Up on down the road...

~~~

“If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad. As to that regular, uninterrupted love of writing. I do not understand it. I feel it as a torture, which I must get rid of, but never as a pleasure. On the contrary, I think composition a great pain.”

~ Lord Byron

That Lord Byron... he sure hits a lot of nails, square on the head. I wonder if he was ever a carpenter...

Not sure where I'm going with this today so bear with me, its the end of spring break, both kids have been here all week but the daughter heads back to her mom tomorrow... sigh...

And of course Tuesday is April Fool's... kind of fitting. For the kids anyway. This past week has been their Spring Break and the weather has been more like a fresh blast of winter than the warming breath of spring. Last weekend I was so encouraged when I saw my first Osprey of the season over at their nest on Greenhill Rd that I thought for sure we'd have some warm weather hitting any day now... but here I sat this morning watching a squall of snow blow by.

So... in light of nature's sense of humor I'll continue in that vein.

Surrounded as we are here at the farm by grass fields, we get geese flocking around us almost all year:



The geese are a nuisance for the farmers, eating the grass with no return to the farmer (there is no market for goose turds) and here in Oregon they've returned to goose hunting fairly liberally. I've no problem with hunting and understand the farmers' plight and desire to protect their crop (these Willamette Valley grass farms are fundamentally grass seed farms) from predation by flocks of critters who see these fields as huge salad plates.

Just a couple of weeks ago the farmers around me posted big white cloth flags as a deterrent to the geese. I was curious to see how well they worked...



...well apparently the geese didn't understand the message, they must think the flags mean "land here."

When I was living in Central California coast country we spent a lot of our spare time hiking the hills near the Cuyama Valley, along the Cuyama River. Like with the Guad Dunes I would do a lot of hiking by myself, often spending at least a couple of days out there. One early morning I was walking along the creek bed, alone, and all of a sudden a snake falls from the sky right in front of me. A big snake. A really big snake... well as these things go in nature, that snake didn't really fall from the sky, it fell from the grasp of the canyon's resident Red-tailed Hawk, who had been sitting way up in an old sycamore. Apparently I startled him... and he returned the favor. The snake was dead and partly eaten. But since then I spare no effort in surprising raptors when I can. When we were living in Southern Oregon at Crump Lake the bald eagles would often be sitting on the fence posts along the road. They always got honked at and I felt successful when they'd flutter their wings and almost fall off their perch.

And then there is our weird cat Loki. Loki used to live with several dogs and was... top dog. Even the Great Dane, Harley, was buffaloed by Loki. As you can see here, he still gets his way:



And no... I haven't forgotten about Tincup's tale. It is in the works. But first there are some more characters to introduce you to. Last post I introduced you to my good buddy Lance.



Well... way back when I was just a young GI...




I was much younger then than now...




...and my hair was much shorter...


...and closer to my forehead.

I made a few friends who are still friends today. Like my good friend Jef, one of those who convinced me I wanted to volunteer for duty in Thailand. In Thailand I met my friend and brother Al. Al was smaller than me and for once in my life I became "Big Al." And we were in the same shop, sometimes sharing the same shift. We definitely shared some adventures... in fact my first political work was with Al. He was on his second tour of Thailand... I met him for the first time when I saw this guy throwing a cat into some shrubs with a bee or a hornet nest in it. Al had no use for cats. In spite of that shaky start we went on to share a bungalow there and then when we both were discharged we went to college together and shared housing for a number of years. We met brother Marty in college, Marty's wife Patricia (who remains to this day one of my truest friend) and so many others. But most of all we shared philosophy, all of us... we would discuss and read and often had the same classes. We took sweats out in the Manzana (Los Padres NF), the backyard (I was so paranoid about having a fire in the 'burbs I suggested we heat the rocks in the stove... that was so many lifetimes ago... heh), out Hwy 166... I haven't seen Al in years (15?) but we talk occasionally on the phone. I almost had a chance to visit this fall but that plan fell through. Here is Al perched on a ridge over the Manzana, above the old Chumash camping grounds, way back... oh... 30 years ago or so:



Al came to visit me at Opal Creek, the last time we were in a face to face gathering. Of course he wasn't as slim then as he was in that picture... (gads I hope he reads this!)

Another good friend who was around at a pivotal point in my life was my buddy Greg Burke. Greg's another photographer and has a great eye. His online galleries are full of awesome work... Greg and I met in Fresno. We did a northwest tour, camping and hiking, photography, back when he was considering leaving California and moving back up here. We were politically aligned and participated in a bit of rabble-rousing together. On the coast of Central California... imagine that... Greg also took me on my first skiing backpack trip. We went up into the Sierras during a winter when the snowpack was at about 25'... what a glorious trip. He also introduced me to my first Oregon High Desert experience with a backpack trip down into the canyon of the Deschutes River... Greg came to visit me at Opal Creek, but he didn't know it. I was just living there and he just showed up.





...sigh...

I am such a lucky man. Great kids, wonderful friends...

April is almost here... Spring has sprung!

Dear friends...

“Friends are God's way of apologizing to us for our families.”

~ unknown
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That quote made me laugh because it is funny... and for me not true. I have a great and wonderful family and mostly they're family and friends. But for many I've known family was... well... a boil on their backside.

I've been blessed with some great friends. Some go back decades and a few have been steadfast over these many years. Some have become as close or closer than my blood relatives. Some, like Pablo, the bond goes beyond explanation. But Lord, thankee for my good friends!

One of my best all time buddies, legendary among my closest friends and family was my dog Lance.



Lance was with me for about 13 years... he was a fixture when I was working with Grampa Semu and the folks out at Muhu Tasen. He went with me to Opal Creek and down to southern Oregon for my year at Crump Lake, working for The Nature Conservancy. A great watchdog, a funny guy who wasn't big (he weighed in at about 35 - 40 pounds) he behaved like a King of Hounds. He understood a lot of English, could speak none, and was a great judge of character. As handsome as a dog can get Lance carried himself like a champion and was a true canine athlete.



When I started taking him out to Muhu Tasen, Grampa had a "no dogs" rule. But I was a single guy with no family and couldn't -- wouldn't -- leave Lance home alone. So Grampa made him stay in the truck and I could take him out, off the land, for his breaks. After about 2 or 3 months Grandfather recognized the quality of the dog Lance was and gave him permission to be one of "the dogs" while I was there.

Lance loved water, was a great swimmer, and never hesitated to get wet. If he had a drawback it was his tendency to chase cows (which came back to haunt him when he became a senior... we were living on 5 acres in the woods west of Eugene and had a neighbor who kept 3 cows. One day Lance took his doddering old self over, I guess, to harass the cows. I got a call from the neighbor while I was at work that Lance was in her field and that I better come and rescue him. "Rescue him?" I thought... well it was true, he needed rescuing. The 3 cows had him backed into a corner of the pasture and without his fresh legs and youthful vigor they had him buffaloed. Or cowed... a sad day I'm sure for a dog that never failed to get cows moving.)

But when he was young... he was fast, could jump and make it over a 6 foot fence... anywhere I could hike he could. Of course he was still a dog... but he had his guardian angels. On one of our many backpacking trips into the Manzana River area of the San Rafael Wilderness area of Central Cal he had managed to get a fox tail into his ear and it had worked itself deep enough to begin causing him grief. Unfortunately, it was dark and we had no tweezers and no flashlight. (OK... I know, safety first and all that...) But we used to hike into the Manzana under the full moon after the area had been closed for the season because of fire danger. At night we could see any forest rangers and hike right by 'em and get to our old Indian camp, where we would be out of sight from the trail... and heck, we were young and would never do anything like avoiding the government or its agents or agencies now...

Opal Creek tho' was Lance's home.



He fit that camp like a glove. The other camp dog, Turk, was a big old dog (probably a Bernese Mountain dog), neutered and gentle as could be and he and Lance were best buds. The only wrinkle was when George would come into camp bringing his dog Cody, a big old Doberman. Now Cody was a sweet dog in his own right... but for some reason, he and Lance just never hit it off, except with a bang. And a snarl and a major growl-a-thon and a wrestling match...

In fact those 3 dogs all died like within a year of each other. Turk was buried at camp, Lance was laid to rest on a ridge above the half-bridges and Cody... George owns a bit of property down river from camp near the Elkhorn golf course and when Cody died George took his backhoe and dug a pit that could fit Cody's favorite couch and laid Cody to rest on that couch.

Turk was Jawbone Flats' official greeter. He never failed to bark at a hiker but would usually do so while he was laying somewhere where he could see the road leading into camp. His "woof" was a "WOOF" and could be heard quite a ways away. But if we were in our cabins sometimes Turk would bark and not stop so we'd yell "Turk!" and he'd stop. When my daughter Robin was a baby in camp she grew up with Turk and Lance. Her first word came one day when Turk let out his usual "WOOF" and out of the blue Robin lets out with a "Turk!" Not "dad" or "mom"... "Turk"... heh...

Of course Lance and I shared many of the favorite spots in the west I'd acquired after years of exploration and discovery. My sidecreek in the Sierra foothills east of Fresno near Pine Flat Lake, the land east of Santa Maria off of Hwy 166 near the Cuyama Valley and of course the Guadalupe Dunes and Perfix/Paradise Beach. When I'd get dropped off at the Guad Dunes for a few days Lance of course would go too. And he loved that spot. Hiking the dunes or going down to Perfix... he was a fan of my fresh Perch, caught in the surf and cooked over an open fire skewered on a stick. When Marty and I would hike the dunes we'd generally hike to the highest dunes and take our breaks, admiring the view. Lance would inevitably fall asleep laying in the soft sand and warm sun. When he did Marty and I would sneak down the dune and hike up to the peak of the next dune and watch Lance, waiting for him to wake up. He'd wake up and look all around... then he'd see us and charge down the dune and sprint up to our new sittin' spot. It was one of our favorite Lance games.

Amazing, the bond of affection that grows between animals and humans. Lance was truly the best friend I've ever had. He is missed... but remembered with great love and gratitude for sharing his time here with me (and his many other human friends). A meeting of souls and a partnership that can never be duplicated but certainly was meant to happen... thanks Lance... I miss you my friend...

Ancestral grounds...

“We are lonesome animals. We spend all our life trying to be less lonesome. One of our ancient methods is to tell a story begging the listener to say -- and to feel -- ''Yes, that's the way it is, or at least that's the way I feel it. You're not as alone as you thought.''

~ John Steinbeck
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Took another trip to the coast on Monday with Marty. A rainy morning, cold, windy at the ocean...

Another visit to Heceta Head's north side Hobbit Beach. We first hiked up to the top of the ridge -- without the cameras because the rain was still falling pretty good -- along the lighthouse trail, a walk we hadn't done. What a nice trail. Uphill but with enough switchbacks that the slope wasn't too bad. Some great views through the trees, the ocean a constant sound as it crashed against the rocks, we found the ridge to be a wonderful place, a quiet place with an ancient grove of twisted and forked Sitka Spruce giving the place a timeless feel.

We had a great conversation about these kinds of places, how they give the sense of being out of time, of being in a place that has been as it is for millenia, of seeing it as hundreds of generations before us have seen it. And that sense of the ancient is very real, as we are ancient beings as well. As I said in the previous Perfix post, we all share a history of being indigenous -- native to some place -- that is special and revered. And standing among those old, old Spruce trees we knew that at one time, probably dating back to the days before the Europeans brought their boots stomping to this continent, that these trees were mere sprouts.

And when we got to the beach, we had it to ourselves. And that was no wonder as it was windy, a cold, biting north wind...

And being alone allowed that sense of seeing a place, especially a place as primordial as a beach, as it has been seen since... well... forever. The great sci-fi writer Piers Anthony covered the issue of ancestral memory (which I do believe in and suspect might be where that feeling of reincarnation arises from) in his books Orn, Chthon and others.

Here are a few pics from yesterday's hike. Enjoy!

































































As aways, any of MY images posted here are for sale as prints, or use commercially. NPOs can use fee-free, with permission. All images © Allan Erickson