Summer 2016 Road Trip, Day 2: Mazama to Colonial Creek

Posted on August 2, 2016 by Maria Langer

Day 2 is full of hiking, amazing mountain vistas, and the sound of running water.

Posts in this series:
– Day 1: The Road to Mazama
– Day 2: Mazama to Colonial Creek
– Day 3: Colonial Creek to Baker Lake
– Day 4: Baker Lake to Mount Baker
– Day 5: Mount Baker to Chilliwack Lake
– Day 6: Chilliwack Lake to Hozomeen
– Day 7: Hozomeen to Copper Creek
– Day 8: Winetasting My Way Home

I woke as the sky was getting lighter — just like I usually do at home. The difference is, because I was in deep valley, that didn’t happen until after 5 AM. By 5:30, I was done sleeping.

It was pleasantly cool. Cool enough to close the few windows I’d left open overnight.

I made a pancake and coffee for breakfast and settled down to write yesterday’s blog post. I didn’t really feel like writing — I’ve been like that a lot lately and it has me bothered. I’m working on a book — or trying to — and can’t seem to get and stay motivated. I was hoping that blogging each day of this trip would get me back in the mood, but yesterday morning, as I drank my coffee and our campsite brightened around me, I just couldn’t. It got worse when the first rays of the sun touched the tops of the hills nearby. It gave me a sense of urgency to start my day. Still, I forced myself to finish the task and then posted the result.

Penny and I took a short walk to that most excellent pit toilet building. Yes, the Turtleback does have a toilet in its microscopic bathroom. (Seriously: bathrooms are bigger on airliners.) But I didn’t see any reason to fill my blackwater tank. Besides, I was “practicing” for long term living in the Turtleback this coming winter. I hoped to park it out on the Colorado River again with friends and dumping wasn’t an option. The goal, then, was to use public facilities when needed if they were available. This was, as I mentioned yesterday, a very clean facility.

Then I broke camp. That was as easy as packing my portable grill back into its carrying case, stowing it in the truck, and turning the key that closed the Turtleback’s single slide. We were back on the road within 10 minutes.

On the Road

I stopped at the Mazama Store, which was on the way back to Route 20. I wanted to pick up a bottle of wine, some onions (I’d forgotten to pack the ones in my fridge at home), some seasonings, and some bug repellant (which I didn’t need yet but who knew when I would?). While I was in there, I looked at the selection of extremely overpriced, high quality clothing and household items they had for sale. No, I wasn’t going to spend $40 on an 600+ piece jigsaw puzzle or $60 on a sweatshirt that had Mazama written across its front. They do have the largest selection of Lodge cast iron cookware, including dutch ovens, that I’ve ever seen in one place. But I don’t even use the pieces I have. (I plan on changing that next time I head south for the winter.)

I also topped off the truck with diesel. I had a half tank, but I didn’t want to have to worry about it as I traveled.

As I drove out of town, I looked around at the big open field where I skied every winter. It looked completely different without the snow and snow banks. And, surprisingly, it was a lot less busy on that beautiful summer day than it is every Christmas Day. Go figure.

I hadn’t gone more than 5 miles when I started seeing National Forest campgrounds that I could have stayed in. I pulled into two of them to check them out. They were nice, with some level of privacy and enough space to be comfortable. But as I drove around mentally critiquing the sites, I began to realize that I didn’t really like camping in campgrounds anymore. It was like living in a subdivision. Why would I want to live somewhere with less peace and privacy than my own home? Sure, the first night’s site wasn’t anything special, but I was the only one there. It was dead quiet all night and completely private. The only thing that could have made it better was a stunning view or a lake or river out my door. Like the first campsite I’d taken the Turtleback to back in May.

But I do have this to say about National Forest campgrounds: they’re clean, they have good basic facilities, and they’re cheap. I’d rather pay $8 to $16 for a fire ring, picnic table, and nearby restroom facilities in the woods with some trees between me and my neighbors than pay a KOA $35-$55 for the basics plus a full hookup in something similar to a parking lot. When did “camping” turn into a parking lot activity?

I stopped at the Washington Pass Overlook, parked in the RV parking area, locked up, and walked with Penny up the path to the overlook area. There were only a few people there. The air was clear, the sky was cloudless, the low sun was illuminating the granite peaks around us. The view was spectacular — almost surreal — of forest crowned with pointy, snow-studded rocky outcroppings. The only sound was that of cars and trucks and motorcycles rushing by on the road far below.

The view from Washington Pass overlook, looking southwest.

First Hike: Maple Pass Trail

Back in the truck, I consulted my Methow Valley trail map. We were already almost off it. I wanted to do a morning hike. Rainy Lake was up ahead — it was an easy one-mile hike to a lake that no one other than me ever seemed interested in. The same trailhead had the much more popular Maple Pass loop trail with its side trail to Ann Lake. The Ann Lake hike looked doable — maybe a mile and a half each way. Worth a try.

I was pulling into the trailhead parking lot — which is almost exactly halfway between Winthrop and Newhalem — a short while later. It was already nearly full. On a Monday morning. Apparently I wasn’t the only person who thought a vacation in the North Cascades was a good idea for the first week in August.

Again, I parked in the RV parking area. I should mention that although my truck with the Turtleback on it will fit (snugly) in a standard parking space, it’s a bit wide and a bit long. Backing up out of a space in a crowded parking lot is often a problem. (Heck, it’s often a problem even without the Turtleback on; my truck is big.) It’s a lot easier to pull through a spot, so I park with the motorhomes when I can. I hung my Forest Pass from the rear view mirror, put Penny on her leash, and stepped down into the parking lot with her. After a bit of organizing to get my waist pack filled with water bottles, jerky, binoculars, and other necessities, I grabbed my camera bag and camera, locked everything up, and headed to the start of the trail.

Maple Pass Trail
Along the trail to Maple Pass and Ann Lake.

The Maple Pass trail starts climbing immediately. It isn’t a steep climb, but it does begin with some switchbacks. I took my time — as I always do when climbing hills. I can hike all day at a good pace on level terrain or downhill, but put me at the bottom of a hill and you’ll need to be patient while I climb it.

Penny was freed from her leash when we reached the first fallen tree. She wanted to go under it and I couldn’t. So the leash came off and she hurried off up the trail, coming back when I called her and generally entertaining everyone who passed us. (That “he looks like Toto” thing is really getting old.) And lots of people did pass us, which was okay with me. I was in hill climb mode and not in a hurry.

I stopped to take a lot of photos, mostly of wildflowers. The light and shadows made lots of opportunities for me to capture a bloom in the sun against a darker, out-of-focus background. This was a lot easier with my Nikon than with the camera on my iPhone, so I have few photos to share here. (I can’t get my Nikon photos onto my laptop without an SD card reader, which I neglected to bring along; maybe I’ll pick one up on the west side of the mountains, later this week.) The trail was mostly very shaded, but every once in a while it would open up to a hillside with spectacular mountain views. That’s also when it would get very hot — at least 20° hotter in the sun than the shade — and I regretted bringing along my sweatshirt.

The heat combined with the relentless hill climb was starting to get to me after an hour or so of hiking. At 10:30, I decided I’d hike until 11 AM and then turn back. But a short while later, when we emerged from the woods again, I saw a crowd of at least 50 hikers up on the trail ahead of me. I immediately assumed they were part of a tour group — they were dressed in brightly colored clothes with small day packs on their backs and seemed to be split into large groups led by a person with what looked, from a distance, like a map. I imagined some sort of nature outing of city folk from Seattle closely examining the plants and rocks as they walked. They hadn’t passed me, which meant they were hiking slower than I was. Which meant I’d be passing them. And, at my current rate of speed, I’d likely be among them for at least 20 minutes. Clearly, it was time to turn back.

Open Trail
Here’s where I spotted that group of hikers. Can you see them? Only about 1/3 of them are in this shot; the rest had already entered the woods beyond them.

For the return hike, I activated the Gaia GPS app on my phone, mostly to get track stats. It already had the detailed maps loaded up; I’d done that last year. (Must remember to load maps for the rest of my trip when I’m back on the grid.) I snapped a few photos to include with the track and, with luck, will remember to upload it to the GaiaGPS site when I publish this later today. When I got back to the trailhead, I saw that I’d hiked just under a mile one way. That was just two miles total. Pitiful, even by my standards.

Colonial Creek Campground

After a pit stop in the Turtleback’s tiny bathroom — the toilets at the trailhead were too stinky — Penny and I continued in the truck on our way west. My plan was to camp one or two nights at the Colonial Creek Campground, where I’d stayed last year.

The road winds through the forest at a good clip and I did the best I could to stick to the speed limit so as not to slow up people behind me. The Turtleback raises the truck’s center of gravity considerably and, although it’s not in the least bit unstable, it feels very different when it’s so top-heavy. The drive was very pleasant, with views of at least a dozen small waterfalls along the way. I decided that, weather permitting, I’d take my motorcycle for the ride when I returned later that month for the photography class I’d booked at the North Cascades Environmental Learning Center on Diablo Lake. The road seemed made for motorcycling.

Diablo Lake from the Overlook
Diablo Lake, from the overlook on Route 20.

We passed the Ross Lake overlook without stopping, but stopped at the overlook for Diablo Lake. The incredible blue-green color of this lake’s water never ceases to amaze me. We took a nice walk along the rail on the edge of the drop-off and I shot photos with my phone’s camera along the way. Then it was back in the truck to finish the drive to Colonial Creek Campground.

I knew from last year that there were some sites right along Diablo Lake and I was hoping I could find one for the Turtleback. But as I drove through the campground, I also remembered that most of those sites — one of which we’d gotten the year before — were tent sites that you had to walk in to. A vehicle would be parked along the road, nowhere near the water. Great for tent campers but not great for RVers. I finished the loop, seeing one or two suitable sites on the west side that weren’t anywhere near the water but did have the privacy I prefer in campsites. Then I remembered the other part of the campground on the north side of Route 20. Colonial Creek ran along one edge. Maybe I could find a site along the creek?

Colonial Creek Campsite
My campsite at Colonial Creek Campground was right on the creek.

I drove in and found what I was looking for almost immediately: a creekside site I could back the truck into. Although the front end of the truck was within 5 feet of the road, the back end — with the Turtleback’s door — faced the campsite and creek. I maneuvered the truck so that a large flat stone set like a curb to prevent vehicles from driving any farther into the site was right beneath the Turtleback’s step, making it easy to climb up and down. Although I couldn’t see the creek from the Turtleback, I could certainly hear it rushing by beyond some fallen logs. And a trail led right from the site to the creek. With trees on both sides, I had plenty of privacy from the occupied sites on either side of me.

By this time, it was well after noon and I was starving. I had a fridge full of vegetables and ground beef I had to cook. I sautéed the beef with onion, peppers, eggplant, green beans, and tomatoes. I would have added zucchini and yellow squash, but the pan was already too full. A touch of Spike seasoning and some pepper and I had a nice hot lunch. Even Penny had some.

While I ate, I studied the North Cascades National Park Map I had. Although I’d tentatively planned my trip for two days at Colonial Creek, without my kayak along I wasn’t sure what I’d do the next day. Maybe I could move along and explore another location? Maybe the Mount Baker area? There were some campgrounds that seemed accessible from what might be paved roads — not that lack of pavement ever stopped me. If I wasn’t going to do any paddling on this trip, I’d do more hiking and photography. So far, I’d been in places I’d been before; it was time to strike out and explore something new.

So when I walked with Penny and my checkbook to the pay station to pay for the site, I filled out the form and wrote the check for just one night: $16. I also chatted with a uniformed volunteer about fire regulations. Campfires were still allowed in the fiercest provided for that purpose. I had a bunch of cedar trimmings from a windowsill project at home as well as some fruit wood I could burn. Maybe we’d have a campfire later that evening.

Dog on a Log
I took a picture of Penny on a stump in the lake. Why not?

We walked along the lake on the way back. I let Penny off her leash again. I stopped to chat with a man coming off the lake in a kayak. It looked sleek and light and a lot smaller than mine. He said it weighed 30 pounds but was 12 feet long. 12 feet! Mine was just under 10 and had to weigh at least 50 pounds. He’d bought it at REI. I figured I’d check them out if there was an REI near where I emerged from the Cascades on the west side later that week.

Back at the campsite, I spent a while starting this blog post. I had my phone plugged into the stereo system and was listening to old time vocals: Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett, Dean Martin, Nat King Cole. Later, I climbed into bed for a nap with Penny stretched out napping nearby. It was a nice, relaxing afternoon, with no Internet distractions or phone calls or pressing tasks.

Vacation. Gotta love it.

Thunder Knob

I woke at about 4 PM. The campsite was in the shadows; although sunset was still more than 4 hours off, the campground is in a valley and the sun had already dipped behind the trees around us.

Bridge over Colonial Creek
Here’s Penny on one of the bridges over Colonial Creek.

I put on my hiking shoes, grabbed my waist pack with a bottle of water and ice and my camera, and headed out with Penny. The Thunder Knob trailhead was just down the road two campsites away. It was a 1.7 mile hike that I’d done the previous year with my camping companion. I remembered it being a bit of a climb on the way out but all downhill on the way back. After my dismal performance that morning on the aborted hike to Ann Lake, I felt a real need to redeem myself with a good hike.

Mountain View
I’m not sure, but I think this is Colonial Peak.

It was pretty much as I remembered it: cross Colonial Creek on some wooden bridges, walk through the cool woods, and then start a climb, mostly on switchbacks, up a hillside laid bare in places by high winds or past fires. Once the climb began, it was remarkably dry and even got hot in places. There were no wildflowers — just scattered fir trees and lower vegetation. Occasionally, there would be a view of Colonial Peak or Diablo Lake or some other snow-studded mountain or glacier off in the distance.

As I hiked, I kept pace with a couple around my age that were stopping for rests almost as much as I was. They offered to let me pass and I declined, the first time, telling them they’d just pass me on a steep portion of the hill. But the second time they offered, I did pass. I felt amazingly energized after my lunch and nap — much better than I had that morning on the first hike. They kept pace with me for a while, but when I announced (after consulting Gaia GPS) that we were half way there, one of them said, “Half way? Have fun!” They stopped for a break and I kept going. I never saw them again.

View from Thunder Knob
The view northeast from Thunder Knob.

The hike was worth it, though. The views of the lake from the top of Thunder Knob are nothing short of spectacular. It was cool and breezy up there and I could hear the wind in the trees and see the small whitecaps on the lake far below us. There were also very few people up there: just two couples. I think it was because it was the kind of hike that’s too long or strenuous for a casual hiker (like the folks I’d passed) and too short for a serious hiker. I’m apparently casually serious about hiking. When they left, Penny and I had the place to ourselves.

View from Thunder Knob
The view northwest from Thunder Knob.

It had taken us a little over an hour to get up there, but only forty five minutes to get back. I’m a gravity-assist hiker and get good speed when gravity is pulling me the same direction I want to go. The walk was, for the most part, in the shade or shadows and relatively cool. But humidity — especially near the bottom — got me working up a sweat anyway. By the time we got back to camp, I was hot and exhausted.

But I’d also broken my previous record for steps taken in a day: 18,095.

And yes, I have a trackless with photos from Gaia GPS. With luck, I’ll remember to upload it and link to it here.

Ending the Day

I opened the bottle of wine I’d bought in Mazama and poured a glass. Even though it was probably the worst Malbec to come out of Argentina, it still tasted good enough for a camping trip.

Although I felt as if I lacked the energy to take a shower, it definitely had to be done. It was my first shower in the Turtleback’s microscopic bathroom and it went surprisingly well. The water gets very hot and there was enough pressure to get the job done efficiently. Afterwards, I let the shower curtain hang open and draped the towel over the bathroom door to dry. It felt great to get into clean clothes, even though they were a night shirt and lounge pants.

I made a salad and gave Penny some leftovers from lunch. I did the dishes and briefly considered a campfire. But smelling smoke from the campfire next door reminded me that a campfire would just leave me smelling like smoke — a smell I didn’t want to take to bed. So I settled down at the dining table to read for a while, leaving the door open to let in the glorious sound of the rushing creek just 50 feet away.

When it started getting chilly, I closed up the door and whatever windows were still open and climbed up into bed. I managed to stay awake for about 30 minutes. I was dead asleep by 9.

Summer 2016 Road Trip, Day 1: The Road to Mazama

Posted on August 1, 2016 by Maria Langer

A late start, a free overnight stay.

I’m on vacation. After a 10-week cherry drying season that had the five pilots on my team flying more than 160 total hours (!), my last contract ended on Sunday, a beautiful cloudless day. Because I’m required to stay in the area for the entire season, I get a little stir crazy by week 7 or 8. I started planning a trip with my new camper, the Turtleback. I had some minor repairs and improvements made earlier this month and brought it home on Thursday. I began packing the next day. By Sunday morning, I was ready to go.

Kayak Blues

Or at least I thought I was. I still had one thing to get on board: my kayak. My trip would have me visiting lakes throughout the North Cascades, both in Washington and British Columbia (Canada). Clearly it would be nice to have my kayak along for early morning or late afternoon paddles.

The idea was the hang my kayak on the ladder on the back of the camper. My kayak isn’t anything special. It’s straight out of Costco and several years old. Plastic with a molded seat and storage space and a cup holder. Room for Penny to ride on the bow or between my legs. It’s the kind of thing that if it broke along the way, I wouldn’t lose sleep over it. Besides, I have two of them that are identical, mostly so visitors can come paddling with me. For this trip, I only wanted to bring one.

But no matter what I did, I couldn’t easily hoist it onto the ladder rack. I’d wanted to leave town by 10 AM and by 9 AM I was sweaty, still needing a shower, and had a handful of other more important tasks to complete. And the kayak was still lying on the ground in front of the garage.

I showered, dressed, and headed down into town in my Jeep. I’d rig something up with pulleys and my electric winch. I’d already confirmed that the camper’s onboard generator could power the winch.

Then I got home, had lunch, and did those other things. I was waiting for shade in my driveway. By 12:30, there was some shade, but not quite as much as I hoped. Still, I climbed the ladder, rigged the pulleys, and built a sling for the kayak. I attached the winch and hoisted the kayak into place. It was a struggle. The ropes and knots and hooks kept getting hung up on the ladder. I tried to imagine doing it in a campground or lakeside up in the mountains, possibly with a handful of people watching. I couldn’t paint the picture. I imagined bringing along the kayak and never using it.

I winched it back down and pushed it into the garage. I removed the rigging and put away the winch. I finished packing and loaded Penny on board the truck. It was 3:00 PM when I pulled out of the driveway.

On my way out of town, I bought an inflatable raft and an electric air pump. That would have to do.

The Generator

I had one stop to make on my way north: a gas station in Pateros, WA.

I owned two generators. One was a 1KW Troy-Bilt that had been bought way back in around 2000 for backup power at the vacation home I owned with my wasband. The generator had been in my Wickenburg hangar when I moved to Washington, so I’d taken it with me. The other was a 2KW Honda I’d bought in 2010 for use with my old Mobile Mansion. I only needed one generator. (Heck, you can argue that I don’t need any generators because my new camper has one built in.) So I decided to sell the smaller one.

I had no idea what it was worth, but I knew you could buy a Chinese-made one at Harbor Freight for about $100. Surely this one was worth more. I figured I’d list it on Craig’s list for $175 and see whether I got any calls.

The calls started coming pretty quickly. One guy who seemed very interested was living in an off-the-grid cabin about 17 miles from Tonasket. Tonasket near the border of Washington and Canada — not exactly close by. He was willing to drive down to get it, or to see if he could talk a friend into picking it up. I told him I’d be heading his way on Sunday and offered to meet him. (Why not, right?) So after several phone calls, including one to say I’d been delayed and another to say I was finally on my way, I headed for the Chevron station in Pateros, which was about a half mile past where I’d turn up the Method River.

I got there around 5. I went in, bought a heavily caffeinated beverage and some chocolate covered espresso beans. Then I went back into the truck to wait.

And wait.

I was just getting ready to roll out of there at 5:30 when he pulled up in a pickup truck with a water hauling tank in back. He was around my age with really nice long hair covered on top with a sort of trail guide hat. He greeted me with a friendly handshake and I brought him over to the truck, where the generator was sitting on a blanked on the back seat. He pulled it out — it’s very heavy — and laid it on the tailgate of his truck. I pointed out the power switch, fuel valve, and choke lever. He set everything up and pulled the cord. It roared to life.

He asked me if I’d accept less. I guess that’s something you’re supposed to do. I told him not after I’d hauled it up here and waited a half hour. He understood, although I think he doubted I’d been there a half hour. He counted out $175 and I put it away. We chatted for a while about what I do in the Wenatchee area and what he does up in Tonasket. (He’s a “Jack of all trades, master of a few.”) He was an interesting guy and it would have been nice to talk to him a while longer. But I had a vacation to get on and I wanted to be parked for the night before it got dark. We shook hands again and I went back to my truck. He was gone before I even pulled out.

The Campsite

I had no idea where I would be spending the night. The original plan had been Pearrygin Lake State Park north of Winthrop, but I couldn’t see spending $30+ for a campsite I’d only occupy for one night, especially if I didn’t have time to take advantage of any of the facilities. So I drove north through Twisp and Winthrop towards Mazama with the idea of finding a quiet spot in the National Forest.

Twisp was relatively quiet — although I didn’t drive through the business part of town — but Winthrop was hopping. The town was full of parked cars with plenty of people out and about. I was pretty surprised — after all, it was after 6 PM on a Sunday night. I assumed the tourists would have gone home by then. But then again, it is still summer. I rarely vacation in the summer months because I want to avoid crowds, so I really have no idea how a typical summer week plays out.

I have to say that it was interesting to visit the area in the summer. I come up to the Winthrop area annually for Christmas — at least I have for the past three years — to do some cross-country skiing. The area is always covered with snow. Last year I drove through in the summer on a camping trip with the guy I was dating at the time and again in the autumn when I went for a weekend mushroom seminar at the North Cascades Environmental Learning center. (I’ll be back in late August for a nighttime photo class.) The hillsides were the same golden color they are around my home, but the valley was lush and green. There was one field with tall grass that had gone to seed; the wind whipped it around and the seed heads seemed to flow like water.

There was a recreation side at Mazama that indicated camping was available, so I turned in and headed north up Lost River Road. I didn’t remember any campgrounds up that way, but I did remember a parking area for a Sno Park. When I got there, it was big and flat and empty, surrounded by fir trees. The pit toilet was unlocked and was probably the cleanest one I’d ever been in.

By this time, it was after 7 PM. Sunset was in over an hour, but the valley was already in deep shadows. I could drive back to Mazama and continue up route 20. But I didn’t know how far I’d have to drive before I found a suitable place to park for the night. Do I leave a known in search of a suitable unknown? The answer was no. I’d had enough adventure for the day. It was time to kick back and relax.

First Campsite
Our first night’s campsite, just north of Mazama, WA.

So I parked the truck, opened the Turtleback’s slide and set about organizing my hastily packed belongings.

A while later, I had my portable grill out with a hamburger sizzling and two small eggplant from my garden grilling beside it. A sliced tomato from my garden completed the meal.

My only regret: I’d forgotten to pack a bottle of wine.

Cross Country Flight: Sacramento to Seattle and Wenatchee

Posted on May 16, 2016 by Maria Langer

A look back at a memorable flight.

Since the winter/spring of 2013, my helicopter has spent two months each year in the Sacramento area of California on a frost control contract. I fly the helicopter down in late February and fly back in late April. I usually take along a fellow pilot who does most of the flying to build R44 time and shares the cost of the flight. Most of these people are relative strangers and although they’re usually nice guys or gals that I stay friends with after the flight, I admit that I prefer flying with people I already know pretty well. So this spring, when it came time to start thinking about that return flight, I started thinking about who I could invite to join me.

The answer hit me like a lightning bolt: of course I should invite my friend Don.

Don’s been a pilot for much of his life and has flown airplanes and helicopters. I don’t know how much time he’s logged, but I’m certain it’s more than my 3,300 hours. I also know he has tons of cross-country experience, including helicopter flights between the Seattle area and Alaska.

Why Don?

You might be wondering why I’d invite such an experienced pilot when there were so many low-time pilots who’d likely jump at the chance to fly with me on a six to eight hour cross-country flight. There are three reasons.

First, Don is a good friend I’ve known for years. He and his wife were very supportive during my crazy divorce, and you know what they say about a friend in need. He’s easy going and has a good sense of humor. I knew I’d enjoy spending time with him.

Don’s helicopter on the T3 Helistop at Sky Harbor Airport in Phoenix in 2009. After I shared my experience approaching and landing at the helistop, he often picked up and dropped off visitors there. Later, in October 2012, he dropped me off there when I was off on one of my many trips.

Second, Don had owned a helicopter very much like mine — in fact, it was only six months newer — which he’d kept in his garage at his Seattle area home. About two years ago, he sold it. I knew he hadn’t flown much since and probably missed it. He would appreciate the flight; surprisingly, not everyone I’ve invited to fly with me on a long flight has.

Third, because Don already had so much flight time, he’d actually share the flight with me. After all, I like to fly. When I fly with other pilots, they’re paying for the privilege of every minute of stick time they can get. They don’t want to share the stick with me and I don’t feel comfortable asking them to.

So I texted Don to see if he was interested. The response came almost immediately. Hell, yes!

Getting to the Helicopter

Don has two homes, one in the Phoenix area and one in the Seattle area. He made arrangements to be in the Seattle area on the day we’d go south to fetch the helicopter.

I booked my flight from Wenatchee to Sacramento, which included a plane change in Seattle. Don booked his flight from Seattle to Sacramento on the same flight. Since Don always flies First Class, I bought a First Class ticket, too. When he booked his flight, he got the seat right next to mine.

We met at the gate for the Seattle to Sacramento flight. I’d been at the airport for two hours and had treated myself to a breakfast of trout and eggs at Anthony’s. Don had also been at the airport for a while and had breakfast.

I had Penny with me, of course. She’s always excited when she sees me take out her airline travel bag. She’d gotten back into the bag at the gate before Don arrived and he didn’t even realize I had her with me until we boarded.

There wasn’t supposed to be breakfast on our flight, but there was; a nice yogurt and granola bowl with fresh fruit that would have gone nicely with the Bloody Mary I couldn’t have. (First Class on Alaska Air really is worth the extra cost. Can’t say the same for all airlines.)

On the flight, we chatted, ate, read. Time passed quickly. We were on the ground by 10:45 AM. With no bags checked and a quick exit from the plane, we were at the curb waiting for our Uber driver by 11 AM. Penny seemed happy enough to be out of the bag, sniffing around someplace she was pretty familiar with. After all, we’d flown to Sacramento quite a few times over the past four years.

It was about a 30 minute ride to the airport where my helicopter had been parked on the grass for two months. I settled up my bill for parking and said goodbye to the staff there. Don preflighted and installed the dual controls while I folded up the cockpit cover and tie downs and went to work setting up my GoPro. That’s when I realized that I’d left the Mini SD card for the camera at home. Duh-oh! There would be no video from the flight.

California to Washington

We’d discussed our route briefly on the flight down. Neither of us was in a hurry and both of us leaned toward a flight up the coast, which would add about an hour to the flight time.

Here’s a shot of the marine layer on the coast of Oregon that forced us inland during a flight from Seattle to Wickenburg with my wasband in 2009.

My experience with flying the coast was varied. What I’d learned was that if I could get to the coast, I probably wouldn’t be able to follow it all the way up. The California and Oregon coasts are well known for their “marine layer” clouds. Although I’d flown the coast many times in the past, from Los Angeles to the Columbia River between Oregon and Washington, those damn clouds always made an appearance, forcing me inland so I’d never covered more than one or two hundred miles at a stretch. Last year, when I’d flown north by myself, planning on a coastal route, clouds with rain moved in not long after I hit the coast, forcing me inland for a dreary flight with more scud running than I like to do.

But nothing ventured, nothing gained, eh?

We followed Cache Creek west into the hills. I did the flying. I’d been wanting to fly Cache Creek all winter, but truck troubles had messed up my March plans and I wound up spending most of the month home instead of with the helicopter. I hadn’t flown nearly as much as I wanted to. This was my chance to get flying out of my system, flying a familiar and loved route. Somewhere in the hills, I turned the controls over to Don and he steered us over Clear Lake. Although the weather was clear where we were, there were clouds to the west (of course) and neither of us were sure whether they came into the coast or were off over the Pacific.

After flying up Highway 101 for a while, we decided to try heading west to see if we could make the coast. So we followed one of the canyons — I’m not sure, but I suspect it was the one the Noyo River flows in — concentrating on the path ahead of us. As expected, we were moving right in toward the clouds, which forced us lower and lower. But ahead of us, to the northwest, the sky was bright. Maybe it was clearing up?

We were flying about 300 feet over the road, stretching our necks to peer ahead of us and ready to turn around as the road went around a bend at a high point in the hills. We followed the bend and the road dropped away. We kept going.

Low clouds kept us flying low in the hillsides near Fort Bragg. We turned north, heading for our first fuel stop at Eureka. The coast was to our left and we occasionally caught glimpses of it as we flew over tree-covered hills with the clouds only a few hundred feet above us. I don’t think either of us wanted a trip up the coast in such conditions — I know I didn’t. But I also didn’t want to fly the I-5 corridor, which is painfully boring, especially once you get north of Eugene. We’d make a decision at Eureka.

The ceilings were much higher when we stopped for fuel at Eureka. We gassed up; Don bought the first tank. Then we went inside for a potty break. There wasn’t much else to do there — although the airport has a nice little pilot shop, there was no restaurant and nothing was within walking distance. So we climbed back on board and continued on our way, this time following the coast.

Despite the clouds, it was beautiful on the coast.

If you’ve driven on the Pacific Coast Highway — Route 101 — through Brookings, CA, you’ve driven over this bridge.

The coast near Newport, OR. I love the way the breakers line up when you see them at just the right angle.

A look down into Lincoln City, OR.

By this time, the scenery around us was interesting enough to take some pictures while Don flew. The doors were on, of course, so most of my photos have reflections and glare and even window dirt. But they give you a feel for what the weather was like and show a little of how beautiful the California and Oregon coasts can be from about 500 to 1000 feet up.

The coast was very rugged at the beginning, where the Redwoods National and State Parks come right up to the rocky shoreline. There were no roads in many places — just trees right up to the cliffs with lots of small waterfalls dropping down into the ocean. This is a view few people see, a view that can only be seen from the air off the coast. Don steered us along its left, over the ocean, just within gliding distance of land.

In some places, we saw sea lions stretched out on rocky beaches. I took pictures, but they didn’t come out good enough to share.

The Pacific Coast Highway hit the coast and then went inland several times. Finally, just before we hit the Oregon state line, it came out to the coast and stayed there for quite a while.

The weather got a little worse at first, with light rain pelting the cockpit bubble in more than a few places, then started to get better. By the time we got into Oregon, we saw patches of blue sky. The sun was shifting ever lower toward the horizon to the west and the light started getting kind of good.

Light is 90% of photography.

Waterfall near Otis, OR. Yes, I cropped this image; we weren’t that close.

Cloverdale, OR looks like a pleasant place to live, eh?

Don fueling up at Tillamook. The huge hangar behind him was used for airships years ago. I think there’s a chance it might be an air museum now.

We made our second fuel stop at Tillamook, OR. Don pumped while I paid. It was just after 5 PM and the airport office (and restrooms) were closed. It was also chilly. I let Penny loose to do her business, then called her back to get back on board. We didn’t hang around.

The Oregon Coast near Seaside.

By now, we were hungry. Two breakfasts had filled us before noon, but skipping lunch hadn’t gone unnoticed. Don had been texting back and forth with his wife who would have a hot dinner waiting when we arrived at their Seattle area home.

We continued up the coast a bit more before heading inland not far from Astoria, where the Columbia River meets the Pacific Ocean. This was, by far, the longest stretch of the Pacific Coast I’d flown in one day: more than 400 miles.

Don navigated northeast toward his house. It was all familiar territory to him — I didn’t fly much west of the Cascades. We flew east of Olympia and right over the top of the airport at Puyallup. From there, it was only a few minutes to Don’s place.

My iPad, with Periscope running, broadcast the approach in typical low-def quality.

Don let me take the controls and guided me in. I’d flown to his house before a few times but honestly couldn’t remember much about the approach. He had to keep pointing out landmarks and reminding me to slow down. It is tight — that’s for sure — with a steep approach between tall trees into a clearing beside his garage. I had Periscope running on my iPad in its cradle and recorded the whole thing.

And then we were on the ground, the long part of my journey over.

Resting Up

We went in and had something to drink while Don’s wife, Johnie, finished making dinner. Penny played with their new dog and ran around their grassy yard occasionally taking a detour to terrorize their chickens through the fence.

After dinner and a nice dessert, I went out to the barn with Don to see the two cows they’d “rescued.” They were huge. I really wish I’d had the presence of mind to take a photo, but I was so shocked by what I was looking at that I simply didn’t think of it.

I hit the sack in the guest room pretty early. I was still fighting a cold I’d had for at least three weeks and was exhausted. I slept well with Penny at the foot of the bed.

Seattle Area to Wenatchee

In the morning, after letting Penny out and then taking a quick shower, I dressed and met my hosts for breakfast. It was overcast and questionable (as usual) as to whether I’d make it across Snoqualmie or Stampede Pass. The automated weather station at Stampede was reporting half-mile visibility, which was enough to get through legally. But what about the rest of the flight? There was no accurate weather reporting in other places in the mountains. The only way to find out whether I’d make it was to give it a try. If I couldn’t get through, it was a long flight around the Washington Cascades to the Columbia River Gorge. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to go that way.

Another cloudy morning at Don’s place.

After thanking my guests and saying goodbye, I did a quick preflight, added some oil, and climbed on board with Penny. Then I started up and warmed the engine, setting up my iPad and iPhone with weather resources and Firelight maps to guide me while I waited. When the helicopter was ready to go, I picked up into a hover, turned 180 degrees over the driveway, and climbed out through the trees the way I’d come.

I had ForeFlight’s track log feature enabled during the flight, so I know exactly how I went. Originally, I thought I’d hook up with I-90 and follow that through the mountains at Snoqualmie Pass, which is at 3004 feet. But that would require me to head north quite a bit before heading southeast. It didn’t make sense to go out of my way. So instead, I followed the course of the Green River up into the mountains, aiming for Stampede Pass, which is higher at 3800 feet, but had that handy ASOS weather station. The weather there was reported at 1/4 mile visibility with mist, but I knew that could change at any time.

An overview of my route from the Seattle area to Wenatchee. Not exactly a straight line.

In the meantime, the flight was pleasant, even under the clouds, taking me over the Howard A Hanson Reservoir and a few communities that were no more than named points on the map. The area below me was thick forest, for the most part, with a road following the river for part of the way. I wish I could have taken pictures, but I’m a terrible photographer when I’m flying. I really missed my GoPro on that flight.

I steered up another canyon to the left just past Lester, heading for Stampede. The only roads were forest roads now as I climbed with the hills, getting ever closer to the cloud bottoms. Soon, I could see Stampede Pass ahead of me. I’d forgotten all about the wires that crossed through the lowest (and clearest) spot. I’d have to cross at a higher point a bit east where the clouds seemed to touch the ridge line. I could tune into the ASOS by that point; it was still reporting 1/4 mile visibility with mist.

Here’s a closeup of my route (the blue line) through the Stampede Pass area on a Sectional Chart. I crossed the mountains just southeast of the pass, not at all interested in crossing over all those wires.

I slowed to 40 knots and creeped up to the ridge. I knew the rules I’d set for myself, rules that had never failed me when dealing with weather flying: if I could peek over the ridge and see the ground and my path ahead, I’d cross the ridge. Otherwise, I’d have to backtrack or find another place to cross.

I peeked, I saw. The ground dropped away ahead of me as I crossed the ridge near the pass and descended down into the valley beyond. Soon I was flying over I-90, past the lakes near Roslyn and Cle Elum. I steered east northeast, then due east, then northeast, direct toward home.

I crossed the mountains south of Wenatchee at Mission Ridge and made a slight detour to check out the slide damage areas at Whispering Ridge and Joe Miller Road. Then I made a beeline for the airport to get some fuel and take care of some paperwork with my mechanic.

A short while later, I was landing on my platform, which I’d left outside before heading down to Sacramento the previous day. It was good to get the helicopter put away.

A Weekstart Trip with the Turtleback

Posted on May 11, 2016 by Maria Langer

Or 28 hours off-the-grid.

I brought the Turtleback home on Wednesday and left it on my truck on purpose. I wanted to take it out for a short trip before I put it away.

I wanted to test it out in real off-the-grid conditions. I wanted to see how comfortable it was, how well I slept in it, how hot the water got, how loud the heater was. I wanted to cook a meal in it, wash dishes in its kitchen sink, and use the toilet in the middle of the night. I wanted to take it on a narrow gravel road and squeeze into a parking space I couldn’t dream of fitting into with its predecessor.

I’d do it locally — or relatively so. There’s a campground called Rock Island about 17 miles up Icicle Creek near Leavenworth Washington. The total driving distance is about 75 miles. One of my favorite trails, the Icicle Gorge Loop Trail, runs right past it. I thought I’d get a campsite, set up camp, and do the loop trail.

The campground page on the USFS website said Rock Island Campground got “heavy use.” I hate crowds so I didn’t want to do the trip on a weekend. I figured I’d do it on a “weekstart.” (If Friday through Sunday is the weekend, then Sunday through Tuesday should be the weekstart, no?) The way I saw it, most people left the campground on Sunday; I’d pull in on Sunday evening, get a good site, and avoid the crowds.

Heading Out

Of course, things don’t always turn out the way you want them to. I lost about two hours of my Sunday to a bee swarm call that was a total bust. (Don’t ask.) Then I spend another 30 minutes looking at new grills. By the time I got back home to pack, it was well after 4 PM. There was no way I’d have time to shower, pack, and head out before the friendly propane suppliers closed. I’d leave the first thing in the morning instead.

I was ready to go by 7:30 AM with the refrigerator packed, clothes and dog supplies loaded, and water tank topped off. I got a mile from my home before I remembered that I needed to harvest some broccoli that would flower if I didn’t and that I’d forgotten my Nikon. Twenty minutes later, I was headed out again.

I stopped at Ag Supply on North Wenatchee Avenue for propane. I asked for a “strong guy” to help me. Lots of places won’t load full propane bottles back into your truck. They’re not required to. But friendly places do. And the main drawback to the Turtleback is that the two 7-gallon propane tanks are in a cabinet about level with my head. Getting them down when they’re empty will be easy. Getting them back up there, not so much. And I had no idea how much propane was in them. I didn’t want to run out on my maiden voyage.

The kid who helped me used my stepladder to get them down and put them back. They were each about 1/2 full. I like to run one tank empty before switching to the other and refilling the empty so I always know I’ve got a full tank. These tanks have fancy gauges that I didn’t think worked. They do. They just read a little low.

The next stop was in Leavenworth: Safeway. I needed a gallon bottle of water — I don’t drink what comes out of an RV’s tank. (Ick.) And some orange juice. And an almond croissant. And a veggie platter to snack on. And bacon (which I forgot).

Once the groceries were loaded, Penny and I continued on our way with me munching a croissant. And then a donut. We drove through town and turned left onto Icicle Road. Soon we were winding up the canyon beside Icicle Creek, which was rushing madly with spring snow melt. Few cars were on the road — it wasn’t even 10 AM on that Monday morning. Pavement turned to gravel and we kept going, passing one campground after another. It was when we got to Chatter Creek Campground’s turn that I saw a pickup truck at the campground entrance. A woman was out of the truck moving a ribbon that stretched across the entrance drive. I stopped my rig and called out to her: “Is the campground closed?”

She came over and we chatted. All the Campgrounds past Johnny Creek were closed. Some biologists were checking out trees. Bark beetle was an issue. Was Rock Island closed? Yes. I pointed out that the website didn’t say the campground was closed. She had nothing to say about that. I asked her if the ranger station up the road had more information and she told me that was closed, too. But there’s some distributed camping, she said in a sort of wink-wink-nod-nod-say-no-more kind of way.

“Yeah, I’ll just find one of those sites,” I said. “This is set up for off-the-grid camping.” I thanked her and shifted into gear.

She took a step back and said, “Nice rig.”

I laughed and thanked her.

I kept driving. I took it slow. The truck handles a bit differently with the Turtleback on it. Higher center of gravity, exaggerated bumps, lots of squeaking. One of the things I’ve learned over the past few years is patience. I’m seldom in a hurry to do anything. I think it’s got to do with my relaxed lifestyle. So when I want to drive slowly, I can.

I passed one of the Icicle Gorge Loop Trail trailheads and kept going. Then I reached Rock Island Campground. It had the same red ribbons tied across its access roads with signs that said, “Closed to Public Use.” I kept going.

I stopped for a while in a parking area where I’d gone mushrooming with a friend the previous fall. Penny and I got out for a short walk in the woods. It was wet — I think it had rained that morning — and there was some flooding down on the trail. We didn’t stay long. We didn’t see any mushrooms either. Seriously: what was I thinking? It was way too early in the season for chanterelles.

We continued down the gravel road. The only thing left was a horse loading area, a horse campground, and the Icicle Creek Trail Trailhead at the very end of the road. The horse campground was closed (of course) and a pretty good water flow crossed the road just past it. Although the ford had a concrete bottom, I didn’t see any reason to drive through. I couldn’t camp at the trailhead. So I turned around and started looking at some of the side roads I’d passed.

One of them about halfway back to Rock Island Campground looked pretty good — but narrow. I parked the truck on the side of the road and got out with Penny to scout it out. I’d lost my cell signal before the pavement ended and the last thing I wanted was to get stuck on some dirt road in the middle of nowhere. Better to look on foot than explore with the truck and Turtleback.

The road was narrow with scattered potholes, many of which were deep and full of running water. Branches came low over the road. The Turtleback is at least 12 feet tall and more than 8 feet wide — it would be pushing these branches aside as I drove. But there didn’t seem to be anyplace to drive to. One by one, we passed right turns that we either short or extremely narrow paths unsuitable for my rig. We kept walking. We’d gone about 1/3 mile when I saw it: the most amazing campsite I’d ever seen. Nearly level with a mix of sun and shade, a fire pit, logs to sit on, and Icicle Creek rushing past.

Not the best video in the world, but it gives you an idea of what the road was like. If you can, watch it fullscreen.

We went back to the truck and climbed on board. I used my phone to video our 4-minute drive back to the site. You can hear the truck and camper pushing through the branches. It sounds like I’m beating the crap out of my rig, but there wasn’t any damage.

I backed into the campsite and killed the engine. Icicle Creek was about 50 feet from the camper door. I could hear the water rushing — it was about the only thing I could hear. It sounded wonderful.

Here’s a panoramic view of the campsite with the Turtleback parked in it.

And, of course, we were the only ones around — possibly for miles.

Setting Up Camp

There wasn’t much to setting up camp. That’s the beauty of traveling with an RV. You park it, open a slide (if you have one), and you’re good to go.

In my case, there was a bit more work. Although I’d brought linens with me, I hadn’t made the bed. So I did that. I also stowed the few items of clothing I’d brought. And the medicine cabinet items I planned to leave in there.

I’d also brought along some MatchLight charcoal, scrap lumber, and newspaper, all in a box. I put those outside beside the fire pit, along with a new grill I’d bought for cooking over the fire. I wasn’t going to “cook” — I had some smoked ribs that needed sauce and grilling to finish up before they were ready to eat. I was going to reheat them there. The only other alternative for reheating them was the convection microwave and I had no desire to run the generator.

Penny on guard duty.

I should mention that while I was doing all this, Penny was sitting outside the camper door on high alert, shivering a bit in the cool air, watching the forest around us. She’s pretty funny sometimes. She’s incredibly brave for a small dog, always running far ahead on hikes and challenging other dogs that give her the weird eye. But there in the forest, in a place completely unfamiliar to her, she stuck close to home. I suspect it was because she couldn’t hear much above the sound of the rushing creek and she was likely smelling all kinds of wildlife that could include something as exotic as bears.

As I was finishing up, I started thinking about all the things I needed to set up a good camp. Some of the things were things I already had and could leave in the camper but had neglected to pack them: folding chairs, lantern, BBQ tongs, Dutch oven, steamer basket. Other things would have to be bought or otherwise acquired: battery monitor, stiff broom, outside door mat. Of course, I didn’t have a pen and paper to write these things down. So I fetched a pen from the truck and made lists on the back of the cardboard insert that had come with the BBQ grill. I added notebook w/pen to the bottom of the list. Duh.

I’d periodically add items to this list over the next 24 hours. And two more lists: things to fix/add (outdoor shower, DC outlet near stereo) and things to modify (bedroom closet, key hooks, mattress top).

The Hike

Penny and I went for a hike right from the campsite. There were narrow trails leading up and down Icicle Creek. I picked the one heading up and we started out.

Spring runoff had streams running all over the place.

We didn’t get far before our path was blocked by a rushing stream. I didn’t want to get my feet wet and there didn’t seem to be a way to cross. But Penny was already finding another trail. I followed her up the little creek into the woods. After a while, the path turned back toward the creek and another chance at crossing. It was wider there, with strategically placed logs that looked crossable. But there was a lot of water flowing and falling in would not be good for either one of us.

Penny and I crossed the stream on this log. Her way was blocked by the log and branch lying across the larger log.

Still, before I could make a decision, Penny had already started across, jumping from one stone or patch of earth to another and pausing on a center island. I knew I could get at least that far so I followed. Before I could stop her, she began trotting down the log that went to the other side. Trouble was, there were other logs on top of that log and her way was blocked. So she tried to find another way. Worried that she’d misstep and fall into the rushing water, I inched my way across the log, stopping near where she’d found another island to stand on. I coaxed her into my grasp, picked her up, and tossed her the final four feet to the opposite shore. Then I followed, hoping we wouldn’t have to go back the same way.

Seriously, though: my dog is very brave.

Or maybe not. The trail was narrow as it wound through the woods. For a while, there were signs of horse traffic — after all, the horse trailer parking area was just up the main road. Then that disappeared as the trail got really narrow and the brush seemed to close in. Penny ran ahead, as she usually does. At one point, she stopped along the trail, sniffing the air. She growled and then barked. I looked and saw nothing.

But although my sense of smell is better than most people’s, it’s no match for a dog’s. She was smelling something I couldn’t and it was getting her riled up. What was it? Could it be a bear?

Yes, there are bears in the area. No, I’ve never seen one there. But one of the signs I’d seen earlier in the day was all about keeping a bear-safe campsite. And here we were, in a thick forest, and Penny was barking at something I couldn’t seen.

Talk about creeping me out.

I hustled her along the trail, eager to keep moving, trying to remember if I was supposed to be quiet or make a lot of noise if I encountered a bear.

I did stay focused on the walk enough to take some photos of some of the flowers we saw along the way. These two look like two different colored versions of the same thing: Pacific Trillium. (Correct me if I’m wrong, please.)

After a while, the trail turned toward the road and dumped us in the horse trailer parking lot. We walked down the road as far as the ford, then turned around and followed it all the way back to the side road we’d turned down to camp. I’d had enough of the dense woods and Penny barking at things I couldn’t see.

Here’s my track for the hike we took from camp. It was only 1.7 miles. You can find the stats and photos for this hike on the Gaia GPS website.

Relaxing

Of course I brought Penny’s bed with us.

I had a lunch of sardines with scallions on crackers — don’t knock it until you’ve tried it — and then stretched out on my bed with a book to relax. Penny couldn’t jump up on the bed so I had to lift her into place. She settled right down in her bed for a nap. Soon I was dozing off. (I’m still fighting a bit of a cold that I’ve had for over a month now and I get sleepy in the afternoon if I exert myself too much early in the day.) I found the sound of the creek soothing.

I dozed and read most of the afternoon. Outside, the sky changed from sunny to cloudy to sunny to cloudy more times than I could count. I was glad for the sun; the solar panels on the roof would keep the batteries charged. I was very eager to see whether they’d hold enough power to run the heater as necessary overnight. (The Mobile Mansion had failed me on a few nights on the previous winter’s snowbirding trip.) It was very windy, as it had been at home, but the wind was mostly up in the trees.

By 6 PM, I thought it was time to get dinner ready. The sun would sink behind the hills to the west long before the 8:30 PM sunset. So I built a fire, which took just one match on the dry paper and wood and MatchLight I’d brought along. While that burned down to coals, I got the broccoli I’d brought along ready to steam on the stove and opened a bottle of wine. I sat on the steps in the doorway, sipping wine and watching the creek rush past while Penny went on patrol, at one point barking at an invisible foe safely across the creek.

In hindsight, I don’t think it was worth building a fire just to heat up these ribs. Next time, I’ll bring my portable propane grill.

My new grill didn’t work as well as I’d hoped, but I made some modifications and got it to perform. That got the ribs sizzling enough to bring inside. I would have eaten outside if it had been a bit warmer, but with the sun gone behind the mountains, it chilled down quickly. I went inside and sat at the table facing the creek where I could see and hear it through the open door. Penny got two rib bones.

We didn’t stay up late. I crawled into bed before nine with my iPad and an ebook. I’d put Penny up there long before that. I killed the lights and read for a while in the dark. When my iPad fell out of my hands, I took off my reading glasses and went to sleep.

Morning in Camp

I slept pretty well. I’d set the heater to 60°F and it came on a few times during the night. It was remarkably quiet, especially compared to the one in the Mobile Mansion. I think it’s because it had a smaller blower since it had a much smaller space to heat. I was warm enough under the sheet, blanket, and comforter I’d put on the bed. But that didn’t stop me from waking between 4 and 5 AM, as I usually do.

I spent some time looking out at the stars through the big skylight over the bed.

I did a crossword puzzle on my iPad and was reading again at 5 AM when I began hearing a weird, rhythmic beeping sound. Three tones, repeated the same way, over and over. They were soft and got progressively louder and then got softer again. At 5:07, they stopped completely. Weird doesn’t begin to describe it. Eerie. I still don’t know what the sound was.

A morning look up Icicle Creek from my campsite.

I got out of bed around 6 AM and made coffee. I sat at the table to drink it and read some more. It was weird not being able to access the Internet to check the weather and read the news. The sun was up, touching the tops of the snow-capped peaks across the creek. But the campsite was still in shadows and would be until nearly 8 AM.

By that time, I was starting to pack up. Although there wasn’t anything preventing me from spending another day away from home, I didn’t see any reason to. The purpose of the trip had been to test out the Turtleback by actually living it in for a day. It had passed all tests with flying colors, surprising me with features I didn’t even know it had. For example, I discovered that the skylight over the bed opens and that it has two shades: one for dimming the light and one for blocking it. I discovered that the stereo has an audio in port. I discovered that the television mount enables it to pivot all the way around so it can be watched from the dining area. (Not that I could watch TV; I was really off the grid and don’t have a satellite subscription.) I discovered that the refrigerator door shelf dividers break very easily. (Oops.) I discovered that the water heater makes the water very hot. (Ouch.) I discovered that the bathroom is indeed smaller than one on an airliner and that if I was still as heavy as I was in my late married days, I might not be able to close the door. I discovered that one of the cabinet doors just doesn’t want to stay closed in transit.

I also discovered that the previous owner had left a can of Monkey Butt Powder in one of the bathroom cabinets.

So the plan was to drive around a bit to see if there were any more really good campsites and then do the Icicle Creek Gorge Trail.

Packing Up

Another nice thing about camping in an RV: packing up is very easy. I left the scrap lumber for the next camper and put the box with the MatchLight in it back into the camper. I turned off the water heater and water pump. I secured all the cabinet doors. And then I pushed the button to move the slide back in.

Done.

While I was doing this, Penny had caught sight of a squirrel and had chased it up a tree. I swear that she’d still be watching that damn rodent if I hadn’t called her away to get into the truck.

Penny chased this squirrel up a tree and then stared at it, trembling with anger and frustration as it taunted her with squirrel noises.

Icicle Gorge Loop Trail

More trillium, hiding beneath the fir trees.

A patch of fairy slipper.

The Icicle Gorge Loop Trail is my favorite area trail. It’s got everything going for it: sun, shade, forest, meadow, rushing streams, small waterfalls, wildflowers. The 3- 4.2-mile well-worn trail is narrow and winding, climbing up and down gentle slopes all the way. Strategically placed benches give hikers places to rest in comfort. I’ve done the trail at least three times before yesterday — once alone and twice with friends.

There was only one car in the trailhead parking lot when Penny and I arrived with the truck and Turtleback. I slipped inside without opening the slide and raided the fridge and cabinets for something to drink, some cheese packets, and an energy bar. With my fanny pack filled and secured and my camera slung over my shoulder, Penny and I started down the trail.

I have no idea what these are. They grew in a relatively clear area not far from the creek. Anyone know? Tell me in the comments for this post.

Harsh Indian paintbrush. I played around with bokeh — keeping a foreground item in focus while throwing the background out of focus — as much as I could.

I’m pretty sure these are woodland beardtongue. They grew in patches near the creek.

Lupine were all over the place. The trick was making an interesting composition.

Snow-capped granite peaks were visible in many places towering above Icicle Creek.

Little waterfalls like this one were visible all along the trail.

In many places, giant logs in the streambed attested to the power of rushing water.

I always hike the trail clockwise. I don’t know why, but I do. Yesterday was no different.

Everything was cool and lush and green. It was early May and although it’s been warmer than usual at home, it’s still nice and cool up in the mountains. And it was just after 9 AM — a good time to take advantage of a hike like this.

Penny ran ahead, as she does, and I took my time. Although I walked briskly when I was walking, I made lots of stops to take pictures both for my Gaia track and myself. I like to photograph wildflowers and flowing water and this hike gave me plenty of opportunities. There were lots of places were tiny streams crossed the trail. I suspected that much later in the day, after the sun had done its work on the snow-capped peaks around us, there would be even more water flowing.

And it was sunny. An absolutely perfect day. Hardly any wind, blue skies with puffy white clouds.

I took a lot of pictures.

The far side of the trail showed some serious winter damage with fallen trees across the trail and one that had even crushed one side of a bridge. It would take the efforts of many workers — I assume volunteers — to get the trail back in shape for the easy-to-moderate hike audience it is intended for. I found myself doing a lot of climbing over tree trunks and picking my way around blocked area of trails. I’d look into volunteering to help on the trail, but I suspect the work is done during cherry season when I have to be near my base and reachable by phone. (I’ll make some calls later today.)

I had the Gaia GPS app running on my phone and it counted off the miles one by one in Siri’s voice. I thought the hike was three miles long and was very surprised when Siri announced “Three Miles” when we reached the Rock Island Campground at the far west end of the loop.

“It can’t be three miles,” I argued. “The whole loop is only three miles.”

“Three miles,” she repeated. Which was weird because she never counts off a mile marker more than once.

Siri was right, of course. It was 4.2 miles. I don’t know where I got the idea it was only 3 miles.

It was only 1.2 miles back to the truck. During the hike, we’d passed a pair of older women once and three young women twice — they were all walking in the opposite direction. We exchanged cheerful greetings with each meeting and everyone had something to say about Penny, who darted around in front of them as if she wanted to play. For a while on the return leg of the loop, there was a single male hiker behind me. He stopped by the river for a while and then caught up again. I stopped to let him pass. He pointedly ignored me so I said loudly, “Good morning!” He grunted a response. I honestly can’t believe how unfriendly some people can be.

I was starting to stumble about a half mile before the end of the hike. Stumbling is my body’s way of telling me I’ve hiked long enough. In the old days, when I was a very big girl, the stumbling would start after about a mile. Later, when I was very thin, I could go eight miles before the stumbling started. Now that I’m somewhere in the middle, I start stumbling after three miles. I really need to get back in shape.

Back at the trailhead, I consulted the hike information sign, still not believing the hike was more than 3 miles. But it was there on the sign: 4.2 miles. According to Gaia GPS, I’d gone 4.6 miles.

Here’s my track for the Icicle Creek Gorge Trail. You can find the stats and photos for this hike on the Gaia GPS website.

Heading Home

We headed home a while later, making a stop in Leavenworth for a bratwurst sandwich and some smoked meats at Cured. (Love their buckboard bacon.) My cell phone went nuts with missed calls and text messages once it picked up a cell signal. I answered one or two but decided to wait until I got home to get to the rest. If they waited that long, they could wait a few more hours.

It was about 1:30 when I pulled into the driveway and backed the Turtleback onto the concrete pad in front of my big RV garage door.

It had been a short but important trip. It showed me just how perfect my new rig would be for travel during my off season. Whether I wanted to go away for a single night or months, the Turtleback will give me a comfortable, affordable, and convenient place to stay. It also got me fired up for future travel with the Turtleback. I’m already planning a trip to the North Cascades in August, when cherry season is over. And there’s a very good chance that it’ll be my home away from home next winter for work and play. I can’t wait!

Snowbirding 2016: Death Valley

Posted on March 16, 2016 by Maria Langer

I finally make a trip I’d postponed for four years.

Posts in the Snowbirding 2016 Series:
– Introduction
– The Colorado River Backwaters
– Quartzsite
– Wickenburg
– Phoenix
– Home
– Back to the Backwaters
– Return to Wickenburg
– Valley of Fire
– Death Valley
– Back to Work

I need to start this account with some back story to put it into perspective. If you’re tired of reading about my old life, skip the following section and start reading at The Drive.

The Back Story

One of the things that bothered me most in the last years of my marriage was the fact that my husband’s 9 to 5 job and his insistence on living in a condo in the Phoenix area instead of our Wickenburg house made it very difficult for us to have any fun together. Although my time was extremely flexible — I was still in my declining writing career and didn’t do much flying when I wasn’t away for my summer job — his wasn’t. He worked every weekday. Even when I moved into the condo with him that last winter we were together, we seldom did anything during the week. Dinner and a movie gets old after a while, but not nearly as old as watching him channel surf every evening we didn’t go out. On weekends, he insisted on making the 90-minute drive back to Wickenburg on Friday afternoon, returning with a 90-minute drive back to Phoenix on Sunday evening or Monday morning. I tagged along when I could, but the irony of our work schedules was that I was more likely to fly on weekends than weekdays. Besides, on weekends he’d spend a lot of time catching up on car shows he’d DVRed from Dish Network. Doing something “different” meant taking the same old motorcycle ride up to Prescott. He wouldn’t take his plane out unless the weather was perfect and forecasted to be perfect until after his return.

To make matters worse, he was nearly constantly in a foul mood. His job — like the others in Phoenix before it — had become a dead end, with an unpleasant work environment and a micro-managing boss who made it difficult for him to make the sales he needed to earn a better living. He was struggling financially to not only cover the high cost of the condo he refused to sell, but the loan on his Mercedes, expenses for a plane he seldom flew, his other living expenses, and his regular contributions to his niece’s education, which had entered the PhD candidate phase. He couldn’t see how his debt and expenses had made him a slave to his job. He was never happy and he seemed to take it out on me, accusing me of being the reason “we had no friends,” and complaining when I preferred reading or doing crossword puzzles over spending another frustrating evening in front of the television while he channel surfed.

When that job came to an end in early February and he seemed to have another job lined up behind it, I pushed hard for us to go away for a five-day trip to Death Valley. We’d take the Mobile Mansion, set up camp at one of the park’s campgrounds, and take our cameras out to explore Death Valley. February was the time of year when the wildflowers started blooming. Our previous trip together to Death Valley — way back in the 1980s — had been limited by the rental car we’d had; we’d be able to go a lot farther off the beaten track in a 4WD truck.

I saw the trip as an opportunity to leave troubles behind, to remember the other great trips we’d had together, to go back — at least mentally — to a better time when our relationship was better and our love for each other was stronger. I hoped it would recharge our relationship and bring us closer together again.

Unfortunately, the trip was not to be. His mother was in town — as she was every winter for a month or two — and although we’d put her in a great two-bedroom home that was part of an assisted living community in town, she was at our house every single day and long into the night. For some reason — fear, perhaps? — he didn’t tell her about our upcoming trip. As the days to departure ticked down, I kept waiting for him to tell her. Surely she could live without us for five lousy days.

Lucy, the toothless pug, basking in the morning sun at our Colorado River backwaters campsite. She survived that February 2012 night in the desert by hiding under a neighbor’s porch.

And then the day before we were supposed to leave — the day we should have been packing — he let our dog and my friend Janet’s dog out and later let our dog in without remarking on the absence of the little toothless pug. It was hours before I realized that she was gone, lost in the desert. After spending the entire day looking for her and feeling nearly as heartbroken as Janet about her loss, I snapped. I told him I’d had enough of him and cancelled the trip. The next day, I went down to Phoenix to work on a book in the office I’d ironically moved there to be closer to him.

I cooled down after a week or two and agreed to go with him to a marriage counsellor. And although I thought things were on the mend and looked forward to him starting yet another job that would give him more free time, he apparently had other ideas. When I left in May for my summer job in Washington, he signed up at Chemistry.com. A month later, he was sleeping with the desperate old whore who convinced him to dump me — after a 29-year relationship — and go after my money. He even told the judge at the first hearing that I had abandoned him. (WTF?) You can read about the rest elsewhere in this blog.

Anyway, that’s the back story. I’ve been wanting to visit Death Valley for the spring wildflowers for at least four years. This year, I finally got a chance to make that happen.

(Funny how much I can make happen without a sad sack old man holding me back.)

The Drive

It wasn’t an uneventful drive.

I left Valley of Fire around 10:30 AM and got on I-15, heading southwest. I was just settling in for the three-hour drive with the cruise control locked in at the highway speed of 65 MPH when I felt a weird vibration in the truck. I got into the right lane and killed the cruise control about the same time the right rear tire on the truck blew.

I’d always wondered what it felt like to have blowout at highway speed when towing a 15,000 pound trailer. Now I know.

Ouch.

I kept control of the truck and managed to bring it to a stop within about 1,000 feet on the narrow shoulder of a very long overpass. Because highway traffic was just three feet away from my door, I lifted the center console and slid across the seat to get out on the shoulder side. The tread on the tire was nearly completely gone. Moving forward to get off the overpass was not an option unless I didn’t mind destroying the rim. The tire would have to be changed right where I was.

For the second time in less than two months, I called AAA.

My damaged mud flap, sitting up on the guardrail with a big hunk of tire tread on the shoulder beside it.

While I waited, I walked back along the highway. I recovered a big chunk of the tire, but more importantly, I also recovered the mudflap that had been torn off when the tire blew. I brought them back to the truck and threw the mudflap into the bed.

A flatbed tow truck arrived an hour later. A guy came out and set about lifting my truck’s rear end with a hydraulic jack and lowering the spare tire fastened under the truck bed. In just a few minutes, the tire was changed. Of course, the spare’s pressure was low, but that wasn’t a problem. The truck had a compressor and the tire was soon inflated and I was ready to go.

Honestly, anyone who travels — especially alone — really should have roadside assistance like AAA. This was the second time it helped me on this trip. And yes, I probably could have changed the tire. But it likely would have taken me hours to do it and the tire pressure still would have been low. I got the job done without getting dirty for the cost of a $20 tip.

While I’d been waiting, I’d been working the phones. I called Discount Tire in northwest Las Vegas — a location that was along my route to Death Valley — and arranged for a set of replacement tires. In all honesty, I never did like the off-road tires that had come with the truck. I just hoped I’d get a year out of them. I obviously wasn’t going to. Best to just replace them all now with an all-terrain tire that was better able to handle the weight I was towing. I wound up with a set of four Toyo Open Country tires. Even with a $100 rebate, it was quite a chunk of change. With luck, however, I won’t have to replace them for at least 5 years.

So my next stop was the Discount Tire location I’d called. There was a long line inside. I was told it might be two hours. I secured my place in line, paid for the tires, and then pulled my rig into an empty lot next door. I disconnected the Mobile Mansion, topped off the truck’s tank with diesel, and parked it back in the lot. Then Penny and I went into the RV and had lunch.

That’s one of the nice things about traveling with a house. The fridge and bathroom are always handy.

It was about 3:30 PM by the time the new tires were on and I’d hooked up the Mobile Mansion again. Sunset was two hours away and it didn’t look as if I’d get to Furnace Creek by then. But I put the pedal to the metal and drove. I got on Route 95 and followed that to Amargosa Valley. Then south on route 373 to Death Valley Junction. Finally 190 west to Furnace Creek. There wasn’t much traffic at all and I was able to do (at least) the speed limit all the way. The new tires felt great — and were amazingly quiet compared to the old ones.

I took the highlighted (blue) route from Valley of Fire to Death Valley.

On the descent down to the valley, the sky to the west, which was full of high, light clouds, turned brilliant pink and orange and then violet. It was probably the best sunset of the trip.

It was nearly dark when I pulled to the curb across from the office for Furnace Creek lodging. I checked in for the campsite I’d have for the next two nights. Then I walked back to the truck and drove it the final half mile to the campground. It was a back-in site between a giant luxury motorhome and some tent campers. I’d never parked the Mobile Mansion at night, but it wasn’t as if I could wait until morning. I set out a lantern on the driver’s side at the back of the site and a flashlight on the driver’s side in the front. And then, with a little guidance from the tent campers, I backed it in.

Got it on the first try. Sometimes I really surprise myself.

Setting up camp was easy because the site was level and there were no hookups. I disconnected the Mobile Mansion from the truck and put out the slides. Done.

The only drawback: that luxury motorhome had a generator running and it was loud. (What is it with these people?) Fortunately, they shut it off at 7 PM sharp.

Dawn at the Dunes

Although I’d hoped to get some exploring in on the afternoon when I arrived, arriving in the dark made that impossible. So I started my explorations early the next morning after a quick breakfast. Penny and I climbed aboard the truck before dawn and headed north toward Stovepipe Wells. I had the idea of photographing the dunes near there around sunrise. Unfortunately, so did a bunch of other people. When I arrived, the parking lot was half full and there were people all over the dunes. Getting a shot without a bunch of footprints or a tourist in it was not likely.

So I backtracked down the road and parked on the shoulder. I climbed into the back of the truck with my tripod and camera and framed a few shots using my 85-300 telephoto zoom lens. The focal length compressed the perspective, as I suspected it would, bringing the distant mountain tops closer. I got a few shots I liked before climbing back into the truck to continue on my way.

Not long after sunrise along the road between Furnace Creek and Stovepipe Wells in Death Valley.

On the Road to Skidoo

I highly recommend this map, which is available from Amazon.

And here’s where I made my mistake. Back in January, I’d had lunch with my friend Rebecca, who had been to Death Valley earlier in the year. She’s showed me some locations on a National Geographic map that I bought and had shipped out to me when I was staying at the Colorado River backwaters south of Ehrenberg. I’d studied the map and had decided to try finding a set of dunes to the west of Ubehebe Crater in the north part of the park. But I guess I hadn’t “studied” the map enough — for some reason, I thought the road through Stovepipe Wells was the right road. It wasn’t until I was at Emigrant Campground that realized something wasn’t quite right and pulled over to check where I was going. I’d gone about 40 miles the wrong way.

Pro tip: Maps can only help you when you use them. Duh. (I should have grabbed one of these maps at the Visitor Center. It’s not as detailed as what I had, but it’s easier to manage in the truck.)

So I came up with a Plan B: explore the west side of the park up Emigrant Canyon Road. The map showed two interesting townsites: Skidoo and Harrisburg. I like wandering around ghost towns and figured I’d check them out.

I headed south on Emigrant Canyon Road, climbing ever higher into the mountains on the west side of the park. Outside, the air was cooler — in the low 40s, according to the truck’s outside air temperature gauge. But it was clear and I knew it would warm up. I found the sign to Skidoo and turned left onto a nicely maintained gravel road. Ahead of me, in the near distance, were two white SUVs and a white pickup truck. Soon, I caught up with them and was driving in their dust. When I saw an old cabin on a short road off to my left, I turned and used it as an excuse to let some miles get between us.

One of the neatest abandoned buildings I’ve ever come upon.

The cabin wasn’t anything interesting other than the fact that it was in remarkably good condition and would still make a very usable shelter. That in itself was remarkable: most unused buildings in this country — especially those in remote places — are targets for vandals who destroy for the pure satisfaction of destruction. There were no signs to keep out so I did what any explorer would do: I opened the screen door and wooden door inside it for a peek. I found an old spring bed frame and some litter inside. No smashed beer bottles, no graffiti, no vandal debris. I carefully closed both doors up the way I found them.

I don’t know why, but I like this image.

In general, the place wasn’t very photogenic. The most interesting shot I got was through a hole in the boards covering the back window: the light shining through cracks on the door. It was the cleanest abandoned building I’d every seen. I hope it stays that way forever.

Yes, I do realize that I probably looked pretty silly driving around Death Valley with two kayaks on my roof.

Penny and I got back into the truck and crossed the road. Soon we were climbing up a hill to an old mine site on the opposite hillside from the cabin. I left Penny in the truck — I don’t like to worry about her falling into mine shafts — and explored on my own. There wasn’t much there that I hadn’t already seen before at countless mine sites in Arizona and Nevada: the support structure beside the main shaft, several smaller horizontal mine shafts going into the hillside, and the remnants of old buildings. The site was neat and clean. Thinking back on this, I have to wonder if the park service or volunteers clean these places up. Or if vandals simply avoid National Parks.

We got back on the road and continued the drive to Skidoo. In most places, the road was wide with gentle curves and a bit of washboarding. In other places it was narrow and rocky as it wound along the edge of a steep drop-off. I passed the ruins of another building on my left and decided to explore it on the way back. I was eager to see Skidoo and wanted to be there before the sun had risen much farther.

Here’s the sign that tells you you’ve arrived at Skidoo. At the top is a quote: “Here the golden goddess is again singing her siren song of enchantment and California is again beckoning the world with a finger of gold: the world is listening, and coming — TO SKIDOO!” Apparently, the Rhyolite Herald was pretty good at dishing out bullshit back in 1907. All I could think about was where did they get their water?

When I got there, I didn’t even know I was there. It was just a flat area among the hills with lots of dirt roads going off into different directions. I drove up to an interpretive sign set alongside a turnoff in the road that announced I’d reached my destination. Wikipedia calls Skidoo a “virtual ghost town” but I don’t see any “virtual” or “town” about it. There’s really nothing of the town left other than foundation rubble and broken glass.

I’ve been doing some video journalling lately and apparently made one from the top of the hill. I didn’t turn toward the sun, probably because I knew the video in that direction would be crappy. I sound nasal because I was fighting a cold and I’m not sure if the snowcapped mountains are the Sierras.

I saw a road going up a steep hillside and decided to check it out. It would be a good test of my new tires. I drove over to the bottom of the hill, popped the truck into 4WD and started a steep climb. There was plenty of room at the top to park and (fortunately) to turn around. So I parked, shut the engine, and climbed out with Penny for a good look. From my vantage point, I could clearly see where the town had been (despite there being no real traces of it), as well as several mine shafts with towers. The two SUVs and pickup truck I’d seen earlier in the day were parked by one of the mines far below me. Off to the northwest, I could see snowcapped peaks.

I could see the white trucks and the men who had been in them near a mine site across the ravine from my observation point. A photo shot with my 300 mm lens revealed the Noreas logos on the SUVs. One of the men was dressed as a ranger and had likely come in the unmarked pickup with the big antenna on the roof.

There wasn’t much left of the truck and what was left was half-buried in mine tailings.

I turned the truck around and headed back, realizing that the road looked a lot steeper from the top than it had from the bottom. I took it slow in 4WD low gear. Then I found my way to another mine site I’d seen from the top of that hill, parked off the road, and got out for a look, again leaving Penny in the truck. What interested me most about this site was the wrecked truck there. For some reason, I like to photograph abandoned vehicles so I really spent quite a bit of time on this one.

I like the textures you can find among old, ruined things: a rusty car door, a wall made out of wood planks.

By then I was pretty sick of Skidoo and ready to skiddoo. (Sorry, but I couldn’t resist that one.) I turned the truck around again and retraced my route back to pavement eight miles away. I did stop along the way to visit that other abandoned building, but there wasn’t much there of interest so I didn’t stay long. Not even worth sharing a photo of it.

Harrisburg / Aguereberry Camp

Back at Emigrant Canyon Road, I had to make a decision: go back into Death Valley and explore elsewhere or continue on my way. I decided to go a little farther down the road to see if anything else was interesting. That’s how I wound up taking the turn to see the ghost town of Harrisburg, which was partially visible from the paved road.

I drove about a mile or two down the unpaved Aguereberry Point Road and parked with two other vehicles in a tiny parking area in front of a closed gate. The folks from the other vehicles were just leaving their cars and walking toward the ruins about a quarter mile away. They had a dog with them, too, so Penny and I hung back to give them space. I’d later discover that they were part of a group of three, two of which were in period costumes for a photo shoot. We were the only people there.

A look through the wall of Pete Aguereberry’s old house.

Although maps identify this spot as Harrisburg, a sign at the ruins called it Aguereberry Camp. The main site consisted of three buildings, an outhouse, and the remains of a mine. Farther up the road I’d walked was the ruins of an old Roadmaster sedan and still farther were the ruins of the Eureka Mine, which I did not visit. (There are only so many mine shafts a person can see in a day.) While the photo shoot folks were working around the car, I explored the buildings. They were in disrepair and vandalized, just as I’d come to expect of ruins, but not nearly as bad as I’d seen at other vandalized sites.

From there, Penny and I hiked another 1/8 mile or so to the old car, passing the photo shoot folks on their way back. The car made a remarkably interesting subject for photography — at least in my mind. The original color, teal (?), could still be seen among the rusty patches. Even the logo of the car was visible in one spot — which is how I knew it was a Roadmaster. I took quite a few shots, many of which featured Aguereberry Camp’s buildings in the background. I even got to play a bit with my 10-24 mm lens, which I seldom use these days.

A wide angle (16 mm or 24mm full frame) shot of the car with Aguereberry Camp in the background.

A very wide angle (10 mm or 15 mm full frame) shot of the car with the buildings visible through the windshield.

We walked back to the building a while later and spent some time chatting with the photo shoot folks. The two models — a man and a woman — had changed back into regular clothes. They were all sitting in the shade, snacking on peanut butter and apples and other tasty treats. They offered me some, but I declined. We talked about Death Valley and photography and they urged me to continue up Aguereberry Point road to the point. “The view is amazing,” the photographer assured me.

Aguereberry Point

Although I felt as if I’d had enough driving along bumpy back roads for the day, I’m not one to pass up a view — especially one that isn’t crowded with tourists. So when I left the photo shoot folks, I continued along the road.

Aguereberry Point was only about six miles from pavement, but much of the road was very narrow for most of the way. There was a section that it wound through a narrow canyon that I could imagine being treacherous in a rainstorm. Then it came out onto a hillside and continued climbing out in the open. Up and up and up, finally ending in a small parking lot that looked as if it were at the top of the world. Penny and I were the only ones there.

The view was good from the parking lot, but the photographer had advised me to take the trail to the point. After walking (and climbing) a bit on the wrong trail, I got on the right one and followed it as far as I could go. The view of Death Valley was unobstructed to the northeast and southeast, with a mountain due east that blocked the view that way. At an elevation of 6,433 feet, we were at least that high above the valley floor, much of which is below sea level. It was dead quiet.

Photos really can’t convey the full picture of what this place is like, but here’s a panoramic image to give you an idea. Was it worth the drive? Hell yes.

Here’s a panorama taken at the point. Click the image for a larger version that you can scroll to see details.

Ravens like dog food. Who knew?

I walked back to the car and put out some food and water for Penny. A young couple drove up and parked next to the truck. As they donned backpacks, we chatted about places to visit in the park. I had nothing to offer except a recommendation to skip the drive to Skidoo. They told me that the wildflowers were amazing down near Ashford Canyon, where they’d camped overnight. Then they were off down the trail, leaving me to chase off the ravens that were eating Penny’s food.

On the Trail of Wildflowers

This video was released by the park service less than a week before my visit. Watch it full-screen.

From there, I retraced our route back to pavement and, from there, back down into Death Valley. We passed through Stovepipe Wells and headed toward Furnace Creek. That’s when I noticed the wildflowers I’d missed that morning on my predawn drive. The roadsides were full of them. I didn’t realize it, but Death Valley was heading for a once-a-decade “super bloom.”

I thought there were a lot of flowers here, north of Furnace Creek. But this was nothing compared to what was about 50 miles down the road.

After a brief stop to check out the desert pupfish at Salt Creek, I continued past Furnace Creek on Badwater Road. I was back among the tourist crowd, with lots of cars and buses along the way, especially at Badwater, which is the lowest point in the U.S. at 282 feet below sea level. There were lots of people walking out on the salt flats there, but I didn’t bother to stop. I was aiming for Ashford Canyon, where the young backpackers had said there were so many flowers. The further south I got, however, the more flowers there were. People were parked alongside the road where the flowers were thickest, taking photos and walking among the bright yellow blooms. I couldn’t resist a few stops myself, although I knew I’d get better shots when the sun was lower in the sky.

The light wasn’t as good as it could have been, but I couldn’t resist stopping for a few photos along the way to Ashford Canyon.

I was also surprised to see standing water in various places alongside the road. I’d heard that there had been a lot of rain in Death Valley that fall, but I’d assumed the water had run off or seeped into the ground. Instead, there were a few dry lake beds that weren’t exactly dry. Some were almost swampy. Although I hoped for an opportunity to get some good reflection shots, conditions were unfavorable; a breeze put just enough ripples on the water surface to break up any good reflections.

Desert gold wildflowers at Ashford Mills.

I arrived at the remains of Ashford Mills after 4:30 PM. The same big yellow flowers — appropriately named “desert gold” — I’d been seeing along the way were scattered all around the ruins. I wandered around the ruins and took photos while Penny sniffed here and there. It was amazing to see hills in the distance yellow with blooms.

Here are several close-up shots of some of the smaller flowers I spotted while wandering around.

There were also some smaller flowers that were less obvious and required careful attention to spot. I did a lot of crawling around with my 16-85 mm lens — I don’t have a macro lens — to get close-up images of them. The group of four people sitting out at a picnic table near the parking lot, eating a late lunch or early dinner, must have thought I was nuts. I was really getting into it.

The turn for Ashford Canyon was right across the road from the road to Ashford Mills. It was a narrow two-track road that wound up a hillside and then into the canyon. The young backpackers had said the flowers were good up there, but as I began the slow bumpy drive I began wondering whether they meant that the flowers were good in that general area. They certainly were amazing. I drove for about a mile when I realized it wasn’t going to get any better than what I was already seeing. I found a place to turn around and started back.

By this time, the sun was sinking quite low. Mountains on the west side of the park would make sunset a lot earlier than I expected after consulting Siri that morning. (Ask Siri what time sunrise or sunset is and she’ll tell you and provide a weather report.) I wanted to head back for a late afternoon shot of a particularly flower-filled area along the road. So I headed back toward Badwater and Furnace Creek. I reached the location I was thinking of just as the light was getting very good and got out to take a few photos.

The carpet of yellow flowers is a stark contrast to the bare rock walls on either side of Death Valley.

Leaving the Valley

By the time I was ready to go back, the hillsides were in shadow. It was dusk when I pulled up to the Mobile Mansion.

If you’re wondering why I bothered to give you the backstory at the beginning of this post it’s because of this: While I drove and hiked around and explored and photographed Death Valley with my dog, I spent a lot of time thinking of what the trip might have been like four years earlier with the man I thought was my life partner. With five days to spend in the park, we would have seen a lot more. But would the trip together have gone as smoothly as I’d hoped? Or would he have been stressing about his mother left behind? And would the trip have been a repeat of all those amazing road trips we’d taken together in the 1980s and 1990s? Or would we have bickered over every little thing we did?

I know now, in my heart, that our relationship was like the walking dead — existing with no life, no future. In February of 2012, I wanted to go back to the way things were when our relationship was good and strong, when we were two people of one mind who shared ideas and dreams. But he had already given up and was just biding his time, waiting for his escape. I loved and trusted him too much to see the truth about what he’d become: a bitter old man, blaming me for his failures in life, eager to take revenge on imagined offenses.

Although my trip had been short — too short, I think! — it had been taken on my terms, without pressure or a need to compromise. I’ve been traveling alone since long before my 19-day “midlife crisis road trip” back in 2005. While it’s nice to travel with a companion, good travel companions are hard to come by. I lost mine years ago, many years before my divorce. While I’m sad that he’s gone, there’s no denying how much better off I am without him.

Although I’d considered doing a little early morning photography the next day, I realized that the locations I wanted to visit were too far away to get there and back and still leave the park by 10 AM. It would be better to come back another time, when I had more time to spend. My next stop was in the Sacramento area of California, where I’d be based with the helicopter for a frost contract. It was a six-hour drive and I looked forward to seeing a few friends when I arrived. Wednesday would be my travel day and Thursday would be a day to kick back and relax before taking Alaska Air home to fetch the helicopter.

To minimize the noise I’d make on departure the next morning — keeping in mind that my tent-dwelling neighbors would hear every sound I made — I decided to hook up the Mobile Mansion that evening. So I cranked down the landing gear, backed the truck into place, and lowered the front end of the Mobile Mansion onto the hitch. Within a few minutes, the chains and power plug were in place and the landing gear was up and locked. All I had to do in the morning when I was ready to go was to close up the slides.

I had a nice salad for dinner. I tried hard to ignore the sound of the generator next door. I don’t understand how I can camp day after day in my rig without running a generator when these people in their fancy motorhomes can’t seem to spend any time in theirs without their generator running full-time. Fortunately, they turned it off at 7 PM sharp.

After dinner and a quick clean up, I relaxed in bed with a book. Penny curled up in her bed beside me. I was dead asleep by 9 PM.

In the morning, we were on the road by 7 AM, heading west on the road past Stovepipe Wells toward Panamint Springs. That drive didn’t go anywhere near as planned — but that’s another story.

An Eclectic Mind

Web site and blog for Maria Langer, writer, video producer, jewelry artist, boat captain, and helicopter pilot. Blogging since 2004.

Category Archives: Travels with Maria