFSCCGEkrWpN4bLFC4CAPcgZA-Joj_hTEx0cqwjyv7wbBkM3xDSmRm8ZUbkCd4Hf2rqpy8hleSQD6ehVJWN7okNuK1KlMrsSZw/s1600/WR2_Mog+on+way+down+hogback.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWX1CZtD5_237KMPG4s347D4gO4fkgWGJpbDHzQQWWkNFSCCGEkrWpN4bLFC4CAPcgZA-Joj_hTEx0cqwjyv7wbBkM3xDSmRm8ZUbkCd4Hf2rqpy8hleSQD6ehVJWN7okNuK1KlMrsSZw/s400/WR2_Mog+on+way+down+hogback.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The Mog disappears down Murphy Hogback</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqj9x6td9b85I4XccHuH_vwWmFkJS-OP2uv05cTx69Zy3eFMdujU2eofzinbPz5byM7HjNJ3Qd0SXMQEuB-Yjk0HkAHA8OESDqtSDE63-tbp7tvYXoMo2u6jhwPsA920NXpmSxAE5NRlA/s1600/WR2_Down+hogback+rearview+mirror.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: blue;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqj9x6td9b85I4XccHuH_vwWmFkJS-OP2uv05cTx69Zy3eFMdujU2eofzinbPz5byM7HjNJ3Qd0SXMQEuB-Yjk0HkAHA8OESDqtSDE63-tbp7tvYXoMo2u6jhwPsA920NXpmSxAE5NRlA/s320/WR2_Down+hogback+rearview+mirror.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Our tiny friends are reflected in the mirror as we make our way down.</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOAYRvTiiLnoasqmEhoq9zgSHjziY5YIA_3LsF1Lz8gTHCyZLqnrv__PoEWN0MdS3LF6EKe1HjMfMwj_IPrBRo2Qw3WgBbY0mYq3Yp4KwpDpjVHwqUsBvWHw8yOzUDyOdfMrst5RDNHbI/s1600/WR2+Cloudy+View.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOAYRvTiiLnoasqmEhoq9zgSHjziY5YIA_3LsF1Lz8gTHCyZLqnrv__PoEWN0MdS3LF6EKe1HjMfMwj_IPrBRo2Qw3WgBbY0mYq3Yp4KwpDpjVHwqUsBvWHw8yOzUDyOdfMrst5RDNHbI/s400/WR2+Cloudy+View.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The entire trip</b> </span>we teased George about the upcoming narrow parts of the road. To this point, the Unimog, as big as it is, had easily fit on the tightest switchbacks and under the lowest overhangs. We all recalled a bad part toward the end of the road, but couldn't quite figure out if it would be a problem. We had all been driving more conventional vehicles, and our F250 and camper combo was the tallest at the time, but the Unimog is a couple feet higher and eight inches wider. Sure enough, just a few miles from the end of the road, we found the spot:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCVhdKvVEmCM8OU_SUiRB16wmMuPR3VaeARWHHjY7e957PQhLFaVyCbsWZcuDTIJZ4quvPOeURZT6HYuFAoQ5QO27z0JH2tTW7W87EjzxV4iwxuF5mL9LeJeq4U3A8aFOjO0KtDpb9Dfo/s1600/WR2_Mog+tight+fit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1208" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCVhdKvVEmCM8OU_SUiRB16wmMuPR3VaeARWHHjY7e957PQhLFaVyCbsWZcuDTIJZ4quvPOeURZT6HYuFAoQ5QO27z0JH2tTW7W87EjzxV4iwxuF5mL9LeJeq4U3A8aFOjO0KtDpb9Dfo/s320/WR2_Mog+tight+fit.jpg" width="241" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">George inspects the lack of clearance before going forward...</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNsFkikj-Dc9Po4TUI3pTiyyvwhaPAOA_IMiQ4A71vHipK49Lb9nSvlzEWiGGCGuPVaHsZ8J_c_Hedwa8wNsJ_CPsZMmLcGHEchka8_TVE_861zGy9ZyjUj8Xlq2F07DvRya4ny5tEIi8/s1600/WR2+Squeeze.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNsFkikj-Dc9Po4TUI3pTiyyvwhaPAOA_IMiQ4A71vHipK49Lb9nSvlzEWiGGCGuPVaHsZ8J_c_Hedwa8wNsJ_CPsZMmLcGHEchka8_TVE_861zGy9ZyjUj8Xlq2F07DvRya4ny5tEIi8/s400/WR2+Squeeze.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">...and makes contact with the wall.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7iBC4G1KARHM_8RBTs-BiV1YCu1BfGPtKxqvBYXTUmZtY0izTPjv7eJcdqb8Kuw-hvGOWOs_JrRTvh88oMBYuYDnLxx9hCpeFa7l9R4YRB3_2bvy8YF-iXGU37keeoPxoQ4CCfT8zYw0/s1600/WR2_River+road.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7iBC4G1KARHM_8RBTs-BiV1YCu1BfGPtKxqvBYXTUmZtY0izTPjv7eJcdqb8Kuw-hvGOWOs_JrRTvh88oMBYuYDnLxx9hCpeFa7l9R4YRB3_2bvy8YF-iXGU37keeoPxoQ4CCfT8zYw0/s400/WR2_River+road.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">And we thought we were big.</span></td></tr>
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The Mog lost a little paint, but thankfully nothing serious happened to the box. I think we found the size limit for the road.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOP21iMePgHFkfyAOV2ZtlWVoPUEiyVO2hGadLwTQ5aZOcFlPpcvVIl42VE4e16Bh6aT7oJROF8q45yavSLM5GuQt3WT77Z6E44Gzx80AFsFm0sOetmSkSljzL_jYvgCg4Q3-p0TDKGlI/s1600/WR2_BirdDeadTreeMesa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOP21iMePgHFkfyAOV2ZtlWVoPUEiyVO2hGadLwTQ5aZOcFlPpcvVIl42VE4e16Bh6aT7oJROF8q45yavSLM5GuQt3WT77Z6E44Gzx80AFsFm0sOetmSkSljzL_jYvgCg4Q3-p0TDKGlI/s320/WR2_BirdDeadTreeMesa.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Once out of the canyon,</b> </span>we found a nice campsite on the rim. We had kept an eye on the camper the whole day and were happy to discover it had only shifted a little bit in the bed of the truck. We were confident that with careful driving we would be fine until we got home, where Mark would replace all four bolts for good measure.<br />
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When we opened the camper door that afternoon we discovered the only other minor mishap; the stops on our utensil drawer, after 15 years of this kind of abuse, finally rebelled. The drawer had broken it's moorings, scattering knives, forks and spoons all over the cabin. Easily repairable and no harm done.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi31gfEKU6WLZ-wChiwKQJxVe7DLizCo-sapRraqhOMdHOc5iK3HoGyFAsGk0COBff15gNsSY4rls0yTSzlXFTF-8otKxTia1fhX4xWnrUGGiQA7Uhgo6nmQMQ_lXdeFRLva3Yp_3B-sYU/s1600/Raven.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1597" data-original-width="1600" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi31gfEKU6WLZ-wChiwKQJxVe7DLizCo-sapRraqhOMdHOc5iK3HoGyFAsGk0COBff15gNsSY4rls0yTSzlXFTF-8otKxTia1fhX4xWnrUGGiQA7Uhgo6nmQMQ_lXdeFRLva3Yp_3B-sYU/s200/Raven.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<strong>Things we learned on this trip:</strong><br />
<ul>
<li>Never buy dish soap with a flip top. When it falls over in the cabinet knocking the top open and surreptitiously leaks into the bowls, it makes your oatmeal taste like Palmolive.</li>
<li>Things that keep you up worrying all night are never as scary in the morning.</li>
<li>When you tell them your great ideas about places to explore, good friends will nod and say "that sounds nice." Better friends join you for the ride.</li>
</ul>
<div>
Here's a recipe we used to celebrate a successful trip:<br />
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<div>
<b><u>White Rim Margaritas</u></b></div>
<ol>
<li>Run a slice of fresh lime around rim of glass and dip into kosher salt</li>
<li>Muddle one slice of fresh jalapeño and a some cilantro leaves in the bottom of the glass</li>
<li>Add chilled pre-mixed Lime Margarita and a splash of Lime bubble water (we used La Croix)</li>
<li>Add no ice cubes, because you've been on the road too long and all the ice melted</li>
<li>Toast the fact that you made it out in one piece and enjoy</li>
</ol>
<div>
<i>(Disclaimer: only make these once your driving is done for the day.)</i></div>
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Kelly Templehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16736282169474219178noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541208124360896016.post-29315946740630165012018-03-28T19:22:00.000-07:002018-03-28T19:22:49.404-07:00A Bittersweet Farewell<b><span style="font-size: large;">I find myself in a melancholy mood tonight.</span></b> It's the end of an era. A good long run has come to a close and I'm not sure I'm ready to say goodbye. So many good times were had, and yet, I have to accept that things change, that sometimes it's best to let go.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXLyVfEuHWNEB1xo-W4435Sg4ykka1KhtPnoPBj1vbXOXtsBzGa-MiACTzSYRCjVmw404oP1pn25vKuIjtToZABQzBeKuKS-We15Qt050VIenB9uwHMonHi0uLPkCcxpk0M1Rqncylif4/s1600/Civic_Rear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXLyVfEuHWNEB1xo-W4435Sg4ykka1KhtPnoPBj1vbXOXtsBzGa-MiACTzSYRCjVmw404oP1pn25vKuIjtToZABQzBeKuKS-We15Qt050VIenB9uwHMonHi0uLPkCcxpk0M1Rqncylif4/s320/Civic_Rear.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>I bought my Honda on January 7, 1990.</b> It was only 7 miles old when I found it sitting on a lot, all shiny and beautiful in the falling rain. I took it for a test drive, marveling at the peppy 5-speed manual transmission and the fact that when I stepped on the gas, it not only went forward, it actually went quickly (I was driving a 1971 VW bug at the time, so it wasn't a very high bar). And the color! Sonoma Red. The stars couldn't have been more perfectly aligned.<br />
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I sat down with the sales guy and danced the dance, you know the one. "Let me check with my manager and see what he is willing to do. You're asking for a lot, you have to let us make a little money on this, right?" In the end, I paid $10,000 for it, probably not the best deal ever made. I shook on it and promptly felt a little nauseous. It was the biggest purchase I had ever made on my own at that point in my life. Come to think, probably the biggest one I will <i>ever </i>make by myself —in October of that same year Mark and I got married. From then on, all purchases have been made mutually.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiufB-rY9-Hd4X9JBhMoCdZmdL-PWy8fGAWsk0z8jC9IWB49pdHcgnYYOIMfK3N2jKWWv6Aya3bGNVk1SDN8lxManm0cfHTKqKaKlVKcoSCcadQh1rAylH4nyWwVof3KWHVngh3V_33jeE/s1600/CivicBro_Text.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="736" data-original-width="1600" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiufB-rY9-Hd4X9JBhMoCdZmdL-PWy8fGAWsk0z8jC9IWB49pdHcgnYYOIMfK3N2jKWWv6Aya3bGNVk1SDN8lxManm0cfHTKqKaKlVKcoSCcadQh1rAylH4nyWwVof3KWHVngh3V_33jeE/s640/CivicBro_Text.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">From the official Honda Civic brochure, which I still have and will pass on to the new owner. Note the hot 1.5 liter engine. 92 horsepower!</span></td></tr>
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<b>This car has been amazing. </b>It truly is bigger on the inside than it looks on the outside. The back seats flip down flat and it has the capacity of a small truck. We helped friends move, transported bags of soil, loads of lumber, stacks of bricks. We carried a succession of big dogs back and forth to the vet, to the beach, to the lake. We were able to fit two adults, two dogs, a full sized ice chest, sleeping bags and an overnight bag in that car and it still managed to get up the hills to the coast and back. And that was at the ripe old age of twenty-seven.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaxAWtyJcfOLQpSZBGHzEfxODFJ2LqE07CdxqCJsw6NPRVWGSK3zAFIC5UavFWWwxIiN_TpUagRMF3cxUxmxoj7_3OSptB2q3pGW8aRuEEbsVK5XcHM7-7dSd6DvAfQZDbELEIF3yYFAY/s1600/Civic_Engine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaxAWtyJcfOLQpSZBGHzEfxODFJ2LqE07CdxqCJsw6NPRVWGSK3zAFIC5UavFWWwxIiN_TpUagRMF3cxUxmxoj7_3OSptB2q3pGW8aRuEEbsVK5XcHM7-7dSd6DvAfQZDbELEIF3yYFAY/s320/Civic_Engine.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The little engine that could, and still does 28 years later.</span></td></tr>
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<b>If dog years are seven-to-one</b>, what are car years? I'm not sure. I <em>am</em> sure we have the oldest car on the road that is still running on the original clutch and engine, at least that I personally know about. Sure, it leaks a little oil and in a heavy rain, water seeps in through one of the taillights. The throwout bearing has been making a growling noise for a while now, but our mechanic said to wait until the clutch goes out, so he can replace both at once. That was about five years ago. The clutch, so far, has held out.<br />
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<br />
We cleaned it up last weekend, using an entire roll of duct tape to lift generations of dog hair out of the carpets. Mark pulled the ashtray out of the dash and found a tiny sand dollar, the very one we found on the beach on one of the car's first road trips. We had gone to Point Reyes in celebration of the 2nd anniversary of our first date. We decided to leave it in there; somehow it doesn't belong anywhere else.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHTvf6QGnbAUVURuay49cEsewlL6prj3yXEJTHflrfzrulqtJryKhOu6mB6aLbN1BFi5ZLYcgIDpjiPkuzJj0C8QWJUF9sPWVcrKuAcevjNDh_a6bgSE4PpAoyfxfu0jjdXnVFHRdv_oQ/s1600/Civic_Doorhandle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHTvf6QGnbAUVURuay49cEsewlL6prj3yXEJTHflrfzrulqtJryKhOu6mB6aLbN1BFi5ZLYcgIDpjiPkuzJj0C8QWJUF9sPWVcrKuAcevjNDh_a6bgSE4PpAoyfxfu0jjdXnVFHRdv_oQ/s200/Civic_Doorhandle.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">One of the many features of this vehicle is <br />crank windows and non-electric locks. Hey, less to break!</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiih-4bwOSUkkiBPaMk-i3tA6xbTwN4JZ_s1q_DEFcf20Taw_IXSDr4LL7VP9c_eWxrWv25cKAdn85L7CcGxe4HJPbJH0I4WzSXyiM5U24L-1_0rVfyPd439kIagniGrMjk7gp4ed9eThA/s1600/Civic_AirRadio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiih-4bwOSUkkiBPaMk-i3tA6xbTwN4JZ_s1q_DEFcf20Taw_IXSDr4LL7VP9c_eWxrWv25cKAdn85L7CcGxe4HJPbJH0I4WzSXyiM5U24L-1_0rVfyPd439kIagniGrMjk7gp4ed9eThA/s320/Civic_AirRadio.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Custom stereo and high tech heating system. <br />No A/C of course, that's what the crank windows are for.</span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">It's a funny thing.</span></b> When you have something so long it becomes wrapped up with people and events in your life. I've had that car more than half my life. It seems so strange to say that. I remember driving my first dog to the vet one day and getting that dreaded diagnosis: cancer. Up to that point, our dogs always had to stay in the back cargo area. After the appointment, I loaded her up into the passenger seat next to me, face streaming with tears. "No more back seat for you," I promised, "you can ride shotgun from now on." It's strange to think that there is probably a stray hair or two still embedded in the seat from that day.<br />
<br />
The Honda was our carpool car when Mark and I worked together the first seven years of it's life, the car we took to the grocery store, the mall, the airport, the local hiking trails. We crammed family and friends in the back to go to dinner and movies. I gave my father rides to his doctor's appointments when he was seriously ill and drove Mark to the emergency room after a few unfortunate accidents. We arrived to weddings, baby showers, parties and funerals in it. When they saw it around town, friends always knew which one of us was driving by how it took the corners; I'll let you guess who went the fastest.<br />
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<b>In 2006 we decided to get a new car.</b> The Honda was getting up there, and with gas prices rising to $4/gallon it was getting really expensive for Mark to drive the truck back and forth to work. At that point, the Honda became Mark's daily driver. We figured it would last a few more years and we'd eventually look for a small car to replace it, maybe another hatchback that got good mileage. Twelve years later, he finally found what he was looking for, a brand new shiny Ford Focus ST (that stands for Super Terrific, just ask him).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ6lwxzIB5FgSgDROzhd98dJGQjwCoWQ83Hs0P-yO5D0L-Kc_aXGjXScgxDMSWJ80giUxlOE9LEtUzgQ9cqReE0N_UlILthkz7nMIs-HZsU6WWC7-oIX9WtZz8L_K0q9qqhO2VZQ3LmwE/s1600/Civic_Front.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ6lwxzIB5FgSgDROzhd98dJGQjwCoWQ83Hs0P-yO5D0L-Kc_aXGjXScgxDMSWJ80giUxlOE9LEtUzgQ9cqReE0N_UlILthkz7nMIs-HZsU6WWC7-oIX9WtZz8L_K0q9qqhO2VZQ3LmwE/s320/Civic_Front.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The Honda, with the bratty new car lurking in the background.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDHjG6bRx6BLgj0U8dHs7Yy9pPbbp0n7J0Qf9_EGoc0HSP4GQEZtauaZQjMQSvJAzCubEHhoeOp7-ybdfWJm4Qx0EClJ0bEAj9Ly8-LyvCALaPUitoSVQz3acL2SGP4ZoxXnddIC7nWPw/s1600/Civic_Regstickers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDHjG6bRx6BLgj0U8dHs7Yy9pPbbp0n7J0Qf9_EGoc0HSP4GQEZtauaZQjMQSvJAzCubEHhoeOp7-ybdfWJm4Qx0EClJ0bEAj9Ly8-LyvCALaPUitoSVQz3acL2SGP4ZoxXnddIC7nWPw/s200/Civic_Regstickers.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">There are so many registration stickers on the back plate they're a quarter inch thick.</span></td></tr>
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<b>I couldn't bear to turn the Honda over</b> to the state for the rebate. I know it's got more miles left in it, and I know someone with the right state of mind and a light clutch foot will appreciate it as much as we have. We spent the weekend cleaning it out for it's new owner, a guy from my work that lives in the neighborhood. I take comfort in the thought that I'll still see it in the parking lot during the week, and that it will still be tooling around town picking up groceries or going out to the coast. As sad as it is, it's time.<br />
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All I ask is that this new car holds up as well; I expect it to continue running on it's original engine and clutch through 2046, twenty-eight short years. At that point, we'll be faced with a dilemma: find another sporty hatchback (maybe one that flies?) or surrender our driver's license since we'll both be 82 years old by then.<br />
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We'll cross <em>that</em> bridge when we come to it.<br />
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<br />Kelly Templehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16736282169474219178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541208124360896016.post-73343249591551029702018-02-23T17:34:00.000-08:002018-03-02T12:39:35.490-08:00Relief: A Trip to Maui<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>Sometimes things don't go our way. Work is crazy, the weather sucks, it's dark, cold and gloomy and spring seems so far away it doesn't feel we'll live long enough to see it. What do you do when that happens? Eat more? Binge watch Breaking Bad (again)? Pull the covers over your head and set the alarm for April?</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnFRLYkF55hXil8vi5ReA6Pum1NnFIKK8Hcri3CQzqWQsxv2PEstOIOlbO80oYjQjMObQN76stSI6qZTGsCFJlUEvzALT5XWx6cPcnYy3UzqFwpuKAeqkNtzIbXUxR6XlW8i09mdDU54M/s1600/Maui_Palms_Poster+Edges.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="592" data-original-width="1600" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnFRLYkF55hXil8vi5ReA6Pum1NnFIKK8Hcri3CQzqWQsxv2PEstOIOlbO80oYjQjMObQN76stSI6qZTGsCFJlUEvzALT5XWx6cPcnYy3UzqFwpuKAeqkNtzIbXUxR6XlW8i09mdDU54M/s640/Maui_Palms_Poster+Edges.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">After the October fires,</span></b> Mark was buried in non-stop fire recovery at work and getting more and more exhausted and irritable. He was stressed and over-tired, and it was quickly turning into depression and hopelessness. The only thing that seemed to cheer him was talking with our friends about upcoming camping trips, but the earliest of plans were for May of 2018, a whole 6 months away. We needed something more immediate, something to look forward to, somewhere warm and sunny and relaxed. The remedy was obvious.<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><i>Hawaii.</i></span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggMF0E0bu9q_Hlw35JQkhHZi5V4r_g4MnNz1qaKrGpz7sfc-dvpVW2e0fUGdcwnUjOLmj7DgLmtiCYyU-xb_2Wt7bRmt8-reP0MmjCYWyV3w7SrVmudWnaLlEBEPLDAvebrIktI2YM4jU/s1600/Maui_Humu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1411" data-original-width="1600" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggMF0E0bu9q_Hlw35JQkhHZi5V4r_g4MnNz1qaKrGpz7sfc-dvpVW2e0fUGdcwnUjOLmj7DgLmtiCYyU-xb_2Wt7bRmt8-reP0MmjCYWyV3w7SrVmudWnaLlEBEPLDAvebrIktI2YM4jU/s200/Maui_Humu.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Humuhumunukunukuapua'a<br />Hawaii's state fish</span></td></tr>
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<b>Calling the Hawaiian Islands paradise</b> might seem like a cliche, but only to those who've never been. It is without doubt the most relaxing and enjoyable place I have ever visited. A year round temperature range of 72 to 85 degrees, surrounded by warm ocean water and coral reefs teaming with tropical fish. Sleeping with the windows open and feeling the trade winds blow over you as the sound of waves lull you to sleep is truly the best way to relax. Sure, it's expensive, but every now and then there is nothing else that will do.<br />
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<b>Once we made up our minds</b> <b>to go</b> we sat down and made reservations late one December night in a frenzy of web searches and adrenaline that ended with a high five and sigh of relief (pro tip: never book your flight until you've reserved a rental unit, that was a nailbiter!). Oh, and a condo on the beach in Maui for early February.<br />
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<b><i><u><span style="color: purple;">Hawaii Checklist:</span></u></i></b></div>
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<i><span style="color: purple;">Dog sitter</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: purple;">Airline tickets</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: purple;">Airport parking</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: purple;">Rental car</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: purple;">Rental condominium</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: purple;">Rental snorkeling gear</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: purple;">Snorkeling excursion to the island of Lanai</span></i></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVV7up2QTnMCfToaDpsJUjcP6Tr8lk8_dlZJlnAd3Nh_ImjGN0NouMBh_g8OIC3TywMVmAZrD9Q5onsi7mdtZkxiBU21un3Ebr-1M0JXq-8jXWxPlNcg61SkxZVM5HLUuLMU0P6ODSSS0/s1600/Maui_Bloody+Mary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVV7up2QTnMCfToaDpsJUjcP6Tr8lk8_dlZJlnAd3Nh_ImjGN0NouMBh_g8OIC3TywMVmAZrD9Q5onsi7mdtZkxiBU21un3Ebr-1M0JXq-8jXWxPlNcg61SkxZVM5HLUuLMU0P6ODSSS0/s200/Maui_Bloody+Mary.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
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As soon as the details were settled, the anticipation set in. Mark set a countdown clock on his computer at work and sent me screenshots twice a day. We debated getting a new underwater camera. We toyed with getting new swimsuits. We were packed two weeks before our departure. It seemed to take forever, but the day finally came. We took off for the airport at 4:30 on a Saturday morning, where we made it in time to have the ceremonial over-priced Bloody Mary at the airport bar before our plane loaded.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj59Ez2CI1MH_vXT-OBWatX6CLkBJaBEe9aHynDSjCSqOcKgT3YypUf2IQiMjBwaJ9n8-EoGLsKg26M8ANBXAMW0epe6qO3wofR509fxzG3BN-17FNKFWVDaKmOZUaa9RD5SSxGf44pebk/s1600/Maui_ktdive.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1489" data-original-width="1600" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj59Ez2CI1MH_vXT-OBWatX6CLkBJaBEe9aHynDSjCSqOcKgT3YypUf2IQiMjBwaJ9n8-EoGLsKg26M8ANBXAMW0epe6qO3wofR509fxzG3BN-17FNKFWVDaKmOZUaa9RD5SSxGf44pebk/s200/Maui_ktdive.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">We spent a glorious week tooling around the island of Maui</span></b> in our rented jeep, visiting all the best snorkeling spots we had found on the last trip and finding new ones, always finishing the day at <a href="http://www.ululanishawaiianshaveice.com/">Ululani's Shave Ice</a> shop for some frosty treats. We went out to dinner a few times, but mostly cooked for ourselves on the shared barbecue grills at the condo (food there is very expensive, and a nice dinner out for two with drinks and dessert can easily put you back $200).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEtzFv-6AtAb20TM8GkMnxdltCTMeqhH8SKMSjirSuBYUMo7M7x8Zk035DSNHrRTOce1tVQqXpjt2Paw4tLSzjQrp6YMo1iOcpfDMZKGMYVbSPw5lfpbEhnLv1xOvCidbW-RmxIVR2tls/s1600/Maui_Bubbas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEtzFv-6AtAb20TM8GkMnxdltCTMeqhH8SKMSjirSuBYUMo7M7x8Zk035DSNHrRTOce1tVQqXpjt2Paw4tLSzjQrp6YMo1iOcpfDMZKGMYVbSPw5lfpbEhnLv1xOvCidbW-RmxIVR2tls/s320/Maui_Bubbas.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Food trucks are another option.<br />This one was excellent; a full day of snorkeling makes for a hungry belly.</span></td></tr>
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<b>Although the Big Island of Hawaii</b> is our favorite, we chose Maui because of the proximity to the humpback whales. Every year between January and March, hundreds of humpback whales go to Hawaii to have their young and raise them until they are big and strong enough to go to feeding grounds in Alaska and the Bering Sea. It's an incredible sight to see the whales breaching and tail slapping, right from the beach. We saw them from above out the airplane window on our flight in, watched them from our condo's lawn, heard them "talk" while snorkeling. It's amazing, exciting and humbling to see these giants out there, especially up close from a small boat.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw3uyWfR1ibcWxUt1dFmFt7HxeMas_tGDbbvL45yf6gL1mLtMZLhQFQU3k5f5D2A1aKKZxTX6NORdNiJxlWOGNyT5LqvgTY_2pe7xrw3uuB6tMtQ5qE7x6I8OjE-tu2Jp5LwzxWT8vqCI/s1600/Maui_MarkTail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw3uyWfR1ibcWxUt1dFmFt7HxeMas_tGDbbvL45yf6gL1mLtMZLhQFQU3k5f5D2A1aKKZxTX6NORdNiJxlWOGNyT5LqvgTY_2pe7xrw3uuB6tMtQ5qE7x6I8OjE-tu2Jp5LwzxWT8vqCI/s320/Maui_MarkTail.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Snorkeling is really our main pursuit when in Hawaii.</span></b> Mark is SCUBA certified and has been diving in the frigid waters off our coast since he was a teen, but that experience is nothing compared to the tropical waters of the South Pacific. The water is clear and warm, the fish are more colorful and plentiful, and come on, sea turtles? whales? How can you beat that? We grabbed a quick breakfast and were on the beach most mornings by 8:00am, donning our fins and masks and running into the surf. We came away with hundreds of pictures; I won't bore you with all of them, but here are a few:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG7Mp9sWnk_Av9mLha6nwZVpUpcnq9jAD8lAkPIPNajA6SjCzXtaT5hoSTcTMinwD2VYe28AR8LCeE7eq4gGY9U1ceGMqrw_1tcRbP6l0h7_3uiSGecp3kjW57ysFV1608YS31SmEuuqs/s1600/Maui_Eel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="987" data-original-width="1600" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG7Mp9sWnk_Av9mLha6nwZVpUpcnq9jAD8lAkPIPNajA6SjCzXtaT5hoSTcTMinwD2VYe28AR8LCeE7eq4gGY9U1ceGMqrw_1tcRbP6l0h7_3uiSGecp3kjW57ysFV1608YS31SmEuuqs/s400/Maui_Eel.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">An eel hunts for lunch in the reef.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtlcHptXZjvI3_JPpyAAht-bJN-jQECC5s4ZG34QK6sT_c9K3xyT1Bhv61y6hzY2KI60GzLVMI9KgqaXjJY1Ffm2FBFn5yLYcgNVyGK4EGqjXMSigJJlPxS24jLOgHlQ53r2ezvgjZF40/s1600/Maui_Blackfish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: blue;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtlcHptXZjvI3_JPpyAAht-bJN-jQECC5s4ZG34QK6sT_c9K3xyT1Bhv61y6hzY2KI60GzLVMI9KgqaXjJY1Ffm2FBFn5yLYcgNVyGK4EGqjXMSigJJlPxS24jLOgHlQ53r2ezvgjZF40/s400/Maui_Blackfish.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The reefs around Maui are teaming with fish. Every day we saw something new.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig3vnQq3fckoP8Qqx28COXl9zUDvnl2Cvs9aNTV8Mxkq-Z1LDq7hohjO5Z35NPYgtGAAvJcDymZsxlQHSE_lYqPmBDnsoONh4pQ_HDDWImhoIJuBapFpQAjwpNq6TCnwtYP1627N644mo/s1600/Maui_urchins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig3vnQq3fckoP8Qqx28COXl9zUDvnl2Cvs9aNTV8Mxkq-Z1LDq7hohjO5Z35NPYgtGAAvJcDymZsxlQHSE_lYqPmBDnsoONh4pQ_HDDWImhoIJuBapFpQAjwpNq6TCnwtYP1627N644mo/s400/Maui_urchins.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">These urchins actually eat into the coral, creating weird patterns.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe_LPy78rbBfx-PU6Qwlx6HmPPF24JeJfI8jHwo879oB6MpyR42cXc9ISWEqt0Mdc3jrGVj0FJpa-IQzjnfWmzZtz5mWpBIiW-grcXViTJI293UaTB2uAnbeRz8lYIROkaSmx4s3_pqeo/s1600/Maui_Fish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe_LPy78rbBfx-PU6Qwlx6HmPPF24JeJfI8jHwo879oB6MpyR42cXc9ISWEqt0Mdc3jrGVj0FJpa-IQzjnfWmzZtz5mWpBIiW-grcXViTJI293UaTB2uAnbeRz8lYIROkaSmx4s3_pqeo/s400/Maui_Fish.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Convict fish</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBbS3Xx7jZFKCHUJFvuNJHAq4is7JO9Tzx8HvgyFsrDJbfOP6_fOUO2TRgCySypk9ka14c_vmQoGnEGpwth43DrsZCwjxsvM1vdP4DmVQjeDlQCeEyULE-zfxxLVnkMqcAVhJS-F2HM74/s1600/Maui_Spotted+eel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1281" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBbS3Xx7jZFKCHUJFvuNJHAq4is7JO9Tzx8HvgyFsrDJbfOP6_fOUO2TRgCySypk9ka14c_vmQoGnEGpwth43DrsZCwjxsvM1vdP4DmVQjeDlQCeEyULE-zfxxLVnkMqcAVhJS-F2HM74/s400/Maui_Spotted+eel.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">A Spotted Moray eel tries to intimidate the camera</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLQnuMfzpNgIRYwqBz3GmD4kdR6eQ-AZmch_nlO9TJOjRYDM8BVAG3JGkc97VJtP4V30icVUsOosvvDW249oDOZ5_8r5i3m82rt3Gfr84qFRWO9oUIhxDg53-PHYMac5S8U8nAdLfrA2k/s1600/Maui_Boxfish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLQnuMfzpNgIRYwqBz3GmD4kdR6eQ-AZmch_nlO9TJOjRYDM8BVAG3JGkc97VJtP4V30icVUsOosvvDW249oDOZ5_8r5i3m82rt3Gfr84qFRWO9oUIhxDg53-PHYMac5S8U8nAdLfrA2k/s400/Maui_Boxfish.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">A Boxfish wanders around</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIiuyY0jSYQk98pr2vkGuG3aBpykwmcGDJ_IJ9342c_y3tjrj6RgWlit_4qqm02_DQDZFv-vd_g4hyUfgwQLt9dOw3kSbSZN9F_3kY1LlOTPhZdjqkQP9wFmftrgUT7BWL4QcbuYHVHeo/s1600/Maui_Shark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIiuyY0jSYQk98pr2vkGuG3aBpykwmcGDJ_IJ9342c_y3tjrj6RgWlit_4qqm02_DQDZFv-vd_g4hyUfgwQLt9dOw3kSbSZN9F_3kY1LlOTPhZdjqkQP9wFmftrgUT7BWL4QcbuYHVHeo/s400/Maui_Shark.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Mark chased this White Tipped Reef shark trying to get a better photo.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKYgxli6loZ9OuYNom3uVqULTL23YG5w2qax1ljtkCi85AqHiKw8wFQ82oCJWL-XxqBWrMjEaeQo_LmQUH32532de0jGJtBRhA0IYSYG_ge70m9aMLWHbBFxv5L2KfrusQV3QsohhpoOg/s1600/Maui_Shark2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1079" data-original-width="1600" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKYgxli6loZ9OuYNom3uVqULTL23YG5w2qax1ljtkCi85AqHiKw8wFQ82oCJWL-XxqBWrMjEaeQo_LmQUH32532de0jGJtBRhA0IYSYG_ge70m9aMLWHbBFxv5L2KfrusQV3QsohhpoOg/s400/Maui_Shark2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">He assured me they weren't too dangerous. <br />I guess he was right, since he still has all his limbs.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZo_tK95md3IQGI06PgJSROnDd6PtjMJDrn1B3W-hq0Dd-qu_jmU77V0qrHQIQtlT0sy-P_n6ixA0GiZRxN1dvrTKaXFIEIoAqI3o7rA8gUOVWLmODN5xP5SoHs5tmV2EBAoAwtOXe1_A/s1600/Maui_Shell+on+bottom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZo_tK95md3IQGI06PgJSROnDd6PtjMJDrn1B3W-hq0Dd-qu_jmU77V0qrHQIQtlT0sy-P_n6ixA0GiZRxN1dvrTKaXFIEIoAqI3o7rA8gUOVWLmODN5xP5SoHs5tmV2EBAoAwtOXe1_A/s400/Maui_Shell+on+bottom.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">We found this large conch laying on the reef floor. <br />It looked like something had torn it from it's moorings, but the snail was still inside.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0vY9hBt91Ek6cfq1xyJ-sSKRYZRvPOZbtKcA804LQa04Pn9TrnISohXTmEMCUnobndcQQKS13RBIZVhzb2knthF1ozCMcbzQlJb8Z5_lo71GElGnLftB7Ymz1sOHH3ODpVs_AIEH-bh8/s1600/Maui_Shell+in+hand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0vY9hBt91Ek6cfq1xyJ-sSKRYZRvPOZbtKcA804LQa04Pn9TrnISohXTmEMCUnobndcQQKS13RBIZVhzb2knthF1ozCMcbzQlJb8Z5_lo71GElGnLftB7Ymz1sOHH3ODpVs_AIEH-bh8/s400/Maui_Shell+in+hand.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Here's the view from the top.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDkirYKWOXYXk6_qz8-TRtROLw18VgCwxwNG7CkqiCxRnA3zURUrHCpiu0J_xhj1LwwAQMVAMu6hGEMqxKiVYk_Ck40FADDPx37kJqWH1167rfl9gSgxKFDPAS4hnlrIHJFAZKovVb2bo/s1600/Maui_Turtle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDkirYKWOXYXk6_qz8-TRtROLw18VgCwxwNG7CkqiCxRnA3zURUrHCpiu0J_xhj1LwwAQMVAMu6hGEMqxKiVYk_Ck40FADDPx37kJqWH1167rfl9gSgxKFDPAS4hnlrIHJFAZKovVb2bo/s640/Maui_Turtle.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Green Sea turtles were everywhere. Being a protected endangered species, you're not supposed to bother them. That said, they have really bad eyesight so sometimes they swim right up to you. I was once rear-ended by one —</span><span style="color: blue;"> scared the crap out of me.</span></td></tr>
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<i>A little video of a curious green sea turtle that swam by us. Listen carefully and you'll hear the humpback whales talking in the background:</i><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">We splurged on a boat trip around Lanai,</span></b> the closest in the Hawaiian island chain to Maui. Lanai is much less crowded, and has some stunning sea cliffs and coral reefs surrounding it. The only way to get there is an expensive plane ride (or private jet), ferry, or one of these excursions. Although the wind didn't cooperate that day, we did get in some snorkeling and a front row seat to the whales.<br />
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<i>See below for a short video taken from the boat. Sorry for the shaky camera work; the boat was tiny, the whales enormous, and the water rough:</i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9cdcNYf8DuodpFl0iUEZ9hLfs-vYEy3ChqfMwsTyWQQ2FrH_Lh12IO-inCTDn5qKa89tQGi1cmCRIW2cwEEzOuhUp9mkeTUZiNthQ2oqhgbpdeB7UGbq7SGyywhtDM5sjKAvc1CSZYrA/s1600/Maui_Lanai+stacks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: blue;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9cdcNYf8DuodpFl0iUEZ9hLfs-vYEy3ChqfMwsTyWQQ2FrH_Lh12IO-inCTDn5qKa89tQGi1cmCRIW2cwEEzOuhUp9mkeTUZiNthQ2oqhgbpdeB7UGbq7SGyywhtDM5sjKAvc1CSZYrA/s320/Maui_Lanai+stacks.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The wind was really blowing that day. It made for a rough ride but dramatic photos.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYeA3ugcQ8YZBsukZz3S45Cv27QgZNbdPWBbtZwxnCXJHjsActCyUraCsJi5XSGsyN-Hx8iNpRgTLwMI2M-MfF8tgMV9VfC72LpjaL8XdKP0GuezA2lsiabSISTmiML25I_Zdz0Gg5Yxs/s1600/Maui_LanaiCliffs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYeA3ugcQ8YZBsukZz3S45Cv27QgZNbdPWBbtZwxnCXJHjsActCyUraCsJi5XSGsyN-Hx8iNpRgTLwMI2M-MfF8tgMV9VfC72LpjaL8XdKP0GuezA2lsiabSISTmiML25I_Zdz0Gg5Yxs/s320/Maui_LanaiCliffs.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The sea cliffs on the west side of Lanai are beautiful.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeciV4JDuN1Aqhl9RTkecbpyVG6NGlz7Ii1c-B8W8bMb_NGHCODhhjIA1BF-UMYVLiQe6zZV8C4w-Nuexb7kMlSwxxFpf0_2AFSh86V9eFGThxO_jLPLcZk7HokniQdng_9zuphU2Iw1Y/s1600/Maui_Ship.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeciV4JDuN1Aqhl9RTkecbpyVG6NGlz7Ii1c-B8W8bMb_NGHCODhhjIA1BF-UMYVLiQe6zZV8C4w-Nuexb7kMlSwxxFpf0_2AFSh86V9eFGThxO_jLPLcZk7HokniQdng_9zuphU2Iw1Y/s400/Maui_Ship.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The north side of Lanai has many WWII ships that were intentionally grounded here when no longer needed.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsrIilFNDOGCfGBYEmUW0RWRtv2kNjnbBy9VR9DQU_cWZYsswAHO1l0npPL34Z86X5nqIFplxDxmQkmMNxJJ8LaNKdjuNWeT8aBokMTxYHljweQe-4ojcHNnn-793ipxS5S0H-mlpsW8Q/s1600/Maui_Liberty+front.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsrIilFNDOGCfGBYEmUW0RWRtv2kNjnbBy9VR9DQU_cWZYsswAHO1l0npPL34Z86X5nqIFplxDxmQkmMNxJJ8LaNKdjuNWeT8aBokMTxYHljweQe-4ojcHNnn-793ipxS5S0H-mlpsW8Q/s320/Maui_Liberty+front.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The front of a concrete Liberty ship that broke free of it's moorings and ended up here.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_7QiH0EOK7Xv-hYEpxln_B9DVRc8jQ0eTG81CRwaHytafXBaExJ9QtGMdoSDSMJQfAqQM9OzIvQvcnfSxHz9XCHONlzgIETT69twvXKZrvOcby47eW3FPzrSX1laFrizNb5R6LXvaPpk/s1600/Maui_Liberty+back.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_7QiH0EOK7Xv-hYEpxln_B9DVRc8jQ0eTG81CRwaHytafXBaExJ9QtGMdoSDSMJQfAqQM9OzIvQvcnfSxHz9XCHONlzgIETT69twvXKZrvOcby47eW3FPzrSX1laFrizNb5R6LXvaPpk/s320/Maui_Liberty+back.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The back. You can see how the waves have broken away the concrete, leaving the rusting rebar exposed.</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjapZe6PQVRz47170_V4krY3r5oh-u8PmObRldNTi87k45acwnGIa1Ou-s6V-eMwTxGGr3xu6TqOrpC4m7UD1HbB7lnBL28isTE0NEfTiaBHLyT1IYrwhAv1OOzjmv8PMahQGefXIw0Q4I/s1600/Maui_Mark+Heli.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjapZe6PQVRz47170_V4krY3r5oh-u8PmObRldNTi87k45acwnGIa1Ou-s6V-eMwTxGGr3xu6TqOrpC4m7UD1HbB7lnBL28isTE0NEfTiaBHLyT1IYrwhAv1OOzjmv8PMahQGefXIw0Q4I/s200/Maui_Mark+Heli.jpg" width="150" /></a><b>About halfway through our trip,</b> we received an email with a surprise message. We were being gifted a helicopter tour, something we had thought about doing before but could never justify the cost. Our excitement was confirmed from the moment we sat down in the front seat, the closest to a bird's eye view of the island you can get.<br />
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Our pilot Dylan was so laid back we worried he might be medicated. I think living in Hawaii will do that to a person; even Mark was relaxed about everything, including two trips during which his motion sickness could have been a real buzz kill (he was fine by the way, thanks to <a href="https://bonine.com/">Bonine</a>).<br />
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Our trip included a ride through the canyons of north Maui, then up the coast of Molokai. On our way across the channel between islands, we saw more whales and Dylan lowered and circled the helicopter so we could get a better look.<br />
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Although it is an expensive excursion, if you can swing it I highly recommend it. It really is a view of Hawaii you can't get any other way.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhl0t6AOUSNEvL4YHBgkvzJLXzi8e5ZMWvrgXP9kQyWGRr-KjF7wAGHDZjDfheOFx1mWiYHGEbtQiNj0shJcNf1SnC9OCckO8wp2YRk3pt-fNziwVzl35qjM7ebpNjP38UBsHqszBcDVk/s1600/Maui_HeliLanding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhl0t6AOUSNEvL4YHBgkvzJLXzi8e5ZMWvrgXP9kQyWGRr-KjF7wAGHDZjDfheOFx1mWiYHGEbtQiNj0shJcNf1SnC9OCckO8wp2YRk3pt-fNziwVzl35qjM7ebpNjP38UBsHqszBcDVk/s320/Maui_HeliLanding.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Dylan was kind enough to take our picture together. <br />Of course, the helicopter photobombed us.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrNXiB8czOPW7WMZu9lp6u2EvwdjmO6o9wRYdQUF5aJwtlxXB529fAfA5IRyYgzu8Qk8LTd_HU7HialIdNxRd-5jyxLrV24HSmwn-eCjWhqP0b6AfhRSvgdnVp7MyDV_Qgu0YSYzxvsDI/s1600/Maui_Kahului.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrNXiB8czOPW7WMZu9lp6u2EvwdjmO6o9wRYdQUF5aJwtlxXB529fAfA5IRyYgzu8Qk8LTd_HU7HialIdNxRd-5jyxLrV24HSmwn-eCjWhqP0b6AfhRSvgdnVp7MyDV_Qgu0YSYzxvsDI/s640/Maui_Kahului.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Taking off from the Kahului heliport.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEUa4H7yga6e9p4qIYTq4ORg8e1xAqk-cg-Rb5NVeDWNz2-gYKL4zUiMr9cxJL49Q-IntE2jKmgQ9gKbd8WAINQI_jqyCbsi0AJArUlW9pr95OG9bm9xBFXQXrdm-8Ua85gs1g9YWYDcc/s1600/Maui_Molokai+cliffs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEUa4H7yga6e9p4qIYTq4ORg8e1xAqk-cg-Rb5NVeDWNz2-gYKL4zUiMr9cxJL49Q-IntE2jKmgQ9gKbd8WAINQI_jqyCbsi0AJArUlW9pr95OG9bm9xBFXQXrdm-8Ua85gs1g9YWYDcc/s400/Maui_Molokai+cliffs.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">It was cloudy, but it made for a more dramatic photos. <br />The cliffs of Molokai are the tallest sea cliffs in the world, some up to 3900'</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDBxW10imjPLOsF-r1sM9Xa_21ZZ_U_2QJ3i-3USJ-umEx31ZEnF_xUF3JDk4hk4wFRwB2v4DxXtB8AndYxBnzDGeD-iqr0PeIrIMqjBG4KqOxbK3zTcfAX6oTKZXLCV6dO8ttGvjRqBI/s1600/Maui_Molokai+reef.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDBxW10imjPLOsF-r1sM9Xa_21ZZ_U_2QJ3i-3USJ-umEx31ZEnF_xUF3JDk4hk4wFRwB2v4DxXtB8AndYxBnzDGeD-iqr0PeIrIMqjBG4KqOxbK3zTcfAX6oTKZXLCV6dO8ttGvjRqBI/s400/Maui_Molokai+reef.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Molokai is also home to a 25 mile long coral reef. Since the island is sparsely populated and gets comparatively few visitors, the reefs are in pristine condition. We are planning our next Hawaiian adventure there.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiShvXERMKQ-QvZRwXMLz1JhdWEw3n7q4AavgN2jawsnJ5BbHcrXXm-QzrJo2EbPn9CPsrPzK8qSZ6gXyyIUkpubiy2JUL9YZXVMttc1msOpFCBQCHyeSdVEKFD29yTIgNq75km2oefqYg/s1600/Maui_DylanMark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiShvXERMKQ-QvZRwXMLz1JhdWEw3n7q4AavgN2jawsnJ5BbHcrXXm-QzrJo2EbPn9CPsrPzK8qSZ6gXyyIUkpubiy2JUL9YZXVMttc1msOpFCBQCHyeSdVEKFD29yTIgNq75km2oefqYg/s400/Maui_DylanMark.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">We landed on the north shore of Maui. Here Mark is talking with pilot Dylan about helicopters. Mark came away from this trip with a new goal: get a helicopter pilot license. God help me.</span></td></tr>
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<i>Here's a little video from the trip, flying along the cliffs of Molokai's north shore:</i><br />
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<b>There are other things to do that don't involve swimming.</b> We spent one rainy day walking around the <a href="https://mauioceancenter.com/">Maui Ocean Center</a>, a nice little aquarium. While it's geared for kids, we learned a lot talking with the workers about the difference between urchins types and asking about some of the fish we had seen snorkeling.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRNRYGWn7Gtkt4jbC-XvNNaruvu9wsi4-azjcBMPgfJR8Sdz7RRNDREZEY3sEtGV_cdiEgZN5uHU9aNmIImRhd05lw0vX2ivN0EM2eK8HhjcLSfHCrY4JF6MT2mQF56V6dr7wwkAmedgQ/s1600/Maui_Jaws.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1199" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRNRYGWn7Gtkt4jbC-XvNNaruvu9wsi4-azjcBMPgfJR8Sdz7RRNDREZEY3sEtGV_cdiEgZN5uHU9aNmIImRhd05lw0vX2ivN0EM2eK8HhjcLSfHCrY4JF6MT2mQF56V6dr7wwkAmedgQ/s320/Maui_Jaws.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Of course Mark had to risk life and limb again, but made it out unscathed.<br />Maui Ocean Center</span></td></tr>
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We also spent some time walking around the <a href="https://www.fws.gov/refuge/kealia_pond/">Kealia Pond Refuge</a>. In the winter, this natural pond fills and attracts migrant birds and native shore birds. There's a new walkway that leads out across the pond, getting you closer to nesting sites and the birds themselves. It was a nice way to spend an afternoon.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin1vhCqePzXoyJg7RuxGqobBxXFEo0vn84aDkzA8jW_wQJz6g95zXEAU1MsPJdMNCK0uPL1mQrmIbuEG7KVwvG0xQGSBG_mi_DusVtXV9Vw0SEz2ObxbSjGdDL2nVolDrDasn03r2cZ0g/s1600/Maui_Boardwalk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin1vhCqePzXoyJg7RuxGqobBxXFEo0vn84aDkzA8jW_wQJz6g95zXEAU1MsPJdMNCK0uPL1mQrmIbuEG7KVwvG0xQGSBG_mi_DusVtXV9Vw0SEz2ObxbSjGdDL2nVolDrDasn03r2cZ0g/s320/Maui_Boardwalk.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The boardwalk had benches and information panels built along the way.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3vNvqjmbis6FUPPthgc-o202STIZ7XEwW6XOJqdHZvdezvK976GriW-LCe-WFxv96G_PxtfakpQJv5FZyKrBl1Fi8vEzZVl3zgsNyd4uoInv3rlGGIxhm3ux43GVFQlLVSOtUfmfhmDg/s1600/Maui_NightHeronFishing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3vNvqjmbis6FUPPthgc-o202STIZ7XEwW6XOJqdHZvdezvK976GriW-LCe-WFxv96G_PxtfakpQJv5FZyKrBl1Fi8vEzZVl3zgsNyd4uoInv3rlGGIxhm3ux43GVFQlLVSOtUfmfhmDg/s400/Maui_NightHeronFishing.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Black crown night heron hunt for small fish in the stream leading out to the ocean.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAL4RSkuqfU2Kge2D66mUK0W-xHz-CVxYWwYliXdv7kggjeXeC67yN_CYzclsR19NLqCURkburpYkm83EwDUbJi3A-d7m-JxuJ5AbAqkyOiMLvJ9uUn93B53AmcPb-jFePasQ65rAS6e0/s1600/Maui_Heron.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: blue;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAL4RSkuqfU2Kge2D66mUK0W-xHz-CVxYWwYliXdv7kggjeXeC67yN_CYzclsR19NLqCURkburpYkm83EwDUbJi3A-d7m-JxuJ5AbAqkyOiMLvJ9uUn93B53AmcPb-jFePasQ65rAS6e0/s400/Maui_Heron.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">These white egrets are not native to the islands, but they're ubiquitous around Maui. You see them following the gardeners as they mow the lawns around the resorts, picking at the freshly mown grass for insects. It's amazing more don't get run over, they follow so closely.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtwX9G5i_IkVpI1hYtuNvoJz2j7hP4fWc5G-dSzbuNhE5eXV-tyBZhl7epjhLeeZXsC3jj0X1rIUXP1JDAd7MCuq2xMlbH8VaVPg0d-zF3ui0Fqy0awlKeN0HA_jeITM9Eei1XpJfv4vw/s1600/Maui_Pond.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtwX9G5i_IkVpI1hYtuNvoJz2j7hP4fWc5G-dSzbuNhE5eXV-tyBZhl7epjhLeeZXsC3jj0X1rIUXP1JDAd7MCuq2xMlbH8VaVPg0d-zF3ui0Fqy0awlKeN0HA_jeITM9Eei1XpJfv4vw/s320/Maui_Pond.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The pond was full from all the rain Maui had gotten in the last few weeks.</span></td></tr>
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<b>We were rained out one day</b> so we decided to take a little road trip to the <a href="https://hawaiistateparks.org/parks/maui/%CA%BBiao-valley-state-monument/">Iao Valley State Monument</a>. When I say rain, what I really mean is RAIN. Hawaii is surrounded by warm ocean water, and when the trade winds don't blow in their normal fashion, the clouds suck up moisture from the ocean and gather right over the island, where they unleash a torrent of water. The volcanic soil doesn't hold a lot, and the steep mountains funnel everything back down to the sea. The streams became rivers, the roads flooded over, and it was chaos that morning. But it was warm so it didn't stop us from running around in our shorts and t-shirts, giggling like school children. It also didn't hurt that we had rented a relatively high clearance jeep, so driving through the ever deepening puddles in the road was not a problem.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKAoXy9LVpm4oin8ZN9I8cJ7U0cDaeJKrWKWZaYTy2oNjw6Vy3JjVUCGSD9oCPmELKJS0FZdletDbCZt8xPJKcB91UVaxyCu0azVVzJ3Uy52E9Se6amx5coB_bpV_AbDtA4gCDQdJRb_M/s1600/Maui_Iao+Plaque.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKAoXy9LVpm4oin8ZN9I8cJ7U0cDaeJKrWKWZaYTy2oNjw6Vy3JjVUCGSD9oCPmELKJS0FZdletDbCZt8xPJKcB91UVaxyCu0azVVzJ3Uy52E9Se6amx5coB_bpV_AbDtA4gCDQdJRb_M/s320/Maui_Iao+Plaque.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Iao Valley has a sad history.</b> </span>It was here that King Kamehameha fought a battle with the ruler of Maui. He brought a huge army and cannons, which he used to kill so many of the opposing forces the bodies dammed up the stream as the women and children watched from the cliffs above. Kamehameha eventually won, taking over control of Maui and eventually the entire Hawaiian island chain.<br />
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It's a pretty park, with gardens and demonstration plantings of taro. There's a little covered hut at the end of the trail in case you get caught in a rain storm. We made good use of it this trip.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggaLZO5mh2KmuZsFKpAyTCiT7Vz4g909nLftzEZtHaNex8Cyijt957qGxt1FwZjDp-QiPbF70mNynUIJZDPjOFB9_b4Uld5sXsMDcQnSOWIgyaS2a_CvfNS9zYw7Sqf074WXcT8nj_HCs/s1600/Maui_Iao+Waterfalls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: blue;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggaLZO5mh2KmuZsFKpAyTCiT7Vz4g909nLftzEZtHaNex8Cyijt957qGxt1FwZjDp-QiPbF70mNynUIJZDPjOFB9_b4Uld5sXsMDcQnSOWIgyaS2a_CvfNS9zYw7Sqf074WXcT8nj_HCs/s320/Maui_Iao+Waterfalls.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">There were waterfalls in every crevice of the park.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDSnpSooXtU8Mk3TkAqQ0auPzBj3RWQx4jIALp32ueAdLPe7oQQG_oMhzoiaT7bzAeCSw8Ps3KWXkC9O4LOwy-uXG7nWaPtuz1-5t_0PTvHtiU7yJpX_f38fkzDXxzKJuVqqGat1AMsq4/s1600/Maui_Iao+Streams.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDSnpSooXtU8Mk3TkAqQ0auPzBj3RWQx4jIALp32ueAdLPe7oQQG_oMhzoiaT7bzAeCSw8Ps3KWXkC9O4LOwy-uXG7nWaPtuz1-5t_0PTvHtiU7yJpX_f38fkzDXxzKJuVqqGat1AMsq4/s320/Maui_Iao+Streams.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The streams were more like rivers that day.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiorolbderVRSVmEfUeLk6xnVZ9IJ6oVF53XrDqf1h5jtKPrdDSMlcC6Tj5FU1jouviISfnOuw6F_l-zGB0Nwvrl9s2j3WQEVJVxu2v7mgPYy7dHzKy51xCTEfmfggFj6xl9kFWCmh9edE/s1600/Maui_Iao+cliffs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiorolbderVRSVmEfUeLk6xnVZ9IJ6oVF53XrDqf1h5jtKPrdDSMlcC6Tj5FU1jouviISfnOuw6F_l-zGB0Nwvrl9s2j3WQEVJVxu2v7mgPYy7dHzKy51xCTEfmfggFj6xl9kFWCmh9edE/s400/Maui_Iao+cliffs.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The ravines of the valley were filled with rain clouds</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHkcUFalcqJnRkl_y87aPJy3bJx_O42x_4lw6COum0KEMPszy-eZqPHXGtICbgkEk2XJ6Qa97gSph9bfG8GIUL7a2AGSicg35noTBaUEbB5rHO7aT5j6U0l7zlH-WCPdJIfRYRsU3ahyphenhyphen8/s1600/Maui_Iao+Garden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHkcUFalcqJnRkl_y87aPJy3bJx_O42x_4lw6COum0KEMPszy-eZqPHXGtICbgkEk2XJ6Qa97gSph9bfG8GIUL7a2AGSicg35noTBaUEbB5rHO7aT5j6U0l7zlH-WCPdJIfRYRsU3ahyphenhyphen8/s400/Maui_Iao+Garden.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The gardens, a little waterlogged.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDZdy121yUZWZcRABKN1ewE2k7kcpg-3MC5T0TSEi9vEh3mMO48Ng2SkQh9ulewEkAYXFMMIskZjjmCYHPgxYSOUl48svG_E3jFlElLSnJCvSbk63Z3hk0eJQAhBWm7HDuIYgWs5H2rGw/s1600/Maui_Taro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDZdy121yUZWZcRABKN1ewE2k7kcpg-3MC5T0TSEi9vEh3mMO48Ng2SkQh9ulewEkAYXFMMIskZjjmCYHPgxYSOUl48svG_E3jFlElLSnJCvSbk63Z3hk0eJQAhBWm7HDuIYgWs5H2rGw/s320/Maui_Taro.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Taro, up close</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqE3B-CHMD8LSjNwMhyphenhyphen406OoddPnaAl106Wq_AzsUJxBg7cHOkUrnK_4XWwJOYXRANS_lfejSahkoOBZdzd0QcF4DbZuafVSuTqav7S2zUz2aSklaYJ5KjadpdSxMYJp52t9zwU2OgttI/s1600/Maui_Iao+Needle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqE3B-CHMD8LSjNwMhyphenhyphen406OoddPnaAl106Wq_AzsUJxBg7cHOkUrnK_4XWwJOYXRANS_lfejSahkoOBZdzd0QcF4DbZuafVSuTqav7S2zUz2aSklaYJ5KjadpdSxMYJp52t9zwU2OgttI/s400/Maui_Iao+Needle.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The Iao Needle</span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">This trip was probably the most necessary thing </span></b>we've ever spent hard earned money on. By the time we boarded the plane home we had shed every worry that had seemed so overwhelming when we left; Mark had plans to become a helicopter pilot, I had the outline of a roving bakery business going in my head and we were ready to sell the house and move to the islands. Perhaps not realistic, but a dream that will (hopefully) sustain us until the next time we make it back to the Hawaiian Islands.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSR27ruvVDuF4Fp9ABpFMP1tp-_z2arC-6h1lR7awsVxuV0TwxD5eg5q-3AAv32T4dfG0ZEqSobE6kJrvaIkp2DK1ULp37xwitHRkyZEQQ0xTEQ-wmow0fPIWCEx3xCR96Hy-FXWJ46iE/s1600/Maui_Sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSR27ruvVDuF4Fp9ABpFMP1tp-_z2arC-6h1lR7awsVxuV0TwxD5eg5q-3AAv32T4dfG0ZEqSobE6kJrvaIkp2DK1ULp37xwitHRkyZEQQ0xTEQ-wmow0fPIWCEx3xCR96Hy-FXWJ46iE/s640/Maui_Sunset.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: blue;">A hui kaua (until we meet again)</span></i></td></tr>
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<br />Kelly Templehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16736282169474219178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541208124360896016.post-42695957129538481112017-12-31T15:44:00.001-08:002018-01-02T10:46:14.454-08:002018: Do A Good Turn Daily<b><span style="font-size: large;">I got one of my favorite Christmas gifts</span></b> <b><span style="font-size: large;">of all time this year:</span></b> a letter from my 12 year old father.<br />
<br />
Hear me out.<br />
<br />
After my father died, my Mom eventually moved into a smaller house. It didn't make sense for her to be living in a five bedroom home all by herself, and we thought it would be nice to have her closer to where her kids were living in case she needed anything. Unfortunately, having a five bedroom home meant five bedrooms (plus living, family and dining rooms and a large workshop) worth of stuff to pack. It was overwhelming at the time, but after many trips to Goodwill and a giant garage sale, we were able to fit her into the two bedroom home in which she now resides. During that process, whenever we came across anything sentimental that we couldn't bear to throw away, we tossed it into a "keeper" box. Then another. Pretty soon we had a stack of these boxes, but with no time to go through them they ended up in my brother's garage to be perused at another time.<br />
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That was in 2006.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">For Christmas this year,</span></b> my brother found something for each of us from those boxes and put it in our stockings. I received this letter:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSJV-npZlO_a67kuSzb2faELVrwiRnInXnoifvlAgDNEw9X_H-222ktIfERaqX4-PEhpFenwtkEFmyW1-N54gHB-UoHEypDvFszQ3MixQXTDU1kMNpPFxG-M6TGNccQAdzn7QNnjIdl20/s1600/BSofAletter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1165" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSJV-npZlO_a67kuSzb2faELVrwiRnInXnoifvlAgDNEw9X_H-222ktIfERaqX4-PEhpFenwtkEFmyW1-N54gHB-UoHEypDvFszQ3MixQXTDU1kMNpPFxG-M6TGNccQAdzn7QNnjIdl20/s400/BSofAletter.jpg" width="290" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Click to enlarge</span></td></tr>
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My father was in the Boy Scouts throughout his childhood, and was shipped off to camp every year. I love this letterhead, and I love how my grandmother made out the envelope and put the (3 cent!) stamp on it to ensure her only child wrote to her. I also like how, instead of a date, he wrote "2nd day".<br />
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Here's the text:<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Dear Mom and Dad,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Having wonderful time. Am on Kp today, food is good. Only two things I don't like dust and bugs. Here they change everything. I am now a neifight*. Am also in skunk patrol, troop two.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i> Your little stinker,</i><br />
<i> Mike</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>P.S. Write to me please.</i><br />
<br />
(*Did he mean neophyte? Not sure.)<br />
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It kills me to read that he didn't like the dust and bugs, considering what he put us kids through during <i>our</i> childhoods: Annual autumn firewood gathering trips where we worked in the hot sun chopping down unwanted trees from his friends and co-workers orchards/ranches/backyards; camping out at the coast in the wind and sand; one particularly awful trip where we tried to sleep on the boat while moored in the Sacramento Delta, mosquitos swarming around our sweaty heads so thick that in the morning we found dead ones caked to our faces where we had swatted them in the night.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ztNgM_uoJ6GhBvXWwZfAf4DITxHZKBb2u65lvMK1GxIW-n_YMTOjkxGyb80-Gi6Xyyee-Wj860AO6DnI4oXlRd4SBSVeCnhfJhb1GnpWN_SpdIQEdTKrRduw3LQPuamkiSy5b7Vh7OE/s1600/Fire+onlyv2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="284" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ztNgM_uoJ6GhBvXWwZfAf4DITxHZKBb2u65lvMK1GxIW-n_YMTOjkxGyb80-Gi6Xyyee-Wj860AO6DnI4oXlRd4SBSVeCnhfJhb1GnpWN_SpdIQEdTKrRduw3LQPuamkiSy5b7Vh7OE/s320/Fire+onlyv2.jpg" width="56" /></a>I know he was only twelve when he wrote this, and he probably missed his parents something fierce. I like his postscript: <i>Write to me please. </i>Something from home always makes things better.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">2017 has been particularly trying.</span></b> Disturbing trends in political discourse, some disappointing directions in public land management, and of course the fires that have disrupted so many parts of everyone's lives here. It's hard to find the bright side sometimes. This cheerful letter from 1950 and it's 3 cent stamp, with news of skunk patrols and dust and bugs, put a smile on my face. And at the very bottom, a motto I think we should all take to heart in the coming year:<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Do a good turn daily.</span></i><br />
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Happy New Year everyone.<br />
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<br />Kelly Templehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16736282169474219178noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541208124360896016.post-69065630138621127462017-11-21T20:02:00.001-08:002017-11-27T11:33:21.092-08:00Afterburn: The Consequences of an Urban Wildfire<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJeAr8J_X_IW2bXAWfmTEMQb0p15A4WDw819C8KtCsOXtCHKV1HKlyxXVWzwHL3ZBw6GzTO4yjpZID7IfyzhZqtpQz1NmXyfSwRZ0SfqMvF2ilBouz3AqDIYpr57d0uldnphpl2SKxrEw/s1600/Fire+ReGrowth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJeAr8J_X_IW2bXAWfmTEMQb0p15A4WDw819C8KtCsOXtCHKV1HKlyxXVWzwHL3ZBw6GzTO4yjpZID7IfyzhZqtpQz1NmXyfSwRZ0SfqMvF2ilBouz3AqDIYpr57d0uldnphpl2SKxrEw/s640/Fire+ReGrowth.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">It's been several weeks since a fire</span></b> <b><span style="font-size: large;">tore through our city</span></b>, destroying 2,800 homes and burning over 57 square miles of surrounding land. Living with the aftermath of a fire like this has put us all through a steep and traumatic learning curve.<br />
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The smell of smoke has now been replaced by the smell of ash. On a clear, dry day you catch a whiff on the wind and see it settle on the coffee table if the windows are open. After the rains, it smells strongly like a wet ashtray, kind of pungent and repugnant at the same time. I used to love the smell of rain. I don't so much anymore.<br />
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It's haunting to see block after block of destroyed homes. The only thing left standing in the neighborhoods that burned are the chimneys, the fire was so hot everything else was reduced to ash. Even the cars sort of melted into the ground: tires burned off the rims, glass windows melted and fused, interiors completely burned away. Driving through the streets is like driving through a graveyard, but one so raw and abandoned it's as if they forgot to bury the dead. It feels disrespectful to even look at the blackened ruins, the raw emotional loss of those who lost homes on full display.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcf8qTopyjMsbFPETwEUM7MHo0V8DjXvG7IoO_LUDdcvFeGm7ajO7NGOnf_pXfSzB2XyzzJvJ-u2pmbOFJsPP95u-g9CYeWaUXAk3YjeVwSvYYEK1sJcthjiz7YF8AJsQL5ZZehLvJ9L4/s1600/Melted+glass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcf8qTopyjMsbFPETwEUM7MHo0V8DjXvG7IoO_LUDdcvFeGm7ajO7NGOnf_pXfSzB2XyzzJvJ-u2pmbOFJsPP95u-g9CYeWaUXAk3YjeVwSvYYEK1sJcthjiz7YF8AJsQL5ZZehLvJ9L4/s320/Melted+glass.jpg" width="320" /></a>Everyday, I drive by a mobile home park that was almost completely destroyed. Sadly, two people died there, unable to get out in time. The park has been there my whole life, tucked into the corner at the intersection of two busy streets, flanked by a hospital on one side and the highway at its back. It used to have a fence blocking the view from the street and lots of mature trees and shrubs along it's borders. It's strange to look across it now, only the twisted frames and burned out cars interrupting the view all the way to the highway traffic. I worry the owner will decide to sell the lot to retail developers. Where will our fixed income folks live?<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">We're learning that even something as hot as a wind-whipped wildfire</span></b> <b><span style="font-size: large;">can have a snowball effect.</span></b> Having approximately 8,400 people suddenly become homeless puts a huge strain on a rental market that already only had about a 1% vacancy rate. While many people have been quite generous, opening their homes to victims, sharing extra rooms and food and beds, other rental owners have been quietly raising their rates.<br />
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Homes that were once vacation rentals were taken off the market and offered as a more permanent housing option. This, in combination with losing two of our biggest hotels to the flames, has reduced options for tourists. Now, even if we can convince tourists to come visit, there are far fewer places to stay while they're here.<br />
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In at least one instance I personally heard about, a couple that lost their home to the fire turned around and evicted the tenants from their rental home across town, and moved into that house until their burned home can be rebuilt. This put another family on the street, one that doesn't have the advantage of being able to apply to FEMA or insurance or any other agency since they were not burned out. I am not judging the landlords, I probably would have been forced to do the same in their shoes. It's just another example of the domino effect that seems to amplify the pain.<br />
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Traffic on the one highway through town has become a nightmare. A combination of people displaced by the fires moving out of town and now commuting to work and school, and side roads closed due to reconstruction and tree removal have created gridlock for weeks now. The fire burned about a mile of freeway guardrail posts, leaving the rails dangling and twisted. Traffic slows as people gawk at the destruction, and the work crews cutting dead trees and replacing the rails slows traffic even more. I work 8 miles from my home. Some days it takes me an hour door to door.<br />
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The fires took place in October, just at the start of our rainy season. The fire burned so hot (up to 3,000 degrees Fahrenheit) it destroyed all but the biggest and most sturdy trees. Everything holding the soil in place is gone, so one of our major worries is mudslides. The other worry is pollution. When a home burns, so of course does all its contents. Think of all the cans of paint, fertilizer, cleaning products, plastics, medications, etc. that are laying around your house. Multiply that by 2800 then imagine trying to keep all the chemicals from washing into the creeks and rivers. The wood ash alone can clog a creek and kill all the critters living there. Crews went out and staked wattles (large tubes filled with hay) to try to keep hillsides from sliding and ash from washing into storm drains. During our last big downpour, the restricted flow caused by the wattles around the storm drains ended up flooding the streets.<br />
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Speaking of storm drains, in the newer housing neighborhoods in the hills, a modern plastic drainage system was used. The fire melted the drainage lines underground, and during the heavy rains opened up sinkholes and small mudslides when the water tried to find a route around the melted and sealed conduits. Underground cable lines also melted, and many of the power and cable networks will need to be replaced.<br />
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Mark's work was partially destroyed by the fire, and the rest of the buildings had smoke and water damage. He has been working seven days a week since, part of a team trying to coordinate a huge cleanup/recovery effort they never imagined they'd have to face. Everything—from the cubicle walls to the high tech clean room equipment—must be scrubbed, repaired/replaced, tested and brought back to production. One hundred and thirty of the 1200 employees lost their homes. Half of the employees have yet to go back to work, not having a place that's safe or functional enough to do their jobs. One bright spot in all this; they are all being paid throughout this process.<br />
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A couple of major retail stores and fast-food restaurants burned down. Those workers are not so lucky. Many are not only out of a home but out of a job as well. I'm not sure we'll recover soon, if at all, from the loss of this important sector of our population. How can a person making $11/hour pay for an apartment that's $1600/month (if they can even find one)? I have no doubt they will rebuild the two fancy hotels that burned down. I'm just not sure who's going to change the sheets.<br />
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Since tourism is down, so are the revenues of the remaining stores and restaurants. As we enter the holiday season, many of those that lost their homes don't have money for gifts and meals out. They have to use what resources they have to replace what they've lost, and must wait for insurance money to do that. This, in turn, is leading to less income for the workers who rely on tips and holiday jobs to get them through the season.<br />
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The magnitude of the homes that were lost will put a giant dent in the property tax revenues, the very taxes that support the fire departments we need to keep this from happening again. This fire cost an enormous amount of money to fight, and they are already in a deficit.<br />
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One of the worst side affects of the fire is the mental anguish it has caused. Already, one of the victims has committed suicide, right on the site of his burned home. I can see how the shock of losing everything you own, right before the holidays, and the daunting prospect of wading through years of rebuilding would be too much to take. The victim was 70 years old, at a point in life when things should be getting easier, not harder. Unfortunately I can see how this might happen again, although I really hope it doesn't.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRtvp9_lwD8vMoJtrrMC7D6dRMtxRrCQzGt7ju-mJ10tjUSEddznvERl52NpyOQHHJHUTX3tQCHqyGxpHnwnY-yxKYQr90p18Tp0VO-kqgMf3StkW3yBVEfQiWXmNIcDi-3y4GbCUjc48/s1600/Ashes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1347" data-original-width="1424" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRtvp9_lwD8vMoJtrrMC7D6dRMtxRrCQzGt7ju-mJ10tjUSEddznvERl52NpyOQHHJHUTX3tQCHqyGxpHnwnY-yxKYQr90p18Tp0VO-kqgMf3StkW3yBVEfQiWXmNIcDi-3y4GbCUjc48/s320/Ashes.jpg" width="320" /></a>Even those of us that haven't lost our homes are affected. There is an awful, haunted undercurrent to living here now. When going about our day to day business, our initial greeting has become "Are you ok? Do you have a home?" There's a little guilt to saying yes, we are fine, and a little untruth. No, we are not fine. We're traumatized. Each day is a little better, and some mornings it's not the first thing I think about. But then I drive to work, sitting in standstill traffic, staring at the homes and businesses that are no more and think, how did this happen?<br />
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Eventually, the ashes will be cleared and the homes will be rebuilt. The traffic will calm down, the wet ashtray smell will vanish and that nagging dry cough that developed after inhaling smoke for two weeks will subside. The undertone of sadness will fade, and things will settle into routine.<br />
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Somehow though, I don't think our routine will ever be exactly the same again.<br />
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<br />Kelly Templehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16736282169474219178noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541208124360896016.post-49436169057446125752017-11-05T11:13:00.000-08:002017-11-05T11:13:22.190-08:00A Fall Tour of the Sierras: Bridgeport, Bodie and the June Lakes Loop<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1VJCFVGMib8FbY3MdUV0Igx17o-jzVLOMJY7aBo5vkqynu3oGwEslDgvPDxoC76fUUxucRuFx5jPnwc0RCQi5QsgDtzq6sxWORAj-JkoNtyv-yd7yMmxb1BG4GWxo-wJek-REe5Chuvo/s1600/FLT_View+from+395+turnout.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1VJCFVGMib8FbY3MdUV0Igx17o-jzVLOMJY7aBo5vkqynu3oGwEslDgvPDxoC76fUUxucRuFx5jPnwc0RCQi5QsgDtzq6sxWORAj-JkoNtyv-yd7yMmxb1BG4GWxo-wJek-REe5Chuvo/s640/FLT_View+from+395+turnout.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Aspens highlight the contours on the flanks of the Eastern Sierras</span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">If forced to choose a favorite season,</span></b> I'd definitely choose summer. I love the sunny days and warmer nights and the fact that it's the best time to camp in the mountains. But autumn is a close second on my list, and this year Mom and I decided to take a road trip to see what the Eastern Sierras have to offer in the foliage department.<br />
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The Western Sierras get a lot of press: Yosemite, Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks, Tahoe, Donner Lake, the list goes on. I love those places, but they are kind of loved to death most of the year. For our road trip we decided to travel a little farther (hopefully away from the crowds) and visit some of my favorite getaways along Highway 395. Besides, when Mark and I were there during the previous summer I saw a really cool pamphlet touting the fall color in the area. The Inyo/Mono County Tourism Board scored on that one.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZAo-zk4dmkqnBaxHyqolwZVmi82g_Xsf0RtgDa2Kima1b3LDMJ48KqmBN5ykacUqSlF9rKrWqKdv1UGmpXdZO19ox8nemdydNsv0F3-FwIqIMOhaFNIqUGLDTUVMVxHP24fHS5Fx_lFE/s1600/FallColorMap2017_coverforweb-178x400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="178" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZAo-zk4dmkqnBaxHyqolwZVmi82g_Xsf0RtgDa2Kima1b3LDMJ48KqmBN5ykacUqSlF9rKrWqKdv1UGmpXdZO19ox8nemdydNsv0F3-FwIqIMOhaFNIqUGLDTUVMVxHP24fHS5Fx_lFE/s200/FallColorMap2017_coverforweb-178x400.jpg" width="88" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">(image credit: Inyo and Mono Counties)</span></td></tr>
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The pamphlet had informed us every year is different; the fall color season can be spectacular in early September, or stretch out into mid October, or if the rains come too soon it might not be much of anything at all. I had kept my fingers crossed for weeks, watching the weather forecast and checking the tourism websites for updates (yes, there is actually a website for this at <a href="http://www.californiafallcolor.com/">http://www.californiafallcolor.com</a> of course!).<br />
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I couldn't convince Mom to camp along the way—truth be told I didn't try too hard, it's cold up there in October!—so I booked some rooms along the way. If you plan to do this, a little advice: this area is a bit more popular than I realized in autumn, so book early, especially if you're picky about the lodgings. It might have been easier to camp, although many of the campgrounds were closed for the season at the end of September.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">We drove up and over Monitor Pass</span></b>, stopping for lunch in Markleeville for some delicious Mexican food at a little cafe. I had never had the chance to stop here, save for the quaint old general store and a quick swim in Grover's Hot Springs once, so it was fun to explore the tiny, one street town. Just out of town we found our first hint of what was to come: The first look at some aspens that were turning golden along Poor Boy Creek. We stopped at a turnout and took some photos before continuing up to the pass.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAbnQNttfuUQms1fnsR23WgSCsitr9uENjQzNlor7MjTu0cmZTdvnww0CLyNKtTGttI-9MfWuUF4Z8SQRp9dmaiXpQ14WjoyYYjtOOVHHhNPBP5XUR7Nbx1CWbsho7PiWDS4TJ2wxl0tU/s1600/FLT_3pines.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAbnQNttfuUQms1fnsR23WgSCsitr9uENjQzNlor7MjTu0cmZTdvnww0CLyNKtTGttI-9MfWuUF4Z8SQRp9dmaiXpQ14WjoyYYjtOOVHHhNPBP5XUR7Nbx1CWbsho7PiWDS4TJ2wxl0tU/s400/FLT_3pines.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Aspens mix it up with the pines outside of Markleeville</span></td></tr>
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A couple of big wildfires have burned through the Monitor Pass area in the last few years, the most recent just last August, so the flora on the way over was somewhat limited. Once we got down to the turnoff to Highway 395 though, the trees started making an appearance again. Things were looking very promising. We stopped at a day use area along the Walker River and watched the water flow by for a bit. This year's snowfall was near record breaking and there was still snow on the highest peaks that made for some beautiful scenery and a fast flowing river.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheu8Rkcaubl6Q1EPA0AJre3IEzFxsYx0WjCLXCKMjSGyd8YqxdAWxMg4xD5qpESFwCrBR7G971YxSrbnWHgQOvyM4BpykZsJUgZdn-c8mNUUR6eCxUUarJIyPRKednum_2RIshIv_nYZU/s1600/FLT_Walker+River.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheu8Rkcaubl6Q1EPA0AJre3IEzFxsYx0WjCLXCKMjSGyd8YqxdAWxMg4xD5qpESFwCrBR7G971YxSrbnWHgQOvyM4BpykZsJUgZdn-c8mNUUR6eCxUUarJIyPRKednum_2RIshIv_nYZU/s640/FLT_Walker+River.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The Walker River</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkkXkl9JMrwvny90RXMJXYc651oyfP-MHv9mLwpmkUuu__pl8MvCyxE2YKExQKf3mecZ_RnNIOHosKMCBXudgXPfizo7P7j92pUG0Ggyp_dopBm6a46f22BAvl42QyBzJ-9DWMeBkzTf4/s1600/FLT_Mom+Walker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkkXkl9JMrwvny90RXMJXYc651oyfP-MHv9mLwpmkUuu__pl8MvCyxE2YKExQKf3mecZ_RnNIOHosKMCBXudgXPfizo7P7j92pUG0Ggyp_dopBm6a46f22BAvl42QyBzJ-9DWMeBkzTf4/s320/FLT_Mom+Walker.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Mom brushes up on the ecology of the Walker River ecosystem</span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Our first stop was Bridgeport,</span></b> where we had reserved rooms at the Bridgeport Inn. We couldn't check in until four though, so we took a tour around Twin Lakes first. It was not nearly as crowded as during the summer months but there were still a considerable amount of fisherman there tooling around on kayaks and small boats. It was a picture perfect day.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTlLQLwJLf-XgHJaIgSUCn6QNNZadXPT5f__nC43AG0iE87vLttnJ_mDdgxPG0ollt5AxL2fb0uuGHx92wsHUAE4o6JvjTxTyHPfuN1wdSQxZVKSNljiY5nkocte12wrNtys_VV4LuA7M/s1600/FLT_TwinLakeFarView.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTlLQLwJLf-XgHJaIgSUCn6QNNZadXPT5f__nC43AG0iE87vLttnJ_mDdgxPG0ollt5AxL2fb0uuGHx92wsHUAE4o6JvjTxTyHPfuN1wdSQxZVKSNljiY5nkocte12wrNtys_VV4LuA7M/s640/FLT_TwinLakeFarView.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Upper Twin Lake, where the trees were just starting to turn.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZvNCxChwGjjlAW7TaBMHfxmzc6p79vt5rhmEZjGR8hC3MYzD7tfnY9Ap3uql-aZqAT-P0_AGnzLHVciRx2sexL2Kg9XwwoGCoLeSdq4wpuy7sNVKrat4oxwBlIp99FTGTdtWXBaNgvPA/s1600/FLT_Nightsign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZvNCxChwGjjlAW7TaBMHfxmzc6p79vt5rhmEZjGR8hC3MYzD7tfnY9Ap3uql-aZqAT-P0_AGnzLHVciRx2sexL2Kg9XwwoGCoLeSdq4wpuy7sNVKrat4oxwBlIp99FTGTdtWXBaNgvPA/s320/FLT_Nightsign.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The view from one of my room windows.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwurtAYcGUORxPvFZfZMXK6iW7rnKkF-77EGS7FlVOo_O1sStSMUIyHjpMppS-8YMYux4Ijr_5rEAxF9kHJsoA9o7SN2qS0onTn-iHW0DGOiUSIreVfgTjl55zEN9KtFg_tu6pTPNjyf8/s1600/FLT_Bridgeport+Courthouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwurtAYcGUORxPvFZfZMXK6iW7rnKkF-77EGS7FlVOo_O1sStSMUIyHjpMppS-8YMYux4Ijr_5rEAxF9kHJsoA9o7SN2qS0onTn-iHW0DGOiUSIreVfgTjl55zEN9KtFg_tu6pTPNjyf8/s400/FLT_Bridgeport+Courthouse.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Bridgeport courthouse</span></td></tr>
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The <a href="http://www.thebridgeportinn.com/history.php">Bridgeport Inn</a> has a line of motor-lodge type rooms behind the original inn but, being the old-house fanatic I am, I wanted to stay in the circa 1877 building. Our rooms were cozy, and the bathrooms impossibly small, but I loved it. The carpets were bright red, the curtains frilly, and the furniture old-timey—a very Victorian experience. Added bonus? It's supposed to be haunted.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrJ5heRx9dDGIbmNlO2ari8qoc-NJN8bg43d2LW3Ov5PYx5FK_kx10p_88-6EqtfcxqUe8xnm5CcdJkN2CPLXDTlCIR9ltJ4tTQQX3jLQ9689JAzA7-iuY79gEZ7rAgVg47cpOCWa9aAQ/s1600/FLT_IceFlowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1288" data-original-width="1600" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrJ5heRx9dDGIbmNlO2ari8qoc-NJN8bg43d2LW3Ov5PYx5FK_kx10p_88-6EqtfcxqUe8xnm5CcdJkN2CPLXDTlCIR9ltJ4tTQQX3jLQ9689JAzA7-iuY79gEZ7rAgVg47cpOCWa9aAQ/s320/FLT_IceFlowers.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">It was darn cold that morning, 25 degrees. These flowers had turned<br />to popsicles in the sprinkler spray on the courthouse lawn.</span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">We got up early the next day</span></b> and walked across the street to the <a href="http://highsierrabakery.com/">High Sierra Bakery</a> where Mom got "the best maple bar there ever was." (Don't challenge this statement; Mom is an expert when it comes to maple flavored anything.) I had a delicious sticky bun, covered with candied pecans. It was the perfect way to start the day, although Mom deeply regretted not getting a maple bar to go.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWh11u78CnQqnxsc-7OpARmYfwVnGZlDEdZtxn8W06A5DD4X6BbGcxJh-fvOHwC1x9fx-1Xi032LzkhEJZS8SJ_vu2_JpYT0dNqS8SoYQGSzbBW73jRrTUDAgcfE52M7EPoSWbMXA0ZEU/s1600/FLT_Maplebar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWh11u78CnQqnxsc-7OpARmYfwVnGZlDEdZtxn8W06A5DD4X6BbGcxJh-fvOHwC1x9fx-1Xi032LzkhEJZS8SJ_vu2_JpYT0dNqS8SoYQGSzbBW73jRrTUDAgcfE52M7EPoSWbMXA0ZEU/s320/FLT_Maplebar.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">This is the look you get when keeping her <br />from eating her maple bar</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieWzmGfc77GvLJi_rE8vVzz0902o569bgfv0uDUAdMuldSU5Vr8CnGidXvzlulb4tyJt2x4aKvjeN6baYlvYQU1G5_AQ0VYsaThARC5rdFsh3pXtF7XpshKz_-HbZswzMOtNdEath-9Jc/s1600/FLT_Bridgeport+Inn+Plaque.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieWzmGfc77GvLJi_rE8vVzz0902o569bgfv0uDUAdMuldSU5Vr8CnGidXvzlulb4tyJt2x4aKvjeN6baYlvYQU1G5_AQ0VYsaThARC5rdFsh3pXtF7XpshKz_-HbZswzMOtNdEath-9Jc/s320/FLT_Bridgeport+Inn+Plaque.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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Our mission that day was to find some serious fall color and visit <a href="http://www.parks.ca.gov/?page_id=509">Bodie Historic State Park</a>. It's one of my favorite places in the world and when I found out Mom had never been, there was no question we'd be going there.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">First we drove up the gravel road</span></b> Mark and I had explored that summer just outside of town. I had seen a cluster of aspens then, and was hoping there would be even more farther up the canyon. Mom was a sport; we had to go several miles up the rough dirt road and even make a few small stream crossings to get there (did I mention we were driving her car?). It paid off though; an old mill pond and a lovely creek flowed through a stand of bright yellow aspens. We took a short trail to check out the pond. As we were leaving a couple pulled up in an old truck and started gearing up to go fly fishing. I made a mental note to bring Mark here next year to try our luck.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisMx39xHjSG0eYWyXnHeGWD7xqIVTe1eebtVVAt9yS9wzTldDz-8PtsZ6ROgTWbQI4YoSkj-I3zQPnlfBP0qd6ITXfAHf3XhkmIyP5i1HnVUNgpuY3uNSpDBKCH7yOdK3klVIjBLO5o-Y/s1600/FLT_Mom+on+trail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisMx39xHjSG0eYWyXnHeGWD7xqIVTe1eebtVVAt9yS9wzTldDz-8PtsZ6ROgTWbQI4YoSkj-I3zQPnlfBP0qd6ITXfAHf3XhkmIyP5i1HnVUNgpuY3uNSpDBKCH7yOdK3klVIjBLO5o-Y/s320/FLT_Mom+on+trail.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Mom on the trail to the pond</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWht3Rlb4PI_uAJlmptCnVUP4bwvxQweDsNfo3zCAr-Ng5mQAFGnMneMeKAtWvEmr5gw3xK1Z3g7e1sBlAGWV2CXCE-es3xy-M1qzB7r_Tyrq6l-N6LTqUxleyNqfxCxrE_tdRIygvDgE/s1600/FLT_Millpond.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWht3Rlb4PI_uAJlmptCnVUP4bwvxQweDsNfo3zCAr-Ng5mQAFGnMneMeKAtWvEmr5gw3xK1Z3g7e1sBlAGWV2CXCE-es3xy-M1qzB7r_Tyrq6l-N6LTqUxleyNqfxCxrE_tdRIygvDgE/s400/FLT_Millpond.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The pond on Green Creek</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjYcumnbt4mzwJI8obbIcdi03WALdzyBkTZMNy7CgpCcRrNX2HD1GJPwADQh1KsaL9IFueRAl27I85943szmoaHJ3ODxnZ0XgGQEU0u7lPP2yxkPfGt7kVigMFpwTVf_lOBMcRb9THyPY/s1600/FLT_GreenCreek.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjYcumnbt4mzwJI8obbIcdi03WALdzyBkTZMNy7CgpCcRrNX2HD1GJPwADQh1KsaL9IFueRAl27I85943szmoaHJ3ODxnZ0XgGQEU0u7lPP2yxkPfGt7kVigMFpwTVf_lOBMcRb9THyPY/s640/FLT_GreenCreek.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Aspens lining Green Creek, the snow covered Sierras in the background.</span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Bodie was great</span></b>, as it always is. I made Mom pose for me here and there, and she read me the points of interest from the guide booklet we got at the gate. It was nice to have a tour guide: I'm usually the one trying to read the excerpts to Mark while trying to catch my breath in Bodie's 8400' elevation.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cVMiSnrj4jhYd-vUtECFyCtRbFiDbGMx1deS9-a5T_5Q9brd7BOmJ4YgVwXdGx0LCJhXmCFRgVhaWLypAUMKCg6Rc_XBgHDFFBE0EkQeGGCihoshGsiWgwKe3XQhL2tMwTrJvvEbEKU/s1600/FLT_Bodie+Wheel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cVMiSnrj4jhYd-vUtECFyCtRbFiDbGMx1deS9-a5T_5Q9brd7BOmJ4YgVwXdGx0LCJhXmCFRgVhaWLypAUMKCg6Rc_XBgHDFFBE0EkQeGGCihoshGsiWgwKe3XQhL2tMwTrJvvEbEKU/s320/FLT_Bodie+Wheel.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">This giant fly wheel greets you on arrival to Bodie State Park</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1gKCX9QfPnunzpUgn_W0it2PP6Tt5uCaeOUH85vPWlGkM3U0d7FACBcBThqaAsB4nLPA9ZyyQ9jau2UQyt5QIlK0NbmpqTU1aBTisr2u8t9Xh-gqcmrw08fAhOok7k7Ugwf-gWEzIRb4/s1600/FLT_Bodie+Lift.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1gKCX9QfPnunzpUgn_W0it2PP6Tt5uCaeOUH85vPWlGkM3U0d7FACBcBThqaAsB4nLPA9ZyyQ9jau2UQyt5QIlK0NbmpqTU1aBTisr2u8t9Xh-gqcmrw08fAhOok7k7Ugwf-gWEzIRb4/s320/FLT_Bodie+Lift.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Mom's ready for a lift, mining style.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimwlQwW7qlE7hC_Mz6485SuNotZB7XrWkK4wP41dpnuiyYuUF9Kg1IaCBqmjptCWTzSeHtZH0qZe_27B3ECa-6lKmubtMRSfgawORpsg8_7VUsEM2O5jKiGkNwyp4DAhOi3RoiHixaOEk/s1600/FLT_Bodie+Window+House.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimwlQwW7qlE7hC_Mz6485SuNotZB7XrWkK4wP41dpnuiyYuUF9Kg1IaCBqmjptCWTzSeHtZH0qZe_27B3ECa-6lKmubtMRSfgawORpsg8_7VUsEM2O5jKiGkNwyp4DAhOi3RoiHixaOEk/s320/FLT_Bodie+Window+House.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">One of the nicest houses in town.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitQV5dll8APMcu67dDnGA-2WFxF62OjQpzs6_Fe7kKjZxelmJxTcb0Hc92pYvpEDkcpHRhFHnGcdfImXxa5uCtcenAGer1qcnMNgj0f6JErxO7N-fV1vKnVSbbADZTV-_PJtKeLY5fDUI/s1600/FLT_Bodie+House.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitQV5dll8APMcu67dDnGA-2WFxF62OjQpzs6_Fe7kKjZxelmJxTcb0Hc92pYvpEDkcpHRhFHnGcdfImXxa5uCtcenAGer1qcnMNgj0f6JErxO7N-fV1vKnVSbbADZTV-_PJtKeLY5fDUI/s400/FLT_Bodie+House.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Doesn't this photo just make you want to yell "Shane! Come back!"</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDEAk_aX8ngiEbE54xcTwh2d6YTHJkQI29jewKJr8bQC5_jjpdKBBE8I-jH9NvHtHhZx0vuSMHvYn2Ikjb9lCC1XdjIow3d6l8QBuJr4wj7u7tXU3VTx_wvVWz79xbiHiNii6VW3fA_Qo/s1600/FLT_Bodie+Room+reflection.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDEAk_aX8ngiEbE54xcTwh2d6YTHJkQI29jewKJr8bQC5_jjpdKBBE8I-jH9NvHtHhZx0vuSMHvYn2Ikjb9lCC1XdjIow3d6l8QBuJr4wj7u7tXU3VTx_wvVWz79xbiHiNii6VW3fA_Qo/s640/FLT_Bodie+Room+reflection.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">A cabin room is reflected in a hutch mirror</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiCNVaNwPYhZ6ZgeEcIjxth9AN5rqzo8diiK__kP1L4xcA5uGOJ7Ic-TP4biRs5OYMlDpI138QaQFqFG6jydv9CRKBhzLmWon0S2_jsuRtswHT5XkHSh2TdJsjiiFfbmhZrjqdAQdXHRo/s1600/FLT-Bodie+IOOF.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1043" data-original-width="1600" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiCNVaNwPYhZ6ZgeEcIjxth9AN5rqzo8diiK__kP1L4xcA5uGOJ7Ic-TP4biRs5OYMlDpI138QaQFqFG6jydv9CRKBhzLmWon0S2_jsuRtswHT5XkHSh2TdJsjiiFfbmhZrjqdAQdXHRo/s400/FLT-Bodie+IOOF.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Mom takes a rest from her tour guide gig in front of the IOOF building, Bodie State Park</span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Once back out on the road</span></b>, one of the most spectacular sights was from a large turnout on the side of the highway. We pulled over with a number of other cars and gawked at the huge snowy mountains, with the smaller foothills lined with brightly colored trees snaking down the creek beds and crevices (large photo at the top of the blog). It was breathtaking.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEzEwNsn8LwGn44yBagreYZvMS5EurmYZWTYQUdBWTYbPEIVXke3vaj9ejwTv_NK7rJmuMAUceMQbEpsoCHoeCkM2PRCRmWy2GQJkttxvB_t3ScWXNzRcR1RrMxiyZy2T0q0EJzX36vL4/s1600/FLT_View+from+395+turnout.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEzEwNsn8LwGn44yBagreYZvMS5EurmYZWTYQUdBWTYbPEIVXke3vaj9ejwTv_NK7rJmuMAUceMQbEpsoCHoeCkM2PRCRmWy2GQJkttxvB_t3ScWXNzRcR1RrMxiyZy2T0q0EJzX36vL4/s400/FLT_View+from+395+turnout.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Oh, here it is again. I don't think the photo does it justice though.</span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">We explored the road to Virginia Lake</span></b> and found a lot of color (and people) there. It was a lesson in Fall Color Timing; the trees at the 6000' elevation were just turning, 7500' was full color, and at the top of the road (9000+'), the trees had already dried up and lost most of their leaves. Elevation plays a huge roll in the dynamics of leaf color. Trees are affected by temperature and amount of sunlight during the day, so the cooler temps at night, and days further shortened by the shadows of the mountains lead to the leaves turning more quickly in higher elevations. This effect works its way down the mountains, finally ending in the valleys below. While it would be nice to have the beautiful colors everywhere you go, it's helpful to have the season drawn out, otherwise there would only be a one week window to view them.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOxSyNRdHo0nWLoeQrsHlwOYQEefhX8TC9OwtcDcrqJihEcWVSzz_6Nzwl4MSwRWDrl3QAxIl7R9Jsy4ZnYcoc2QSbyH3o-cLU5Z4VCdz3DqaAccFrjGGglf54uxTTu8AanIa0H94Aj2w/s1600/FLT_Virginia+Lakes+rd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOxSyNRdHo0nWLoeQrsHlwOYQEefhX8TC9OwtcDcrqJihEcWVSzz_6Nzwl4MSwRWDrl3QAxIl7R9Jsy4ZnYcoc2QSbyH3o-cLU5Z4VCdz3DqaAccFrjGGglf54uxTTu8AanIa0H94Aj2w/s400/FLT_Virginia+Lakes+rd.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">I really wanted to go up this gravel road, but it didn't look suitable for a mom-car outing. <br />Next time we're in the area with our truck we'll make the trek.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVOFWUVJGpC_OOx8ArVaQaukrr27T8r-aL_KqAgIHNRsC8Nzlg1hhuhHG1647TJbjoUtp4310eJdEoSXHvu0Fhr4sz4z0hMw9w9WX_Qer0uqInojFadR4AM1XEIxbs7LK6lMh29SVwONg/s1600/FLT_Crooked+trunks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVOFWUVJGpC_OOx8ArVaQaukrr27T8r-aL_KqAgIHNRsC8Nzlg1hhuhHG1647TJbjoUtp4310eJdEoSXHvu0Fhr4sz4z0hMw9w9WX_Qer0uqInojFadR4AM1XEIxbs7LK6lMh29SVwONg/s400/FLT_Crooked+trunks.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">I like how crooked the trunks were in this area</span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">We stopped in for some snacks</span></b> at the general store in Lee Vining, then took our apple and cheese lunch up to the Mono Lake Visitors Center. The back patio has a great view of the lake, and makes a nice spot for a picnic lunch.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2rIUfmfI-cf8IMbYBK1xxHonCCVvH8S_HmzKucxBZzilP090mpwRjnFYH5jtwG2Hnc5vvSEtlZiTQJl5FJIrjnJKRDJsDekVtIn5rqCj9RIx9r_M54htvMlPwvq4hNbHmXB0buQtBj9g/s1600/FLT_Mono+Lake+visitors+ctr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2rIUfmfI-cf8IMbYBK1xxHonCCVvH8S_HmzKucxBZzilP090mpwRjnFYH5jtwG2Hnc5vvSEtlZiTQJl5FJIrjnJKRDJsDekVtIn5rqCj9RIx9r_M54htvMlPwvq4hNbHmXB0buQtBj9g/s400/FLT_Mono+Lake+visitors+ctr.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Even the cottonwood outside the Mono Lake visitor's center got into the action</span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Our next stop was the June Lakes loop</span></b>. This area is jammed packed in the summer with campers and fisherman, and I know it's a popular winter stopover, but I had no idea just how popular it would be during the "off" season. There's a good reason for this; the scenery in the summer is great, but autumn was spectacular!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRkTYbZ-gVX6-QZtSxy9HFuPYcNohu3gB45CvyIfsMVLJU3TeYdlmzWWwbdj0_hRxJ7bjbXWmXW90HIEwM0GC6bPn2M7nr1aQQsdOL8CNa5UVyiQJHRA523t-I-z9nNRBmG9jfLa4t-XM/s1600/FLT_JuneLakes+Loop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRkTYbZ-gVX6-QZtSxy9HFuPYcNohu3gB45CvyIfsMVLJU3TeYdlmzWWwbdj0_hRxJ7bjbXWmXW90HIEwM0GC6bPn2M7nr1aQQsdOL8CNa5UVyiQJHRA523t-I-z9nNRBmG9jfLa4t-XM/s640/FLT_JuneLakes+Loop.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">A colorful valley on the June Lakes loop. Makes you want to yodel, doesn't it?</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkWjPDa2trUGLK938fhlIxOmVyWx-OcE63w3Bq-EwS8MRlFlfv27d6QkavnWmGAEW1DkknNQS19Ug8T9lJBXWU39pB5T_ZWCQzSXGZ6OKTjq7azTefs4RMM9Q_i3CjtCj6YTg-wXpIsdU/s1600/FLT_Granite+and+yellow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkWjPDa2trUGLK938fhlIxOmVyWx-OcE63w3Bq-EwS8MRlFlfv27d6QkavnWmGAEW1DkknNQS19Ug8T9lJBXWU39pB5T_ZWCQzSXGZ6OKTjq7azTefs4RMM9Q_i3CjtCj6YTg-wXpIsdU/s320/FLT_Granite+and+yellow.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The aspens seemed to be climbing the granite</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNzLcXQGmHPB7xdktRRUQALxR06Ewa8O1whRQssd1YzgAWzbpdlT1_JmSN3gp2fzQb8RLrWe8ck1rr1SO5hxv-0O5RTNzvKBsq0OuRRFOJjCi_qezR2WX_u-wCfFU-7O8S9cLOlkCj6Fc/s1600/FLT_Patch+of+color.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNzLcXQGmHPB7xdktRRUQALxR06Ewa8O1whRQssd1YzgAWzbpdlT1_JmSN3gp2fzQb8RLrWe8ck1rr1SO5hxv-0O5RTNzvKBsq0OuRRFOJjCi_qezR2WX_u-wCfFU-7O8S9cLOlkCj6Fc/s640/FLT_Patch+of+color.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">It's funny how the trees would grow in patches, something you don't notice in the summer</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFmCaEFsF9qaWIkv8MFx0hTyKces81NQP2G57nueFwrM_Ksoi-BwIzpXFlYmMv0kHR1h_xvd5dc_vglrn5WS2k_cjZIVa5nxG7vGHcEko0McOymbwnFQmNgMET19LkQRhhXcRB-NAhrf8/s1600/FLT_Pinecones+leaf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1084" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFmCaEFsF9qaWIkv8MFx0hTyKces81NQP2G57nueFwrM_Ksoi-BwIzpXFlYmMv0kHR1h_xvd5dc_vglrn5WS2k_cjZIVa5nxG7vGHcEko0McOymbwnFQmNgMET19LkQRhhXcRB-NAhrf8/s320/FLT_Pinecones+leaf.jpg" width="216" /></a><br />
We stayed at the Whispering Pines motel, which is a funky old resort that looks like it was built in the 50s and renovated promptly in the 80s. They are working on another renovation now, I think, but I liked the funky charm. It kind of reminded me of all my friend's houses when I was growing up. Each room had a little kitchenette, which would have been great had we been staying longer than one night (eating out all the time gets tiresome). They had little cabins for rent too, but there was a three night minimum for those. The view though...that view from the balcony was awesome. The rooms faced a massive granite cliff, resplendent with splotches of fall color and a waterfall to boot. Despite the chilly morning, I stood outside the room, snapping photo after photo of the moon going down over the granite.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNUjalwjAgQoP-cJ9HJCDwM0y5wbFQTKNwyE2nrpzJPqth9mF40mqkIZqEUX7IsUUP4w6WU8O_z8CLCPCgHadFMV8bKwo02-IauAa-bizWiBV_bIBD8EEW4ATRs7PNmVmpNoQNDW7l0ow/s1600/FLT_Closeup+leaf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1282" data-original-width="1600" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNUjalwjAgQoP-cJ9HJCDwM0y5wbFQTKNwyE2nrpzJPqth9mF40mqkIZqEUX7IsUUP4w6WU8O_z8CLCPCgHadFMV8bKwo02-IauAa-bizWiBV_bIBD8EEW4ATRs7PNmVmpNoQNDW7l0ow/s320/FLT_Closeup+leaf.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Close up you can see the color variations</span>.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigkc1TdA6YiuMALcZ8xV_vCEPySUVr1MsoZCZfdPUT_5GlEt5_IwS5zDK9KeCGDLZnK15728X52t1ijLZxlZdCOl5XA42By3CkoLwLfLY05qTnDpu7oef9fgtd-79oIDIRdk0bkESBPqg/s1600/FLT_Trunk+carving.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigkc1TdA6YiuMALcZ8xV_vCEPySUVr1MsoZCZfdPUT_5GlEt5_IwS5zDK9KeCGDLZnK15728X52t1ijLZxlZdCOl5XA42By3CkoLwLfLY05qTnDpu7oef9fgtd-79oIDIRdk0bkESBPqg/s400/FLT_Trunk+carving.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUPzWKkVF9YCn_zddLTomXSKy52J9dOphu7vA2Ow0i8_QFREclm5C25crr4MmB4H3RUH2GwF8qQFwrazCmCUVnOzf96G1e6uChZiwckklLs6B05-HUGI8qEAeR3sopjbeOthDSKw0I02o/s1600/FLT_Waterfall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUPzWKkVF9YCn_zddLTomXSKy52J9dOphu7vA2Ow0i8_QFREclm5C25crr4MmB4H3RUH2GwF8qQFwrazCmCUVnOzf96G1e6uChZiwckklLs6B05-HUGI8qEAeR3sopjbeOthDSKw0I02o/s640/FLT_Waterfall.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The moon was setting over granite cliffs right outside our rooms that morning in June Lakes. Note the waterfall at the left, because the colorful trees and granite and moon weren't enough to make it spectacular.</span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">We finished our trip</span></b> with a drive up and over Tioga Pass, another first for Mom. I felt privileged to show off Yosemite's high country to her, and on such an incredibly warm and sunny day too. We got really lucky; it had snowed the weekend previous and closed the road, but only for a day or so. It's always touch and go when it comes to the passes in the area at this time of year.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvHCY2Yu83Xmsf7JwWtgOYh_LsvSaBqY2lH0BXmSTUsMYS0qZfpSl36ztwtNcHgP5FWIfRfOfJcgVStsm4so_toeMs1aN2xbsK_zkIMGuG0J2BaAU6tf8MjoT4RgER9QHr9bRChDQgRD8/s1600/FLT_Tenaya+Lake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvHCY2Yu83Xmsf7JwWtgOYh_LsvSaBqY2lH0BXmSTUsMYS0qZfpSl36ztwtNcHgP5FWIfRfOfJcgVStsm4so_toeMs1aN2xbsK_zkIMGuG0J2BaAU6tf8MjoT4RgER9QHr9bRChDQgRD8/s400/FLT_Tenaya+Lake.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">The always beautiful Tenaya Lake, Yosemite National Park</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I had a great time,</b></span> and I think Mom did too. I know we're related, because the last item on her to-do list for the trip was to stop for a frosty. We found the perfect spot in Oakdale, halfway home.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinK74zjutMSlMK85ma4lpGuBUSZuSwVJsBCyJFXJ4ERrlH0ky6TaU39wMG_rXpuAtIONN-4Ly-TUpxvADCtFBXkgLVzbg5ULA6Bld2AjI7VrVhYRXACuKYSYwqDcL4YRPPOFIKVw0H6C8/s1600/FLT_Icecream+finish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinK74zjutMSlMK85ma4lpGuBUSZuSwVJsBCyJFXJ4ERrlH0ky6TaU39wMG_rXpuAtIONN-4Ly-TUpxvADCtFBXkgLVzbg5ULA6Bld2AjI7VrVhYRXACuKYSYwqDcL4YRPPOFIKVw0H6C8/s320/FLT_Icecream+finish.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Enjoying a half & half frosty, Sno White Drive-In, Oakdale CA</span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">We saw a small grass fire</span></b> just outside of Fairfield on our way home. Little did we know we were in for far worse once we got home. I'm glad we were clueless at the time; it would have spoiled a perfect road trip with my very first traveling partner in life.<br />
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Mom, let's do this again soon.<br />
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<i>(This trip was taken October 6-8 2017. Since it had been an extremely snowy 2016-2017 winter, the colors were delayed more than usual. Always check the website and other sources before you plan your trip as the ideal timing varies greatly from year to year.)</i>Kelly Templehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16736282169474219178noreply@blogger.com1