Trees, Canyons, and Bears, Oh My!

We were reflecting in the car about how a road trip is really very different from a typical vacation.  The recent hybridization of the words “stay” and “vacation” to “staycation” accent this difference.  On a vacation, you typically stay in one place for at least a few nights, relaxing and having time to thoroughly explore a place.  By contrast, the road trip portion of our summer adventures have never involved two nights in the same place.  Each trip has included some family time [for me in LA (and now Portland), for Rita in Colorado], but otherwise, we loosely design the trip primarily as a journey.  We go, we don’t generally stay.

There are disadvantages, of course, to this sort of travel, mainly involving the transient nature of the venture.  You log a lot of hours in the car and pack in a lot of brief glimpses of fabulous places, without having a chance to really come to know them intimately.  It’s like a sampler plate of appetizers, a taste or flavor of a wide variety of things.  You have to make choices; select highlights and side trips that don’t keep you in one place for too long.

I know for some this sounds exhausting.  But, for me (and I think for Rita), it really is a vacation.  It’s a break from schedules and commitments and the confinement of man made constructs educators constantly have thrust upon them, like professional learning communities and the common core. Personally, I find the freedom to choose the route liberating; the sense that unknown adventures await around the bend invigorating; and the laughter we encounter immensely rewarding.

All that is a lot of words to say this:  yesterday, I wish we’d had a week (or two) to explore the two brown sign destinations we had on tap:  Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks.  In particular, Kings Canyon should be a destination, not a drive by.  It is absolutely stupendous.

Our day began with a very short drive into Sequoia National Park.  Sequoia is the 2^nd oldest national park in our country (Yellowstone was the first in 1872), established in 1890.  Kings Canyon and Sequoia are now managed as one unit, but at Kings Canyon, they tell you Kings Canyon is the 3^rd oldest national park.  It was established as General Grant National Park in 1890, which became a part of what we now call “Kings Canyon” in 1940.  Yosemite also formally became a national park in 1890.

Looking up to the tops of the Sequoias

Sequoia is all you’d expect it to be.  Compared to the other parks we’ve visited, it is by far the most crowded (with the exception of Yellowstone and Yosemite).  There are plenty of park services, including shuttles, which would be particularly handy if you were staying in the park.  We did three walks in the park, including the hike to Moro Rock, Tharps Cabin, and the General Sherman Tree.

Moro Rock is one of those can’t be missed sites.  I’d like to tell the less adventurous that the view is the same at the 100^th step, but I’d be lying.  You’ve got to walk the whole 350 steps.  The granite dome of Moro looms on the landscape the same way that our Pilot Mountain does, but at an elevation of 6,725 ft, it’s a different beast altogether.  The view is stunning and the staircase is quite remarkable.  I was relieved that I did not have two year-old Luca with me.  The rails are by no means designed with rambunctious young children in mind.  Even as an adult, you have moments when you think it is crazy to be so high up on this narrow a passage.

 

The historic staircase at Moro Rock in Sequoia National Park

Lichens on the Moro Rock

After Moro, we took the walk to Tharp’s Log. Tharp made his home inside a fallen sequoia.  The trail takes you to this cabin, opening out onto a beautiful meadow where Tharp grazed his livestock during the summers beginning in 1869.  The walk gave us our first good look at the giant sequoias and a sense of just how immense they are.

 

Meadow on the walk to Tharps Log in Sequoia National Park

I think going to both Redwoods and Sequoia in one trip gives you a chance to compare the two giant trees first hand.  By comparison, the sequoias really are red, well, more orange actually, whereas the redwoods are this deep chocolaty brown.  The redwood forest is much more dense and dark; the sequoia forest has a good deal of light reaching the forest floor.  Of course, there are habitat differences as well, but the other thing you really notice is the girth of the trees themselves.  The largest sequoias are much bigger around their base.  The General Sherman sequoia tree, the biggest tree in the world by biomass, is 100 ft in circumference at its base.  We were actually pretty hot and hungry before we got to the General Sherman tree, but we simply couldn’t pass on the biggest tree in the world. Note here:  the trail to the tree is downhill all the way, meaning of course, the trail back is not.  If you bother to read signs, you’ll discover in summer you can take the shuttle back to the parking lot.  It will surprise no one that we did not read the signs.

After a badly needed lunch break, we left Sequoia for Kings Canyon.  The General’s Highway connecting the two parks, Route 180, is open only after the snow is gone, and is a very nice drive.  In fact, you’d say it was spectacular, if you hadn’t continued on into Kings Canyon, which has to be one of the most beautiful and stunning drives I’ve ever taken.

 

The road into Kings Canyon

I’ve heard a lot about national parks.  I’m a brown sign junkie, after all.  But, nothing I’d read or heard adequately prepared me for the staggering magnificence of Kings Canyon.

 

I guess I should have clued in when our host at the Buckeye Lodge told us, “You’ll love Kings Canyon.  There’s a reason it was the 3^rd national park in the country.  It’s every bit as beautiful as the Grand Canyon.”  But, really, no one talks about Kings Canyon. The park, while not as empty as Pinnacles, was sparsely populated.  Checking the web, I found the annual visitation at Kings Canyon was 591,033 in 2012, whereas at the attendance at Sequoia was 1,106,584 and Yosemite was 3,853,404.  This maybe isn’t surprising except Kings Canyon and Sequoia are literally right beside each other.  Why visit one and not the other?

 

Kings Canyon landscape

Okay, I’m rethinking this. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you how beautiful Kings Canyon is because I really don’t want a million people there.  But, because you are still reading this incredibly long post, you get the benefit of my insight.  Kings Canyon is simply amazing.  It should not be missed.

Roaring River Falls, King’s Canyon National Park

California king snake

We drove to Road’s End, stopping at two waterfalls (beautiful, but not high like the ones in the Columbia River Gorge).  We took a splendid hike to Zumalt Meadow and cooled our feet in the Kings River (be careful to pick a calm spot, because it’s a very rocky, very fast moving stream with multiple signs warning of its dangers).  But mostly, we just tried to soak in the beauty of the canyon.  John Muir loved this area, comparing its beauty to the Yosemite Valley.  The drive begins on the canyon’s rim and descends to the banks of the river, giving you a rare opportunity to see the canyon from both above and below.  I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves.

 

Near Zumwalt Meadow in King’s Canyon National Park

In Kings Canyon, we found a bear and a snake, and views that will be imprinted on my heart forever.

A bear, showing us his backside for the camera, naturally

It will come as no surprise that we did not make it to LA for dinner.  We barely made it in time for bed.  But, when we got there, Bill was up waiting for us (watching the Tour), glass of wine for each of us in hand.

Brother of the year.  Absolutely.

So, today, we continued our road vacation.  And, oh, my, what a road it was!  But, this was also definitely one of those days I wish we could have lingered a little longer in one place.  Next time, I’ll know.

And, so will you.

A Kit Fox, a Condor, and a Crime

Our Monday began in a major metropolitan area, San Francisco.  It ended on the banks of the Kaweah River, about 10 minutes from the gates of Sequoia National Park. And in between, there were miles and miles of road, ranging from urban to rural, curvy to straight, flat to steep, and rough to smooth.  And we stumbled into a kit fox, a condor and a crime.

Remember my hope for a good night’s sleep, filled with dreams of Rainier?  Well, not quite.  It turns out the hotwire deal at the San Francisco Sheraton (and I’ll give it to you, it was a really good deal, Rita, a 4 star hotel on Fisherman’s Wharf for $100 a night) included a bonus view of the San Francisco bus depot, a happenin’ spot through the night.  Somehow, Rita managed to sleep through it, but I had a very hard time, despite earplugs.  Cities can be harsh places for a brown sign girl after multiple nights in and around national parks, you know?

We headed out for a look around San Francisco.  Of course, you easily could spend a whole week exploring a great city like San Francisco, but we allowed ourselves the morning there (and left by about 12:30).  Think of it, what would you do with that time?  What would you squeeze in?  What would you omit?

 

Fisherman’s Wharf

Golden Gate Bridge in morning fog

We opted for a wander through the harbor, breakfast at Johnny Rocket’s, a drive through the city and the Presidio, and a stop at the Japanese Tea Garden in Golden Gate Park. The Tea Garden was a destination for Rita, who wanted to replace a favorite t-shirt for her daughter, Kristine.  The t-shirt had been damaged in the laundry by a well-intentioned mom and it seemed like a great gift for Kristine.  We found the perfect parking place (just outside the garden), paid the $7 admission fee, and headed off immediately to the gift shop, where we discovered a wide variety of Japanese teapots, dishes, and trinkets but absolutely no t-shirts.  So, Kristine, I want you to know your mom tried her best, but she did not replace the t-shirt.  Will a picture of your mom in the garden do?

Rita on a failed t-shirt quest

Our “taste” of San Francisco was complimented by the crab salad sandwiches (on sourdough, of course) from Alioto’s, eaten on the way to our first unplanned brown sign detour of the trip, Pinnacles National Park.

Pinnacles wasn’t on my original target list for this trip for two reasons:  it’s America’s newest national park so I didn’t know much about it (even the park service website is sparse) and it’s pretty remote.  It’s a long ways down Route 25 and not quite on the way to Sequoia from San Francisco.  But, and here’s why a good traveling partner is essential, just as we took a journey up north to the Oregon coast to get south to Redwoods because Rita wanted to, Rita accommodated my brown sign quest.  Actually, in her words, “Now, that one’s off the list.”

And so it is.  But it yielded two stunning animal sightings and a fabulous story and was, from my perspective anyway, well worth the journey.

On the way to Pinnacles, we stopped in Hollister (not exactly a booming metropolis) at a random gas station that looked to be the last chance at gas (and a bathroom) for many, many miles.  When we went to pay for our snacks (there’s nothing near Pinnacles, so stock up on water at a minimum), the clerk asks me “How’s it going?” to which I reply, “Pretty well, and you?”  With me, still?  And he replies, “A lot better than yesterday.”  I bite.  “I’m glad for that.  What happened yesterday?”  “We had a gun fight here, two motorcycle gangs were out front at the pumps shooting at each other.  There were police and news reporters and a helicopter transporting victims and when the guy came into the store to get help, he trailed blood all over the store.  Want to see the video?”

“No,” says Rita, very quick on her feet, “I think I just want to get these M&Ms and get the hell out of here.”  But, I had to watch the video.  I mean the guy had it cued up on his phone already.  He clearly wanted to share.

Sure enough.

We stumbled into a crime scene.

In Hollister, California.  Something right out of Sons of Anarchy.  No kidding.  A gun fight at Chevron in Hollister, California.  You can’t make this stuff up.  If I did, you wouldn’t believe it anyway.

And so, we high-tailed it out of Hollister and headed for the peaceful, isolated tranquility of Pinnacles.

Did I mention isolated?  No lines at this park, no tour buses, and about 30 visitors.  Perhaps the remoteness had something to do with it, perhaps it was the 108 degree heat with limited shade, except for the gray pines (Marylu, I got this great cone for us, if I can get it back without crushing it.)  And, no, to all you Educators of Excellence groupies, I did not pick it up within the boundaries of a national park. We committed no crimes, just stumbled upon one committed by others.

There are two entrances to Pinnacles, one from the east, one from the west, but no road connecting them.  We entered from the east, but apparently (we learned at the east gate), the western entrance leads to views more visible from the road.  The east side requires 2 mile hikes to the good views.  In the heat, that wasn’t happening, so we followed the short roads to their ends and took a small walk into the rock formations.

Rock formations at Pinnacles National Park

As we stopped for water on the trail, I noticed a small animal walking toward us.  When it noticed us, it stopped cold and stared at us, as surprised to see us as we were to see it.  A fox.  A kit fox.  The only true desert fox, my guide book says.  A relatively uncommon sighting, according to the book.  And, I’m no Mike Dunn, but I snapped a quick couple of photos (Mike, where are you when I need you?).  Absolutely fabulous.  Definitely worth the detour, even Rita had to admit it.

Kit fox watching us watching it. It could be a gray fox. Naturalists, what do you think?

We headed out of the park down a dramatically different road than any thus far encountered on the trip.  It was very remote, with cattle ranches on either side, winding through wide open rolling hills– expanses of golden grasses, brown rocks, and gray pines.  It was beautiful.  While we were driving, Rita glimpsed what we now believe was indeed a California Condor (a giant, giant bird related to our turkey vulture, once near extinction, and now just a little less near to it, with about 200 ranging wild).  I immediately stopped the car in the middle of the road (it was a possible condor, for goodness sake), but it had just gone over the mountain ridge.  Condors are often seen at Pinnacles, so it’s a real possibility.  It’s what I’m choosing to believe.  One had been sighted that afternoon at Pinnacles, according to the ranger.

Route 25 heading south from Pinnacles National Park

Sometime after we turned on Route 198, the road turned 4-lane, straight as an arrow, and pretty boring.  As we crossed the valley, there were tons of mega farms, orchards and vineyards and signs reminding us how absolutely critical water was to the area.  On the horizon, you could see the Sierra Nevada range suddenly springing from the flat landscape around us.  What a contrast!

So, here I have to give full credit to Rita.  The park inns at King’s Canyon and Sequoia were full, so Rita did some google maps sleuthing and discovered this amazing inn in Three Rivers, just outside Sequoia National Park.  It’s called the Buckeye Tree Lodge.  We have a great, great room, overlooking the Kaweah River (I’m watching hummingbirds this morning as I write this).  Next to it is the Gateway Restaurant (motto:  All we overlook is the beautiful Kaweah River), where we had a delightful late evening meal on the patio overlooking the river.  It was the best service of the trip so far and just a real pleasure after a long day on the road.

You never know what gifts the road will reveal.  Today, it was a kit fox, a condor, and a crime.

And a great meal overlooking a river.

Dinner on the patio at the Gateway Restaurant

 

The Roads More Traveled

Yesterday, I’d definitely say we took the road less traveled.  And, yes, it was a little longer than we expected, but it had its own surprising twists and turns that made for a memorable journey.  Today, we stuck mainly to several well-traveled roads, traveling at what felt like a slightly less pressured pace, making for a very pleasurable journey.

We began the day (after a hot breakfast at the hotel) by retracing our route from Gold Beach, OR back to Redwoods.  But, for all practical purposes, we could have been on an entirely different road from the appearance of it.  The amazing views of yesterday were nearly invisible to us, covered in a dense fog that enveloped the coast and produced a surreal, haunting effect.  At times, it felt like we were driving across bridges into near nothingness and would be completely swallowed up by the clouds and mist.

A brief moment of clarity on an otherwise foggy morning on the southern Oregon coast.

We stopped at several overlooks along the way; sometimes the fog would suddenly clear and we’d get a glimpse of the sea below, sometimes you’d hardly have known the Pacific stretched beneath you, except for the smell of it.  I particularly liked this windy and steep road we took up to the Klamath River overlook, where we had a fairly limited view due to the fog, but you could tell, in clear weather, it would have been just stunning.  From this perch, you could easily have watched the gray whales migrating north and south along the coast.  Down this road, we also discovered a historic inn that looked like it would be a delightful place to stay—a place neither of us saw described online or in the tour books.  It was called the ReQua Inn and looked to be quite a find.

Where Judy works

We also made a stop at Harris Beach State Park, site of the 2^nd largest coastal rock in Oregon, called Bird Rock.  It is a seasonal home to thousands of nesting pelagic birds, including puffin, two species of cormorant, and guillemot.  The puffin, naturally, were on the north facing slope of the rock, which we couldn’t see, but I did get to watch the guillemot (with their silly orange feet and spastic flights, how do those birds fly?).  Rita spotted either a harbor seal or a sea lion swimming just offshore.  We spent a half hour or so there talking with Judy, a retired teacher, now-volunteer who traverses the country in her 5^th wheel serving as a naturalist interpreter at fabulous places.  Now, that’s the kind of retirement I could live into, if I had the nerve to haul a trailer. (I have this recurring nightmare about the summer I spent driving the bus in Wisconsin. Truth be told, although I did get my bus license, they only made me drive the bus once, because I got it stuck and had to be rescued.)  Next summer, Judy will be at Grand Teton (Maybe I’ll see here there? It’s on my shortlist.).  This year she’s spending two months on the coast of Oregon, hoping to head east later in the year.  National wildlife refuges, state and national parks, national historic sites—she’s been all over the country learning about the natural and cultural history of some of our most precious sites and sharing it with others.  What doesn’t sound fabulous about that?

View from Klamath River overlook.

We continued down the coast, back into Redwoods, this time traveling down two remarkable roads, the Newton B. Drury Road and the more southern Avenue of the Giants.  The great thing about these two roads is they aren’t loops, so taking them means you still make progress along Route 101, even if it is a bit slower progress.  If you’re looking for beautiful, beautiful, beautiful roads, through virgin redwood groves, you’ll appreciate these roads.  Disclaimer: stretches of these roads technically fall outside the park and are segmented by touristy souvenir shops, reminiscent of Cherokee, NC.  Didn’t you come to the Redwoods to see a giant Babe the Blue Ox, Paul Bunyan, and Big Foot?  Well, you are in luck, because they’re here waiting for you.  Giants among giants.

A sense of the roads through the Redwoods

We stopped in Trinadad for lunch again, but this time went to the Beachcomber Café, where we had an amazing Cobb salad topped with smoked tuna and egg salads and homemade blue-cheese dressing.  We ate outside in the sunshine and salt air.  Perfect.

About 3, we started focusing on actually making it to San Francisco.  There was a short detour for what was described as a must-see hidden gem, the town of Ferndale.  Yes, there were some interesting houses and an almost quaint shopping area, but we didn’t really see anything that made the 10 mile round-trip detour worthwhile.  So, skip Ferndale.  We just saved you 25 minutes.  You can thank me later.

Our view of the Golden Gate Bridge as we arrived in San Francisco. What you can’t see is the dense fog. Or the bridge, for that matter.

 

As we approached San Francisco, Rita and I started talking about our previous visits to the bay area.  As we talked, I started to realize something that, well, maybe I’ve always known without saying it aloud.  She remembers all these details of places she’s been in San Francisco, buildings and cable cars and streets and meals and all the things you’d think I might also remember from a trip to such an amazing city.  Okay, I was here about 30 years ago (yes, Abbie-Stuart, I am that old) while I was a graduate student (the first time).  When I was here, I stayed with my friend Joe Womack, a friend from Oberlin (and Pearl High School, incidentally, who was in graduate school at Berkeley at the time.  I remember visiting with Joe; I remember the flight out; I remember riding the BART; I remember going the Exploratorium; I remember the steep roads and cable cars.  I even remember loving San Francisco.  But my standout memory of the trip is sitting for hours at Golden Gate Park in the sunshine, overlooking the bridge and the bay, feeling the breeze, and watching the sea lions play just offshore.  I distinctly remember the sound of the barking and the delight I felt on discovering that sea lions were making that noise, not dogs.

And as I reflected on it, I realized I have distinct memories of each of the national parks I’ve visited over the years.  I remember the cold, dense fog and the tidal pools at Acadia.  I remember the view of McKinley over the vast open creek beds at Denali.  I remember the way the sun glistened off the killer whales at Kenai Fjords.  In my memory, I can still hear the calving glaciers at Glacier Bay.  I can see the colors of the rocks at Zion, the sunlight dancing around the spires at Bryce Canyon.  I can still feel the awe of the geysers at Yellowstone, the joy of watching the wolf pups in the frigid air.  The sun disappearing through the Window at Big Bend, the hot breeze streaming up out of Grand Canyon, the slippery feel of the hellbenders in the incredibly cold creeks of Great Smoky Mountain—I could go on and on.  In fact, each of the twenty-six parks I’ve visited (as of today) is associated with a distinct and vivid memory of a precious experience, more of a deep feeling than anything else.  These are the places that have been imprinted on my heart; they are the landscapes that simultaneously inspire and amaze and comfort me.  The sights, smells, and sounds of these parks still resonate in me in such a way that it’s as if I’m standing right in them as I call up the places in my mind.

I guess that’s why I spend my summers chasing brown signs on both well-traveled and less-traveled roads.  These roads lead me to adventures with happy endings and memories that feed my spirit and soul throughout the year.

So, tonight, I’ll be sleeping in San Francisco.  But, I’ll likely be dreaming of cool snowmelt, rushing streams, and the lush green woods of Rainier.

Roads May Be Longer than They Appear

Each morning as we start our day, we take a look at the maps and figure out a general plan for the day– our target places to visit, a reasonable route, some consideration of food, and a resting place for the evening.  On our first trip west, we had very few hotel reservations, save the night at the Grand Canyon.  However, on this trip, we actually booked each night of hotel stays, thinking that because we were traveling during a major holiday weekend, there’d be heavy competition for accommodations.

In fact, each hotel we’ve stayed in has been full; we’ve passed probably hundreds of no vacancy signs.  So, having reservations has turned out to be really important, especially since we’ve been in remote places, arriving usually around 9:00 p.m. or later, the exact point at which you just want to peel off your jeans and tumble into bed even and you couldn’t care less if it’s a Super 8 at $50 a night or a Hyatt at $200 a night.  You figure you won’t really be checking out the decor with your eyes closed.

But, having accommodations also ties you down because you have to commit ahead of time to what you believe, sitting at your computer in North Carolina, will be a reasonable traveling distance.  And, sometimes, it turns out that the roads are a lot longer than they appear on paper (or even on the Internet).

You simply can’t account for road closures, forest fires, construction, slow trucks in front of you, one lane bridges over canyons, or windy mountain roads from the safety of your home. These things you just deal with as you encounter them.  Sometimes you regroup and develop an impromptu plan on the spot.  Sometimes you break for a long lunch.  But mostly, on this sort of road trip, you just have to be able to accept it as part of the adventure.

Needless to say, it’s important to have a traveling partner who understands this.

Today, there was no direct route from where we were (Klamath Falls, Oregon) to where we were going (Gold Beach, Oregon).  So, naturally, we adopted Naomi’s theory of travel, which is basically, anything you want to see is on the way to where you are going, and took a southern route, bringing us south of Redwood National Park, and north to our final destination.  Yes, going south to go north.  I know. It would have made sense to make the drive as quickly as possible and spend the rest of the day on the beach. But two days in Redwoods sounded like such a good idea when we were full of energy and itching to get out of Klamath Falls.  The brown sign was calling.

Here’s the upside of our faulty thinking.  The very windy road snaking along the Klamath River canyon was spectacularly beautiful.  It was isolated and almost entirely within the Klamath National Forest.  Ok, it was 190 miles longer.  But, wow!  Beautiful.

I’d have a picture if Route 96 hadn’t been so steep and narrow.  In the absence of my own photo, I’ve lifted one from the US Forest Service website, just to give you a sense of the splendor.

Klamath National Forest, http://www.fs.usda.gov/attmain/klamath/specialplaces.

Spectacular, truly.  But, long.  Emerging finally onto Route 299 and then the long awaited Route 101, we stopped on the beach for what we called lunch, but the hostess informed us was dinner (how did it get to be 4:00?) at a very good restaurant on the beach, the Trinidad Bay Eatery and Gallery.

Trinidad, CA Memorial Lighthouse and our first good look at the Pacific Ocean.

After lunch (dinner), we headed north toward Redwood National and State Parks.  I guess I never understood that Redwood National Park is such a recent addition to the National Park system, having been established in 1968.  It is really a mix of state and national parks and sometimes it’s hard to tell as you travel through it what is actually state park and what is national park.  Not that this really matters– what matters most is that the areas were protected.  The coastal redwoods are just mind-blowing trees, some as big as 15 feet in diameter and  700 years old.  We ignored the bear warning signs (well, not quite ignored, but maybe tried to put out of mind) and followed the Lady Bird Johnson Grove trail through the giants and were taken aback by the shrill call of the endangered marbled murrelet ringing out through the otherwise still and haunting woods.  I’m sorry to say I didn’t see one, Uncle Bob, but it wasn’t for lack of looking.

A look into the redwoods at the Lady Bird Johnson grove, Redwood National Park.

Another advantage of arriving in the park in the evening is that you do get a chance to see wildlife that might otherwise be sleeping in the heat of the day.  We saw a marmot a couple of days ago and in Redwood we got a chance to see elk.  It’s calving season for elk, so we watched with delight as the calves frolicked in the field (there really is no other word that so aptly describes the way they bounce and seem to play with each other).

Elk with calf (I think there’s only one in the picture) in Redwood National Park.

The long road day was accented by a view of sunset over the Pacific from one of the many overlooks in the stretch of Oregon’s southern 101.

Sunset over the Pacific.

So, today, maybe I’ll get the chance today to find a murrelet, as we retrace Route 101 south to San Francisco.  Yes, another long road day, but at least there’s no question about the route…

And while it may be a little longer road than you expect at times, it’s always an adventure.

 

National Park on a National Holiday

To paraphrase the documentarian Ken Burns, the National Parks really are America’s best idea. I have yet to see one that fails to deliver awesome beauty; they are remote and rugged and yet have at the same time this gentle peacefulness that immediately puts me at ease. I know in these places I will find beauty, adventure, and awe.

Trouble is, I don’t think many Americans have any idea what awaits them in our nation’s parks. The parks are filled with visitors from other countries, but by comparison, very few Americans. Already in our short ventures into the national parks this year, we’ve met families from India, Japan, China, France, England, Germany, and Russia. These tourists seem to understand how lucky we are to have such spectacular places. So, as I spend my second consecutive 4th of July in a national park, I find I’m thinking about my students, how few of them will ever visit a national park and what a difference such a visit might make to them. There’s got to be a way to get them there.

Ah, well. Maybe I can talk a few Forest View teachers into following me on another adventure…there’s got to be a grant out there somewhere…come on, Marylu, Catriona, and the rest of you, let’s get it going.

Our 4th began with the absolutely best whitewater adventure I’ve had. Part of the fun, honestly, was watching Rita’s eyes get big when she realized for this rafting trip, we’d be donning wetsuits and helmets and learning what to do if you were suddenly launched from your boat into the 40 degree glacial-fed stream. It seems when she told me she had been whitewater rafting before, she really meant she’d been in a raft that sauntered lazily down the Rio Grande. Let’s just say, the White Salmon River is not the Rio Grande. Its class 2, 3, and 4 rapids, relatively narrow channel, and stunning beauty made for a grand introduction to the world of whitewater. The steep stairs from the rim to the water were good preparation for the excitement to follow.

Suited up for the rapids

 

Our guide, Marcelo, was great. Talk about living the dream. Originally from Miami, he’s been guiding rafting trips for the last 5 or so years, from Colorado to Costa Rica to Washington. Bet his parents are glad they spent that money on college, eh? But, you can’t help but be a little envious of his choice to make a living outdoors. He said our trip will be memorable to him as it involved his first water rescue on the White Salmon. Sorry to disappoint here; it wasn’t me or Rita who was launched from our boat into a rapid, although we both technically went swimming. Rita did so accidentally while bravely trying to position herself to “ride the bull,” taking a rapid while balanced on the front of the boat. I adopted my “I’m only here once attitude” and jumped in from a cliff that looked much less intimidating from below than it did from above. So, we both can say with authority, 40 degree water is COLD, even if you are wearing a wetsuit.

On the water

After the rafting, we grabbed a quick (but actually really good) sandwich and cookie from our outfitters, Zoller’s (a superb choice, if I do say so myself) and headed off to Crater Lake National Park.

In the water

We arrived at Crater Lake, btw, without the help of our trusted guide, who went mysteriously silent, despite the fact that Rita’s Verizon service has kept her covered through most of our trip (save Rainier). AT&T service, on the other hand, has been mostly limited to big cities (at least the size of the Klamath Falls, which is the 2nd biggest city we’ve seen thus far). I see a new phone plan in my future—may be time to retire the iPhone 4 with no Siri and step into the present. Anyway, all this is funny because, when we pulled into the parking lot at the Crater Lake Lodge at 8:00 p.m. to grab a bite of dinner, who should return but the Google bitch, suddenly shouting “continue straight” as I was turning the car off. This utterance sent us into fits of laughter. I’m pretty sure “continuing straight” in the car through historic lodge in a national park on the 4th of July would have been a federal offense.

You really can’t make this stuff up.

So, Crater Lake. I don’t know why it hit me this way, but when I climbed to the rim of the crater and looked over the top, the striking appearance of the lake, seeming to emerge from nowhere, took me aback. It’s so clear and flat and other-worldly. You just look over the ridge into this bowl and see this huge lake there. I saw a caldera lake in Ecuador, but not one with such a steep-sided rim. It’s a surprising reminder that this is no ordinary mountain, but a volcano and a site of an unimaginable explosion that blasted the top right off the mountain, resulting in the amazing lake before you. I know, it sounds weird. I could see the volcanic rocks around me, the boulder fields, even the cinder cone, and yet, the awesome beauty of that lake still amazed me.

Crater Lake National Park

After circling the crater (it’s about 33 miles around) and a pretty darned good pot roast at the Annie’s Creek restaurant in the park, we headed to the booming metropolis of Klamath Falls, where we stumbled into bed, grateful even for a room at the Vagabond Inn (pretty much as it sounds).

Proud Americans celebrating the 4th of July.

So, new tradition: national parks on the 4th of July. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? Last year, Big Bend. This year, Crater Lake.

Another view from the rim.

Where will it be next year?

Wherever it is, it will be spectacular.

The Google Gal Gets it Wrong

The Google Maps voice, who we affectionately call the Google bitch (Sorry, Christopher, it’s really her name. I’d say I’ve been a bad influence on your Aunt, but I don’t think it was me that actually coined the nickname.), sometimes gets it wrong. Aside from her habit of dropping out of service just when you need her the most, she has a few other serious shortcomings. For example, she doesn’t see traffic signals and often tells you to continue just when you should be stopping. She says “continue straight” on roads that are anything but straight. Or, she instructs you to turn right when you’re on a bridge. She’s done all these things already on this trip and still we love her. But, today, she totally blew it. She would have had us speed through the Columbia River Gorge on I-84, totally missing historic U.S. Route 30, which would have been a monumental loss.

The Google bitch rarely enters National Parks. There, we are able to wander free from the electronics to which we are tethered in real life. Maybe that’s another reason I chase these brown signs– they take me to places where I am relieved of the need to choose to text or not to text and just be. Be in stunning beauty. Be in awe. Be at peace.

So, at Rainier, we woke up on Luca time. This is actually what has helped us finally transition to the West Coast time zone. Never, never wake a sleeping baby. This means if you wake up at 5:45 a.m. and the mountain is completely socked in by fog, you just roll over and go back to sleep. Who would have thought of that?

After rising about 9, we had breakfast in large dining room of the Paradise Inn. Okay, I’ll admit, there aren’t really many options in Paradise. But, this was a good option anyway.

We completed breakfast, packed up the car, and headed off for a hiking adventure. Since we were in the middle of a very dense cloud (which according to our waiter usually burns off by about noon), we opted to head down the mountain in search of a trail that Luca and his two traveling companions could manage. Our first stop was a near a tunnel (Luca insisted on visiting the tunnel, where even grownups enjoyed squealing just to hear the echo). The trail overlooked a gorgeous gorge at the start of the Wonderland Trail.

Swinging bridge on the Grove of the Patriarchs Trail

This hike led us to a beautiful bridge overlooking a hundred foot deep canyon with a rushing stream below it.  It was a just right hike for Luca’s first national park trail.  Afterward, we loaded back into the car, where we made an impromptu decision to continue onward rather than retracing our steps and heading back out through the Nisqually entrance.  This meant a longer trip home, through what turned out to be really windy roads in Gifford Pinchot National Forest, but it was worth it.  When given a choice, opt for the unknown adventure, right?

Our second hike took us to the Grove of the Patriarchs.  Although I suspect these will be the smallest of the redwoods, Douglas firs, and hemlocks we will see as we travel down the coast, they were, as Luca dubbed them, “giants.”  It was a great walk, at least until Luca got tired and said, “I’m sorry,” which really means “I’m scared and I want to be held.”  We did our best (did I mention he is a big 2 year old?), but deployed a parent’s trick in the end—playing a game of “Where’s Rita?” (actually, “Where’s Rena?”) as Luca and I followed the Rita up the rest of the trail as she not so subtly ducked in and out of the trees ahead.  Great fun.

We got into the car and headed out of the park and toward Portland.  Three things worth noting here.  If you take Route 123 out of the park (Stevens Canyon Entrance), you should make sure you get gas (don’t wait thinking you’ll find something past Randle). And, don’t pass on the opportunity to photograph Mt. St. Helen’s, thinking, as my friend Rita did, a better spot will be just around the next corner. Also, if you are traveling with a 2 year old, you will be very, very glad you purchased that $26.99 DVD of Frozen.  After the DVD, Luca fell asleep singing “Let it Go” (I think we were to the Portuguese version by then.)  We arrived in Portland, said “Bye-bye” to Luca (yes it broke my heart), and then headed off to the Columbia River Gorge.

If you go to Portland, you have to take the time to drive up the gorge.  It’s fabulous, if you ignore the Google bitch and ditch I-84 for the historic Route 30.  Unknown to me (and apparently the fine lady from Google), this route traverses some great historic sites like the Vista House and a number of fabulous 60-100 foot waterfalls cascading into the Columbia River.  They waterfalls are part of the state parks of Oregon and make for a spectacular diversion from the Interstate.  Kudos again to Rita for her pre-trip and in-trip research.

Classic selfie in front of waterfall.

What can I say, some people buy guidebooks, others buy Frozen DVDs.

We stopped for dinner at The Waterfront Café, which would be absolutely forgettable if not for the view, making a quite ordinary meal into fine dining, even if it was at a picnic table.

Locks Waterfront Grill

View from the Locks Waterfront Grill

From there, we headed to Trout Lake Cozy Cabins, where the office was closed, but our key was waiting for us in the door of Cabin 4.  This lodging was recommended by our rafting guide for our July 4 adventure.  Great find!

View outside Trout Lake Cozy Cabins

And, so, sometimes the Google bitch knows what she’s talking about.  She helps you find your way through cities with ease (usually).  And, she can bring a lot of laughter to road-weary travellers.  But sometimes, you just have to shut ‘er down and enjoy the ride.  After all, all those who wander are not lost.

The View from the Back Seat

If you start a road trip by flying across three time zones, it’s probably wise to allow yourself an opportunity to adjust to the time change—stay up late enough to foster sleeping until at least 7:00 a.m., you know, that sort of thing. That would be a good plan.  But, if you don’t have a plan and you can’t stay up past 9:00 p.m., you might just find yourself awake at 5:45 a.m. working on your blog while your traveling companion hits the chlorinated pool (as additional insurance against airplane-acquired germs). And having risen at 5:45, you might just find yourself at Mount Rainier National Park with a two year old who is gently patting your head, saying “Night, night, Gammy” as you fight to stay awake just a few minutes later than he does.

For the record, Rita was asleep before either of us.

After the early rise (and morning swim), we had a leisurely morning at the Crowne Plaza before heading over to take Luca and Ashley to breakfast.  Ashley led us to Jam, a kid-friendly and quite tasty breakfast spot in Portland, where I had a great scramble with spinach and garlic, really good hash browns (crispy, like they should be, Mom), and toast with, of course, jam.  Rita had some kind of tofu scramble thing– taking the whole fit in with the locals thing a little two seriously, if you ask me.  After breakfast, we went to an open air fruit and vegetable market and picked up a few things for the trip to Mt. Rainier.  Ashley helped us pack Luca into the car and we headed off to Mt. Rainier.

Walking to the Market

Instead of getting into the passenger seat and assuming my normal navigation position, however, I climbed into the back to assist Luca in all his travel needs for the duration of the ride.  This included reading [Chicka Chicka Boom Boom, Let’s Go for a Drive (seemed appropriate), The Perfect Square, The Duckling Gets a Cookie, and Pete the Cat I Love My White Shoes among others], singing [The ABC song, The Farmer in the Dell, and Let it Go (only Luca knew those words)], finding the water bottle (Gamma brought a new dinosaur one, which every boy needs), and getting more fish (goldfish crackers are an absolute essential in the Gamma toolkit).  Needless to say, I did a very good job in my role as backseat assistant to Luca.

If I’m very lucky, I’ll get re-hired for the position.

Each year, Rita and I have taken on different roles for the trips.  This year, I had the big picture covered (i.e., which National Parks and brown signs were on the route), but Rita tended to most of the details.  While I focused on stockpiling my Gamma bag of magic road trip diversions, it turns out Rita actually read some guidebooks.  Go figure.  It’s a new element of our travel together, but it has led to some pretty fun adventures.

For example, on the way to Mt. Rainier, we made a detour to Northwest Trek Wildlife Park, which turned out to be great fun, especially for Luca.  We got to see otter, raccoon, lynx, elk, bison, deer, bighorn sheep, and Luca’s personal favorite, the caribou.  We rode a tram (a school bus as far as Luca was concerned) and Luca literally came so close to caribou he could have touched them.  Of course, he fell asleep about halfway through the tram ride, but even that was nice, as Gamma got some extra cuddle time.

Can you see the caribou?

After the wildlife park, we stopped for “The Best Burger Around” in Elbe (which is pretty funny if you’ve ever been to Elbe, as if there were a lot of places in the running for best burger).  What hungry adventurer could pass up an invitation like that?  The burgers were actually pretty good– and Luca really liked the french fries.

Elbe Bar and Grill

Then, it was off to Rainier.

I’ve been to a lot of National Parks, but Rainier is really spectacular.  The mountain was completely visible (no cloud cover, no fog) and just stunning rising from the landscape the way it does.  We stopped several times during the ascent to Paradise (yes, now I’ve been to Paradise, and not the Paradise where the bad bear roams far from Cave Creek Ranch).  The Paradise Inn, built in 1916, is definitely worth the drive and the expense.  You can’t imagine the gurgling sound of the water as it melts from the snowpack all around you, together with the breeze atop the mountain– all this as you stand in your shirtsleeves in the bright sunshine. And the view from our room was breathtaking.  Just breathtaking. I don’t know how an inn like this was built at this elevation in 1916, but what a great place to stay!

Walking in the snow, Paradise Inn in background

Mount Rainier

Mount Rainier

After some walking around (actually, no one was walking– Luca was bounding and the grown-ups were chasing), we headed to the room, where Rita, then Luca, then Gammy all fell fast asleep.  Well, maybe Gammy fell asleep before Luca.  It’s possible. I don’t actually remember.

Crashed after a long, long, day.