From two days ago - big black bird of prey - some kind of vulture? - bonus point for any commenter who can correctly identify the species.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Smith River
Yesterday, we did our longest drive, 250 miles from Humboldt to Ashland in Oregon. Along the way, we stopped at the Smith River, on US-199.
Cultural Interlude in Ashland
Today we caught the number 10 bus on Highway 99 outside the campground and five minutes later found ourselves on the main street of downtown Ashland (cost a very reasonable $.50 each). After a quick snifter at Starbucks, and a trip to the box office to pick up our theater tickets, we sauntered through part of Lithia Park to the duck pond and playground. As we left the park later, we discovered that we'd hardly discovered any of it - at 93 acres, it rivals Golden Gate Park and was, in fact, landscaped by the same man, John McLaren. (See, this blog is educational as well as entertaining...!)
We pottered along East Main Street, popping into a couple of art galleries and mystic goods stores. Little Starlet bought more rocks, while Deep Thought bought a pink dragon emerging from an egg. The store keeper of "Tibetan Friends" (Ashland has a fair number of Tibetan-themed stores) showed us how the dragon bowl worked - we had mistaken it for a water dish for his dog, and he wanted to set us right. Dampening the palms of his hands, he rubbed the handles of the bowl till the metal vibrated with weird shrieking sounds, and the water jumped in little jets. The kids declined to have a go.
We walked down to the old railroad district of Ashland, which a guidebook assured us was an artists' area, and could find nothing more exciting than Ace Hardware. But the walk along the side streets allowed us to see many lovely little Victorian houses. It reminded me a bit of Los Gatos, with more services for your chakra. It is a very picturesque town. Cheap too - there were a number of very pretty houses for sale with 4+ beds, some with land, at $800k or less. Hubby's eye was caught by a Tuscan estate (clearly it had taken a wrong turning at the cross roads in Milan) on offer for $3.5 million that would definitely have been $12m or more in Atherton or Woodside.
Anyway.
We ate lunch at the Larks Restaurant next to the Ashland Springs Hotel. That looks like it might be a nice place to stay for an adult only visit to the town. Larks provided us with tasty fish and chips, a steelhead fish salad, and charcuterie plate for lunch. Yum.
The object of the day was to go to see "All's Well That Ends Well" at the New Theater, one of the Shakespeare Festival's productions. We had been facing this with some trepidation, wondering what the kids would make of it. Turned out that they enjoyed the experience. We debriefed the kids at intermission, getting them to tell the story back to us, and they were separately able to explain exactly what was going on and who was who (and why). We were impressed, especially with Little Starlet's ability to judge what was happening when two scenes were essentially playing at the same time (e.g. when Helena is in Rosillion worrying about what is happening to Bertram at the war, while Bertram is talking to his fellow soldiers at their camp in Florence). The production values were high, the performances were good, and the theater was excellent - clear sight lines everywhere. It was a thoroughly enjoyable afternoon.
We pottered along East Main Street, popping into a couple of art galleries and mystic goods stores. Little Starlet bought more rocks, while Deep Thought bought a pink dragon emerging from an egg. The store keeper of "Tibetan Friends" (Ashland has a fair number of Tibetan-themed stores) showed us how the dragon bowl worked - we had mistaken it for a water dish for his dog, and he wanted to set us right. Dampening the palms of his hands, he rubbed the handles of the bowl till the metal vibrated with weird shrieking sounds, and the water jumped in little jets. The kids declined to have a go.
We walked down to the old railroad district of Ashland, which a guidebook assured us was an artists' area, and could find nothing more exciting than Ace Hardware. But the walk along the side streets allowed us to see many lovely little Victorian houses. It reminded me a bit of Los Gatos, with more services for your chakra. It is a very picturesque town. Cheap too - there were a number of very pretty houses for sale with 4+ beds, some with land, at $800k or less. Hubby's eye was caught by a Tuscan estate (clearly it had taken a wrong turning at the cross roads in Milan) on offer for $3.5 million that would definitely have been $12m or more in Atherton or Woodside.
Anyway.
We ate lunch at the Larks Restaurant next to the Ashland Springs Hotel. That looks like it might be a nice place to stay for an adult only visit to the town. Larks provided us with tasty fish and chips, a steelhead fish salad, and charcuterie plate for lunch. Yum.
The object of the day was to go to see "All's Well That Ends Well" at the New Theater, one of the Shakespeare Festival's productions. We had been facing this with some trepidation, wondering what the kids would make of it. Turned out that they enjoyed the experience. We debriefed the kids at intermission, getting them to tell the story back to us, and they were separately able to explain exactly what was going on and who was who (and why). We were impressed, especially with Little Starlet's ability to judge what was happening when two scenes were essentially playing at the same time (e.g. when Helena is in Rosillion worrying about what is happening to Bertram at the war, while Bertram is talking to his fellow soldiers at their camp in Florence). The production values were high, the performances were good, and the theater was excellent - clear sight lines everywhere. It was a thoroughly enjoyable afternoon.
A Strange Smell
One of the defining characteristics of the Jackson Wellsprings commune is its smell. At first we thought it was the toilets. Now we know it is the mineral water.
Nerdy Interlude
No camp fire for us here, but we do have electricity and water. For the nerds among our readers, a full tank of water has lasted us about three days, and a full tank of gas takes us about 300 miles. As for the infamous “black water” issue, this ship has a strict rule: All “number twos” have to happen in the campground loos and not on board. So our black water tank is only 1/3 full so far, and not close to needing to be emptied. In fact the RV's instruction manual says the tank should only be emptied when it is full so that "solids" (lots of delicate euphemisms appear in RV-speak) do not get "left behind" when the "liquids" are drained. We may need to up the wee productivity to get there. Our "grey water" tank is almost full, so we shall need to dump that before setting off from Ashland.
But Hubby is looking on the bright side. He might only need one pair of gloves after all.
[photo by Deep Thought.]
Welcome to Hippy Springs Commune
Tuesday's entry:
Our journey today was about 250 miles. With twisty roads and a couple of stops, they took us nine hours. We were all very happy to arrive at Jackson Wellsprings, our camp site for the next 48 hours.
The RV campground guide book gave Jackson Wellsprings only a 5/10 rating for “scenic” (compared to Albee Creek’s well-deserved 9/10), so we weren’t expecting much to look at, and boy, were we not disappointed.
What the guide book failed to mention was that this is a hippy commune. Yes, there are thirty RV campsites; but only about four of them are for visitors like us. The rest are occupied by long-term residents, complete with dogs on strings, greenhouses, and so on. The folks seem friendly enough if a bit crustier than we’re used to seeing in Palo Alto. There are a lot of goatee beards, dreadlocks (on white guys), and older women in flowing gypsy dresses. The advertised swimming pool (“fed by the mineral spring”) is open to residents and day visitors, as is the spa area; but since it appears to have been built in about 1930 and not renovated since – except for the addition of a large Ganesh statue – it is hard to see why anyone would choose to pop over for a swim.
Hubby took the kids for a splash in the last half hour of the period when children are allowed in the pool area: Clothing becomes optional at 7:45pm and though the kids seemed quite interested to see what might happen, we couldn’t quite imagine what some of the locals might look like unrobed…. Unfortunately, Little Starlet got a face bash and a nose bleed so her swim lasted all of three minutes.
Important benefit of this campground: water supplies to refill the tank and electrical hook ups so we can recharge all our gadgets. Downside: no camp fires.
Our journey today was about 250 miles. With twisty roads and a couple of stops, they took us nine hours. We were all very happy to arrive at Jackson Wellsprings, our camp site for the next 48 hours.
The RV campground guide book gave Jackson Wellsprings only a 5/10 rating for “scenic” (compared to Albee Creek’s well-deserved 9/10), so we weren’t expecting much to look at, and boy, were we not disappointed.
What the guide book failed to mention was that this is a hippy commune. Yes, there are thirty RV campsites; but only about four of them are for visitors like us. The rest are occupied by long-term residents, complete with dogs on strings, greenhouses, and so on. The folks seem friendly enough if a bit crustier than we’re used to seeing in Palo Alto. There are a lot of goatee beards, dreadlocks (on white guys), and older women in flowing gypsy dresses. The advertised swimming pool (“fed by the mineral spring”) is open to residents and day visitors, as is the spa area; but since it appears to have been built in about 1930 and not renovated since – except for the addition of a large Ganesh statue – it is hard to see why anyone would choose to pop over for a swim.
Hubby took the kids for a splash in the last half hour of the period when children are allowed in the pool area: Clothing becomes optional at 7:45pm and though the kids seemed quite interested to see what might happen, we couldn’t quite imagine what some of the locals might look like unrobed…. Unfortunately, Little Starlet got a face bash and a nose bleed so her swim lasted all of three minutes.
Important benefit of this campground: water supplies to refill the tank and electrical hook ups so we can recharge all our gadgets. Downside: no camp fires.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
I'll Take Some Food With My Pie
We stopped for lunch on the edge of Crescent City at The Apple Peddler Restaurant, a fine establishment channeling the spirit of Denny’s. Actually the fish and chips wasn’t half bad, though the appetizer salad came out of a bag and the mixed veg on the side was shudderingly reminiscent of school lunches.
Things did, however, go a bit awry at dessert. This was odd since the APR was clearly the local king of pie. A cold case at the entrance displayed a number of pies and cakes: “Take Home a Whole Pie!” it offered. The menu offered pie by the slice. Deep Thought opted for a safe brownie, while Little Startlet had a caramel ice cream sundae (which arrived in a semi-melted state and proceeded to smear itself over her face and across the table). Hubby and I shared a slice coconut cream pie which consisted of a crust; a soft, sweet, bright orange filling of indeterminate flavor (though not unpleasant); and a large pile of soft, white, whippy stuff (that looked very like shaving cream) on the top.
We all tasted the whippy stuff. Not whipped cream. Not even whipped cream out of a can. Not frosting. Not, in fact, anything we’d ever tasted before. It had the texture of melted something. It was like eating a theater prop, all visual satisfaction and no need to worry about flavor. Then it came to me: This was marshmallow fluff. Hubby and I were eating a food product made of sugar, chemicals, and more sugar, with a bit of coloring thrown in.
It was a glorious enhancement to our all-American road trip experience.
Things did, however, go a bit awry at dessert. This was odd since the APR was clearly the local king of pie. A cold case at the entrance displayed a number of pies and cakes: “Take Home a Whole Pie!” it offered. The menu offered pie by the slice. Deep Thought opted for a safe brownie, while Little Startlet had a caramel ice cream sundae (which arrived in a semi-melted state and proceeded to smear itself over her face and across the table). Hubby and I shared a slice coconut cream pie which consisted of a crust; a soft, sweet, bright orange filling of indeterminate flavor (though not unpleasant); and a large pile of soft, white, whippy stuff (that looked very like shaving cream) on the top.
We all tasted the whippy stuff. Not whipped cream. Not even whipped cream out of a can. Not frosting. Not, in fact, anything we’d ever tasted before. It had the texture of melted something. It was like eating a theater prop, all visual satisfaction and no need to worry about flavor. Then it came to me: This was marshmallow fluff. Hubby and I were eating a food product made of sugar, chemicals, and more sugar, with a bit of coloring thrown in.
It was a glorious enhancement to our all-American road trip experience.
And A River Runs Through It
This section of 101 is called the Redwood Highway as it twists through and around the Redwood State Park, eventually reaching the Del Norte Redwoods State Park and the Jedidiah Smith Wilderness Area. What a lot of trees. It actually begins to feel a little overwhelming, especially when the RV is rattling along the high edge of a road above a river with the trees looming all around in great walls of green.
The Smith River is another awesome sight, with huge boulders creating cascades of white foam into the clear green water. As we drove through the Smith Wilderness Area, we resisted as long as we could, before nature compelled us to get out of our tin can and take a proper look. From a roadside pullout we walked down to the riverside to find another family swimming in the river from a large pebble beach. The kids made friends with their dog, then Little Starlet stripped off her shoes and socks for a little paddle – cut short when she noticed the many water snails clinging to the rocks.
This place was beautiful. We were sorry that our plans did not allow us to spend half a day or more exploring this area. Next time.
Ursine Pleasures
Eureka was a curious mix of big box stores and run down Mom and Pop operations, at once bustling and depressed. It was clearly the hub of the local area with plenty of people about and almost congested with cars (but only almost). We had planned to stop at one of the State Beaches along the coast just north of Eureka, possibly around Trinidad, but the coastal fog was still rolling in from the ocean at 10:30am, so we decided to give it a miss and press on. The freeway at this point is a twisty road with one lane in each direction, and we were delayed a couple of times by road works. (101 is getting a lot of widening and resurfacing in this northern area – given how little traffic we have seen, we have to question whether this is really the best use of our tax dollars!)
Along the redwood coast, the main industry is clearly carving. Of course there is some logging to provide the wood, and the enormous piles of planks here and there betray the existence of a couple of lumber mills, but most people are involved in the business of turning out models of bears made from redwood logs. The town of Orick seems to consist solely of purveyors of fine statues of bears, hawks, bears, Native Americans in feather head dresses, and bears; plus windmills in a variety of sizes. The good people of Orick can also provide a selection of redwood clocks. I guess even wood carvers need to know the time. I wonder if any of them have ever seen a real bear?
Along the redwood coast, the main industry is clearly carving. Of course there is some logging to provide the wood, and the enormous piles of planks here and there betray the existence of a couple of lumber mills, but most people are involved in the business of turning out models of bears made from redwood logs. The town of Orick seems to consist solely of purveyors of fine statues of bears, hawks, bears, Native Americans in feather head dresses, and bears; plus windmills in a variety of sizes. The good people of Orick can also provide a selection of redwood clocks. I guess even wood carvers need to know the time. I wonder if any of them have ever seen a real bear?
The Biggest Tree in the Forest
Mom, Dad and Little Starlet hug a tree claiming to be the largest in Humboldt Forest.
So Many Trees
Little Starlet and Deep Thought amongst the endless, eerie clumps of giant trees; and one of Mom and Dad next to a recently cut redwood.
Three Bears at Humboldt
Little Starlet and Deep Thought were very taken with the photograph the rangers had posted of a Black Bear walking through the campsite a few weeks earlier.
First of the Giants
Mom and Little Starlet pose in front of one of the Giants - one of the first places we stopped after reaching the main old-growth Humboldt forest.
Old Faithful in Calistoga
So here are a few photos from the last few days...
Photo of Old Faithful Geyser in Calistoga. Does exactly what it says on the tin.
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