Hello Washington! We can see you across the river!

Friday, April 8

Eight weeks and two days after leaving our front yard, here we are on the home stretch. Today dawned clear and sunny. Maybe for once we'll get blamed for bringing the sunshine rather than the rain, like our California kin like to accuse us of doing – all in jest of course. How nice to return to the promise of spring and sunny days. Our waitress at breakfast told us this is the first day in two to three weeks that she's seen more than a peek at the sun, and the people here are so ready for more.

After sleeping in (since it was so late by the time we found a camp spot last night) and showering to speed the wake-up process, we drove the short distance to Cascade Locks, a little town on the Oregon side of the Columbia River and the site of the Bonneville Dam, one of many along the Columbia and also one of the largest along this stretch of the river. The Cascade Inn looked like a local favorite for breakfast, so we made it ours as well. This is the point where we decided to cross into Washington across the “Bridge of the Gods.” We paid our toll and made our way across this high steel bridge with glorious views in either direction of the mighty Columbia River winding through this evergreen tree lined gorge with towering rock walls on either side. Four lane Interstate highway 84 follows the river on the Oregon side, while the narrower Highway 14 follows it higher above on the Washington side.

If you've never seen the Columbia River Gorge, then you've missed one of God's incredibly majestic creations with awe-inspiring views from every vantage point. I'm sure there are other comparably beautiful places on this earth; this just happens to be one of them. Throughout the west we've driven through high plains, high deserts, high steppe (grassy) lands, and a few high mountain passes with dabbled with snow. Yet, it wasn't until we left Pendleton, Oregon and began to drive along the narrower deeply-carved Columbia River gorge that we came upon the rich green of forested bluffs and hillsides. The Oregon side of the gorge along the eastern portion closer to The Dalles is much greener than the northern Washington side, which gets direct sunlight creating a drier climate. As we drive in a westerly direction toward Vancouver on the Washington side, tree-lined slopes increase and the evidence of the rain the Pacific Northwest is known for becomes apparent. Trees don't grow in such abundance without moisture.

So, while we begrudge the rain when there's too much of it, and the gray skies when they hem us in for days and weeks on end, we do appreciate the beauty the rains provide. Alas, our hearts are torn between the southwest lands with their more constant sunshine warming soft-hued desert hills and plains, and the westernmost Pacific Northwest with its abundance of snow-capped mountains like Mts. Rainier, Baker, Adams, St. Helens, and Hood in Oregon and stately Douglas Firs, Hemlocks, and Sitka Spruce trees. So, while we miss the charm and warmth of the Southwest, we know we are home, if only until the next yearnings tug at our hearty strings and we get the urge for adventure and the itch to wander. For now, we've been away from family, friends and community long enough. It's time for our “grandkids fix.” Time to reconnect with family, share memories, photos, and most important, time.

After washing both the van and trailer at the hand wash in Tumwater, we arrived home at 5:20pm after driving 7,787 miles in 59 days. Wow!

Until next trip,

Pam

So close to home, and we thought the adventures were over. Silly us!

Thursday, April 7

Morning broke sunny and bright, at least in part of the sky. Chilly with a breeze blowing off the snowy hills, I looked out my window and saw snow had lightly blanketed the ground overnight. We had agreed to meet Ron and Melissa at 11am, so foregoing our morning coffee, we left the campground and town with enough time to make it over the pass. The pass was actually clear, though wet, and fortunately travel was not a problem.

Our visit with Ron and Melissa was wonderful; it had been a long time. We were pleased to see their daughter, Sarah, whom we hadn't seen since her wedding so many years before (oldest daughter will soon be 20); she stopped by to drop off her two youngest sons for class with the grandfather. Melissa, Duffy and I left teacher Ron with his small class of home-schooled students studying Spanish and drove down the hill to town for lunch at a quaint little diner. It seems there's never enough time to fully enjoy a visit after so many years, but we certainly packed in the conversation.

From the Woodbury's home, we dropped down the hill to the library where we both caught up on computer work, Duffy for business, and me surfing the web out of curiosity. About 4:00pm we finally left Pendleton traveling westward on I-84.

Our destination became, not home as originally planned, but a state park listed in the AAA Camp Guide as Memaloose State Park 11-miles west of The Dalles. We figured this would get us a little farther down the road to home without being too rigorous a drive. We picked up dinner to go in The Dalles planning to eat once we set up the trailer in the campground while we still had some daylight.

Well, dinner was cold before we ate it at almost 9:00pm. Our Garmin gave me two listings for the Memaloose State Park, one west of The Dalles, the other east of Hood River. Both listings, it turned out, led to the same place, a location on Hwy 30. What we didn't know was that Hwy 30 is the historic Columbia Gorge Highway that winds in hairpin turns and switchbacks up the bluff to the top of the cliff several hundred feet above and overlooking the Columbia River below. Not long after saying to Duffy that I wanted to visit the view point in the morning for photos, I noticed that Miss Nuvi, our GPS, directed us past the flag on “her” map that indicated the site of the campground. The only marking we saw on the way by that marked spot read “Private Road.” We kept going on this historic two lane, cliff-side, white knuckle drive until it brought us back down to river level just before the town of Hood River. We might as well have eaten our dinner at he restaurant for all the good it did to drive to the campground before dark. It made no sense to backtrack to find that elusive campground, something we'll have to do on another trip when we feel like sleuthing. Our “next trip” list is getting longer.

On we went westward to Viento State Park (“viento” is wind in Spanish – they've got that right, blessedly this day is an exception) situated between Hood River and Cascade Locks on the Columbia River. It's right on the Columbia with only a train track between us and the vast expanse of river. We've come to expect train tracks and frequent nighttime train traffic near campgrounds – the two seem to go together. Being sound sleepers helps.

The consolation – we have a shorter day tomorrow. Over the past few days we've gained two hours in time zone change and later setting of the sun. The partial consolation – our dinners were not yet stone cold. So here I sit on my narrow trailer bed typing away while I listen to music on my iPod with the electric heater keeping us snug. This is the life.

Until next time,

Pam

Onward to Boise and then to Oregon. Getting closer to home!

Wednesday, April 6

Today we pulled up stakes in Hagerman early, showered and washed dishes in order to arrive in Boise by lunchtime to meet our friends, Marv and LaVerne (formerly of Tumwater) at a local restaurant. We could only spare a short visit, so recommended eating out, so that we could hit the road again for Oregon.

It's easier to say we'll have a short lunch, more difficult to do when so many years have passed since we've had such a nice visit. They brought along their granddaughter, McKenna, who turns six tomorrow; once the food was consumed and the adults continued our visit, McKenna and Henry the bear became friends. I'm sure Henry enjoyed having a young girl to play with him for a while.

All too soon it was time to hit the road again. An hour down the road just across the Oregon-Idaho state line, we pulled into a rest area so Duffy could get some shuteye and I could type this blog. Starting up again, crossing high plains that look like so many places we've traveled this trip, I realized most everywhere in the West, whether steppe, desert, or plains, has been over 2,000 or 3,000 feet above sea level. Our country is a lot higher in altitude than I had remembered. Today, we begin the climb in Oregon between mountain ranges to La Grande where we're spending the night. We've encountered wind, some rain, sunshine, more wind, a few more showers, and we've driven through high mountain areas where snow lays melting beside the road. But, today was the first day we've come upon snow showers. As we approached La Grande, it began to rain snow, very wet snow. By evening the flakes were a bit drier, but not sticking. Tomorrow is our last day on the road before returning home. Wouldn't it be something to have to stay here a day because the roads in the pass between here and Pendleton are impassable with our small trailer? Only tomorrow will tell. We hope our plans to meet Ron and Melissa at their home in Pendleton for a very short visit in between their responsibilities for the day. I guess we'll sleep on it.

Until next time,

Pam

Birds, Bison, Antelope, and chugging on to Idaho

Tuesday, April 5

Before leaving Antelope Island, we took a short drive along the road toward the Garr Ranch sight to get a better look at bison we saw through our binoculars. First, though, we drove to the State Park Visitor's Center perched on a high rolling hill with a 360º view of grass- and brush-lands; majestic, snowy mountain peaks, and shallow, murky Salt Lake. On the way to the visitor's center, we spied a lone bull bison not far from either our campground or the center. I stopped here to take a panoramic video of the area, yet don't think digital photography did justice to the outstanding light here.

After viewing the bison, and getting a photo of Henry insisting on being in the photo with same bison (from the van), we turned around and headed back to the causeway, the man-made strip of land from Syracuse, the nearest town on the “mainland” to the island. Lots of shore birds were close to water's edge along this strip, yet we were only able to identify Coots, California Gulls in breeding plumage, American Avocets also in breeding plumage, a Harrier (formerly Marsh Hawk), Great Blue Herons, and White Pelicans.

So many more birds come through this area throughout the year, over 250 species. According to what we read in the park brochure, the Great Salt Lake is an important stop along the Pacific Flyway for migrating birds, because it is one of the most significant bodies of water available to sea birds. It's also a nesting area for many species.

Coming to the end of the causeway, we promised ourselves that we would come back this way again one day and spend more time when we do.

We shopped at Smith's Market in Syracuse, UT (another of the family of Kroger stores that accepts our Fred Meyer card), before leaving town. Disappointed in not finding GF bread, or rather the brand I prefer, and not finding a dedicated GF section, we purchased our coffees, donuts (Duffy) and yogurt (Pam), climbed aboard the van and headed north by northwest on I-84. 

Before long we crossed the border into Idaho, now the twelfth state to visit in our wanderings, and made the first rest area we came to our first stop. The only reason I mention the rest area is because the sign outside the building in this heavily-treed-with-Junipers-area indicates that this is a nesting area for Ferruginous Hawks, the largest North American hawk, and asked folks not to disturb nesting birds. Besides, these hawks are protected as are Eagles and Peregrine Falcons. Another place worth being during nesting season. But, not now. We're on a b-line for home.

Lunch at Choate's Family Diner, gas at Jerome “Stinker” station, and here we are at Hagerman RV Village near the Snake River just west of Jerome. Snug as bugs in our Baby Beluga, here we'll spend the night. Tomorrow holds new adventures, or at least visits with friends along the way.

Until next time,

Pam

North to Salt Lake

Monday, April 4

Like yesterday, our intention for today was to drive through Arches NP before heading north. However, we decided perhaps touring the great Utah red rock country should be done on another trip, God willing. There's just too much to see to do it justice. And, he voted for getting an early start and getting in early. He'd hunted the internet for good camp spots and located Antelope State Park outside of Salt Lake City and Ogden on an island at the south end of Salt Lake. So, pedal to the metal, that's where we're heading as I write. A phone call didn't indicate that the park is open for camping, but the website did. It's only 2:30pm MDT, so we still have time to find another spot if this one doesn't pan out.

It did, it panned out! And we're driving out to the island, seeing lots and lots of shore birds on the way. Another birders heaven.

This island is 13 miles long, one of several islands in the Great Salt Lake, and although surrounded by salt water too saline to sustain fish life, the island has more than 40 fresh water springs on it. Home to Native American and wild life for at least 1,000 years, it was more recently home to the Fielding Garr Ranch. Now the ranch, no longer working, is open to visitors during daylight hours and harbors the largest spring which provides much needed fresh water to island wildlife. Bison were introduced to the island at one point, and a herd of 500-700 animals is sustained and managed. Antelopes, too, call the island home.

Antelope Island State Park has a trail system for hikers and bikers, a picnic area, visitor's center, and campgrounds. There are not utilities for campers and only pit toilets (modern). Gates close one hour after dusk and open at 9:00am, so campers are unable to leave the island overnight, except I imagine in case of emergencies.

We couldn't get over the amazing light on this particular day and in the morning. It was as awe-inspiring as the light in Skagen, the beach at the north-eastern most point of Denmark that we visited in 2007. It truly was hard to pull ourselves away. We could blink and the light changed. This grassy island, surrounded by high-salinity lake water, was encompassed beyond its shores by the Wasatch Mountains to the east and snowy peaks to the north and south. Light breaking through the clouds at different times of day cast a magical glint on the snow capped peaks and a calm, peaceful light on the water, and Bridger Bay where we camped. This is a place we must surely revisit.

Until next time,

Pam

Red Rock Country, but too tired to explore – a prescribed day of rest

Sunday, April 3

We pulled into the Moab KOA with enough time to set up camp before dark and dinner. Moab, UT is the gateway to Arches National Park, the north entrance to Canyonlands National Park and is close to Deadhorse State Park, which we were told was a wonderful place to go for gorgeous views from a cliff above the canyon below.

Well, our intention was to drive through Arches NP. It was an unscheduled stop along the way, one we've seen before, yet cannot get enough of to keep us from going again and again. Yet, I had been feeling tired – draggy – for a couple of days, and just didn't have much pizzazz. Duffy, tired too from doing most of the driving, finds it hard to stay idle.

We drove to Moab for breakfast, once I got myself out of bed, and ended up at a pancake house, with little or no GF options. The restaurant we tried first was too crowded and the wait too long. So, happy that I had taken my own GF oatmeal, I asked for hot water. Hot water was provided to me, but not without much laying of of guilt for bringing in my own food. I ordered decaf coffee, Duffy regular. The cups were small, the price high - $2.05 per cup. For some reason I cannot explain, Duffy was offered refills of coffee, I had to ask. Maybe it was the fact that the waiter, a young man in cutoff jeans, tennies, and a T-Shirt (Moab style) proclaimed after Duffy placed his order, “Just one breakfast, then?” Or, maybe it was that he seemed ready to run out the door, hop onto his bike, and take off for the red rock that lures so many bicyclists to this area. Whatever the case, we would have been better off waiting for a meal at our first restaurant of choice, and clearly the more popular spot.

Mind you, initially, we thought we were going to spend part of the day driving into Canyonlands and out to Deadhorse, but after breakfast we decided taking a nap was a good idea first, so we headed back to camp. Well, for me, one nap led to another, and then it was too late to go exploring. Darkness was two to three hours away. We could have gone, but I still didn't have any pizzazz, and Duffy didn't care one way or another, so he headed to town for cold cuts to make sandwiches for dinner, while I stayed behind and used the very excellent internet connection we had using our acquired Virgin Mobile 3G Broadband USB connection (first time we've had full bars since we purchased the thing in California.

Showers and bed, early to rise and shine on the morrow.

Until next time,

Pam

No Golden Arches here

Saturday, April 2

Since leaving Tucson, we've tried to wean ourselves of Starbucks Lattes, Frapaccinos, Iced Teas and Americano coffees – cost more than anything else. Our friend, Sonny, in Lacey schooled Duffy on the merits of McDonalds's senior-rate coffees – black with added cream. Really quite tasty. So, for days we've been finding a McDonald's to supply our caffeine (and decaf) needs. But, no golden arches did we find in Durango. Perhaps, too much of a yuppie town. There was, however, a Starbucks downtown near the historic central district.

So, while Duffy drank the caffeine-only coffee provided at Alpen-Rose RV park, did laundry, and worked on the laptop (with the provided WiFi codes), I zipped into town, bought a latte (mmmmm-good), and did a little souvenir shopping. I'd spotted a Natural Foods store on the way to the campground last night, so I made my way there (zipping wasn't possible) where I picked up some GF snacks for the road. Then, after filling the van with gas at $3.60/gallon I returned to the RV park to get ready for departure.

Leaving Durango at 1:00pm, we had enough daylight left to get us to Utah. Once we hit the road we only stopped for rest and gas breaks – except for the Dairy Queen in Cortez, CO where we bolstered ourselves for the rest of the trip into Moab, UT with a dairy delight. Admittedly, our diet is not always the best when we travel. But, oh how we love our DQs and oh, how their 'Cool Treats' salve our travel-weary attitudes. May not be good for the soul, but it sure tastes good going down!

Until next time,

Pam

“Golden waves of grain” and “Purple mountain majesty”

Friday, April 1

This became our Southern Colorado day, driving Hwy 160 along the southern tier of the state. This drive took us through golden fields of grasses and grazing cattle to a winding route through and with views of the majestic purple mountains that grace that great classic, “America, the Beautiful.” This truly must be the part of our expansive land that the songwriter glimpsed when penning those heart-lifting lyrics.

I crossed the south fork of the Colorado river as I spelled Duffy as he napped. While it's harder to see all the scenery when driving, it's also necessary to keep eyes on the road, not on the laptop screen as I type away on this blog, so I truly enjoyed the views around every turn. Along this drive we climbed from 4,000 feet on the plains to nearly 10,000 feet over this pass. Then down again on the other side and into Durango for the night. In fact, the whole of the great basin area or the High Plains, as they're often referred to, are a minimum of 4,000 feet in elevation.

April 1 – the AAA guide indicated that three campsites we considered in Durango were open on this date. It began to seem like a day of a series of unfortunate events when the first two campgrounds in Durango we elected to check out were still closed for the season. To complicate driving, the “Closed for the Season” signs were not posted in places that made it easy for us to get out of or turn around. We entered Durango from the east, and missed the KOA on the east side of town along Hwy 160 before we realized we had. Duffy decided to try the campground on the west side of town along the Lightner River. That's when we made a right turn off 160 before seeing the sign. Every time we need to turn around, we are so glad we have a Casita trailer – it is so easy to maneuver and turn around in small spaces. We headed back to the KOA, across town.

Now, Durango isn't that big of a town, but it is a popular resort spot that also hosts a college, so lots of cars, bicycles, and pedestrians were on the roads through and in town. Up the hill to the KOA. Turn right into the entry way off busy Hwy 160. “Oh no, can't be.” The swinging gate was closed and the sign indicated that was so. To get out, Duffy needed to back up onto the Hwy 160 shoulder before he was able to turn us around. Not as easy as it sounds with traffic coming and going along the highway.

“Okay, what now? Drive to the next town?” Duffy was tired of driving and we both were getting testy. In our youth, we drove for hours on end, but we're not able to do that anymore. A five or six hour day, several days in a row, is enough to wear us out. I'm pleased to say that we decided to call the third campground situated to the north out of Durango up Hwy 550 in the direction of Silverton and Telluride before driving there through town. What a pleasant surprise it was when someone answered the phone! The time was 5:30 in the evening and the campground, Alpen-Rose RV Park, just opened that day! The hostess said she would put up a list of available camp sites before she closed at 6:00pm. What a gift. 

Now all we had to do was stop at a market for some dinner supplies (turned out to be City Market, a 'Kroeger' store that accepts Fred Meyer Rewards cards), and negotiate our way through Durango. We felt blessed. Not only was there a place to spend the night; Alpen-Rose also had a WiFi connection plus a comfy Rec. Room where we could work. We arrived too late to get the WiFi login ID and password issued by the park, so I typed up several days of blog logs without posting them, while Duffy fixed dinner (tuna sandwiches and avocado slices). Another good thing about the City Market? They actually had gluten-free bread from Colorado, Rudi's, one of my favorite brands that is totally edible straight out of the bag without toasting. Blessed, I say, blessed!

Until next time,

Pam

Another great breakfast, and stomping on Kansas dirt to say we'd been there

Thursday, March 31

Having learned the lesson of “ask the locals,” we returned to the library to review an atlas for, of all the AAA maps we picked up before we left home and on the road, we don't have maps for where we're going today. Woodward has no AAA office. Once again, helpful librarians met our needs, plus directed us to Polyanna's, a café about as old as the Route 66 Restaurant in Santa Rosa, but with much better food. However, before directing us to Polyanna's the obvious favorite breakfast places of the majority of the library staff, amazingly, were Subway and McDonald's.

We chose the good home cooking at Polyanna's and were not disappointed. Besides, lots of locals were coming and going there. While the furniture had not fully stood the test of time, it was clear that duct tape was the patch material of choice. Every stool at the counter and every booth seat were patched with multiple strips of silver duct tape. There was no attempt to be clever and creative with it; the tape had just been slapped on. Originally, the upholstery material was a red vinyl, and what remained was still red where tape did not cover the gaps. The flooring was that tiny hexagonal tile of 1950s bathroom floors – about the right vintage. However, this was a family owned eatery, and the food was quite good. I actually had a Western omelet made with American cheese. I can't believe I'm saying it was good. I haven't eaten American cheese in years, not since the boys, now men, were at home and our typical Sunday lunch was grilled cheese sandwiches. So, fortified with protein, veggies and carbs, we hit the road.

There was no need to enter Kansas, but we thought it would be fun to say we'd been there. The eastern end of the Oklahoma panhandle and SW Colorado all look a lot like the SW corner of Kansas. We missed the turn for Liberal, Kansas, so we drove most of the Oklahoma panhandle to highway 95, where we turned north to Elkhart, Kansas deep enough in the south west corner that it was nearly in Oklahoma. No roadside rests appeared, so we created our own, got out, and stomped in dusty Kansas dirt.

That's it for Kansas. On to Colorado. We called it a night in La Junta at the KOA. I don't recall that we unhooked the trailer, not completely because we were too tired to do so, but partly because our intention was to get out of town early in the morning. A New-Mexican style dinner at Felice's and we turned in for the night. And, I'm almost ashamed to say another stop at the local Walmart for groceries and incidentals – just about the only store guaranteed to be in nearly every small town.

A day of driving, followed by another one tomorrow.

Until next time,

Pam

Taxes, a museum visit, and stomping through Oklahoma brush

Wednesday, March 30

A day filled with responsibilities and possibilities. After breakfast at the campground, we made our way into Woodward in search of the library and the County Courthouse. Woodward is the county seat of Woodward County, and as such has a larger population than most other towns around the area. It is in NW Oklahoma, just a stone's throw from the Oklahoma panhandle, once referred to as No Man's Land because nobody wanted to live in this hot, dry land that was host to tall grasslands and bison by the millions at one point in history. It was the cultivation of the land to grow wheat to sell to Europe during WWI that caused the devistation that resulted in the decade of the dust storms in the 1930s.

I dropped Duffy off at the library, where he spent about four hours filing taxes electronically. Fortunately, there was a nice little corner where there was a table, chair, arm chair, T.V. (silent mode) and soothing colors where he could work. Plus, nice librarians. (Smile) Then, I hoofed it across the street to the courthouse – how conveniently situated – to talk to the nice, helpful folks in the Assessor's office. I was taken to a back room where there was a county map laid out on a draftboard. Together, the helpful woman employee and I, found the parcels from property descriptions I'd brought with me, and pinpointed the road intersections. In that part of the county, the roads are simply numbered.

Duffy was going to be a while at the library, so I did ran an errand, then visited the Pioneer Museum. Primary among the displays inside were those of Temple Houston, youngest son of Sam Houston, who claimed Woodward his home after attending law school and was instrumental in bringing Oklahoma to statehood; Black Sunday, the worst day in the history of Oklahoma dust storms; and the worst tornado to hit Woodward, with a photo of everything save the courthouse leveled by the massive winds, and the windows blown out of it. It was hard to tear myself away, but it was getting late, and we still wanted to locate the family property.

Four o'clock and we still had some daylight. We followed the directions south of town to find the road coordinates southeast of the small community of Sharon. What we found was brushy, unfenced land with only one neighbor to the south (a real dump), and an access road brush-cut onto it curving off in two directions. My aunt holds the property directly adjacent to the north and her cousin owns the plot just across the road to the east. All of it is soft dirt that appears to cake when wet, with a variety of grasses, scrub brush, and drought resistant trees. The cleared path on our property led to three structures that appeared to be placed there by deer hunters. A blind erected on a steel platform wrapped with wind-whipped, faded and torn camouflage cloth, holding a chair on top appeared to have been there for quite some time. One other piece of equipment, apparently much more recently placed, seemed to be a feed hopper. I can only guess it was used to draw deer to the spot within view of the blind. The other piece of equipment appeared as old as the blind, but wasn't clear to us what purpose it held.

Other than these and the evidence that someone had recently brush-cut the swaths on the land that led to the equipment and beyond, perhaps to other parcels, the only other sign of human encroachment was an OSB structure across the road on my cousin's property – another blind? We took photos and recorded the GPS coordinates in our Garmin, then called it good. Or, as good as could be with so little time.

Dinner at Big Dan's sounded good about now. It has been a long day.

Until next time,

Pam

Breakfast in Santa Rosa, NM? Not on your life!

Tuesday, March 29

As early as possible (that varies with me), we hit the road for Tucumcari, NM where we hoped to find a better breakfast than last night's dinner. Again, the Triple-A guide wasn't much help, so we chose to drive through town and see which restaurant had the most cars outside. It turned out to be Rockin' Y's Roadhouse. (The rockin' Y's are the owners, Yvonne and Yvette.)

What a delightful choice. Customer service a big plus, décor delightful (not so nostalgic), and food some of the best we've had. If I remember, I'll write AAA to suggest adding this one to their Tour Book. I count it among one of my favorite stops, because of all the places I've looked for Southwest pottery, this restaurant had a selection for sale that was just what I'd been looking for. I, at least, left satisfied in more ways than my appetite, with a full stomach and a colorful pot in a box.

One thing I enjoy about traveling with Henry, the bear, is that it brings out the kid in Duffy. Henry is Ahna's envoy traveling with us. So, it is like traveling with Ahna, and we're treating Henry like a family member. We talk to him, consult with him, and care for his very minimal needs. We can love on him, talk to him, and treat him as a traveling companion, in lieu of loving and hugging grand-kids and their parents. Traveling with Henry is like traveling with a pet, but better. Henry doesn't need to be fed or walked; he doesn't say much (anything, really, unless we put words in his mouth), and he's a wonderful listener. And, he's always cheerful. His face is a an expression of eagerness and delight in discovery. Please don't think we've gone dotty, but we don't see how we can travel without him. Maybe, Ahna will let us travel with us again, and maybe, when she grows up and out of the house, she'll let Henry come live with us. It's worth dreaming about.

Our destination today was the farthest east we would get this trip – Woodward, Oklahoma – a place I've wanted to see for quite a few years. There is land here that has been in my mother's family for decades. When we left home, we did not have firm plans to make this detour, but then realized we would be fairly close once we arrived in SE AZ, and it might be a long time before we'd have the chance again. I spelled Duffy with the driving and drove through Pampa, NM (not my name-sake) and crossed the New Mexico / Oklahoma state line. Sooner country.

We found a wonderful, and fairly deserted, state park called Boiling Springs just north of the city of Woodward. The name implies thermal springs, but actually the term boiling refers to the action the water takes as it burbles up through the sand in this part of the park. It's a beautiful place with trees, lots of birds and other wildlife. Lots of white-tail deer inhabit the park, plus racoons and wild turkeys. It's also close to Oklahoma's Alabaster Caverns, the largest deposit of black alabaster, perhaps worldwide. Sadly, we didn't get to these caverns, but it's on our list of places to visit another time.

The camp host was, surprisingly a young man, who lost his home in the Phoenix area at the same time that his employer began laying off workers. He and his wife decided to make a fresh start, and chose Oklahoma because the recession had not hit as hard in this state, according to his research. At any rate, he pulled his motor home into Boiling Springs State Park at the same time a camp host was needed, and found employment at Alabaster Caverns at the same time. The park lets his family stay for free in return for collecting park fees. It's been a good relationship.

The camp host also turned out to be a great resource for tonight's dinner. Not because he fed us, but because he recommended Big Dan's Steakhouse in Woodward. Built on the premise that good food, great service, and reasonable prices equate to treating the customer right, this restaurant has a big following. And, great food. Trust the locals, we say.

Until next time,

Pam

An imperfect end to an imperfect day – or You can enjoy nostalgia, you just can't eat it

Monday, March 28

This was a driving day. We're starting to put miles on the van, trailer and our bodies. We mostly drove, making only a few stops for necessities. I spelled Duffy for a while, and that's when the New Mexico wind decided to strike us broadside. Nothing I was unable to handle. It was humorous to hear him telling another traveler that it was great to have the wind at our backs. Well, at his back. He was sleeping when I drove with the wind coming from the west on our north-north-easterly journey.

Our day ended in Santa Rosa, New Mexico, a town that places its claim to fame (like so many other towns) to lying along the historic Route 66. We relied on our GPS to find a restaurant for us, since the AAA tour guide did not provide much help for this town. And, of course, as we began to learn along this NM, TX, OK route, this is meat and potatoes country, with everything well pan- or deep-fried. My gluten-free diet does not fare well in this SW territory.

At any rate, Duffy chose the “Route 66 Restaurant” for nostalgic reasons. And, yes, we did enjoy the memorabilia lining the walls, photos of old cars from the highway's heyday, signs and containers from days gone by. As we left the restaurant, we decided the best part of the meal was the nostalgia. And, too, that nostalgia alone is not a good reason to choose a place to dine. As Duffy says, “The food wasn't much good, but fortunately there wasn't much of it.”

Okay, now for the menu. Since most of the food was fried one way or another, there was little on the menu I could eat without encountering problems. So, I decided to order potatoes with butter. Now, my first clue should have been when the waitress replied to my question, “We don't have baked potatoes; we have mashed.” I was too tired at the end of this long day to consider that if they didn't have baked potatoes, then they probably didn't have fresh mashed potatoes either. Yep, for $1.85 I got about 1/3-cup boxed, reconstituted mashed potatoes. They tasted slightly of garlic, and had the consistency of a very thick paste. Unlike fresh mashed potatoes, when I pushed these potatoes around in the very small bowl, the entire teeny mass moved. Many boxed mashed potatoes have gluten in them due to the Modified Food Starch that for some reason or other is added. Along with my “past-its-due-date” iceberg lettuce salad with the least imaginative vinegar and oil for dressing, that was my dinner.

Duffy ordered Tostadas from the menu, and regretted it later. On the way back to the campground, he said he wondered why he wasn't given a choice of meat on his Tostadas. Because...there wasn't meat on it. It came with beans on the tortilla, and rice, the consistency of watered down tomato-rice, on the side (about the same amount as my potatoes). I can't remember what he paid for those tostadas, but it was definitely too much.

Driving back to the campground, we determined this was a three-Tums night.

Until next time,

Pam

Bird list updated: Check out blog "By Special Request"

Fellow birders, check it out:  I've updated the new (this year or lifetime) bird sightings by locale.

Until next time,
Pam

A Grand Adventure

Sunday, March 27

We arose early to start what promised to be a long drive, the first of many on the way home through the west and central U.S. However, since we'd driven all this way, we couldn't just leave without driving to Portal, AZ where the birding is said to be outstanding, especially for hummingbirds. Of course, the fastest way, no let me correct that – the most direct way - to Portal is over the Chiricahuas rather than around the mountains or “sky island.” Last night we camped on the west side of the range and Portal is located on the east, at the “portal” to Cave Creek Canyon, hence the name. Getting there? No problem. Just a small issue of unpaved, unmaintained forest service roads. What's that to Duffy, the adventurer? (Picture Lucy and Desi with their long, long trailer in the movie classic of the 1950s. Thank goodness we were pulling the short, cute and cozy Baby Beluga.)

Certainly there would be birds along the rough, washboard, one-lane road. That's mainly why we chose the route. The harsh reality of being between birding seasons began to hit when we either saw the same birds we've seen everywhere or no birds at all. Now, I don't mean to say that we're bored of seeing birds that excited us on our first sighting of them. It's just that there's so many more species to see. And, we're hungry to add to our annual and lifetime lists. Well, we saw a few birds, but not many. Perhaps the time of day was not prime. The forest was very still. About giving up sighting anything, we startled three white-tail deer by a stream. We'd hoped to encounter a ringtail (cat) or coati-mundi that inhabit these parts, but that was not to be. At the summit, we paused to take photos of the valleys to the west and east of this range, part of the Coronado National Forest.

When I say it was still, I mean nothing and no one else was on the road. Could it be that no one has ever driven the road and no one will again? That we're the only ones silly enough to brave the rugged and narrow terrain pulling a trailer no less? Of course, someone has driven it if only to build it. And, surprisingly, there were road signs all along, unlike forest service roads in Washington. Well, we're both here to tell you that we made it across that 25-30 miles of road driving in first gear at 10 miles per hour all the way in under four hours. We were so eager to come down off the mountain, which rose from 5,000 feet on the west to 8,000 feet at the summit and back down again, that we missed Portal. Now, to say that Portal is a metropolis would be to mislead. We did see the Portal Cafe, but did not know that this was pretty much the town. (Fellow campers had told Duffy Portal was a “cute little town,” so he expected more.) A few homes and, can you believe it, a post office, is all that was there, with other homes and ranches dotted around the countryside. I mailed post cards from Portal, so if they never get delivered, I guess I'll know why – maybe mail is only picked up and delivered here once a week, or month, or quarter. Hey, Henry, the bear had a great time; he appears in a number of photos taken on this adventurous ride. So, if post cards aren't received, we've got pictures to prove we were in Portal.

Back to my story. We actually turned around after passing this little speck on the map, because we were so eager to see the hummingbirds for which Portal is known. Again, the reality of between-birding-seasons hit - no hummingbirds, but we did see oodles of pine siskins, acorn woodpeckers, and sparrows of unidentifiable markings, better known as LGBs or LBBs (Little Gray or Brown Birds). Of course, it helped that the operators of the Portal Cafe have nearly a dozen bird feeders hanging outside by the picnic tables.

Next stop, somewhere southeast of Albuquerque. Well, maybe not. Too much time spent crawling across the mountain. All along our trek I could envision wagon trains setting out for new horizons, breaking new ground, fording streams, breaking down, building roads.  My imagination was obviously going wild.  The road we were on was much better than the ones the pioneers experienced. Our trek across the pass took up enough time that our drive for the day ended at...well - Deming, just a few miles over the state line in New Mexico. We can hardly call it progress. Besides we lost two hours when we passed into New Mexico. Arizona is on Standard Mountain Time and New Mexico is on Central Daylight Time. The day was pretty much over right after lunch at Portal in Arizona.

An aside: On the way to the RV park, where we stayed in Deming, we stopped for groceries. Duffy shopped while I stayed in the van typing this blog. (He was sure gone a long time. I think he was sleepwalking all around the store trying to remember what he was looking for.) While I waited, a dark pick-up truck drove alongside; the passenger motioned for me to roll down my window. It turned out the folks are Casita owners from Maryland, traveling the country from corner to corner, coast to coast over a period of six months. We've made new friends, Bonnie and Billy, and are camped near them tonight in the Little Vineyard RV Park, Deming. Part of the fun of traveling.  They are golfer, fisherman (he) and flower-presser (she); we are birders - no fishing poles along this trip.  She, too, blogs while her husband drives and keeps track of expenses on their laptop like I do.  Small coincidences, small world.

Until next time,

Pam

Spelunking in Kartchner Caverns – tourist style

Saturday, March 26

Having bought tickets to tour the smaller of the two caverns here at Kartchner the day we arrived, once again I arose early for our 9:20 tour. The ranger recommended getting to the Discovery Center about an hour early, so that's what we did. Pat on the back for Pam.

We have been nothing short of amazed at the design and construction of both the discovery center and the concrete, easy-access paths into the mine. First we rode a small tram car to the entry point from the Discovery Center, then we entered three sets of what looked like vault doors, and did not pass through the next until the entire group had come through the one door behind and which was closed before opening the next. It was like visiting a butterfly exhibit at a zoo: two sets of doors ensure no butterflies escape. The reason for these doors in the caverns were to keep contaminating pollutants out that might threaten the ecosystem of calcite formations and the animals and organisms that thrive among them. While it's nearly impossible to keep from carrying contaminates in on our clothing, shedding hear and skin cells, or rubbing up against the rocks in tight spaces, the rangers and maintenance crews do their best. While on the tour, any tourist who brushes against or touches a rock or formation is instructed to tell one of the ranger guides who then marks the spot with a red flag. At the end of each day, crews enter the caverns and hose down the walkways and the areas inadvertently touched, washing away contaminates down and out through plumbing installed in the system of walkways and curbs. We couldn't imagine how much such preparation and protection must have cost, and wonder if the preservation of these caverns was a public-private cooperative project.

The engineers who designed and the workers who built the paths, did what was thought impossible, in fact what they were told could only happen in their imaginations: Bucket by bucket of concrete were carried in and poured to create level walkways and curbs with railings throughout. Because they were told it would be impossible to build in such a space, the pathways have been dubbed “imaginary pathways.” Much of the caverns are off limits to preserve what nature has been creating with the help of water over an estimated 200,000 years. I've been to Carlsbad Caverns years ago as a child, and Duffy visited Mammoth Caves in Kentucky during boot camp in 1967, but neither of us has seen such care taken to preserve and protect a natural resource. The lighting is low and controlled by buttons in control boxes along the tour route operated by the ranger guides as the tour group moves along. As we moved to a new area, the depressed control button dimmed (turned off) the lights behind us and gradually turned on the lights before us. In each instance, lights had been placed strategically among the formations to softly highlight various shapes, or to give soft illumination to the the entire area being viewed. Often, the ranger guides use flashlights to illuminate a particular formation, such as soda straws, stalactites, stalagmites, drapery, flowstone and bacon, to name but a few. Kartchner Caverns boasts the tallest column in all of Arizona and one of the longest “soda straws” in the world at over 21 feet long. The area where Kubla Khan, the tallest column so named by the discoverers, included benches for viewing as soft music played and programmed lights came on to illuminate a particular formation. Incredible design and planning.

Have I enticed you to visit yet? Go to Arizona Parks' website at www.azstateparks.com and select Kartchner Caverns.

Since we toured the cavern in the morning, we decided to stay over another night. What we did not plan on was the popularity of the caverns on weekends, even in the spring. The past three weeks have been spring break for school kids in Utah and Arizona, which we've evidenced by the presence of more families in campgrounds. Thus, whatever the reason, the state park's campground was full for the weekend and we needed to move on. Getting our priorities straight, Duffy prepped for travel while I toured the gift shop. (Sometimes it's easier to buy postcards than to take pictures, especially where cameras are not allowed, such as in the caverns or where the landmarks are located along hiking trails that we're not taking, such as in the Chiricahua National Monument, our new destination. And, don't you know, it takes a long time to choose just the right post cards, so much time that the trailer prepping was almost done when I returned to camp. Is my timing exquisite or what?)

It was about 4pm when we arrived at the Chiricahua National Monument, another unexpected surprise. I can't tell you how happy we are to have a National Parks Senior Pass. Entry was free and the campground cost us a mere $6, that's half the normal $12 – a bargain in anyone's book. This campground, Bonita Canyon Campground, was built by the CCC (Civilian Conservation Corps) during WWII. As such, it was built for tent camping at the time with short “driveways” for the campers to park their sedans. We got the last semi-level spot (level trailer pads weren't required in the '40s and level tent pads were provided in most sites in areas inaccessible to vehicles).

Chiricahua National Monument in the Chiricahua Mountains is another one of the “sky islands” rising up out of the valley floor, a result of volcanic activity thousands of years ago, 1,000 times greater than Mt. St. Helens. The result? Vertical rhyolite columns rising above the tree-blanketed hills. Beautiful. The canyon is narrow with rocky views on either side. Certainly not what we expected.

After setting up and unhooking our trailer (easy with no hookups, just a leveling act), we drove up the canyon to the end of the road at Masai Point. From here, braving the buffeting wind, we could see the valleys below on both sides, Sulphur Hills Valley to the west and the desert of southeastern New Mexico to the east toward Deming and Las Cruces. After dinner and a nap for Duffy, we attended the ranger talk and slide show in the amphitheater for some stunning photos of flora and fauna that inhabit the monument and rock formations with descriptive and colorful names. Very well done.

Well, time to turn in for the night.

Until next time,

Pam

Exploring the old west

Friday, March 25

I'm not much of an early riser unless I need to be, and even then it's a push. So, deciding to eat breakfast out, we drove to Denny's in Sierra Vista where we knew breakfast is served all day.

From there we drove to Tombstone, AZ, home of many legendary stories of the old west, and the subject of many Hollywood movies: Gunfight at the OK Corral, Tombstone, and others. Nicknamed “The Town Too Tough To Die,” the only reason Tombstone seems to survive today is because of its history and tourism. We watched the Historama, a multi-media presentation narrated by actor Vincent Price (undoubtedly made many years ago) in a building next to the OK Corral where Wyatt Earp and his brothers along with “Doc” Holladay shot it out with the Clantons in a form of vigilante justice back in 1885 or so. Electing not to watch the gunfight re-enactment, we did tour the museum, looking at the old saddles, buggies and buckboards of the day. A blacksmith shop was open with a smithy raised on an Idaho ranch making various items of iron for tourists. While I watched, the smithy finished up a “Rockin' L” brand for a woman from Oregon. Each brand he makes gets burned into the wood-paneled wall before delivery to the buyer.

Our next stop in Tombstone was at the Tombstone Epitaph, the town newspaper, still in production quarterly and offered by subscription for anyone wanting to be kept apprised of news from the Old West. We toured the print museum housed in the same building and collected our two complementary copies of the Epitaph. Shirts for sale were imprinted with the phrase: “Tombstone, where before breakfast everyone reads their own epitaph.”

From Tombstone we drove the 25 or so miles S to Bisbee, another surprise discovery for us. I only knew this town as the other home of mystery author J.A. Jance. What I didn't know was that Bisbee was the home of the Copper Queen Mine and is built in a canyon sitting, if not literally then figuratively, above the mine itself. Time only allowed us to tour the mining museum and briefly at that. Next to Tombstone, Bisbee looks like a boom town, although much of its commerce is based on tourism as well. The mine is no longer in production. But, in it's heyday, over two million pounds and a billion dollars worth of around 320 different minerals were taken from the mines beneath Bisbee and the Copper Queen Mine. Among them of course were copper, as well as silver and gold.

A stop at a landmark is never complete without a visit to the gift shop, and that's where we met a young woman who shared that one of the minerals removed from the mines around Bisbee is named after her father who worked the mines. It's called Graemite (Gaelic spelling of Graham), and was determined by those who make such decisions to be a new mineral, never before seen.

It was a great day of discovery and diversion. I love watching birds, as does Duffy, and we both enjoy exploring history. Tomorrow morning will be filled with much older history than either Tombstone or Bisbee.

Until next time,

Pam

Excitement of the day: Ft. Huachuca Gobblers

Thursday, March 24

Our bird sighting identification conversations go something like this:

• Duffy:   “See that bird over there?”
• Pam:      “Which one?”
• Duffy:   “The one up there on the branch.”
• Pam:      “I see it.”
• Duffy:   “It has a white eyebrow and a light yellow belly.”
• Pam:      “It has a black cap, but it's more buffy- or olive-colored than yellow.
• Duffy:   “And, it's got a long tail.”
• Pam:      “The tail looks short to me.”
• Duffy:   “No, the tail is long, and its belly is definitely yellow. Can you see the shape of the bill?”
• Pam:      “Yes, it's short and thin.”
• Duffy:   “It looks like a finch bill to me – heavy.”
• Pam:      “No, it's thin. And, I don't see any definite yellow on the belly.”
• Duffy:   “Rats, it flew away.”
• Pam:      “No, it's still there.”
• Duffy:   “Are you looking at the same bird I am?”
• Pam:      “I'm looking at the bird on the branch at the tippy-top of the tree.”
• Duffy:   “Mine was on the right side of the tree, down lower. I don't think we were describing the same bird.”

This seems to be a daily occurrence, but not with these big birds in Huachuca Canyon on Ft. Huachuca U.S. Army base. After getting clearance to enter the fort for birding (an easier process than at Ft. Lewis in WA), we drove to Garden Canyon. Seeing signs for No Admittance – High Fire Danger, we backtracked and drove to Huachuca Canyon.

We saw the same signs at Huachuca Canyon that we saw at Garden Canyon.  This time Duffy called the MP's number we'd been given, and learned both canyons were accessible, the covers had been removed.  So, after a short drive to the end at the creek's widest point along the road, we disturbed a herd of white-tail deer, many of which were young and smaller than the others. Even though we spooked them when we parked the van and got out to look for birds (this is supposed to be a great place for birders), the deer only moved off a short distance up the hill.

Then, without warning we heard commotion from up the hill on the opposite side of the creek from where we were parked. Eventually, we could see a flock of males and females approaching the bottom of the hill and the creek. All but one of the males, about six in all, came down first and gathered on the flat concrete picnic area strutting their stuff, tail feathers broadly displayed to attract the hens. These males seemed to be huddling in discussion, standing tall with bright blue heads and red wattles, tails open and upright just like a peacock during breeding season. Once the hens arrived almost to the bottom of the hill – there must have been more than 20 in the flock – two of them - delivering a quick shot of the foot at the nearest “tom,” kicking him smartly. Nothing deterred the two rivals. We just stood in amazement with binoculars and camera watching the show. The jousting males were oblivious to our presence and at one point worked their way to within 20-30 feet of our van. I caught much of it on video. It became the highlight of the day, and much unexpected.

What we expected to see in the two canyons didn't materialize for the most part. We're beginning to realize that we arrived in SE AZ in between seasons: too late for the winter and migrating birds, too late for the spring birds. That's not to say we aren't enjoying what we see. Beautiful weather, beautiful and varied scenery, much like Cuyamaca or Pine Valley in San Diego County – memories from our past as kids.

After a quick stop in Sierra Vista for supplies, we headed back to the Kartchner Caverns State Park campground for the night. Tomorrow will be a change of pace.

Until next time,

Pam

Goodbye Tucson, Hello Benson, AZ and Kartchner Caverns State Park

Wednesday, March 23

First things first. While packing up, disconnecting, battening down all the hatches for our trip to SE Arizona, Duffy found his Swiss Army Knife. It was right where I always say my lost things are, right where he left it (only my lost things are right generally where I left them). Hallelujah, we're not losing our marbles, or if we are we're, losing them while we're fully equipped!

Up and at 'em bright and early, or at least as early as I can be on a day when I'm not trying to get up at o'dark-thirty and leave by six in the morning. We did pull out of the campsite before 11am, when check out time is supposed to be (2pm at the latest is allowed). We made a couple of side trips, including Safeway to get some last minute supplies and our cup of Starbucks. After dillydallying around for long enough in Tucson and environs, we got on the road for the long, long trip of 70 miles to Benson, Arizona and the Kartchner Caverns.

Arriving at about 4pm, we lucked out in finding a campsite among the six that are still available. We didn't know much about these caverns until we read a brochure on the southeast area of Arizona. Discovered in 1974 by two young spelunkers on a couple's ranch (their explorations over a long period of time unbeknownst to the rancher-owners) the land was explored and the caves opened in 1978 or later. Now there is a beautiful state park and visitor center here with lovely cactus gardens surrounding the building. The caves are supposed to be quite remarkable, colorful, and filled with many and varied formations created over tens of thousands of years or more. Evidence of a prehistoric, giant ground sloth has been found in the caves among other creature's having once inhabited this once inland sea. With luck we'll be able to tour the caves before we leave the area. Our plan is to stay here until Sunday, when we plan to do a bit of birding in the Chiracahua Mountains east of here on our way to New Mexico.

Tonight, we're being lazy. Reading and writing this blog. Tomorrow we'll go on the hunt for bird species living in these parts.

Until next time,

Pam

Rain-washed and ready to go to Madera Canyon

Tuesday, March 22

I misplaced my car and trailer keys, together on the ring with the electronic door opener for the van. Feeling a bit lost without them, and after checking with the campground host and the park entrance station, I set out for the day saying a little prayer for them to turn up with Duffy's spare key fob in my bag. Story of our lives – lost sunglasses, Duffy's misplaced Swiss Army Knife (unseen for several days now), and now lost or misplaced keys. Senior moments, aarrggh!

Madera Canyon, south of Green Valley (south of Tucson) is a favorite spot for birders. It's about three miles up a climbing canyon that ends at about 5,000 feet above sea level. This is where I chanced to see an Elegant Trogon two years ago, a parrot-sized, colorful bird I'd never heard of before that last visit. No Trogons this year. Not too many other birds, but we did see a few new ones for the year, and new for us (check out our bird list prior to the March 3^rd blog if you're interested).

At the top of the canyon, there is a picnic ground and trails that lead to Mt. Wilkerson and Mt. Baldy. We did not take either of these to their destinations, but did walk a short distance up one of them. Duffy's knee (the one he had arthroscopic surgery on last November) still bothers him due to ongoing degenerative arthritis. Luckily, in this canyon one does not need to walk far to see, and hear, bird life. Easier to hear than see due to all the scrub oaks and drought resistant “trees” at this altitude. Madera Canyon boasts several bed & breakfast lodgings, each one with multiple bird feeders hanging around. You may call this cheating, but it's not really. Why not invite the migrating birds in for a bite to eat, while providing front row bench seating for onlookers?

Our greatest finds, and new to us, in the canyon were the Painted Redstart (oh my!) and the Mexican Jay – blue yet bigger and stockier than a Western Scrub Jay. I also saw a Bridled Titmouse, a little black-and-white bird with a black and white masked-face and a black crest. We saw this little bird, the size of a nuthatch or chickadee, the last time we were in southern Arizona, and don't mind seeing them again and again.

On the way home, we stopped at the Tohono O'odham casino for a short penny slot tournament between the two of us (we lost 35-cents), then drove back to camp for the night. We don't spend much time in camp – there's too much to see and do in this part of the country. Tomorrow morning we leave Tucson with a long list of unseen sights for our next trip.

We called Brett after 9pm. I told him about my keys and asked him to think good thoughts for me to find them before leaving Tucson. After hanging up, I searched one more place in the trailer. Lo and behold, there they were behind the seat cushion that makes the “mattress” for my bed. Naturally, I called Brett right back to thank him. It had to be his good thoughts that located my keys. :)

Good night, Ahna. Happy Birthday. We love and miss you.  Henry misses you too.

Good night, Gloria. Happy Birthday.

Hope you both had wonderful days.

Until next time,

Pam

Rockin' 'n' Rollin' all night long

Monday, March 21

We made this an administrative / housekeeping day due to the weather report. Tucson is in the midst of a long several-year drought and rain is forecast for today. It's hard to tell if any rain here in the desert will materialize or just evaporate before hitting the ground. The wind blew all night long (those of you who remember the rock 'n roll, bee-bop hit of way back when - “Rockin' Robin” - that's not the name of this tune. More like Rockin' Beluga. Gusty winds rocked us and blew through our open-just-a-crack windows, but Baby Beluga stayed put on her tires and leveling points. At times throughout the night, I could hear the sides suck in, then out, like the wolf did in “The Three Little Pigs” or as the story goes down here, “The Three Little Javelinas.”

The morning dawned gray with ominous clouds and windy. It seemed that nary a bird was flying except those catching wild thermals in the sky. A good day for doing laundry, catching up on the books (Duffy for Kurt's business) at the at the new and local library in Oro Valley near Catalina State Park in north-east Tucson, and shopping for gluten free food for me at the conveniently situated Whole Foods and Sprouts grocery stores. (There's a Trader Joe's in the near vicinity, too.)

Tired and hungry – the general state of things for us at the end of a day – we stepped into our trailer before the rain began. Yes, amazingly, it rained! Not enough to create a gully-washer, but enough to freshen the too dry desert plants, cacti, and shrubs. It even rained enough for us to hear the pitter-patter of raindrops on the Casita roof, but not enough for Brett to hear them many miles away in Alaska over our evening cell phone connection. Though we're not yearning for rain just yet, familiar sounds like raindrops make for a sound night's sleep.

Until next time,

Pam

A Change of Pace

Sunday, March 20

Some days we travel over 200 miles from one campsite to another driving from town to town or state to state. Today we drove that distance to Peoria, AZ and back to watch the Seattle Mariners beat the San Diego Padres 4-1. Thus, the journey was not for naught. Woo-hoo – eat your heart out, brother Skip!  (He and I have a friendly little rivalry going since the Padres are his team.)

The game was well into the third inning when we arrived, but our tickets were waiting at Will Call, so we had seats waiting for us. We might have arrived earlier, except our GPS, “Miss Nuvi,” chose a round-about, through-town route for us to follow. It's always nice to have “someone” else to blame, even if it is an inanimate object such as a satellite in the sky.

Sweet Tomatoes has become our restaurant of choice for healthy salads and gluten free options. We found one just one mile from the Peoria Stadium and fueled up before the long drive back to camp. Trays and plates in hand, ready to begin grazing the salad bar, a young male employee wheeled a cart filled with open-lidded five-gallon buckets of ades and refreshing drinks through the nearby service door. Trying to make way for us, the bucket of lemonade fell from the cart and flooded the floor of the entry with sticky, clear liquid. Guess who got a sticky shower from the knees down? Yes, that's right. It was us. He was so embarrassed and we were very forgiving. Well, to a point. I did ask for free drinks since we were wearing and slogging in the icky, sticky stuff. And they gladly obliged (actually I think the cashier and other employees were relieved we were not angry, demanding a heavier restitution).

I drove home, and here I sit updating the blog before hitting the hay. Tomorrow will again be an “admin” day. We'll do laundry, bookkeeping, make a few minor repairs, and so forth. A lazier day than the today and yesterday.

Until next time,

Pam

I did it!

Saturday, March 19

Those of you who know me well, know how hard it is for me to get up early in the morning and to get places on time. Well, I...did...both! I arose at 5am to my cell phone alarm and got on the road at precisely our target time of 6am. We cheered when we arrived early for the guided bird walk at Arivaca Ciénega (marsh), a part of the Buenos Aires NWR (BANWR). I suggested Duffy remember my victory for posterity, and while he promised, I guess this blog is the closest my being on time will be to a record in history.

We walked around the wash for over two hours and saw both familiar and new species of birds. All in all, it was a successful morning. One guide and another volunteer accompanied us. Someone tell me – how is it that these guides can identify a bird through binoculars, when I can barely see them through mine; how they can so confidently recognize bird songs and know the owner of the song is around the next bend (and sure enough, yep, there it is); and how they can be so sure of what they are seeing even when colors are muted against the sky. I'm sure it's experience tested in the fields over many days, months, and years. I'm just having a hard time imagining ever being able to tell all the LBBs and LGBs apart. (That's bird-speak for “little brown birds” and “little gray birds.”)

From the wash, we drove the additional miles to the NWR Visitor's Center on the west and opposite side of the refuge. On the way in we saw a Loggerhead Shrike, a beautiful black and white bird that we saw once or twice before in our campground in years past. However, we learned that this bird is on the endangered species list as of late and the few remaining are primarily within the BANWR.

It was quite pleasant to sit on the bench outside the visitor's center and watch the sparrows coming to the fountain to drink. Still, no matter how long we looked, described for one another, checked our resources, and compared notes, we still could not identify these little birds. The closest I could come was Grasshopper Sparrow, which does occur here, but I was not confident enough in my assessment to log it in our birding journal. Duffy did see his first Green-Tailed Towhee in this courtyard, however, enabling him to put that bird on his life list at last.

From the visitor's center we drove the short distance over graded dirt roads to Aguirre Lake, a pond that, from what one other visitor shared, is a mystery as to why there is any water in it at all. The little lake was originally filled created as a watering hole for the cattle on this one-time cattle ranch. The Southern Arizona area has been experiencing a drought over the last three or more years, and many ponds, creeks and rivers are dry. Aguirre Lake, though, has water that attracts ducks and shore birds alike. We may be a little early for the migrants that frequent this pond, but we did see Shovelers, Killdeer, and possibly some Common Sandpipers.

Hungry and tired, we drove to the Casino of the Sun on the Pacua Yaqui Indian Reservation where we ate lunch. Too much cigarette smoke fogged the casino for us to stay even a short while for our usual penny tournament. Before we left the restaurant, we noticed our waiter left...walked out, and no one else came to our table to bring the check or replenish our drinks. So, initiating contact by standing up and walking to the cash register, we learned the waiter was sent home because he had pink eye. Hopefully, no diners that day contracted the ailment from him!

It took little persuasion for us to hit the pillows early. I do believe this was my best night's sleep in the trailer so far this trip. Exhaustion pays off!

Until next time,

Pam