Mountain highs..........

Washington Pass - or pass out if you look down.,

Early Winters creek, east of the mountains, but still in themn- this was painfully cold and too deep and too fast and closed for fishing.  We had free firewood at the camp, and loved sleeping to the sound of the creek.

Hiking up about 5-600' on switchbacks, straight up, mind you, with sheer cliffs filled with sharp trees and critters that made cracking noises.  I started singing to scare away any bears but Robert said to shut up. I figured my singing would scare anything.   Ice water surged in small waterfalls and we crossed one creek moaning from the cold,  having to cross barefoot,

A more civilized creek crossing at Cottonwood in the Entiat Valley. (South of Chelan) Lower Entiat was settled at the turn of the century and sawmills were the norm for the settlers as settlement slowly crawled up the  lower valley.  Our camp was along a river, peaceful and lovely, at 3,500', which was pretty cold morning and evening. 

Highway 20

Years ago I went on a magic trip through the northern Rockies in Canada and thought that no way it could ever be matched in beauty.  Highway 20 through the North Cascades proved i was wrong.   We left Anacortes, tried to find a campsite at a mosquito lake and were sort of sulking through the Skagit Valley thinking, is this the big deal?  Then some mountains showed up, steep, sheer and covered in green hemlock, firs and pine.  Then the big surprise of all at Washington Pass and we were in love with the whole deal. Only 4,500' but this altitude was comparable to 8000' in the Sierras.  It was late afternoon, but we found the misnamed Lone Fir Campground and settled in to think about the majesty of the Cascades.  We had been disgruntled at not finding good campsites in the National Park, as backpackers seem to be the rule, but we were alongside   Early Winters creek in the federal forest and happy..  We had free wood, deep forests, the river frontage and peace for two days.

A small cutoff leads you to an overlook of the mountains and the highway below - about 1000' - but you have to stand on an overlook rock on the side of the mountain.  We are trusting people about overlooks, having stood on Glacier Point in Yosemite one year, with loads of cross country skiers - all crazy, because they could slip off the point easily.  This point had high fences but I still raced out, took the photo, raced back into the trees and oohhed and aaahhed at the scene.  Acrophobia be damned, we needed to get a shot of this place.

Beautiful people, food and wine.....

Us sybarites have had a wonderful summer, on a trip that Robert calls the bucket list.  Not hardly - we have been wined and dined, gone to parties, spent time in beautiful places and have lovely memories.  In Lodi we ate in a courtyard of a luxury inn, with a bunch of strangers, sharing French Bistro food at long tables with an inebriated  French cook singing songs he obviously loved.  Something he shouldn't give up his day job for.  But his night job, producing the incredible food that wouldn't stop coming, we celebrated, and groaned our way out of there.  And this was on Bastille Day.
Cousin Margie in Bend cooked up feast after feast and gave me a recipie for Pogo Pasta that I begged her for - too good.
We went to a luau in Pt. Ludlow where the lomi salmon and poi and music made us homesick - who knew all those Hawaiian's were out in the frozen north. 
We went to a beach barbecue in Anacortes, but the north wind was howling in from the straits so Jan and Pete cooked a mixed grill that we fell on  avidly while trying to be polite and talk to our hosts.  I don't  think we fooled them.
And wherever we go to visit, wonderful food and love is given.  Marilyn, whom I have known since my sons were little in Hawaii is an inspired cook with chiles, curries and anything out of her vegetable garden.  Ever have purple mashed potatoes with chives, fresh from the garden?  Or heirloom tomatoes with small mozzarella balls and basil.

Barbara and Dick at the reception - luau held indoors.  We had chicken skin from singing Aloha Oe and Hawaii Ponoi at the end of the evening.  Note the small glimpses of Hawaiian clothing on the locals.  There was nothing in those mai tais except a suggestion of tropical memories.

The small bay in front of the Bay Club.  Barbara and Dick live on a small bay right around the corner  where we ran the dogs on the walking trails.  Scenes right out of my childhood, with salmonberry, wild strawberry, Oregon Grape and fir trees.

A small marina - the San Juans in the background.  Flowers like this all hanging from street lamps, everywhere.....not what I remember. Pretty great.

Pete and Jan - we don't get to see them enough.  We introduced Pete to dock dancing years ago.

No problem gaining weight.  Breakfast tomorrow will be peach cobbler on Marilyn's deck, looking over at Mt. Adams, across the Yakima valley, and perhaps peeking at the back of Mt. Rainier.  We have been blessed.

Mountain high......

We were at Hurricane Ridge, which is found after a wonderfully terrifying road up the mountain in the Olympic (Washinginton state) Peninsula, to the National Park.  We being Barbara, the driver, her husband Dick, two Welsh Terriers and Koa.  The last turn out of the trees brings you to a view that takes away breath, looking across at the back of the Olympics.  The mountains up here are not the totally jagged behemoths of Calif, but are soaring, steep sheer green out of thickly wooded valleys.  We found deer in the meadow, and people from all over the world up there.  We thought we could go hiking with the dogs - wilderness is legislated:  signs say keep a leash on your pets, and then trailheads say, no dogs.  It is a part, felt like a groomed park, had views of wilderness, and a lot of people, so the only way to really experience the area as wilderness is to get off the beaten trail, with no dogs.

This lovely creature was alongside the wall that keeps the tourists out of the meadows.  It is what the people in the top photo were eyeing, including the dog.

Barbara and I have known each other for too many years to tell - but she knew my sons before they were born.

We were able to see sweeps of wildflowers - great blue patches of lupine, yellow buttercups and lilies, small white avalanche lilies, all against the drama of the mountain range across the valley. 

Above the ocean near a spit of land where we couldn't take the dogs.  The Straits of Juan de Fuca. The water, incredibly, was light green on the shore - almost tropic.  Lucas and Ivy and Koa enjoyed the day, anyway, although we drove and drove, touring country that has changed drastically since I last was there.  I wondered if there was some Microsoft influence in this area that used to be remote country, as the little farmstands and larger stores now carry items you would find in luxury specialty stores.  I remember this area when it was country- now you can get a latte anywhere.

Yakima Valley

Marilyn suggested a drive to get out of the house and we stopped alongside the Yakima River, which looked cool, wonderful and ready for dogs and people to jump in.  It seems that hordes do when it gets hot there:  small put ins allow all sorts of strange floatiing paraphernalia and teens, as well as some bodies you wish would cover up, to get cool and float down the river.  The parks in this remote (evidently not so remote) canyon were busting with floatables and people.  Overflow parking couldn't contain the hordes of teena nd post teens out for a mini rafting adventure.  In one way, in the heat, I was envious - but the music that was played at earsplitting levels was unintelligible, thumping dirges.  I felt old.

A bridge let us go beyond the mob(s) to a pathway along the stream that added to the river - through meadows and  aspens.  Marilyn and Robert were able to get across this rocking, unstable footbridge, while I had to waddle from one board to the next.  Koa floated across - the motion of the bridge was bounce, bounce, ooops, bounce ---not fun.

One of the meadows way back in the valley had been someone's homestead and all that was left were some posts and ancient apple trees.  The creek alongside was not too deep so it was obvious they got their water from the river.  After reading about the homesteaders, emigrants and 49rs at Marilyn's, we were in awe at the idea of women who could travel across the prairies and mountains  from Missouri in wagons and arrive to a new place in November and try to feed families off the land that hadn't been cultivated.  We were standing where someone struggled to live, and while there was lots of summer grass for the animals, winters in this country are fierce.

Dick and Jane's house in Ellensburg.  The man who lived here, with his wife, collected all sorts of materials to make his art, and evidently he was discovered and is now famous and has been shown in museums.  The whole house outside is covered with the inventions which obviously were done with a lot of humor.  Yet the art world talkes him seriously. We giggled a lot while wandering around the yard.

Many Rivers.......

Linda Lebow (sp?) a friend of Bridget and Dave's, took us on a tour of Lodi, and to a fun street fair:  music, great fruit and veggies and later Mexican food.  Robert and I biked and played at tennis in the cool of the mornings there.  Lodi is a great town, remembered in a great song.

LA to Linda's to Lodi  to get our mail to Brookings to Bend to get our computer charger found areas of beauty that we didn't know about when we used to race down the coast to visit friends and family.  From Brookings to Bend was through Six Rivers Park, from fog to heat , from grey to teal green pools in the rivers as well as white rapids.  We wanted to jump in, but Margie and the Deschutes River  was waiting .  Cousin Margie is the daughter of my Aunt Dorothy who with Uncle Lewis, walked down the aisle with us when Robert and I got married.  Aunt Dorothy is the sister to my father.  Margie investigated the Hamerquists, McBeans and a few others who are part of who we are - and wrote about it so vividly that I got to know my ancestors, while crying and laughing through it all.  What a gift to find parts of the past that had been missing.  From Bend to Yakima, over the Columbia and along the Yakima River was another gift of beauty - green against the gold of the hills around Yakima.  And being with Marilyn, and the memories we share about Hawaii.  Yakima is truly a garden area with fruit stands just about in every neighborhood, wineries ( 680 wineries in Washington, oh my) and hop fields alongside expaliered apple trees.  Now that is different.

A pool on the Smith River - signs say that there is river access, but those Oregonians have to climb down through all sorts of shrubbery or drive on rocks to get to the swimming holes.  Five miles in from the coast, it is hot enough to attract a lot of people.

The newcomer in Brookings, named Susan, who was fascinated with Koa's tail.  At one point, Koa dragged her across the living room, with the white critter hanging on for dear life.  Koa loves cats and most dogs, but he seemed mostly mortified by the tail drag.

The Smith River - we have a favorite camp site along the river that we stumbled on in the year of family drama:  peaceful, wonderful and out of the fog.  We camp the van in a rock meadow alongside some alders and look across the river to a hill covered in evergreens.  We are a long way from PV.

Cousin Margie and Robert and Koa - Margie walks miles every day and we were puffing in the heat.  The mountains are very close and still covered with snow.  Bend is a very pretty town with the mountain backdrop, but as Margie said, without water, it would be desert.  Pines and firs are all over to cool the town.,