Evening at a lookout over Leavitt.

Guess, which one of the gray ones is Ned?

Following our return from our road trip, we had spent the weekend in the state of mild bedazzlement, lurching through our house and liquidating a fortnight of dirty laundry. While we had a break, our neighbors had sold their house, and its new owner plunged into major renovations. This is, of course, positive; no one had truly improved the house for perhaps thirty years — yet now we had pneumatic and electric power tools running from seven thirty in the morning till four in the afternoon. You can imagine how our holiday ambiance suffered.

Thus I had one extra reason to pack myself and the kids on Wednesday and set out for two days visiting Neddie at Levitt. I had been on my own with the kids skiing and on some one-day trips, but camping appealed to me as the next level — and I was curious how we would cope. That is, how I would cope with all the driving and being in charge. Sid had prepared Pratchett's audio books for us to listen in the car, and the journey was fun. Listening to books, besides entertainment, has the advantage that it effectively stops the children from continuously arguing; they don't even have the urge to keep on talking, singing or perhaps making (weird) noises.

We had our lunch at Strawberry Inn, and then drove all the way to the pack station to confirm our ride reserved for the next day. Neddie was in his corral with other animals, but came for his horse cookie and carrots, and he made faces at other horses when they wanted to also get some. Then we went back up into our favorite turn to set up camp. We tried to play cards, but wind kept blowing them away, and thus I took Lisa to a viewpoint over the meadow, from where one can see horses at the ranch. They already got their hay distributed, and it took me a while to spot Ned — there are several grey horses, including Kit Kat the mule. I recognized him only once he endeavored to check out another manger — interesting, how important body moves are for recognition.

Lisa go issued a mule named Beau.

Tom's Tyler REALLY did not want to go on a hike.

Our morning line-up was by ten o'clock and we intentionally showed up by nine; I thought I could clean up and saddle Neddie, but he was already prepared. Before we set out, a mom with two little girls rode out to Secret Lake, accompanied by Craig. We gave them a bit of a head start, departing by nine thirty. Only Craig normally rides on Ned, which is great, because no one apparently yanks at his reins, nor gives him a hard time. On the other hand, it quite showed that Ned is used to ride at the point. Even with me he always went first, and Cowboy would follow, and with his return to the pack station only reinforced his habit.

The fact that we would ride last instead, was, I think, an unpleasant surprise. He could not get it that he was to follow Tom's Tyler, who's horribly slow, and so for the first twenty minutes, Ned kept trying to surreptitiously overtake him. Hence we kept working it out that no, we would really go last. While fording the river, I let Ned cross the stream ahead of the others, because I wanted to take a picture, but then Tom and Tyler got stuck on the other side, and we had to go back to chase Tyler over the ford.

On our way along the side of the meadow, Craig has surprised us by returning with his group — apparently they never made it to Secret Lake, and only did a meadow loop. We were pulling aside, and here Tyler again tried to break off — that is, to join the other group in returning back home. I was quite glad to have Ned; he eyed Craig, but understood that WE would not be returning, and allowed me to set him up on the trail so that he was blocking Tyler, who turned around a few times with Tom on his back. Fortunately, Tom held his cool and kept directing Tyler back in the correct direction, until Tyler gave it up — his way back home was after all blocked by Ned, who is luckily so dominant that Tyler would not dare to spook him off.

A mountein trail.

Lise thought the water too cold.

The rest of the way continued without further problems, and we found the beautiful Lane Lake deserted. Lisa and I swam; Tom refused to even take off his rubber boots — well, that was his problem. By the afternoon we were on our way back, and to our surprise, we encountered a lot of people. Again, a system appeared to be in place like in Colorado; regardless of weather (afternoon thunderstorms there, afternoon heat here), people would set out on a mountain trail by noon, when we were already long gone.

We were originally thinking that we could hike somewhere in the afternoon, but some kind of laziness came over us after lunch, and so we just played cards. In the evening we went to splash a little in the Walker River, and then to Jeff's for dinner and ice cream. On our way back to our tent we stopped at the ranch — horses roamed in their great pasture by the river — they strolled amids bushes an little trees, nibbling at tall grass, and were quite above any people. I was not surprised. Though I brought some carrots for Neddie, I did not even glimpse him. Perhaps it was hiss butt that stuck out of a bush a quarter mile down to the river. Hence my conviction that my horse is doing quite well. My audit actually ended on a positive side. Ned did not start thinking bad of me, he listens; he neighs when he sees me, but at the same time he enjoys much freedom and his buddies.

We packed our stuff on Friday, went to distribute remaining carrots, and by ten o'clock we were speeding back toward home, to preempt Friday jams. It surprised me how much traffic there was in the opposite direction, i.e. mountain-ward, already on a Friday morning. Apparently, many people took a day off in this hot weather, and departed in mass.

In the end she splashe in it after all.

In the afternoon we cooled off at Walker River.

On Friday night I already had duties; I took over from Jenny the care for the goats, while she went on vacation. I was rather looking forward to it, for I was curious. After all, her goats mean milking and thus a greater engagement, both time-wise and organizationally, than our two goat teenagers without a fixed duty. The first milking on Friday night went as expected — the goats were nervous, I was soaked with sweat, and the result about half of the average that Jenny gets. Yet on the following day the goats reckoned that the new system with me doing the milking was OK, cooperated and delivered — taking their turns on the milking stand, not being obnoxious and producing milk at their usual rate.

In the days that followed, we got so tuned up with the goats that I began to teach our children. I wonder why they seemed better at it than myself; I had to take time learning, while they just approached it naturally and figured it out rather quickly. Again, I was taken aback at the absurdity — we regard the skill of milking a goat like something out of the ordinary; I bet that a hundred years ago it was something even little children managed routinely...

When Jenny got back a week later, her goats got confused. The lead goat, Dixie, did not want to get back to her pen after a walk, and stood on the milking stand — and when I still did not get it, she went for me and took me down to the stand, got up on it and insisted that she did her pert and now I should do mine. I really felt sorry for her, such a nice and smart goat she is!

Lisa insisted on celebrating her birthday on time this year, not wanting to push it out till the start of the school year. I was a bit worried that none of her friends would be in town, but in the end the girls had shown up in force, and all was well. Dulina's came for a barbecue on the weekend, and thus only the second Clara missed out, who was back in Czech Republic. Lisa was satisfied, and that's relevant.

Her eleventh birthday, necessarily with Sierra.

Pool party.

I planned myself another trip to Ned — I had discovered the benefits of traveling on my own with children, plus I found it advantageous to avoid sitting at home during the summer break (albeit with a swimming pool, stables and such). Alas, Lisa turned up in the last moment not feeling well, and instead of a trip we dealt with Lisa's noxiousness, making doctor rounds and getting examined. Yet doctors, too, shake their heads and test had not revealed any serious problem, and thus on the following week we set out to the mountains again.

We wanted to make the journey a bit more interesting, and so we stopped to swim in Pinecrest Lake. We normally avoid such a popular tourist destination, and apparently will do so again. The beach was crowded, just like the lake itself. And we came on a Tuesday (a weekday) afternoon; how it may look there on a weekend, we don't event want to imagine. But swim we did, getting refreshed and finishing easily the rest of the way to our favorite campsite. We erected our tents, went to see the horses, and everything looked normal.

We had dinner there, I opened myself a beer, and we loafed around the then, when out of nowhere, two giant military trucks showed up, and several dozens of Marines jumped out, starting to dither around in the woods, slamming the port-a-potty doors and yelling commands with their drill-sergeant voices. After a while, a chap in plain clothes got to us, informing us that they would have an exercise here. Given that the Marines' base was five minutes drive from our site, and because I did not feel like packing everything and looking for another spot, now after a full day behind the wheel, I just made sure that they did not plan night shooting drills, and I reckoned that by dusk they would return to their base, and we would survive the evening thus.

Unfortunately, my assumption about the base being so close that the soldiers would return there, turned out very naive. They stayed around us through the whole night. The kids treated this as a second Christmas, sneaking behind the small trees to spy what the Marines may be doing, but the night was hard. The slamming of port-a-potty doors continued, enhanced by starting and stopping generators, and by yelled commanding. Somehow I had expected that elite units in the forest would tend to blend in and become hard to see and hear; along our previous experience — given the nearby base, the Marines occur in the woods rather frequently — yet never before in this quantity.

Kids mastered milking without effort.

An unexpected company at the campsite (sorry for the mobile picture).

Of course the military gets up at dawn, and we had our wake-up call by six. Nevertheless we don't fall under their strict rules, and so while the little green men went through muster, we loafed around having breakfast. In the absurdity of all the impressions, I mostly cherish the composition of children in their pajamas, dawn jackets and woolly hats, sipping cocoa, while units line up in the background. I intercepted on the the obvious organizers of the circus, and he told me that they were reservists on an exercise, and they would spend two more weeks here in the woods. I discussed with him alternatives for our campsite and concludes that we would have to move somewhere less busy for the next night. Honestly — I would not mind company of a few handsome experts for mountain outdoor living and combat, but this was a bit too much.

Still we were in a hurry; we had arranged a ride. I had cowardly opted for Lane Lake again, with swimming and taking it easy. Neddie was great — our guide Liz admitted that she has been riding him recently, and they usually secure the rear. Thus he apparently received some reeducation and this ride contained practically no new things, almost boring. I got into the lake alone, it was relatively warm, and I could swim to the other side. Refreshed, we rode back, packed our tent and drove to the Buckeye hot springs. Lisa had been begging for a visit there, and since it was only eighty five and not hundred like during our previous visit, I decided to accept. Well, Lisa was satisfied; I consider splashing in hot water slightly counterproductive, when the weather is crazy hot as well, but it added to the general satisfaction of the whole crew. During the afternoon I managed to text for a permission to take refuge at Craig's back yard meadow, to avoid the Marines.

We had a late lunch aka early dinner at Nellie's Deli, pumped gas, bought ice cream, and returned to the pack station. We even got invited to a dinner there, but we declined — having had eaten already. Lisa was in seventh heaven, for she could easily run from our tent to the corrals and watch horses. I gave her company during evening feeding. They dispatch hay from a truck between four huge feeders , and while horses usually roam from one feeder to another and nibble, Ned followed the pickup and stole hay from the bed. Must have been a quality control.

One gets up at the ranch apparently even earlier than with the Marines, but the horses are quiet and care for them too — thus I almost missed Ned — he was leaving with Liz on a fishing expedition. This way at least he got a piece of apple for the road. Before the kids rolled out of the tent, most horses and cowboys were long gone — so we took time to breakfast and pack and hang around, and converse with the rest of the crew (Mike). A journey home awaited us, and it, too, was easy; overall a very nice trip.