Hawaii, Owyhee...uh, Böglands (Part Three)

 

 

The Montero lurches back and forth and sideways. Kip has become adept enough to accurately pick his way between the most aggressive rocks, but it is still a careful balancing act to maintain a speed slow enough to keep us from bouncing our heads off the ceiling, yet fast enough to keep Rico in sight..at least mostly in sight. Then again, it doesn’t pay to follow Rico too closely on account of the curtain of dust tossed up by his tires.

Once again we are approaching the edge of the canyon and once again we will be required to survey our resources and evaluate our prospects. Not having a vehicle, I’m not troubled much with these decisions beyond figuring out which driver is liable to kill me the most and lobbying to ride with the one who won’t. Fortunately, we’ve ridden rapids on wilderness rivers together, negotiated powerful tidal currents together, and together even stood at the edge of Rico’s conspicuously excessive campfires.Maybe all of this has simply fostered a false sense of security, but it might also be interpreted as a history of shared experiences that lead to trust.

Somewhere down there is our campsite. At this point, I feel it is important to add that this picture could have, besides expressing the drama of at least two adventurers facing their unknown futures, easily also been a marvelous advertisement for Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer (Want to sponsor us? Leave a note in the comments). We all drink it, and some of us drink it exclusively (We’re talking about you, water!). Just what do you think Rico and Kip have in their hands right now?

 

Imagine product placement like this…

 

Or this (see what we’ve done there? It says Drive Slowly and Enjoy BeEr!).

 

The path before us surrenders more and more of its area to encroaching vegetation and the grade becomes more pronounced.

 

But finally we begin to catch glimpses of the Owyhee River.

 

In a parched land, the shimmering, pulsing artery of blue and green is unmistakable, bringing the possibility of life to this vast landscape.

 

 

As the path grows narrower and as it begins to trace switchbacks into the hills in its effort to dip to the valley floor, we become aware that in places, we may find it difficult or impossible to turn around - that is, once we begin our decent, we may be forced to proceed forward unless, as a driver, you can tackle complicated off-road bits going backwards. So perched on the edge of Yoda’s proverbial, “...do or do not.” Rico elects to reconnoiter the route ahead on foot.

To me, the route looks kind of crazy. It straddles the pointy edge of a ridge that makes it look like Kip and Rico will be driving on the cutting edge of the curved blade of a scimitar.

And this I suppose, is the reason we go on these camping trips. Up until this point, you could say we’ve been on vacation. We’ve been on a guided tour. We’ve visited spots along the way, like you do on the way to Disneyland. But now, just maybe, there’s a chance that this can all turn into an adventure. We don’t know exactly where we will camp. We don’t know exactly how or if we’ll get there. We’ve found a place to step into the unknown - a place where we can take calculated risks and the results will depend on the quality of our decisions and our skills.

 

 

Now, instead of the mediators our culture has devised to serve as a safety net, we will be dealing more directly with the Earth. Granted, we aren’t exactly adrenaline junkies, but I feel it is correct to say that finding that primal connection - fitting more closely into the Eco-system - slipping back into the food chain - somehow it feeds latent appetites.

Our day-to-day media-rich environment is saturated with memes that implore us to “Boldly go where no one has gone before” or “...take the road less traveled”, or “Don’t follow any path at all…but make a trail”. Cinema, literature, music, they all have substantial road-trip genres. Even our earliest stories, our scriptures and our myths tell of adventurers and quests and God imploring patriarchs to step into unknown futures.

 

 

“...Mellow is the man who knows what he’s been missing

Many, many men can’t see the open road…”

- Led Zeppelin 

 

 

If all goes well, we assume we’ll soon be passing by that lone shrub down below.

 

 

 

 

It seems the Owyhee has meandered back and forth across the wide valley floor for a very long time. The place it has settled in for now is far away from the picturesque canyon walls. The river wears a delicate necklace of grasses and shrubs and opportunistic trees. We find a small stand of trees with healthy canopies and set up camp.

 

 

Up river, the road terminates in an abandoned ranch. The canyon stretches around a bend and on out of sight.

 

 

Tall grasses grow along the river and hide its banks in shade…

 

Photo Credit: Rico

 

…and Uncle Rico quickly sets about filling up his stringer.

 

Photo Credit: Kip

 

For a change, I try to remember how to clean fish without asking Rico again.

 

 

Kip and Rico have already begun setting up the kitchen.

 

 

Rico deep fries the batter-dipped small-mouth bass.

 

 

Kip acts as bartender.

 

Fish Taco (One species, two if you count avocado as a species)

Now that we are in the canyon, the temperature at night is much warmer. Even so, the increase in insects spurs Kip to break out his tent.

Deb catches the four Galilean Moons careening around Jupiter

...to be continued...

PART 4: Hawaii, Owyhee...uh, Boglands (Part Four) 

Have you missed any previous installments?

PART 1: Hawaii, Owyhee...uh, Boglands (Part One)

 

PART 2: Hawaii, Owyhee...uh, Böglands (Part Two) 

Keeping an eye out...

Got a few days off... but the weather pointedly asked me just how much fun can you really have in a tent by yourself when it's raining? So I headed East into the Cascade range rain-shadow, searching for sunshine...all the while keeping my eyes open for 'thin places'.

Two different metaphors presented themselves:

* Interstate freeway system as circulatory system (with the health of various 'organs' dependent on circulation/traffic

* The route from Portland into rural Oregon as time travel into the recent past

I found the first metaphor rather pleasing as my trusty (said with heavy irony) corpuscle/vehicle coursed through various arteries and veins to the peculiar arrhythmias of commerce (once I factored in the Columbia River). But wind turbines and the price of gasoline were jarring reminders that small towns were definitely not  nostalgic oases in time.

Still, I very much enjoy road trips, if for no other reason than to find the perfect heat-lamp blasted jalapeno popper fermenting in a glass display case at some remote quick stop.

Rain managed to encroach beyond The Dalles, but mostly undercover of night. During the day, gentle showers would stray here and there, not managing to really wet anything. I managed to find a puddle to illustrate the Douglas Adams anecdote from last week.

Rain. It has what plants crave.

I felt a certain empathy for this tree.

As I drove up to the pay station at the John Day recreational area, I made the mistake of asking the attendant if there were any camping spots left. His smart-alecky expression made me realize I had asked a stupid question. He scratched his head and turned away, making a big production of checking his clipboard, an obviously blank reservation list clipped to the front. Then, he returned to the window feigning surprise. "Yes." He said.

There in the dark, a contingent of trees assigned to wind-break duty stood expectantly on fresh-cut grass, presumably to protect campers from devious gorge winds. But I could tell they were in no mood to work - especially for only one potential campee. They hadn't even bothered to put their leaves on.

I sat there for a time, conjuring up the ghosts of friends with whom I'd spent time with beneath these sheltering trees... lost

The next day, at Horse Thief Butte, I finally witnessed deer utilizing their anti-gravity skills.

A spider goes about its business.

In a graveyard, remembrances are gradually cast off.

My Reluctant Return from the South Coast

Compare and contrast these two portraits.

The first is an orangutan kept captive in a zoo.

The second is me, a lab technician who has demonstrated a record of reliable attendance.

Oh wait.

One advantage I have over the orangutan is my relative freedom to get in my car and take a road-trip (whenever work and finances allow).

We hominids have done some useful things with our brains. We’ve built shelters that protect our things, our work and even ourselves from the environment. But with our usual shortsightedness, we didn’t anticipate that the subliminal hum of ballasts and the flickering hellish green cast of fluorescent lamps would drive some of us bonkers.

Every once in a while I miss the sky.

Careful observation has revealed that in our universe, generally, everything is progressing from order to disorder. But there are lots of eddies - places were energy gets sucked into swirling vortexes - where, briefly, order can arise from disorder. Everyday, most of us make some small contribution to order, but we are inefficient, and the order we create costs dearly in resources and energy. Our biggest product appears to be waste.

It may be a side effect of getting older, but it is hard to keep hoping that something good is just over the horizon.

It feels like a storm is coming.

Even so, when presented with a dense, dark forest, we continue to hack our way through the underbrush and take stabs at cutting out our own spaces and trying to make something we think is beautiful. (Of course when I say ‘we’ I mean somebody besides me, because I’m pretty sure I haven’t made any beautiful gardens.)

Cape Arago - Shore Acres - Seasonal Garden

Cape Arago - Shore Acres - Seasonal Garden

Over the course of my life, I’ve occasionally tried to keep various fish alive in water filled glass tanks. It always seems that something goes out of balance, and by the time I recognize it, it is too late for the fish.

The lesson I suppose is that once one starts a garden, it is crucial to monitor it and maintain it.

I have no illusion about road-trips being some kind of escape into the wilderness. They’re not. I utilize an extensive system of roads and trails. I carry with me sophisticated equipment for survival. I eat packaged foods that are safe and sometimes even nutritious. It’s clear to me that I’m not exactly a free, self sufficient mountain man.

So I guess what road trips do for me is remind me that our hard or tedious jobs, red tape, bureaucracies, and FDA audits are the gardens we’ve made to protect us from the heartless and harsh economy of the wilderness.

North Spit – Coos Bay

Approaching the last vestiges of wilderness puts us in touch with the natural garden that shaped us.

North Spit – Coos Bay

Stern section of New Carissa – North Spit – Coos Bay

We can be reminded of lessons the ocean taught us…

…how wind and waves have formed us. . .

…how evolving brains have brought us the phenomenon of self consciousness and self reflection…

…to learn the rhythm of the tide…

…and explore an instant of geologic time…

Devil’s Punchbowl – Devil’s Punchbowl State Park – Oregon Coast

This Week's Song explores some of the possible consequences of continued short-sighted gardening.