August 17, 2023- There were two shades of light, on two large rocks which are within a mile of one another, on Sedona’s southeast corner, near the Village of Oak Creek. Bell Rock and Courthouse Butte are close in proximity, yet cast different vibrations: Bell has a spiritual air, almost like it invites reverence. Courthouse, true to its name, is imposing, authoritative.
Bell RockCourthouse Butte, in background
As you might guess from the above, today was a day for my hiking buddy and me to head to Sedona. The focus was primarily on getting different perspectives on Bell Rock, and we did that, by walking along the western side of the iconic sandstone formation. Light matters, throughout the Southwest.
Bell Rock, from the northand from the west.at the lower leveland the upper level.Finally, a west view of the entire edifice.
With this turning out to be the hottest day of the week, we took our time getting back, and went on a gentler trail. Plenty of iced tea awaited, at Miley’s Cafe, in Oak Creek Village, to supplement our own plentiful supply of water. The food is also wondrous there.
Another plus is that August is shoulder season in Sedona, so the crowds, especially on weekdays, are far thinner than at other times of summer-or the rest of the year, for that matter. Monsoon rains have kicked in this week, finally, and a Pacific hurricane may well send its remnants in our direction, as well. It’s a rather good Home Base month!
August 16, 2023- As a five-time hiker of the Grand Canyon’s Bright Angel Trail, from rim to river and back, I can attest that there is no appreciation of the bottom, without the top, and vice versa.
This afternoon, I completed reading “PrairyErth”, William Least Heat Moon’s “sequel” to his account of a back roads ramble around the United States, entitled “Blue Highways”. The latter took in travels through 38 states. The former concentrated on one county, in Kansas, which was one of the ten contiguous states he didn’t visit the first time. Mr. Least Heat Moon’s style is consistent, covering all bases of an area, telling anecdotes of his encounters with Man and Nature, weaving details of history, sociology, biology and geology into each chapter-in both books. The micro reflects the macro.
The writer, named for his having been born during a New Moon, entered the words of this post’s title, in the final chapter of “PrairyErth”, in the course of describing a walk which he and a friend took, tracing as best they could the route taken by the Kansa (Kaw) people, when those who gave their name to the state were removed to Oklahoma, in 1872.
He christened the base of a small, but steep, hill in the west of Chase County, as “the bottom of the top”, and thus connected beginning with end, east with west, north with south. Stephen Covey, many years ago, did the same in his life coaching book, “The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People”: “See the end in the beginning”.
Continuity and connection have been essential in my own approach to life, for at least forty years-and probably longer, on a subliminal level. Leaving someone out, not seeing a task through to its completion or omitting a detail have been foreign to my thinking, often to an extent that has been maddening to those around me-and sometimes to me, as well. Dr. Covey’s book helped, in teaching that planning things ahead of time can help enormously, with regard to remembering details-and so I have made that second nature-at least in the past fifteen years.
The first part of anything signals the nature of the last. The bottom is essential to the top. The converse of these is also true.
August 13, 2023– The water shimmered and there were a couple of families overlooking the lake, at Site Six, where there is a replica of Split Rock Lighthouse, which commemorates the sinking of the Edmund Fitzgerald, each November 10. The vessel sank into Lake Superior, in an early gale, on that date, in 1975, and all on board drowned.
This was one of those unexpected tragedies that, in today’s world, might have generated a host of conspiracy theories, but was simply the result of a natural event that occurred out of its “usual” season. This is something to keep in mind, as the tales of state terrorism begin to find their way into the media (and they are already surfacing), with regard to Maui.
Let’s get back to reality, though. It was 109 F outside, as I took ten minutes each, at two locations along Lake Havasu’s eastern shore, to look things over, for the first time since 2011. After taking a photo of a Mexican family, at their request, I got a few shots of the lake, at Site Six. (Each of the boat launches in Lake Havasu State Park are numbered.)
Site Five, from Site Six, Lake Havasu State ParkJet skier, off Site Six, Lake Havasu State ParkView of Havasu Lake, CA, the seat of the Chemehuevi Nation.Split Rock Lighthouse replica, Site Six, Lake Havasu State Park
Having kept myself sunscreened and my head & neck covered, it was time to find a parking spot, near London Bridge, walk down to English Village and enjoy a bit of ice cream. The bridge was brought here in sections, by the founder of Lake Havasu City, Robert McCulloch, a power tool executive, between 1968 and 1971. It consists today of the original masonry of the 1830 version of London Bridge, reinforced in concrete.
View of balustrade along London Bridge, Lake Havasu CityLondon Bridge, Lake Havasu CitySouthwestern Arch, London Bridge, Lake Havasu CityBase of southwestern arch, London Bridge, Lake Havasu City
Having spent a total of fifteen minutes in the heat, divided into two segments, I finished the small salted caramel cone and headed back towards Home Base. Traffic was light, and I briefly considered stopping at Seligman, either for a short nap on the side of the road, an early light supper at Westside Lilo’s, or both. Spotting three men carrying a gas can, along the side of the offramp, I opted for neither one. One of the men went with me to a gas station, filled the can, and was transported back to the vehicle with the empty tank. I drove the rest of the way to Prescott, feeling no need for either a snooze or a meal along the way. I got both, once back in the apartment.
Lake Havasu seldom, if ever, gets unruly. Its large and beautiful counterparts in the Upper Midwest and central Canada, though, have a different story to tell.
August 10, 2023- Lahaina was a royal city. Kamehameha I established his palace there, in the 1802, seeing its value as a central location among the Hawaiian Islands. It was quieter and less subject to visits from rowdy foreigners than was Honolulu.
Lahaina was a whaling port, after the capital moved back to much larger Honolulu. It then built a fort, to protect itself from those same rowdy whalers and sailors who were nonetheless the source of its income.
Lahaina will now decide when and how to rebuild. Fire came, in the midst of Hawai’i’s Big Dry, stoked by one of the furthest traveling major hurricanes, ever: Dora,which started off the Pacific coast of Mexico, passed well south of Hawai’i- while sending gale force winds north to the islands of Hawai’i and Maui, and is now on track to brush Wake Island, albeit as a tropical storm, by the middle of next week. My concern rises for the low-lying Marshall Islands, lying as far to the south of Wake as Hawai’i lies to the north of Dora’s recent track.
Serving those who come to recreate, relax, “vacate” is often a thankless job- and one which depends, as much as any walk of life, and more than many, on the good graces of Mother Nature. It falls to the character of those being served, as to how much appreciation is shown. In times of tragedy, especially when the tourist, the traveler, the surfer, the diver, the hiker, the casual visitor are joined at the hip to those who have made their home in a place of paradise, there is an awareness of just how connected we all are-and of the fact that there is no one class that really rises above the rest, in terms of privilege and protection. Everyone’s pants go on one leg at a time.
I make my home in a salubrious place, which has seen its share of natural calamity. Prescott’s version of Front Street, Whiskey Row, has burned to the ground, twice, and came close a third time, in 2012. I watched that last one play out. We have had ravaging fires, many times, which have come close to the densely-populated areas of town. The worst, in my lifetime, was Yarnell Hill, which took the lives of 19 wildland fire fighters, just ten years ago.
Lahaina now takes its place among the paradises that have suffered Nature’s wrath: Pompeii, Krakatao, Angeles City, St. Pierre, Montserrat (where Plymouth is still off-limits), Galveston. There are places that were pounded, though not sundered: The entire Indian Ocean basin and much of its Rim, in the great tsunami of 2004; Grand Bahama, in 2019’s Hurricane Dorian, Guam, this past Spring and Haiti, more times than one can count.
Lahaina was a palace town. Lahaina was a whaling town. Lahaina was vacation land. Lahaina now lies in ashes-and has the love and support of every good-hearted soul.
July 27, 2023, Carson City- One of my favourite chain eateries, of which there are few, is Black Bear Diner, which started in the city of Mount Shasta, CA, in 1995, and has now expanded throughout the western half of the U.S.
It was at Grants Pass’s Black Bear that my day got revved up. The counter crew, like crews in most restaurants, are a well-working team. A lovely, perky young lady at the register told me it was her first day-and I noticed that the rest of the crew was solicitous and helpful towards her. She is likely to have a good run there. The food was excellent, as always.
Mount Shasta itself was prominent during the first part of my drive towards Carson City. A first time visitor to the area stopped at the western vista point, off I-5, just after I got there and asked what mountain that was. She proceeded to take several snaps of the peak, from different vantage points. I was happy taking one, from there.
About an hour later, heading towards Reno, on the Lassen Highway, I stopped at another “Vista Point”, to find that Mount Shasta was pretty much hidden from view by the tall pines. Lifting a bit of litter from the stop, because Mount Shasta is just majestic and doesn’t need our trash in view, even from thirty miles away.
Mount Shasta peeks through the pines, taken from the south.
There was no time to make a stop at Lassen peak that would have done it any justice, so I turned left towards Susanville and Reno. The damage done to the forests on Mount Lassen’s northern and western flanks, and in the mountains near Susanville, is heart-wrenching to see. Thankfully, fire has spared this area so far this year, but it’s unfortunately very early yet. In the intermediate future, one of my sojourns will entail a three-day stay in one of the cabins at Lassen Volcanic National Park.
In my heart, with Prescott my primary Home Base, there are several others-Carson City chief among them, that very much feel like home. That’s as it should be. I settled into the small America’s Best Value here, and spent about two hours visiting with Michele, very much like a sister, at Betsy’s Big Kitchen, a rather nice in-casino establishment, serving sizable portions of fine comfort food.
My main reason for being here will happen tomorrow, as a Munchkin takes the stage.
I was told, some time ago, that the homeless community along Washington State’s southern tier had been removed, by sending the lot across the Columbia River, to Portland. Being skeptical that this is even something that could be pulled off, without a whimper from a city that was already choking with a large unhoused community in its downtown and other neighbourhoods, the last time I visited (2015), I went to Vancouver (WA) this morning, after checking out of the motel in Kelso.
Vancouver, not to be confused with the much-larger city in British Columbia, has a lovely park along the Columbia River, and pleasant, clean downtown and uptown sections. It also has the manicured Fort Vancouver, a well-maintained National Park site, whose historic homes are leased to residents and businesses. Living wherever they can put up tents, usually in nooks and crannies along the Columbia, are the remnants of the unhoused community, admittedly smaller than those of Portland, Seattle or Tacoma, but in Vancouver, nonetheless. Denial of a problem will never make it go away. Whoever passed that information along to people down at my Home Base, in Prescott had probably not been to Vancouver.
I took a walking loop to the banks of the Columbia, then around to Esther Short Park, after first enjoying a vanilla latte at Brewed, a small, but efficient coffee shop, combined with a bar and small bakery, on Main Street. Not far from Brewed, there is a parking lot with murals on two of the walls.
The Skagit, Yamhill, and other nations, have not lost their dignity.Nor, for that matter, have the Hispanics who come here for agricultural work.The African-American community here seems small, but holds its own.Columbia River, at I-5 Bridge, Vancouver. “Boat of Discovery”, commemorating the visit here, by Captain George Vancouver’s fleet.A long wall emanates from this plaza, honouring veterans of all “foreign” conflicts, from the War of 1812 to Iraq and Afghanistan.Clock Tower, Esther Short Park. The park was being readied for a special event, when I happened by.
Having a couple of errands to do, across the river, I gave myself an hour to explore Fort Vancouver. The post was established to safeguard U.S. control of the mouth of the Columbia River-with .British, Russian and Spanish claims not fully resolved.
Here is the flag staff, in the midst of the parade ground. This was a serious parade ground!Grant House, intended for use by Ulysses S. Grant, when he was stationed here, in the 1850s. He never lived in this mansion, on Officers’ Row.Here is a view of the Enlisted Barracks, south of the Parade Grounds.These cannons were replicated, from descriptions of the originals, by local high school students, from 1990-92. They are owned by the City of Vancouver, which supplied the materials.This was the residence of General O.O. Howard, the post commander from 1874-80.The Artillery Barracks-It struck me that this could house a lot of people.Non-commissioned Officer’s HousingMarshall House, home to General George C. Marshall, during his duty here, prior to World War II.This pavilion honours the Chinese diaspora to Oregon and Washington. Chinese immigrants faced horrific treatment in the Pacific Northwest, during the late Nineteenth, and much of the Twentieth, Centuries.
After leaving Vancouver, I made my way across the bridge to Portland, getting my Pastini fix, with a late lunch at the Italian food chain’s Northeast Portland branch. Then, it was time to locate and purchase a new adapter, to house my photo SIM card and post these and other scenes. It took me all over North Portland. At one point, I stopped in front of a crosswalk, so that a young lady could cross. One would have thought I had held up the President, for the insistent beeping from behind me. The lady shot a dignified, but definitely disapproving, glance at the impatient motorist and gave me a gentle smile.
The shop I eventually found was a Best Buy, on the far northeast side. Its location afforded a fairly lightly-trafficked way out of Portland, so I missed all but a small amount of rush hour. Still ahead, however, was the large influx of participants, family members and spectators at the Junior Olympics, which I learned was being held in Eugene, Springfield, Albany, Corvallis and Roseburg. All of those cities’ accommodations were either occupied or were priced exorbitantly by the Law of Supply and Demand. After gassing up in Eugene, I made my way down to Grants Pass, and got a reasonably-priced overflow room. My last thoughts of the day, though, are wishes for the kids to be successful at their sport-and more importantly, to have a good experience.
July 25, 2023, Kelso, WA- The two Border Patrol agents saw the large amount of stuff in Sportage’s back area, naturally wanted to have a closer look. They found nothing in the cooler, but a freezer bar that is badly in need of refreezing. They found nothing of interest among the camping equipment, but my personal digital scale, which I have wrapped in a Red Cross blanket. “How does one use a bath scale in the woods?”, asked the senior agent. “One doesn’t”, I replied. “It’s for use when I am in a room with tile or wooden floors”.
That satisfied them, and I was kindheartedly welcomed back, as they chuckled and shook their heads. Shakespeare said it best: “A bit of nonsense now and then is relished by the best of men.” I continued on my way, to the town of Blaine and Peace Arch State Park.
Pine grove, Peace Arch State Park, Blaine, WAThe border meets the sea, Peace Arch State ParkRiot of colours, Peace Arch State ParkApropos of our time, here is a description of the great Paul Robeson’s calling out to the world, from a flatbed truck, at this very park, in the 1950s.Peace Arch, from south side (Blaine).Peace Arch, from north side (White Rock)Totem Pole raised to correct historic wrongs, Peace Arch Provincial Park, White RockMaple Leaf Garden, White Rock, BCPeace Arch Park is one of the only places to go between the U.S. and Canada, without showing documents. The authorities are close by, though.A bit of humour, at Railway Cafe, Blaine
Once I had visited both sides of the Peace Arch complex, it was time for lunch. Railway Cafe is a tiny boxcar that has converted to a cozy, friendly restaurant. Whilst waiting for a made-from-scratch BLT, I took in the homespun humour, such as that above-and below.
This speaks for itself.Railway Cafe’s ExteriorAcross Blaine Inlet, a view of Point Roberts, part of the U.S. but only accessible by road through White Rock, BC. Otherwise, folks go back and forth to Blaine, by boat.
From Blaine, I drove on to Everett, a major U.S. The city is also a commercial port, which at one time was headquarters for Weyerhauser Corporation’s Northwest timberworks. Shingles were made here, en masse, and there is acknowledgement, in the city’s Boxcar Park, of the risks taken by shingle makers-operating sawing equipment, at a very fast pace. Fingers and hands were lost, more often than one might care to think.
Appreciating the risks taken by those who provide building materials.
Weyerhauser House is now a coffee shop and meeting place, close to the waterfront.
Weyerhauser House, Boxcar Park, Everett, WAEverett HarborThe Heart of Everett
Once rejuvenated by a macchiato, from The Muse, in the above mentioned house, I took on Seattle’s, and Tacoma’s, rush hours, calmly navigating down to Kelso, on the Cowlitz River. It’s very peaceful here.
July 24, 2023, Surrey, BC- Rain came to Vancouver Island, as promised, early this morning, and stayed the day. The precipitation was mostly gentle, but after checking out of Painted Turtle, I opted to spend much of the day in the Public Library. There were also forays into nearby coffee shops. The first was to Serious Coffee-where a barista at first greeted me cheerfully, later showing a rather serious face, after another patron made a snide comment to her, while himself wearing a sly grin. I thought to myself, while scowling at him, that there is no call for lording it over another person, especially when they are trying to work. The people I have observed here, young and elder alike, do work hard-and deserve appreciation.
After 4 p.m., the rain tapered off, affording me a chance to visit Petroglyph Provincial Park and Bowen Park, both south of town.
An elk, fleeing a hunterA flounder, or a crab?A seal looks up.A bear, enjoying its killTwo wolves, on the attack.Western White Pines, Bowen ParkNanaimo River, Bowen ParkStairstep Falls, Bowen Park
A perfectly prepared and portioned chicken cutlet with chow mein awaited me, at Sun’s Noodle Bar, virtually across the highway from the turn-off to Duke Point. The congenial server made all of the patrons feel like guests in her own parlor. Thus did my visit to the island draw to a close.
Leaving Duke Point, south of Nanaimo Dyke Point, up close
The ferry, as it happened, was late leaving Tsawwassen, and so was also late leaving Duke Point. We got back to Tsawwassen around 11:10 p.m., and I arrived at Sun Suite, here in Surrey, around midnight, initially somewhat to the consternation of my Korean host-who reminded himself that I was, after all, not piloting the ship and that I had made good time, once off the vessel and driving around a strange city in the dark and rain.
Sun Suite is a very fine place, in which to rest from three frenetic days, with more to come.
July 23, 2023, Nanaimo- It was a cheerful face and voice that greeted me, as I rounded the corner for a second time, whilst looking for the driveway to a friend’s home, on the east side of Victoria. Debra, and one of her neighbours, saw to my parking Sportage and entering her humble abode.
For the second straight visit to a long-time friend, (the other being a few days ago, in Ashland), I was told I am the first out-of-towner to visit since COVID. It is an honour to be so designated. Debra and I spoke at length about her family, and mine; about the joy and challenge of being Baha’i in a distracted world and about the guidance we have each received from unseen hosts.
Debra and me at her home
One of the great joys of visiting the Pacific Northwest is to dine on wild caught salmon. So it was, that I was treated to that succulent fish, along with fresh salad and a piece of freshly baked British Columbia blueberry pie. The feast has been anticipated since 2015, when I was not able to stay on V.I. long enough to make this connection. The main reason for visiting V.I. druthis time, is a fait accompli. Debra became the first to use my Bear Drum in a chant, since it was repaired, a few weeks ago. I was thus doubly honoured.
After about three hours, I bid Debra farewell and headed back towards Painted Turtle Hostel. The appeal of Malahat Skywalk, about halfway between Victoria and Nanaimo, was irresistible. A lovely and winsome attendant greeted me and explained the process of navigating the boardwalk and spirals . I then set out, joining several families and couples, on the route, which proved quite easy. The views of eastern Van couver Island-and of the mainland Sunshine Coast, are unparalleled, on a sunny day like today.
Here are some scenes from Malahat. Presenting the Skywalk and its surrounds.
A sundered old trunk, Malahat Skywalk, Vancouver IslandWood sculpture of a cougar.Malahat Inlet, from midway up the Skywalk’s spiralsView of Vancouver’s North Shore Range, from Malahat SkywalkJet skier, in Malahat Inlet, seen form top of Malahat SkywalkMalahat Skywalk’s spirals
This auspicious day thus was a banner time, well-spent in every way.
July 19, 2023, Medford, OR- As I drove through the southern Cascades and the Siskiyou Mountains, this afternoon, I was amazed at the consistency of the heat index, regardless of altitude. It remained a constant 95-102, from Sacramento to Ashland.
Yes, choices, choices…I made this bed and am actually quite happy in it-as long as I keep hydrating, sun-screening and safari-hat wearing, all will be well. So, here is how the day went, otherwise.
Sacramento- My third visit to HI Sacramento was another round of toddlers playing in a sand box-everyone getting along, but essentially doing their own thing. It was packed, yet not once did I feel like anyone was in anyone else’s way. A Korean gentleman and I were the first ones up, so we got first dibs on the men’s showers. We were also first to breakfast. I checked out around 9:40, then went over to Old Sacramento. The place is pretty much Stock Old West, but it doesn’t feel shopworn. I walked a loop, across Tower Bridge, along West Sacramento’s River Walk, then back across the Old Bridge, north of Old Town and back along dusty Main Street.
Along the way, I met a world-weary man, sitting in the park above River Walk and gave him some encouragement, along with a dollar bill-which I don’t usually do, but he looked like he had earned at least that much. I also shooed away a too-friendly squirrel and passed a flock of Canadian geese, who were diligently cleansing the park of bugs and grubs. My reward, back in Old Sacramento, was an Arnold Palmer (lemonade and iced tea) with a fresh blueberry scone, at Steamers Coffee House, so named for the steamships which connected Sacramento with San Francisco, in the latter 19th Century.
Tower Bridge, one of two spans connecting Sacramento with West Sacramento.Sacramento Riverfront, from Tower BridgeWest Sacramento River Walk, with City Hall in backgroundThe roses of Washington Park-in West Sacramento, not in PortlandView of Tower Bridge, from Riverwalk, West Sacramento“Old” Bridge over Sacramento RiverSacramento River, from Old BridgeOld Sacramento
Sacramento to Medford- Leaving Old Town at 11:30, gassed up at Costco, in Woodland, fifteen minutes north, and drove on to Dunnigan North Rest Area, where a crew was busily raking up leaves, in anticipation of the August “fire season”-which is now a year-round event. I noticed that there were huge piles of cut dead wood, on a lot not far north of there. There seems to be a will to reduce fire risk, at long last.
The highway started to get winding, after I stopped at the California Welcome Center, in Anderson, just south of Redding. I spent several minutes talking with the attendant, and a winsome fellow visitor, about the Pacific Crest Trail, of all things. The trail is nowhere near Anderson, but we each picked up a map of the route. There were a couple of spots thereafter, where the traffic backed up, as construction is in intermittent swing, between Redding and Dunsmuir. At Lake Shasta, I stopped for a look at the water level, which seems to have dropped about five inches from last Spring’s copious rain.
Lake Shasta
Gradually cresting Siskiyou Mountain and heading downhill, I spotted a sign for Penny’s Diner, in Dunsmuir, and decided to check it out. I walked into a room devoid of humans, save a gentleman who said he was a regular customer, and who was bellowing at the kitchen workers in Spanish. I started to order a meal from the QR Code, and a server came over to hand me a paper menu. The meal was rather good, the server rather blase’ about her work. I mentioned that Penny was my late wife’s name, eliciting a blank expression. Maybe every other person who comes in has a comment about knowing someone with that name.
So here I am, in smoky Medford, thankful for a comfortable room, nonetheless.
A Sagittarian Seeker 