People's Voice Defeats Central Planning I.

June 14 - 16, 2014

An epic road trip through seven states and one province of the American Northwest.

Jetty wall on Samoa Peninsula, northern California

Hráz regulace na poloostrově Samoa, severní Kalifornie.

Samoa: Lisa and the Sea of Green.

One ancient proverb says, if you want to amuse the Fate, tell her your plans. We did not have too many plans, but I can admit right away that not a single one had worked out. It began when we pondered WHERE we could go on a trip — our weekend and week-long destination are all too familiar; we wanted to get farther out. Our choice fell on Glacier National Park in Montana. Then we discovered that the only window that could accommodate a great vacation like this would be in the second half of June, and we began to doubt whether Glacier would be open yet. Still, we liked the general direction of such road trip, and we had embarked as soon as the kids' school was over.

A whole heap of challenging task awaited me. Packing of "everything" (camping gear, sleeping bags, swimsuits, riding helmets, trekking shoes, rubber boots, sandals, dawn jackets, rafting stuff, first aid and pills, toiletries, sunscreen, bug sprays...) was just one part of it — taking care of our house and household had eventually taken quite some time as well. Arranging water for desert plants in the back yard, taking our hamster to Rumiko, arranging for roll-out and roll-back of garbage bins and emptying of the mailbox. Eventually I merged help from three different remote friends and two direct neighbors — and to my surprise, all worked out! But I'm getting ahead of myself; back to the start of our trip.

Columbia Lily.

Day One
We finished packing in the morning, and I consider it a great success that the only thing we (I) had eventually left behind was my fleece jacket. When I finally realized that my coat remained thrown over a chair back at home, it was obvious it was going to get cold, I would get cold, and therefore I would not need those three pairs of shorts I had packed along.

That day we had drived all the way to Arcata, which is just a few miles past the more known (and more expensive) Eureka. We had reserved a hotel room in Arcata, or motel "Super 8" to be more precise. We checked in, changed into warmer clothes as evenings on the shoreline are cold, and drove to check out Samoa peninsula. Last time we had seen it in an unfriendly fog — a slanted evening sunshine was a pleasant improvement. We found and tested a newly open Vietnamese restaurant in Eureka — the family had moved here from San Jose — and our meals were excellent.

Family in a rain forest.

Day Two • National parks: Redwoods • Crater Lake
The children and I awoke at our school year regular six forty five. Hippo slept, and so I gathered we could check out our breakfast. Motels often don't offer any; this "Super" pricey one (just like everything else in this are) was supposed to. Well, my gaze encompassed the offerings (waffles, toast or an ugly long-lasting, industrial, plastic-packed muffin), the receptionist, who was napping with his feet up and baseball cap pushed in his eyes, and I decided that I was again forced to resort to my own supplies. I cannot eat any pastries or bread lately, so I had brought along some emergency cottage cheese and a can of sliced nuts. Kids had waffles and toasts — at least there was coffee for me.

A rhododendron bud at Redwood National Park.

Thanks to our getting up early, we were done checking out of the hotel shortly after eight. At nine oh five we arrived to a ranger's hut in Redwoods National Park, hoping they'd be open already. We don't know this park much, and that's why we asked for ranger's recommendations about some suitable loop (suitable to the children's age and the fact that we needed to get to Crater Lake in the neighboring Oregon). In the end she had sent us to Hope Creek - Ten Taypo Trail, which turned out to fit our requirements perfectly. And most importantly — still offered blooming rhododendrons a lilies, despite being a bit late in their season. Only Hippo had understood that it was supposed to be one and half mile, while I had clearly heard that the hike would take one hour and half. Subsequently Hippo panicked, when we haven't reached our car again rather soon, that we might be on the wrong trail (having naturally left our map back in the car). We had, of course, eventually come back to our car, but it took us rather two and half hours instead of one and half. The park guides probably don't count on snacking children and photographing (and huffing) parents.

Our favorite spot in a creek bend in southern Oregon.

Without problem, we had driven one hundred and ninety miles to our favorite campsite near Crater Lake by the evening. As we were rolling through Shady Cove, noticing the temperatures below seventy degrees (F), we started feeling some anxiety whether it would get really much warmer on the next day, a necessary condition for rafting. Forecast had said eighty, which is marginal for the local Rogue River. The stream is always icy, and one can sit in wet clothes only in tropical heat. Our campsite is at noticeably higher elevation still, and before we finished erecting our tent, a dawn jacket was almost necessary. The kids asked for a campfire, and so we edged closer and closer to that source of warmth — by then we were quite OK with becoming very smoked; our survival seemed more important.

Crater Lake, Oregon.

Day Three • Crater Lake • Annie Creek
One never likes to get out of the sleeping bag in the morning, and it seems awfully cold outside. I know it. Still, this time is seemed different. Beside the fact that I lasted the whole night with a scarf (a buff) on my head and wearing a wooly shirt, even my need to pee did not convince me to just step out — I carefully wiggled my shoulders out and immediately applied my sweatshirt, dawn vest, and dawn jacket. Only then I was willing to slip my legs out of the bag and put on my wooly leggins and jeans. And wooly socks for my paddock boots — no browsing around the campsite with slippers on bare feet. When Lisa came up with the idea to restart the campfire again, I approved instantly. And began to ponder our rafting plans. Down in the town by the river, temperatures would be surely higher than here, the usual difference is ten degrees Fahrenheit (about five Celsius) — but given my wooly and dawn layers, I wasn't really sure about the difference being sufficient. What more, the cowardly sun did not cooperate at all; heavy gray clouds chased each other overhead.

This bird's name is Clark's nutcracker = nucifraga columbiana.

Sid got out of the tent, announcing that it had rained in the night. It surprised me, but drops on trees and the state of the skies offered no disproof. We took a long time eating breakfast, stoking the campfire and waiting to get warmer. When at eleven o'clock the temperature remained at forty five degrees, we definitely dismissed rating and left instead for the mountains, i.e. Crater Lake. A ranger at the entrance booth informed us cheerfully that it had snowed in the night again, and that the Rim Drive around the lake was not fully open yet this year, only half. We certainly wanted to see the lake, but since we were currently passing the restaurant at Annie Creek, we suggested a lunch to the kids. No way, they said, lake first.

We parked as usual by the lodge, exactly on the lot where every tourist must stop, and took pictures of the Wizard Island as expected; then we watched Clark's Nutcrackers (birds) who pestered tourist for some meal and chased each other among the pine trees on the lake's rim. We wanted to try to drive a bit farther on the Rim Drive and catch the lake from a different angle, but this met with an unbelievable resistance and protests from the offspring. Much wailing ensued that they were horribly, but really horribly hungry (which they did not register only twenty minutes earlier in front of the restaurant), and that they were too cold and they did not want to go anywhere, and the best thing would be turning back, better yet, back to the restaurant. This, in turn, evoked a powerful response from our, parental, side. We also raised our voices, arguing that we always strive to come up with an interesting program, and now that it made no sense to raft, and they want to boycott everything we suggest, they can bring forth their own plan.

June 16: "This kind of summer seems to me somewhat unfortunate."

In the end Tom offered to have lunch at Annie Creek, where they have a trail loop along the creek, and we could go there. We agreed and proceeded to the restaurant to warm up. Alas, while we were eating, the sky got really overcast and soon there was hail coming down. We lingered in the warm hall, but eventually we had to recognize that spring had finally come to Crater Lake in the form of April weather, so we put on our jackets and hiking boots, and went for the walk.

Annie Creek had been named after Annie Gaines of Fort Klamath, who in the year 1865 became the first (white) woman who ever trekked up to the surface of Crater Lake. White men knew of the beautiful lake since 1853, and Annie was enticed by the legends of Crater Lake so much she braved the journey. Going twenty five miles into the wilderness, hundred and fifty years ago, wasn't a small distance, so I think that Annie must have been either very curious, or very capable tourist (probably both).

A walk along Annie Creek: mother as role model.

Annie Creek turned out to be a wise choice. The stream itself is lovely and many logs lay crossing it, and the children immediately took to walking to and fro. I was rather amazed that neither one would fall in. On our way, sunshine alternated with snow showers, our walk being adventurous in that aspect as well. We also spotted some peculiar rock formations, kind-of composite chimneys sticking up from a steep creek bank — according to our brochure these were remnants of volcanic activity — hot gases used to stream through layers of pumice, baking it into somewhat harder fumeroles. Later erosion carried away softer pumice outside, leaving behind these harder cones. About half way along, we had found a fawn hiding under a small bush. I told the children that its mother had hidden it there so the she could go graze, and if we don't touch it, she would come back for it. Now I hope that I wasn't overly optimistic and she would really come back.

In the afternoon, we drove down to Shelter Cover — it was indeed warmer there than in the mountains, but even seventy degrees on an overcast afternoon did not rekindle any urge to raft in us. We bought sausages for dinner and some stuff for breakfast, and headed back to our tent. Fire, again, became rather necessary, even inside a sleeping bag it was noticeably colder. Luckily I had found one fleece liner extra for myself, and I survived the night alright in the end.

Remaining pictures can be found in the gallery.

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