Hello California

7 February 2014

Our last Oregon sunset at Harris Beach.  Jason was crouched in a “corner” with the rising tide threatening to take him away.  

Walking the beach low tide we saw a gull feeding on this.

Then on to Redwoods National Park in California

By my pedometer we walked 10.57 miles that day.  Our longest hike so far.  

 

The next few are mine 

I crawled in under the root system and took this shot with a flash.

For both of us walking in these trees was unnerving.  I felt in the presence of something I didn’t understand and don’t know how to communicate.  On the trail met Ellen, an author of children’s books.  She is sitting in meditation with the trees. Her current project comes from her interviews with an old man who is walking worldwide identifying “ancient archangel trees”.

We visited a goofy touristy place and one of the trails there had redwood chain saw work.

Then to our little home for dinner.

This is our camp at Elk Prairie Creek Campground in the Redwoods.  There were 74 spaces and for much of the time we were the only ones there.  (More on that below.) Asked park staff and they said the rain is so persistent this time of year that few come.  We’ve been lucky with weather—better lucky than smart.  

Others had warned us that California would be harder camping, less amenities, less clean, less maintained and outside of the national parks considerably more expensive.  A few of private RV resorts are good enough, but aren’t in the landscape and cost too much.  We are going to move faster than we did Oregon.  Maybe get to a dessert for the dry.  Now we are in the Medicino area and it is raining, raining, raining nonstop.  Neither of us mind rain, but Jason has not taken a single photograph for 3-4 days so our next blog may be slow coming.

Narrative and a story follow, so those of you in it for photos get to stop here.

I like it everywhere we go.  But Montana I love.  The familiarity, the history, the repetition is what makes a thing home.  We think of Seven as “home” too.  She’s a rock star.  We are familiar in this little space; things organized just so making our daily functions comfortable and easy.  Wherever we go we’re home. If we could even afford the resort and inn life, I wouldn’t want too.  It would be constantly packing and unpacking, never eating our own food, sleeping in different beds.  Here at home we step out of sleep directly into landscape, to outside.  A theme in our family.  Outside.

February 4^th was an unexpected moving day.  On landing we never know how long a place will last.  Our first California stop, Elk Prairie Creek State Park embedded in the Redwoods National Park, is unexpectedly quick.   Odd too because it it was a beautiful sunny campground that was very nearly empty and has good trails.  The campground hosts greeted us and told us they were leaving for a few days.  The only other person here had his tent hidden in a grove of trees.  Jason noticed him immediately and asked me to be wary.  This is so unusual for Jason; I of course complied. 

The next morning I was walking in the “prairie” (really a mountain meadow) and was able to greet him from afar.  With Jason nearby and from a distance I talked with him a little.  Jim’s tent (27.7 degrees when we woke this morning) is his only home.  He’s a veteran who lost his job as an auto computer engineer in Michigan years ago.  He moved to Kentucky and couldn’t make it there. He said his nerves were shot and he started walking.  Since 2009 with a very occasional bus ride he has been walking.  I'm impressed that he walked here from Kentucky.  After learning where we were from, told me he might go to Montana next.  I suggested he wait until spring.  

A little later Jason pointed out the “prison gang” and I thought it couldn’t be.  But it sure enough was.  Since then we’ve seen many in California.  Making a general inquiry about “what’s going on out there” park staff responded that they did a controlled burn in the “prairie” and it didn’t take. They couldn’t afford another one, so they were digging out species they want removed—apparently unremarkable to them that it was a prisoner labor. 

Late afternoon screaming profanity came from Jim’s corner of the camp and we were still here alone.  He was yelling at the Senators and the Representatives (which of course we all like to do) and at the enemy (which I was hoping that wasn’t us).  We had extra dinner that he probably needed but caution precluded approach.  More from prudence than fear, we moved on the next morning despite having already paid for camping. 

In Oregon the retired army of volunteers was in every campground we visited.  I don’t think this would happen there—any of it.  Some volunteers like the lifestyle, and some appreciate the free rent.  They work 4-5 days/wk for 4-5 hours/d, take time off when they want.  Instead of prison labor many are retired professionals—Don, a police chief, was one of my favorites—doing maintenance, cleaning and all kinds of things.  Seems to work very well.  Here in California we wondered if understaffed park service even knows Jim was there, and why would you put your tent in the deep dark cold instead of the sun if you weren’t hiding a bit?  We didn’t want to out the guy and so didn’t saying anything.

I left there with a prayer for Jim, all the Jims out there. I love travelling this way and being out in the big world with Jason.  That’s the main thing.