Goat Rocks in July

This was my first backpacking trip this year.  Brian and I took Bob and his son, Zach, to the Goat Rocks Wilderness for the weekend.  Had a great trip.  The snow was much higher than we anticipated but we had no trouble finding our destination, as I had camped there several years now.  The trip honed my back country (trail-less) experience.  We followed map and compass for this trip.  The night was VERY COLD!  We had a nice campsite and a warm fire with plenty of dried wood.

I've always wanted to see Goat Rocks in the Winter.  I guess this is the next best thing.  The winter terrain would have 12 feet of soft snow on it.  At least this way we can walk on top of the snow without sinking in!  To me, this day was a highlight in my entire backpacking experience!

Enjoy the pictures.

Mosquitoes .... had to bundle up!

The bridge over Goat Creek

Skunk Cabbage in bloom.

We had a bunch of these to cross!

Solid snow on the trail in about 1/2 mile from the bridge.

I had chains for my boots!  Very handy!!

After 4 miles we found the Lily Basin trail marker at Snowgrass.

Zach & Bob clowning around in the deep snow.

We found a clear spot on a bluff where we made camp.

My new Rainshadow II tent.

Nice campfire ring by Bob's tent but lots of snow close by.

It was a warm fire on a cold day.

We melted snow for drinking water.

I cooked up a nice, big skillet of Fajitas.

My steak fajitas were a big hit!

Early morning campfire with plenty of dry wood!

Yes....I was sitting there warming my feet!

A view of Hawkeye Point off to my left.

Looking uphill towards the Old Snowy ridge.

Finally able to tighten up my tent after the nights wind and rain.

Hiked up to the PCT near Old Snowy.  Looking at Mt Adams

We camped in those trees once upon a time.

Standing on top of 6 to 8 feet of snow up here!

Brian looking over at Ives Peak.

......towards Cispus Pass.

Zach looking over towards Goat Lake under snow.

We camped on that ridge last year.

Hawkeye Point above Goat Lake where we hiked last year.

Ives Peak

South towards Mt. Adams.

Mt Adams view.

Mt St. Helens behind the trees.

Brian enjoying the day.  So was I.

I always wanted to see The Goat Rocks in Winter.

Can you believe it's JULY??

We had a great day today!

Mt Adams was majestic!

We did a lot of cross country hiking today.

Who knows where the trail is anyway??

Heading home after cross country backpacking on mostly snowfields.

Mulberries

The Mulberry Tree….

grew like no other fruit tree we ever knew. 

Growing up in NW Arkansas there were plenty of trees to climb on a 360 acre farm.  However, no tree was more fascinating than the huge Mulberry tree that grew on the old Likens homestead about ¼ mile from our house.  As I recall (of course being a kid, EVERYTHING looked much bigger than it really was), the tree trunk couldn’t be reached around by two of us.  The first limb was about the size of a 5 gallon bucket; started low to the ground and grew almost horizontal.  There were many other limbs of varying sizes on which we could climb.  It was a very large and very old, tree.  We always went “shoe-less” in the summertime, so climbing trees was much more fun when you could feel the bark on your feet.

The best part of tree climbing, as I can remember, was feeling like I was “king of the world”.  Standing on a limb, high in a tree, one felt like he was bigger than life!  My brother, Pat, and I climbed any tree we could get a hold of; any kind and any height.  The only thing that held us back from climbing the ancient Black Walnut trees that grew in our front yard was their sheer size!  The trunks were large and rough.  The lower limbs started 10 or 12 feet above the ground.  Not having an extension ladder to assist us, we were content with climbing Oak, Elm, Pine, Persimmon and Mulberry trees, or anything else we could wrap our arms around and dig our toes into.

The favorite trees, whenever we felt like a sweet, tart snack, were the Mulberry and Persimmon.  Persimmons demanded respect and one had to sneak up on them.  It only takes once to bite into a not-yet-ripe Persimmon to get your attention!  It is the most tart, mouth-shriveling experience you could ask for!  Our Granny always said, “Don’t eat ‘em ‘til after the first frost”!  The cold temperatures, down to the point of making ice, tend to ripen the Persimmons into a very sweet fruit snack.  Now you know.

We enjoyed the succulent fruit of the Wild Plum and Wild Muskedines, as well.  The Plums grew on bushes so we didn’t have to climb them to reach the fruit.  However, the Wild Muskedine was different.  It is related to the Grape family and grows on a climbing vine that uses trees as support.  The best Muskedines were always at the top of the vine.  Imagine that!  The fruit was a bit larger than a grape with a much thicker and tougher skin that was fun to chew because it was so tart! 

The favorite tree for me was the Mulberry.  It produced fruit in plenty!  The small berries, about the size of Blackberries, were as sweet as sugar and mighty tasty!  The birds loved them, too; as did the Possum and Terrapins.  I’m sure other critters loved them, too, but those are the ones we rubbed elbows with the most.

Thinking back upon those days, we never felt like we missed out on anything.  The city life was just something we saw once in a week or two when we went into town to shop.  We raised most of our own food but we needed staples like sugar, flower, coffee and so forth.  Sometimes we went into the town of Mulberry to sell Strawberries or whatever Dad had a surplus of.  We would always be treated to a bottle of pop and maybe a few salted peanuts or a piece of candy.  We never had much of that because “we was poor folks”.  But, like I said, we never felt like we were deprived or missed out on something we felt like we deserved. 

Today’s kids often make me shake my head in disbelief because of all the ways they are spoiled.  They go throughout their day demanding and wanting more and more.  They are bought off because Mom and Dad are working.  They compete with each other in Day Care for whatever they get.  My Mom didn’t raise kids like that.  She always talked about how we would go into a store and just look, never touching anything.  I guess we knew we couldn’t have it so no use touching it.  She told everyone how good we “was”.  Even complete strangers came up to Mom or Dad and told them how well mannered we “was”.  We were fine with all that because we didn’t know any better. 

Sometimes, when I see kids yelling at their folks because they want something; throwing fits of anger; bouncing off the wall or floor like they are competing for an Academy Award or something, I think about how we used to be and long for the good old days.

Bits and Pieces

Bits and Pieces 
of Growing Up in NW Arkansas.  

We grew up in White Rock Community, about 10 miles, as the Crow flies, North of Pleasant View School.  My sister, Mary, graduated in 1956 and my older brother, Arnold, was a couple of years later.  Mary went to college in Branson.  We lived on a 360 acre farm.  Didn’t farm much but grandpa raised a few things.  I loved watching all the neighbors gather together in the fall and make Sorghum Molasses at the old Likens homestead on our farm.  Grandpa raised the sugar cane.  After it lay in the field following the cutting, grandpa would hitch the wagon and drive it down the rows.  We kids would help load it full and then haul it over to the homestead where they had the horse/mule tied up to the pole where he walked around in circles and turned two drums.  A man would feed the Cane into the rollers and catch the juice in a bucket below on the ground.  It was dumped in a long shallow vat where a fire was stoked beneath the vat and began the process of cooking and skimming.  I wrote about it in one of my blogs.  It was a great show!

We rode the school bus to Pleasant view.  Seemed like it took a while on that old dirt road, going around to all the farms and collecting the kids.  Dad worked as a pipeline welder putting in miles of Natural Gas pipe across Arkansas.  Also worked for a man down on Pettit Jean Mountain……I think he was a Rockefeller, as I recall.  Grandpa died when I was about 7 and dad was gone a lot, working the pipeline.  We kept the farm running during the week until dad came home on weekends.  We milked cows, fed chickens and pigs and did all that stuff you do on a farm.  We had a very large garden that required a lot of work to produce what we needed for the winter.  Mom canned a few hundred quarts of everything she could so we could survive the winters. 

We went into Ozark once a week or two to do business.  The old man at our insurance company would always come over to us boys and say, “have you boys had your ice cream today?”  Course, we never did, so he gave us each a dime for an ice cream cone.  He was very nice to us.  Mom and Dad would pick up grocery staples to get us by; flour by the big sack, sugar, etc.  We would get to ride in the back of Dad’s pickup.  It had a cattle rack on the bed and he would let us climb up and hold on going down the highway.  He would probably get arrested doing that today!  Ha!

I loved going to the Ice House in Ozark.  Dad would buy a block of ice for our “ice box” at home to keep our meat and milk in.  They would pack it in sawdust to help keep it from melting so quickly on way home. 

We grew up poor, but we seemed to always have plenty to eat.  We didn’t know we were poor….we were just like everyone else.  As kids growing up, we didn’t have cars or horses to get around on.  We usually walked everywhere when we wanted to visit our friends.  Mom stayed home when Dad was away working.  She didn’t have another car to go anywhere. 

I will never forget the food!  Fresh from the garden and fresh from the chicken coop! Ha! Ha!  Fresh strawberries and watermelon were the best I've had. We would sit down in the Tomato row with a salt shaker and eat ripe tomatoes until we were full!  We also sampled the sweet peas and corn quite regularly!  We picked wild fruit, too: Blackberries, Plums, Muscadine Grapes, not to mention tart, green apples and Indian Peaches around old homesteads. What we didn’t just consume…Mom would make jam or jelly out of it.

We had no running water in our log house on the hill. We drew water from two wells and beat a path out by the barn to the outhouse. In late summer and early fall, we cut firewood and hauled to the house. We heated with a fireplace in each end of the house. Dad put in a coal burning stove when it got really cold and used the fireplace as the chimney. Mom would warm a brick, wrap it in newspaper or rags and put it at the foot of our feather bed so we could stay warm. Three of us boys slept together!  That was a source of many squables!

For the most part, life was good, as I recall; lots of memories about that old place.  I loved the smell after a rain.  Watching the lightening and hearing the crack of thunder during a storm invigorated my blood.  The wind was gentle.  It whistled through the Pine trees at the edge of the pasture and swayed the Persimmon trees like they were waving hello.  The sound of rain falling on our tin roof was comforting to me.  I still like to hear it today!  We were allowed to remove our shoes in April.  I believe, for the most part, except for church and trips into town, we kept them off.  By the end of summer our feet were tough as nails; we could walk on most anything without discomfort.  I remember seeing the heavens as I’ve seen it in no other place!  Millions of stars dotted the skies; the Milky Way was the brightest I have ever seen.  Living on a hill with no pollution to block the view made all the difference.

We now live in Portland, Oregon.  It’s much cooler here; lots of rain 10 months out of the year.  The gray skies get depressing and damp cold often settles into my bones; Aleve is my best friend….not to mention the hot tub!  Macular Degeneration is settling in so the stars are dim, or gone, during the couple of months we get to see them.  Things change as we grow older.  Now I pretty much keep my shoes on all summer!

My Gold Schwinn Bike

Schwinn Varsity Bicycle

I was never an avid bicyclist during my teenage years. I couldn’t seem to get my legs strong enough for the hard long rides like the big boys could do in cross country competition. But I did enjoy riding and feeling the freedom of the road beneath me. I could do the 20 or 40 mile rides but I seemed to tire easily.

Our family moved to Kansas when I was 13. I loved borrowing our next door neighbor’s bike to take rides downtown and see the neighborhoods. Growing up on a 360 acre farm a mile from my friend Paul Millsap, without a bike, restricted us like a tether. Moving into a real city began the biggest change in my life that I’ve ever had.

I started working in Reebles Grocery Store when I was 14 or 15 and began earning money for a bike I had my eye on. At $.90/hr it took a lot of part time work to earn $86 for a fancy bike, but that’s what I wanted and that’s what I did. Looking back over the years of owning cars and things, I don’t remember ever being as proud of something as I was that golden bike with golden tires.

It was a beauty. I wish I could remember the year but it was a 1960-1962 vintage Schwinn Varsity; gold; chrome fenders, a continental seat and gum rubber tires as gold as the bike. It had taped racing handlebars; 10 speed derailleur gears and built to run. It had a generator style headlamp for night riding. It was registered with the Motorized Vehicle Department, as required by Kansas law, and sported its own license plate.

I rode it everywhere. I would load it up with my fishing gear and head for the river after school. I would take joy rides downtown or throughout neighborhoods, exploring the streets and backroads. I used it to go to work. I even had a small paper route where I folded and delivered the “Daily Reminder” to an assigned area for $3/week. It was my companion when a car was not an option.

I wonder whatever happened to that “old friend”…..?

For a brief time in my teenage life, Dad rented an old farm from John Monkes outside a small town called Americus, Kansas. It was never much of a significant size. Why, back in the 60’s you could blink twice while driving through town and miss most of it. Even today it boasts nearly 900 people. We lived a few miles out but still within bike riding distance on a good day.

I loved that old farm. Mr. Monkes raised Alfalfa in the north field. We used to sit at the breakfast table and watch a lone Coyote bask out there in the early morning sunshine. We had fun exploring the old creek bed and throwing rocks into the pond. It was fun to sneak up to the old grass covered dam and watch a couple of Mud Ducks swimming around like no one else was there. Even though I hunted Rabbit and Squirrel, I never had the heart to shoot the ducks. I loved watching them swim.

I bought a Coyote call, a whistle that, when properly blown, one could call in wild Coyotes. It took me a while, but I learned how it worked. I had been rabbit hunting with our young Beagles. I shot a rabbit. I bent down to pick him up and he began to let out an awful cry. That was it! Immediately, I knew how to blow the Coyote call.

A good friend of ours, Charles Thornton, came out from Emporia one afternoon and we went down into the draw by the creek to see what we could call up.

We found a strategic place in the tall grass next to a barbed wire fence and a small bush to hide behind. We sat down in the grass and I began to blow the Coyote call like a pro. Soon we spotted a lone Coyote coming over a rise towards the West. He was on the other side of the wooded creek that meandered across the land like a serpent. We strained to see as he dropped out of sight in the trees. About that same time we heard a noise that startled us. We both whipped our heads around to see behind us. In the tall Johnson Grass, standing on his hind legs straining to find the source of the noisy call, stood a big, red Coyote not more than 25 or 30 feet away! Our movement was caught by his sharp eyesight and he immediately left the area. We never saw him again.

Charles and I looked at each other and grinned. That alone was worth the time to walk down here and blow this whistle! It was great! Another blow on the whistle and we looked intently down in to the draw to try to find the first Coyote. The sun had gone down and it was starting to get dark. We weren’t sure we would have enough daylight to spot another. Crouching lower into the grass I gave the whistle another blow.

All at once a large Owl, who apparently had his heart set on a Rabbit meal, dove down from the sky towards our position. Fortunately, he recognized the difference and took off into the skies. We could feel the air and hear the noise from his dive as he pulled up just inches from our heads.

The hair on the back of my neck raised and I was done. This was definitely an exciting evening of Coyote calling! We totally didn’t expect the Owl.

I will never forget that day.

This UNKNOWN AUTHOR says it all.......

At a time when our president and other politicians tend to
apologize for our country's prior actions, here's a refresher on how some
of our former patriots handled negative comments about our country. JFK'S Secretary of State, Dean Rusk, was in France in the
early 60's when DeGaule decided to pull out of NATO. DeGaule said
he wanted all US military out of France as soon as possible.
Rusk responded, “Does that include those who are buried here?"
DeGaule did not respond.
You could have heard a pin drop.

When in England , at a fairly large conference, Colin Powell was asked
by the Archbishop of Canterbury if our plans for Iraq were
just an example of 'empire building' by George Bush.
He answered by saying, “Over the years, the United States has sent many of
its fine young men and women into great peril to fight for freedom
beyond our borders. The only amount of land we have ever asked for
in return is enough to bury those that did not return."
You could have heard a pin drop.

There was a conference in France where a number of international engineers
were taking part, including French and American. During a break,
one of the French engineers came back into the room saying, "Have you
heard the latest dumb stunt Bush has done? He has sent an aircraft
carrier to Indonesia to help the tsunami victims. What does he
intend to do, bomb them?"
A Boeing engineer stood up and replied quietly: "Our carriers have
three hospitals on board that can treat several hundred
people; they are nuclear powered and can supply emergency electrical
power to shore facilities; they have three cafeterias with
the capacity to feed 3,000 people three meals a day, they can
produce several thousand gallons of fresh water from sea water each day, and
they carry half a dozen helicopters for use in transporting victims
and injured to and from their flight deck. We have eleven such ships;
how many does France have?"
You could have heard a pin drop.

A U.S. Navy Admiral
was attending a naval conference that included Admirals from the U.S., English, Canadian, Australian and French Navies. At a cocktail reception, he found himself
standing with a large group of officers that included personnel from most
of those countries. Everyone was chatting away in English as they sipped
their drinks but a French admiral suddenly complained that, whereas
Europeans learn many languages, Americans learn only English. He then
asked, "Why is it that we always have to speak English in these conferences
rather than speaking French?"

Without hesitating, the American Admiral replied, "Maybe it's because
the Brit's, Canadians, Aussie's and Americans arranged it so you wouldn't have to speak German."
You could have heard a pin drop.

Robert Whiting, an elderly gentleman of 83, arrived in Paris by plane.
At French Customs, he took a few minutes to locate his passport in his carry on.
"You have been to France before, monsieur?" the customs sarcastically.

Mr. Whiting admitted that he had been to France previously. "Then you should know enough to have your passport ready." The American said, “The last time I was here, I didn't have to show it."
"Impossible... Americans always have to show their passports upon arrival in France!"
The American senior gave the Frenchman a long hard look. Then he
quietly explained, ''Well, when I came ashore at Omaha Beach on D-Day in
1944 to help liberate this country, I couldn't find a single Frenchmen
to show a passport to." You could have heard a pin drop. ….Author Unknown

FAIRVIEW, OREGON

Nestled in the palm of Troutdale, Gresham, Wood Village and Portland is a small “burg” called Fairview, Oregon. The 2000 census says the population was 7,561, but now pushes over 9,700. Apparently the city does quite well financially. It is a progressive community with a small but adequate police force, a judge by appointment only and a few shops and a library.

Not much happens in Fairview. Crime is fairly low. Houses are expensive and taxes are high. Most of the town is built on an old swamp. The remaining swampy area is called a “wildlife habitat”, by some. Part of it, in some ways, reminds me a lot of Mayberry USA. Shopping centers have built around the old Dog Track that closed a few years ago. The Greyhounds have been adopted out by pet owners looking for something unusual to own. Fairview wanted to turn it into a gambling Casino this year, but the voters turned it down.

In some ways, Fairview is a lot like the City of Lake Oswego. The local law enforcement are keeping the peace and fighting crime like the big boys. They show up in an hour or two to investigate a break-in of a parked car; write up their report and then leave. They check out unauthorized noises, investigate neighborhood complaints of a barking dog, Traffic criminals are apprehended and prosecuted routinely. Officer “Obie” (a generic name coined from the song, “Alice’s Restaurant” back in the 60’s) can often be seen peeking around some obstruction watching out for violators. He sits a lot in parking lots watching for those doing over 20 in a school zone, 7 to 5 every day or so.

I’m sure the city does quite well financially, even in this beaten down economy. Why, the price of a “California stop” in Fairview cost one 60-year old school teacher $485 on her way to return books to the Library to avoid a fine. That’s a “rolling stop” for those of you new to California. Probably 80% of drivers do those, even our fine law enforcement officers, which I’ve witnessed. It’s funny how a rolling stop is more of a criminal offense than a friend of mine who was caught speeding, doing 70 in a construction zone and paid $280.

Obama could learn something from our city. Just look at how much the national debt could be reduced by catching and fining all those criminals out there doing rolling stops and jay walking. We actually witnessed the officer doing an illegal U-turn to go after a young man jay walking. Thank you, Officer, for protecting us!

If you come to our fair city of Fairview, pay attention to school zones and keep it below 20 at all times; 25 in neighborhoods. No Texting is allowed; hands-free cell phone use only (that doesn’t mean you can HOLD IT IN YOUR HAND). Oh, and if you ARE pulled over, the huge fine levied against you will go a long way in keeping our local government financially solvent, so that more criminals, like yourself, can enjoy our friendly city.

IT’S NO SECRET…..

I do love the mountains! Backpacking trips into high mountain country is my favorite vacation! To lift your eyes towards the high country one day and then relax in a soft chair with hot coffee in the cool, early morning sunrise, watching the first rays of sun light up the mountain tops and fog covered valleys far below, the next day; there’s nothing like it! I wish everyone could experience such a memorable event!

For the most part, my experiences usually left me with a desire…..no….a longing, to return for the sequel. Trips that make you long to return are usually trips that made a positive impact. Rarely did I ever find the opposite to be true. I can only remember two of those; even then, it was a poor choice of trails. Better planning could have fixed that!

My fourth trip out this year was one of those difficult trails. As I grow older, I find it more difficult to get into the shape I need to make backpacking easier. The leg muscles seem to always be sore, never getting strong. I tire more easily now. I’m sure the day will come when the backpacking will end. In my mind, I would love to hike forever (and perhaps I will). In reality, until the end comes, I will continue to do my best and experience the most amazing vistas I can find.

The Enchantments was my destination a couple of weeks ago. Although the weather turned sour with rain and fog, it was a memorable experience! The steepest trail I had ever encountered was this one! The Aasgard Pass is one to remember! You should try it!

More on this hike later….