Embarking on a horse-back trip.

The lower part leads through a high mountain semi-desert.

At the end of June, a total tripping withdrawal syndrome arrived, and it was also high time to fulfill our last year's promise to the kids, to take them riding and fishing. I made an attempt to organize a whole group of people, including the part where some in the expedition (i.e. those who don't care for horse-riding) would supply their own hiking capabilities. The plan was plain — we would drive out on Saturday by eight a.m., reach the pack station around one p.m., mount the horses, load our stuff on mules, take approx. one hour on horse-back to Roosevelt lake, dismount there, send the horses and the cowboys back to the ranch, set up camp, try to fish in the lake, sleep in tents on the lake shore — and do the same thing in the opposite order on the next day.

One of the most typical features of plans is that they fall flat. When we were starting our bus, only a half hour behind the Saturday schedule, a strange rattle was heard. Tommy from his back seat whispered that they had backed into a bush with granny on the previous evening. And so they had; the exhaust pipe was relocated to the rear bumper where it was not supposed to be. We had no other choice than reloading our things to the subaru and leave the bus at home. Later on Monday we learned that it was in fact really just a bent tail-pipe, which Tony could straighten back. Nevertheless we thus picked up more delay and were leaving at nine instead of eight.

By eleven thirty we reached Knights Ferry and decided to have a decent lunch. The kids rejoiced; Lisa because they have horses in a corral, and Tom likes their fish in a garden pond. They had managed to avoid falling into said pond, and only Lisa got slightly soaked when running through a sprinkler spray.

We could not stay at this beautiful campsite, for it was horribly windy there.

The children asked to go fishing.

We arrived to Leavitt Meadows five minutes past two, exchanged greetings with Craig, had a chat with the staff, loaded self on horses and mules, and set out. I discovered not being used to a western horse; Foxy uses a snaffle, and I must control her reins with both hands, keeping constant contact. Craig's horses are trained for so-called neck reining, i.e. the reins are loose and you control the horse by moving them along his/her neck. It means that one can hold the reins in one hand, while the other one is free to, for example, take pictures. You bet that even the best trained horse will try to take advantage of a distracted rider, but even so it was much more relaxing affair than riding my spoiled mare.

I had discovered that I can control a well-behaved horse to the point that he will hold back away from the others so that dust stops swirling around my face, and trot on flat sections to catch up with the expedition. Hence I could take picures at leisure, albeit after reassuring the local cowboys that I indeed did not mind trailing behind.

We rode around Roosevelt Lake and stopped by the northern end of Lane Lake. We found a beautiful campsite on a rocky outcrop overlooking the lake, but had to reject it on account of being too windswept. Forecasters had not erred this time, alas, and wind gusts felt rather unpleasant on this exposed spot. We found cover in a depression, built our tent, and soon the kids asked to go fishing. We tried it first on the windy outcrop, but unsuccessfully. Thus we ventured along the shore, quickly found a location busy with crayfish, and caught our first trout there.

I had the impression that I know my children well; after all, I had generally expected Tom's horror upon the fact that the fish has to be killed to become food. What I did not expect was Lisa's hungry enthusiasm. With a practical and uncompromising attitude, she demanded the fisth to be made ready to eat, and, for the next half hour, she walked around, carrying the trout stuck up on a twig, inspecting it, petting it, and generally looking forward to dinner. Tom at first wanted to release the fish back; eventually we talked him out of it, and promised that he can release one he catches himself. He soon succeeded in both, but still I think that his enthusiasm for fishing had lost all its previous spark. He's simply a softy after mama.

The lake was full of crayfish.

Tom in his tent.

On Sunday morning we slowly ate breakfast, followed by the kids and Hippo going fishing for a while — and then it was time to start packing. By noon, cowboys and horses arrived. Kids were again assigned Large Marge (Lisa) and Bonnie (Tom), as they had asked on the day before. Bonnie and Large Marge are elderly ladies who behave gracefully and efficiently, and there's no risk they would start running somewhere or throw tantrums. Instead of Tayler, I received Sid. Tayler was not bad, but Sid was totally golden. Not that he would not try to take advantage of moments when I stopped paying attention (for example when I was taking pictures), of course he went and snapped some grass, but otherwise he had a very helpful attitude — and responded to the slightest touch. I don't like to terrorize my horse, and the more I prefer when he understands pressure of legs or minor shifting of weight, and I was delighted by Sid.

Our quick trip concluded exactly according to plans, we got in time to Knights Ferry for dinner, and reached home in decent hour, kids getting to their beds soon enough.

Independence Day is one of the few unmovable holidays; alas, this year it fell on Wednesday. Since May, Hippo had been working in a new job, thus lacking any accrued vacation, but he had arranged that he would work on Wednesday and take comp-time on Friday, thus enabling us a marginally extended weekend for a more substantial trip.

The weekend before 4th of July we spent at home — Hippo was returning from his business trip only late Friday night, and we arranged for a relaxed visit with Rýzls on Sunday. Taking our bikes along, we rode them to a Thai restaurant in Foster City, and back again. We had been out biking for a relatively long time — because of the spring weather at first, and later because of Tom's nose — now we had found our offspring having grown taller again. Suddenly both look like wasps on a candy, apparently it will be neccessary to refresh our bicycle park and move them each one notch up.

We spent the rest of the afternoon in Rýzl's swimming pool, which is communal, large, and heated. Tom and Lisa could check out something different from our back yard. Subsequently we lingered until we got a dinner as well, although we had originally did not want to "bother" them this long. With some people, one can spend a whole day and still there are fun things left to do and talk about.

Returning to the pack station.

In Monterey port with granny.

To make up a bit for a missing weekend trip, we had reserved a whale-watching boat trip in Monterey. We were together six, including granny and Mirka, almost a whole whaling expedition. Hippo and I had experienced it many years ago, without children; now it seemed to us that they had reached the right age — and they'd been remembering their trip on a ferry in Canada, asking for another boat ride. Still moored, they eagerly explored our vessel; then we all had to listen to a safety lecture, stuff the kids in life jackets, and after a while we were on our way. After next ten minutes, we all gathered in the cabin, putting on all our clothes that we had taken along — just as expected, out on the ocean, it was horribly cold and windy, but otherwise beautifully clear and sunny (which is uncommon in this time of year at our lattitude).

After approximately on hour ride we found ourselves in the midst of whales, mostly humpbacks. In one moment we could see blows in all directions and one would not know where to look first. I was certainly not paying attention to a strange, very quiet, and very green little boy, who had immediately thereafter projectile vomited right next to my shoes. The crew had spotted and eliminated the mess very effectively, moving the boy to the aft. They have obvious practical experience.

To my surprise, soon Tom began to fade away. Lisa is like a duck, not just through always wanting to splash in the water, but she's got to have duck's stomach, for no amount of ship's movement would affect her. Tom sat down with granny inside the cabin, but later I dragged him out, on the aft platform. I admit that I was not feeling quite well myself, and the aft was less wobbly, although quite smelly from the engine exhaust. Nevertheless we had regained our strength there and were able to watch a blue whale.

On Wednesday Hippo left for work as usual and I had arranged a training with Foxy. Granny began to chase kids to get dressed so they's go out to some playground; suddenly Lisa resolutely announced that she was not leaving anywhere for there would be a parade and a neighborhood party. We were all taken aback — these happenings had been conceived originally as an alternative to the real Independence Day, without the risk of losing little kids in the crowd. Lately our celebrations had moved to the end of the summer vacations. I don't know how had Lisa connected this party with the 4th of July, but it took quite some effort to convince her that there WAS NO parade — and she had to cope with our usual activities.

Humpback tail.

Best attraction of the trip: campfire and twigs.

We had reserved that evening for barbeque at Kovars; I hesitated whether to take the children along. Eventually I agreed with granny to take them all along for a while, and then granny would take them home, where they'd enjoy the obligatory fireworks and firecrackers in our neighborhood — while the rest of us would stay and chat with other adults — and Hippo, arriving from work, would take me home. This plan had worked perfectly, only the kids got to their beds by ten, but once in a while and during vacations it's not a big deal.

On Friday we set out north. I was quite worried how we'd survive a journey this long, but we managed with only stopping for bathrooms and pumping gas. I must praise our kids, they had been (almost) perfectly behaved for all eight hours of the drive. Alas, somebody else's tents stood on our favorite campsite near Crater Lake. We had tried a few alternatives, only to return to a grove adjacent to the same place — there, among the trees, was hidden a flat spot barely for one tent — with access to the creek. Our offspring spent the rest of the evening in building a boulder dam and splashin it the water. Eventually we set up a campfire (which had been, given the dry year, forbidden in California), and time came for igniting and blowing out little twigs, adding firewood to the blaze, and so on. I think that a campsite offering such activities was exactily what we needed after the long drive.

In the morning we took our time having breakfast and relaxing; by noon we rattled over to a small town named Shady Cove. We rushed to the rafting office, and within about five minutes we had rented a raft, including it being loaded on a trailer behind a van, together with other customers already loaded within the same van, and the driver announcing that he's leaving RIGHT NOW. I think that we broke a record in switching into swimming gear and packing snacks and a camera.

This was our third run on Rogue River — we like the local relaxed attitude; we like the river itself, which winds thorugh a canyon, not bothering to slow down and force you to paddle across the "oil", and which offers here occasional mild rapids, but gives you enough time between them to breathe and dry off a bit; we like the fact that the river runs through a relatively civilized countryside, where you can expect to reach help in emergency. Two years ago, the kids had feared the rapid waves; we could not get here last year for the weather, and this year it came to asking for more and larger rapids.

A beetle.

On Rogue River.

Lisa wanted to swim very much, which we had eventually agreed to, lowering her into the river in one of its quieter sections. Above the reservoir dam, the river is said to have 45°F, we were downstream, but still it was not a very humane temperature. Our duck, too, immediately scrambled back into the raft and for subsequent twenty minutes shivered despite the air being at 95. Eventually I let her take off her vest in a quiet and clear stretch, to let her dry off and stop wearing goose-bumps. Lisa began to complain about being hungry, and the spirits of the crew went down then — but then, a bridge showed up before us and right behind it the launch ramp marking the end of our journey. This is another thing that makes us like rafting on Rogue River. Approximately three-hour ride is long enough to enjoy — and sufficiently short not to be tiresome.

Although everybody was recommending lodge as the best eating place (we had noticed that one can reach it also directly from the river; perhaps next time we would interrupt our voyage and refresh ourselves during our ride), but the kids insisted on pizza that we had promised them — pizza it was. Well, they serve beer there and the pizza is not bad, but the one with chicken had caused a relatively drastic reaction, in both Hippo and me. Kids, who stuck with their Hawaiian style pie, were unscathed.

On our way from the pizzeria, we stopped at a general store, to replenish supplies and to purchase matches. Hippo had promised the children to teach them how to start a fire. You know the various idioms about kids and matches, right? Tom was demonstrating how eager he was to gain this knowledge — he kept reminding us even during the rafting trip and while eating pizza, and caused uproar at the store by asking the cashier for matches. We try to direct our children to be self-reliant and we tasked Tom to act as an individual when buying matches. The cashier, however, did not cope well with the idea, and pointed out to us that they place matches on the top of the tallest rack exactly so that the CHILDREN could not reach them. Well, she did not call CPS on us, and so it ended allright.

It was still afternoon and we wanted to make our return trip more interesting by visiting some waterfalls along the way; Hippo had begun feeling the effects of our chicken pizza and instead of admiring the landscape, he was appreciating the parking lot facilities. Tom continued being all jittery and eager to play with his matches, and thus we accelerated our visit and ceased to torture our offspring by imposing any further landmarks upon them.

Crater Lake Panorama.

Tom on the lookout :-)

Back at the campsite, it finally came to the high point of the trip, namely striking matches and making fire and subsequently lighting up twigs and so on. I generally lack understanding what is supposed to be particularly interesting about it, but I faintly remember being fascinated by fire at the age of my children.

Sunday morning was — how else — devoted to making fire again. It was me and Tom; Lisa and Hippo slept in. Packing ensued, and an obligatory visit to Crater Lake. Having driven this far, we wanted to at least have one look from a view point onto this amazing lake — we selected a hike on Watchman. To our surprise, the trail was closed due to SNOW. Oregon had apparently received, unlike California, its usuall allottment of winter precipitation, and the snow, accummulated at higher altitudes, still had not melted. They even kept the circular road around the lake closed in the eastern section!

We had planned to stop for lunch at a buffet on the southwestern edge of Crater Lake, but the same idea came to several thousands of people — we did not even manage to find a parking spot. Discouraged and hungry, we drove away — and found an almost empty restaurant at the entrance to the national park. The service was pleasant, offerings typical (burgers & Co.), the meals were kind-of like machine-made — but we were certainly getting a better deal than amongst the chaos on the rim. I felt a somewhat heavy stomach when reaching the place, but I had attributed it to changes in altitude and tiredness from the trip.

One hour later, I was zig-zagging in heavy traffic in Medford, Oregon, with cold sweat beading on my forehead. I, too, became the victim of our chicken pizza with mushrooms, in a manner that I was not expecting. Well, we can only speculate it was the pizza. There was a whole half day between Hippo's and my symptoms, but the process was otherwise identical — and the kids never felt a thing. Still, even with this complication, we managed to reach home on Sunday. Perhaps it sounds like a quite crazy idea, to drive a nine hundred fifty miles for rafting, but we had also enjoyed camping, making fires (kids) and seeing waterfalls, the lake, snow — simply a great trip.