I had plenty of time, after my friend Janet left, to take in Doheny Beach and the south jetty of Dana Point Harbor, before my evening visit to San Clemente.
The titular line is from an old song, “Surfer Joe”, by the Surfaris: “Down in Doheny where the surfers all go / There’s a big, bleached blondie named Surfer Joe / He has a green surfboard with a woody to match.” Joe’s successors were not in Doheny in abundance on the delightful afternoon of Friday, March 21, but there were about five families, a lone kite flyer and two middle-schoolers, who appeared to be brother and sister.
As is my wont, I covered various aspects of the beach park, starting with San Juan Creek. This brackish channel is the focus of a potential desalination project- quite important in an Orange County that has faced prolonged drought.
Of course, my attention turned to the ocean, in short order.
This time around, I had my surf shoes on, so it was easy to walk about the fairly-deserted sand, and take in Doheny’s small stone jetty, and service area.
I always have an urge to see things through to the end, so I walked over to Dana Point’s stone jetty, the dividing line between the two beaches, and walked to its western terminus. Boulder scrambling is a good way to focus one’s heart and mind. Along the way, I encountered a couple of families fishing, one human, the other avian. The cormorants didn’t mind being photographed.
Here is what I found at the end of the jetty.
To and from the end, I got different views of Dana Point’s beach front.
Doheny’s “dry side’ was a place of respite for some picnicking families,
and a lone kite flyer.
There are nesting herons and egrets here, as well. The Nesting Tree, a melaleuca, is a Doheny Beach staple.
The Butterfly Garden is the icing on Doheny’s cake. It had only a few monarchs on March 21, but there were several birds’ nests in the eucalyptuses along the trail.
There is also something magical about California coastal palms, as out of place as some find them. They are a sign of “endless summer”, even when it’s a tad cool out.
Satisfied with this day at the beach, I took in a celebration of the Divine Springtime, Naw-Ruz, at San Clemente’s Baha’i Center.
The following two days would also be jam-packed, with visits to three Los Angeles County beach towns, then San Gabriel and its mission, and downtown Redlands. So, after a couple of hours with my OC Baha’i friends, I headed up a surprisingly empty I-405, to Torrance, then over to Lomita, and the comfortable little motel where I stayed on my last visit to west LA.
Each time I have visited my son in San Diego, I stop in Orange County before heading home. The beaches, missions and gardens in the home of Disneyland and Knott’s Berry Farm have given me a far greater appreciation for all that Southern California has going for it- beyond the traffic and smog, which weren’t bad this time around, and which are only the small price we pay to enjoy the O.C’s many sublime beauties.
I have been to Dana Point twice before. The town, named for Richard Henry Dana, whose statue adorns the town’s harbourside park, has a lovely promontory, to its north. I have climbed the trail to the summit of that striking overlook, and walked the harbourside path, once before, as well. This time, March 21, accompanied by my O.C. friend, Janet, I saw and heard things from a bird’s perspective, specifically that of a heron. There are two species of heron in Dana Point and neighbouring Doheny Beach. Janet and I witnessed a raucous chorale of nesting Blue Herons, as we walked along the harbourside park.
As is customary with our visits, we enjoyed lunch first- this time at Harpoon Henry’s, on the east end of the harbour area. It’s hard to not get a good seafood meal in an OC beach town, and mine was fabulous. Henry’s gave Janet a good chicken lunch as well- not every maritime-themed place does landlubber fare well, so this was a plus.
Here is a refresher of what Dana Point Harbor looks like.
Here, again, is the harbourside park.
The above photo shows a eucalyptus tree, which, along with the melaleuca (tea tree), serves as a nesting place for both the Blue Herons and their cousins, the Night Herons.
Here are some shots of blue herons and their nests. Look carefully, and you can see the heads of one or two birds in each nest.
One of our avian friends decided to go for a food run.
Meanwhile, back on the ground, a blond squirrel was competing with his grey California ground squirrel relatives, for the generosity of California park goers.
On the beach rocks, an oyster catcher was finding its prey.
After Janet left, I lingered a bit at the south edge of the park, taking in the raucous commotion of the Night Herons, whose call sounds like a cross between someone gargling and Chewbacca the Wookie, from Star Wars.
One Night Heron obliged me by sauntering in the nearby rocks.
I was fascinated for the two-and-a half hours spent watching and listening to these awesome creatures. The afternoon gave a new meaning to “Stop and smell the roses”. There were more wisteria than any other plant, but that’s another story.
The second half of my March 20 visit to San Diego’s Balboa Park was devoted entirely to nature, and Man’s interpretation of it. Space and air are meant to be explored, now that we have a handle on virtually all of our planet’s land areas. We must remember, though, that each of us remains free to explore this world, on a personal level.
I have been to Japanese-style gardens before. This was my first visit, though, to the Japanese-American Friendship Garden, a work in progress that is an outgrowth of the Sister City relationship between San Diego and Yokohama. I passed through the Ceremonial Gate, into an environment far more serene than even the relatively calm streets of Balboa Park.
Upon entering, the first sight is of San-Kei-En Entrance Stone. San-Kei-En is the name of a famous garden in Yokohama. It means “Three Scene Garden”. The three scenes are Water, Pastoral and Mountain.
The water scene is exemplified by the koi ponds, and by two tools used by rural Japanese.
The first tool I came upon was shishi-odoshi, used for scaring off deer, which come into the gardens in search of food.
The second tool is tsukubai, used by visitors to a temple to purify themselves, before entering the temple.
Koi ponds always fascinate me, and the fish in this pond were curious and friendly.
Water is the key to the serenity of any garden.
The pastoral element is furnished by the cherry and other lowland blossoms, including chrysanthemum, which gave its name to the very throne of Japan’s emperors.
The mountain scene is exemplified by bonsai, the miniature versions of pine trees, by the Exhibit House, reminiscent of a rural Japanese inn and by the stone lanterns: Oribe-doro and Light of Friendship.
Here is the Exhibit House, where Japanese ceramics and other cultural staples are on display.
Stained rocks lead one along a curved path, to the bonsai collection.
The stone lanterns are intended to light the traveler’s way, in peace and harmony.
A farewell of sorts is offered by the Light of Friendship. Then again, it also serves as a greeting, depending on which direction one follows.
As I was headed towards Florida Canyon, I saw that there is much room for expansion of this magnificent garden. I am sure to return when this area is cultivated, in the name of friendship.
Having felt the love of one of my favourite cities, it was nonetheless time to move on, and I did, to a fabulous meal and sweet live music at Carlsbad’s Mediterranean Cafe, followed by a rest at EconoLodge, my customary overnight stop in Carlsbad, unless it’s warm enough to sleep at the beach.
March 20, 2014- Once Aram and the ship had departed, I had a game plan for the rest of the day. First and foremost, I replaced the low beam headlight bulb, on the passenger’s side of my Kia. Next, was a stop at Old Town San Diego, where I hope to restock my stash of exotic jerky. It must be only a seasonal thing, as only ordinary jerky was available at the General Store. I did sit for a few minutes, though, and watch three actors in a theater troupe rehearse a scene from “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”.
This is one of my favourite whimsical plays, but after a few minutes, the troupe started discussing their craft, so I decided to head for Balboa Park. One place I had never visited there is the San Diego Air and Space Museum, which presents as complete a picture of manned flight as any place west of the Mississippi. It is one of two museums there that were initiated by the industrialist and aviator, Ruben H. Fleet, whose name adorns the Science Center nearby.
I spent about 2 1/2 hours in this unique institution, absorbing what I could of the story of one of Man’s greatest dreams come true- from the sketches of Leonardo da Vinci to the most recent G-force experiments. This museum presents the story of flight in objective fashion- including the achievements of America’s friends and enemies alike.
Among the first replicas one encounters is that of The Spirit of St. Louis, just inside the entry way.
Close by Lindbergh’s epic plane is a replica of an Apollo spacecraft.
There is, as the sign suggests, a display called Ripley’s Believe It or Not, but it was enough for me to take in the main exhibits.
The combat exhibits are comprehensive, with Messerschmitts and Zeros taking their places alongside Allied warplanes. One of the first exhibits tells the story of General Claire Chennault’s Flying Tigers, who impeded the Japanese occupation of south China and Burma, probably shortening World War II.
Yet, World War I, and the exploits of all concerned, were fully covered as well. Here is a shot of the first synchronized gear mechanism on a fighter plane.
Here is a replica of Manfred von Richtofen’s Red Fokker Dr. 1 Triplane.
A Sopwith Camel is shown in the same area of the facility.
In the Forties section are a Piper Cub
and a Messerschmitt Bf 109G-14
In the Edwin D. McKellar Pavilion of Flight,
a full range of air and space craft is shown.
Just before I exited, a father and son were inside a Zero Gravity simulation machine, experiencing astronaut life, in a safe manner.
There is no doubt in my mind that this amazing collection will continue to grow, as our treasury of air and space craft continues to evolve.
After taking in this dizzying collection of vehicles, I was ready for some peace and calm, so the Japanese-American Friendship Garden beckoned.
A week ago, on March 20, my only child set out on his longest and most challenging rite of passage. I can’t tell anyone where his ship is headed, or how long the vessel and crew will be in any one place. I only know that they are in good hands: One another’s, and the Creator’s.
I set out for San Diego, on the evening of March 18, having just had the bounty of a Baha’i study circle on working with adolescents. Young sailors aren’t middle-schoolers, though, like any other group of unattached people who are looking for answers, they do have their moments. I got as far as the small Colorado Desert city of Blythe, just over the river from Arizona, on that still, starry night. Relax Inn is a spare, but comfortable place, staffed by a shy Tamil man from south India and his exuberant, chatty wife, who seems to be more likely from the north of the subcontinent.
Blythe has a few more decent eateries than one might expect. Steaks and Cakes is near the motel, and serves up modest, but well-prepared breakfast fare. The waitresses are all lovely, which speaks well of the clean desert air.
I rolled into San Diego about 11:30 on March 19. As I was traveling longer that day, the Baha’i Fast, just about finished anyway, was suspended for me. So, I met Aram and a couple of his crewmates at his apartment, set my bag down by the couch where I would sleep that night, and three of us went over to Sushiya, in the Point Loma area. This was my third time there, and the same young lady who served us the last time was our waitress again. She was in a much better mood than last Easter, so the meal was likewise more pleasant.
Being the day before departure, the guys mostly wanted to kick back. We went over to the Nex (Navy Exchange) and everyone ,including me, picked up last-minute necessities. Mine was an eight-pack of shaving cartridges. The sailors stocked up on necessaries that would be more expensive in the ports to which they are headed first. We then had supper in the Nex Food Court.
Sleep came early, and so did the morning rise-and-shine of Departure Day. I drove the three sailors to their dock area, parked and joined everyone onboard ship, for a few hours. At 8 AM sharp, family and friends bid farewell to their men and women in uniform, and we stood vigil for about an hour, dockside, until the access ramps, guy ropes and tethers were lifted, the Base Commander and his entourage left ship and the vessel set sail- for Coronado, where there would be more prep for the long journey. From there, it was for the captain and crew to know, and for us to find out later, as to where they were headed.
Here is the view of San Diego, from Aram’s apartment (9th floor).
It’s a bit fuzzier at night.
Still, not much fazes my boy.
Here is the ship, as it was getting underway.
Then, it was off, across the Bay.
A journey of many thousands of miles had begun, with a single push. No parent has ever been prouder, and I know his mother is watching and helping.
From March 13-18, my world was all about moving out of my in-laws’ former house and into my one-bedroom apartment. It’s closer to downtown Prescott, which suits me awesomely. At 63, it’s way past time for me to be on my own, and live accordingly. The folks are safely in an Assisted Living quarters of their own, and don’t need the weight of property ownership.
Anyway, here is a day-by-day recap of the proceedings:
March 13- The focus today was on furniture. With help from one friend, I got the big stuff across town, in 5 trips. The biggest deal was getting the sofa part of the rollaway bed into my new living room. It helped to take the feet off the sofa and the front door off its hinges. All went back on very nicely, though. I was fortunate to have energy for two evening meetings.
March 14- I was focused on getting most of the remaining items out, and needed help from two other friends, to make it happen. At the end of the day, my new place was piled high with stuff, about 20 % of which found its way to Steppingstones and the DAV Thrift store. Big furniture items went to Habitat for Humanity, and the new owners of the house bought other items. After a rejuvenating fish fry and salad/soup bar dinner, I was able to put all of my clothes away properly.
March 15- This was a hiatus. I spent the day, with a friend and mentor, attending a gathering in Phoenix, for purveyors of Essential Oils. If you need certified organic natural oils and products made with them, this is the place to go. I can get anyone who wants these items, pointed in the right direction. Anyway, it was a diversion, and time well spent, except for a poorly-served meal at Steve’s Greenhouse Grill, where the server threw some forks into a utensil vase at our table and sullenly tossed extra napkins on the table. Seriously, it’s not even hot yet.
March 16- Back to business, I got the cleaning done in the house, and all remaining items out of the house proper, or so I thought. The afternoon was focused on two previously-scheduled meetings, one for the American Legion and another for a wellness presentation. Good thing I attended the latter, as a feisty and well-read man who attended was grateful for my presence. The cleaning at the old house resumed at 6 PM, and I carried on until 11 PM.
March 17- I moved the rest of my stuff out of the garage, tidied it up, filled the nail and tack holes in the walls,pulled the weeds in the back yard and made several trips to the thrift store drop-offs. I was feeling a sense of accomplishment at dropping off the keys to the old house, at the Realty office.
March 18- The carpet cleaner came and spent several hours making the old look like new. It was the most expensive part of the move, but the place finally looked presentable, in toto. I also took two cabinets worth of kitchen items, which I had overlooked, to the thrift store. NOW, everything was done! I have downsized, and will live more simply, at least when I’m in Prescott.
March 6- saw me abruptly pause in my preparations for this local act of closure- my move out of the family’s last property in Prescott, to a more centrally-located apartment. More on that later. I drove to Phoenix, parked my vehicle in the airport economy lot, and caught a shuttle, Light Rail train and a local bus to the U-Haul lot on 19th and Hatcher. There, I placed my weekend bag and a parcel containing Blue Agave in the cab of the truck I had rented, and headed over to the home where the rest of my cargo awaited.
I knew Beverly for 32 years. As a friend of both Penny and me, she had encouraged us both in our spiritual quest and kept us in a practical mode, as best she knew how. When she passed on, last year, I set my heart on doing whatever was needed for her family to get closure, whenever they were ready. That time came two weeks ago.
I picked up a couch, with a rollaway bed, an English garden bench and some cushions, at Beverly’s grandchild’s house, after a few rounds in the dark, in the ‘burbs of north Glendale, AZ. Dinner came a bit later, at the Chili’s on Carefree Highway. I was burned-out, after a day of traveling while fasting- so burned-out that the waitresses probably were glad to see my backside head out the door. There were two of them: One very gracious, the other, rather brusque and inattentive. The meal was good, though, and I felt rejuvenated afterward, so I made it to Winslow, and the Delta Motel, around 11:30 PM.
March 7- I had a small, but satisfying breakfast at the Delta, after a beautiful sleep in the Arizona Room. Last time I visited Winslow, in July, 2012, I experienced the Delta’s Elvis Room. There were no AZ musicians, like Marty Robbins, Stevie Nicks or Michelle Branch, to be seen in the room where I stayed last night. It was cacti, Gila monsters and the Grand Canyon which were celebrated.
Heading east, I was back in territory very familiar to me: Dinetah, the land of the Navajo. The people of Manuelito, the first community off I-40 in New Mexico’s western edge, have a fine Visitor’s Center under their belt now.
This is a fine testament to the gorgeous Red Rock country, on either side of Gallup, a vastly underrated gateway to the Land of Enchantment. I have many friends in this area. All of them were busy Friday morning, but then again, so was I; miles to go, before I would sleep.
Here’s another view of the area around Manuelito, which is named for one of the Navajos’ more robust chiefs, during the 19th Century.
Tooling along, past Bluewater Lake, Continental Divide, Grants (with its awesome lava beds), otherwordly Acoma and Laguna, and on to Albuquerque, the memories came flooding back. Each of these will be the subject of a visit and a post, or three, in the next couple of years. Yet, even Albuquerque, the magical Duke City, could not slow me down. Gas and a snack at Bernalillo, ten miles north, on I-25, was my pit stop. Yes, I had lunch today- Baha’is are not required to fast while traveling more than 8 hours.
At this rest stop, outside Santa Fe, three wise women are celebrated. I offer this testimony to two of them here. All are, of course, in my Flickr pages.
The other aspect of this rest stop, though, showed me what I was to face, in the hours ahead. In Santa Fe, it was raining. The Spanish Peaks of Colorado, though, would serve up snow- and and lots of it.
I stopped in Walsenburg, CO, and had a lovely visit with some relatives of one of my Prescott neighbours, whilst dropping off the Blue Agave, safe and sound. After a nice cup of hot green tea and some cookies, I gassed up and headed into the Colorado greeting. Snow started in earnest, just three miles north of Walsenburg.
About ten of us snaked through the steadily deepening snow, until we reached the first motel available- a Days Inn, in Colorado City, twenty-eight miles south of Pueblo. We were all graciously received by both the hotelier, Bob Patel, and the proprietors of Los Cuervos Mexican Grill, across the snow-packed road, which was fun for me to cross, feeling like a kid again. Los Cuervos provided a roaring fireplace, which added awesomely to the mood- as did the many convivial patrons. We had all survived the ten miles in one hour pace. Sleep, needless to say, came easy tonight- for me, for the forty others who joined me in leaving the road, and for the menagerie of six dogs, two cats and four birds, who were welcomed by the Patels.
March 8- I love my family, both the biological members and the members in faith. It was an easy ride to Westminster, CO on this clearing and warm Saturday. Of course, Colorado being what it is, there were snowscapes aplenty in Colorado City.
From Pueblo on north, though, the snow was visible only from a distance. This suited me fine. I greeted K and E, my hosts for the weekend, dropped off my bag at their condo and the furniture at K’s office, turned in the U-Haul at a facility on the edge of Northglenn, where my Colorado family members live, and turned my attention to matters of Faith.
Here is Northglenn Senior Center, where the local Baha’is hosted a superb potluck supper, attended by many local friends, to break the Fast this evening.
The facility has a few items of sculpture, and the park across the street features a Peace Pole, made of wood and inscribed in several languages, with a Braille inscription as well.
The resident Canadian geese survived being harassed by an adolescent girl and her siblings, and resumed their own peaceful gathering on the park’s pond.
Back in the hall, we ate splendidly and enjoyed real camaraderie.
The joy would be repeated the next morning, just before sunrise, at a Village Inn on the other side of Westminster.
March 9- No trip to Colorado is complete without a visit to my in-laws, the Kosaks. We had a delightful get-together, of course shopping at their favourite WalMart, then catching up on the six months since my last visit. Dinner was delectable, as always- this time with lean pork chops and kale salad. After a few hours of British TV mysteries, I headed back to K & E’s, and turned in early.
March 10- Daylight Savings Time had arrived yesterday, so my wake-up time of 2 AM was actually 1 AM to my body. Arizona does not, outside of the Navajo Nation, observe the Spring Forward. I made it to the airport, thanks to Denver’s marvelous transport system, and by 6:15, Arizona Standard Time (Pacific Daylight, to most people), I was back in Phoenix. At 7 AM, I wandered into Park Central Deli and had a bracing, hot breakfast burrito, with fine chorizo. After a short nap at Sunset Point Rest Area, en route, I made it safely home. The task had been completed, with much help from my spirit friends and family.
All my life, I’ve been a nomad of sorts. I have preferred walking to just about any form of transport. Nothing wrong with bikes, cars and planes, mind you, but I’ve never been in much of an all-fire hurry, and prefer intimacy to the furtive glance.
I’ve had to wait on this, as my laptop needed a new hard drive and I still, after getting it back yesterday, had to research how to remove pesky virus-mongers, like Conduit, from my Google page. SUCCESS! I just went into the settings on Google and removed each specific page by clicking an X.
Now, back to the concept of trailheads and paths. Every endeavour we embrace involves a path, of one kind or another. Our mental processes, our prayers, all our work and leisure- entail planning and effort, the stuff of any journey.
So, as I have to make this entry brief, embarking shortly for Phoenix, picking up a U-Haul, loading some furniture, and heading for the Denver area, I will make one promise: All my journeys henceforth will be shared under this title, with some throwbacks to sojourns gone by, every now and then.
I again parked at Spring Valley’s Antelope Creek Road lot, and headed south, along the Drinking Snake segment of the Black Canyon, a distance of 4.2 miles one way. Here’s the north trailhead of Drinking Snake.
The trail is a bit more rugged than the Big Bug, at the outset. There is more volcanic debris in this area.
The views are just as sweeping here, as they are further north.
The hearts were both mineral and vegetable.
I arrived at an abandoned corral, water tank and windmill, near Dripping Spring, after an hour’s walk.
The canyon called Dripping Spring is the north end of a longer system that runs along to Crown King Road, another 1.7 miles to the south.
The hike from here is an easy rim walk, past a cow or two. The view, though, is exhilarating.
Next on this trail system is the Antelope Creek segment.
After making the hike back to Spring Valley, I stopped briefly at Cordes, the northernmost of four “ghost’ towns between Prescott and Black Canyon City. It was Sunday evening, so the place was closed.
My life will be topsy-turvy, in a good way, for the next five weeks, so while hiking will take a backseat to some other activities, I’m a happy blogger.
I spent the first two thirds of today as planned, attending a Civics Speech contest for high school students in the morning and a memorial service for a neighbour, in the afternoon. These were punctuated by a conversation with the real estate agent who is handling the sale of the house in which I am living at present.
I was asked how much time I’d need to move. Truth is, I don’t need much. I moved a much larger household, in less than a week, in July, 2011. Niceties, though, entail a decision by the property owners and my securing a residence. The former is not my call. The latter will involve what I hope will be a brief search. Considering the warp speed with which this process is moving, I trust I will land nicely on my feet.
As I approach the third anniversary of Penny’s passing, I feel a pullback from some of her family members. Hopefully, this is not due to my moving out of what has been family property. My in-laws have treated me like royalty for 33 years, and I quite honestly just want to help simplify their lives.
I also feel a pullback from some of my friends here in Prescott. This was bound to happen, but while I am in the hands of a loving universe, with regards to where I live next, I prefer to stay in this area for at least two or three more years. So, on Monday, besides doing a couple of service projects, I will go by the first place I have in mind for my next residence, and see what’s available.
I am familiar with this catapult. I’ve held onto it before, and been flung quite a few interesting places.
