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Archive for the ‘Journeys’ Category

In Africa, or Kansas, Life Can Be Unfair

Posted in Journeys, Nature, Travel, tagged , , , on June 6, 2011| 2 Comments »

 “The longer I live, the more I realize the impact of attitude on life … We cannot change the inevitable. The only thing we can do is play on the string we have, and that is our attitude. I am convinced that life is 10 percent what happens to me and 90 percent of how I react to it.” – Charles R. Swindoll.

Life is good for this impala as long as he escapes being eaten. -- Photo by Pat Bean

Journeys

Life is full of pitfalls, and life is not fair.

I think I always knew about the booby traps, but my Pollyanna-brain took much longer to absorb the unfairness.

While I still believe that working hard is the way to fulfill one’s dreams, I now have learned to accept that we can’t always make our dreams come true – or always win an unfair lawsuit filed against us.

Life throws wicked curve balls at all of us.

Perhaps, after saving up for years to buy the home of one’s dreams, the spectacular lake view is obscured when a two-story residential development moves in next door.

Or a beloved child is killed in a car accident by a drunk driver. Or one’s career as a dancer is ended by a serious injury.

This lion has no fear of the impala he wants for dinner, but somewhere another male lion might be wanting to take him on. -- Photo by Pat Bean

Or, as has become common these days, one loses their job and can’t find another that pays half as well.

Rare, if not non-existent, is the person who’s made it to my old-broad age who hasn’t suffered some tragedy in their lives.

The wise among us grieve, and then move on the best we can.

My 2007 African safari reinforced this hard rule imposed on all by Mother Nature.

Life is not fair, but it still can be good

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A Great Lake That Time and Nature Vanquished

Posted in Journeys, Lakes, Nature, Travel, tagged , , , , , , , , , on May 29, 2011| 1 Comment »

 “I would feel more optimistic about a bright future for man if he spent less time proving that he can outwit Nature and more time tasting her sweetness and respecting her seniority.” E. B, White

Thirty-thousand years ago, only the very tallest peak of Antelope Island, which now sits in Great Salt Lake, would have been visible when Lake Bonneville covered nearly all of Northern Utah. -- Photo by Pat Bean

Travels With Maggie

My laptop computer finally began misbehaving too badly to ignore any longer. Since it’s my lifeline to the world as a full-time RV-er and daily blogger, and because it had given me four years of decent service, I decided it was time to retire it.

Since I’m rather in the boonies here at Idaho’s Lake Walcott State Park, 45 miles away from the closest Best Buy, I decided to drive 160 miles instead to Ogden, Utah, where I had a geeky-in-a-good-way friend whom could help me set up a new computer.

The historical marker at an Idaho rest stop that got me pondering the ever-changing face of the planet we live on.

It was a beautiful drive, sunny albeit a bit windy, mostly through land that 30,000 years ago lay beneath Lake Bonneville. A large historical marker at a rest stop just north of the Utah border tells travelers all about the prehistoric lake, whose shorelines are still in evidence along Interstate 84 which I was driving on this day.

The majority of the 1,000-foot-deep prehistoric lake was in Utah and its two distinct levels were clearly visible from my front porch when I formerly lived in Ogden. I can’t help but notice the ancient shorelines – there’s two distinct levels – every time I return to this city I loved.

The lake took up a huge portion of Utah and smaller bits of Nevada and Idaho until it broke though Idaho’s Red Rock Pass east of 84 about 15,000 years ago.

Great Salt Lake is all that’s left of Lake Bonneville today. It’s average depth is only about 25 feet.

Because I had stopped at the rest stop and seen the sign, I pondered as I drove, about how Mother Nature, with her floods, tornadoes, tsunamis, earthquakes, and water and wind erosion is constantly changing the nature of this planet we live on.

I had long ago given up believing I was ever fully in control of my life, and now felt sorry for all those who hadn’t yet reached that conclusion. All we can do is take life a day at a time.

This day was a good one. I even got into Ogden in time to purchase my new computer. It’s a beauty, with more bells and whistles than I will probably ever use. But, everything didn’t go as planned.

Murphy showed up just to show me he could. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.

.

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A Long Drive With a Welcoming Friend at the End

Posted in Journeys, Nature, Travel, tagged , , , , , , , , , on May 20, 2011| 4 Comments »

Checkerboard Mesa

Checkerboard Mesa

 “A journey is best measured in friends rather than miles.” — Tim Cahil

*Travels With Maggie

The fastest, shortest way to Ogden, Utah, from the Watchman Campground in Zion National Park is to head west to hook up with Interstate 15.

The longer, more scenic route with minimal truck traffic is to head east from the campground on Highway 9 and then take Highway 89 north as far as possible – which is of course the one I took.

"...at the lemonade springs, where the bluebird sings, oh the Big Rock Candy Mountain." Not just a song, but a place. Highway 89 passes right by it at Marysville. -- Photo by Pat Bean

This choice required me to backtrack up twisting hairpins to the mile-long mountain tunnel and then to retrace my route of a week ago through the park’s fantastic scenery, like Checkerboard Mesa. Unless I’ve been extremely pressed for time, its always the route I’ve taken between Zion and Ogden, where I lived from for over 20 years.

I had 360 miles ahead of me, the longest day’s driving since I started this journey. But my week in Zion had left me well-rested, and I wouldn’t be stopping to do any sight-seeing this day on this very familiar route.

Instead I would satisfy myself with simply seeing the world around me from behind my RV, Gypsy Lee’s, steering wheel. As I watched the familiar sights, and of course the birds along the way, Maggie snoozed beside me.

In the shadow of the Wasatch Mountains, I always feel at home. This is the view from my friend, Kim's, backyard. -- Photo by Pat Bean

As usual when driving, I don’t listen to music instead choosing to let the symphony in my mind entertain me. It was quite pleasant communing with my little gray cells until Spanish Fork, where Highway 89 meets up with Interstate 15 for the last 90 miles of my journey.

My timing at this point was as bad as it gets – Friday during rush hour when everyone wants to get home or away for the weekend.

Although Interstate 15 had been widened to eight lanes in many places, it still didn’t seem enough to handle all the vehicles on the road. While I was ready for my journey to include people again, I wasn’t ready for this fallout that came with it.

Maggie awoke when I finally turned off the interstate, and begin getting excited. It’s what she always does when Gypsy Lee gets close to familiar places. And when I finally pulled into the driveway of my and Maggie’s friend, Kim, we both felt we were temporarily home.

Maggie renewed her acquaintance with Neo, Kim’s dog that is six times as big as Maggie but whom she thinks she has to boss around. I, meanwhile, got caught up on all the latest news from Kim, who eased my long day’s drive with fried chicken and a Jack and Coke.

Everyone should have such a thoughtful friend.

*Day 18 of my journey, May 6, 2011.

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Zion’s Emerald Pools Ensnare My Soul, But Not My Feet

Posted in Favorite Hikes, Journeys, Nature, Travel, tagged , , , , , on May 19, 2011| 3 Comments »

“Travel does what good novelists also do to the life of everyday, placing it like a picture in a frame or a gem in its setting, so that the intrinsic qualities are made more clear. Travel does this with the very stuff that everyday life is made of, giving to it the sharp contour and meaning of art.” Freya Stark

The trail to the waterfalls begins by walking across a bridge spanning the Virgin River. -- Photo by Pat Bean

*Travels With Maggie

Today was my last day in Zion before moving on.

I spent part of it by riding the shuttle bus and simply enjoying the sights up Zion Canyon and then hiking the trail to lower and middle Emerald Pools, a 2-mile round trip with only a 150 foot gain in elevation.

The upper pool would have added an extra mile to my hike plus a couple more hundred feet in elevation gain. My body, still stiff from its lazy Texas winter, balked at the extra strain and I let it have its way.

I hadn’t walked the Emerald Pools trail in at least 10 years, and today it seemed like I had more company hiking with me than every before. It’s a colorful mountain-side, easy walk that runs past tiny running streams, dainty displays of wildflowers and musical waterfalls.

The path begins gently, and offers awesome views in every direction. -- Photo by Pat Bean

While I longed to have the path’s peaceful serenity to myself, I also rejoiced that so many others were getting a taste of Mother Nature’s wonders, too.

As I came back down the trail, I was saddened thinking about leaving this beautiful place in the morning. It’s been the same sadness I’ve felt on leaving all the awesome places I’ve been blessed and privileged to visit during the seven years my dog, Maggie, and I have been full-time RV-ers.

I grew up as a big-city girl who never got farther than 50 miles away from home until I was 14, when I took a trip from Dallas to California’s Sequoia National Park as babysitter for my aunt and uncle’s 2-year-old daughter.

That 1950’s summer vacation, with my uncle speeding across Route 66 way above the speed limit, changed me forever. It was my first glimpse of mountains and my first true brush with Mother Nature. I slept in a tent with cousins my age and learned the next morning that a bear had roamed through the campground.

I wasn’t the least bit frightened, just upset that I hadn’t seen it.

I have better sense these days than to want a bear strolling past where I’m

The end reward is the sight and sound of water falling down from the mountain. -- Photo by Pat Bean

sleeping, but I still have the desire to see one – and ever other wild creature, and every mountain, and every lake, and every redwood, and well, I guess you could say I simply want it all.

And while I would drive away from Zion in the morning sad at leaving this special place behind, I would also be eager for what the day’s journey would bring. While I know I can’t have it all, I’m going to insert as much of this country’s beauty into my soul as time will allow me.

One day I will have to allow roots to grow from my feet, but it won’t be this day, and hopefully not the next day, or the next, or the next …

*Day 17 of my journey … May 5, 2011

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Zion National Park: A Bad Time Creates Good Memories

Posted in Favorite Hikes, Journeys, Nature, Travel, tagged , , , , , , , on May 15, 2011| 7 Comments »

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair… “ Charles Dickens, “A Tale of Two Cities”

The Virgin River was running fast and muddy during my visit this year to Zion. -- Photo by Pat Bean

*Journeys

Waking up nestled in the shadow of Zion National Park’s sandstone cliffs in the Watchman Campground this morning felt like being at home.

As I watched, through the window of my heated RV,  the rising sun coming up over one set of high cliffs to dance down the cliffs on the other side, I thought of the many other mornings here that hadn’t been quite so comfortable.

The first one that popped into my was the cold morning I melted a pair of tennis shoes — while wearing them – because of putting my feet too close to a blazing campfire while watching the rising sun in eager anticipation of it finally hitting out tent site.

Then there were other mornings when shorts were the order of the day before the sun had risen that high. Zion weather in April and early May is a crap shoot.

But of all my visits to Zion, the most memorable is the one my family refers to as the “Camping Trip from Hell.”

It was 1995, and family members were coming to Zion from Texas, Utah, Illinois and California to join me for my annual April birthday climb of Angel’s Landing. We were all on the road when a landscape up Zion Canyon blocked the Virgin River, which then backed up creating a lake before it finally broke through taking a section of the Zion Canyon road with it.

While Zion's awesome cliffs mesmerize me, I still remember to look down at my feet. -- Photo by Pat Bean

We put my mother up in the Thunderbird Motel east of the park, but the rest of us continued as planned with the camp out. Since we couldn’t access the Angel’s Landing Trail, we hiked The Overlook and Watchman trails instead.

Wind blew down our tents, snow froze us and rain made it almost impossible to keep a fire going. But everyone stuck it out, and while it might not have been the best of times, it made for the best of memories.

Today, whenever the topic of camping is brought up at a family gathering, you can count on someone immediately asking; “Remember our camping trip from hell?”

And then the tall tales begin in earnest – and suddenly everyone is smiling.

*Day 13 of the Journey, May 1, 2011

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Up and Over Wolf Creek Pass – Without the Chickens

Posted in Birds, Journeys, Nature, Travel, tagged , , , , , , , , on May 4, 2011| 4 Comments »

“It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.” J.R.R. Tolkien

An aerial view of Wolf Creek Pass and its ski area taken in August, 2008, after the snow melt. -- Photo by Doc Searls

Travels With Maggie*

“Way up high on the Great Divide” sang C. W. McCall in his 1975 recording of “Wolf Creek Pass.”

I experienced McCall’s lyrics,  although without the chickens, first hand this day, topping out my drive through the San Juan Mountains at 10,857 feet. Fresh snow had fallen during the night, and the trees on the sides of the steep mountains I traveled between were still draped in white.

In case you’re interested, McCall’ song can be heard at: http://tinyurl.com/3dvdo24

While the road, Highway 160, had been cleared of the storm’s droppings, it was still wet and slick – and quite icy in the two tunnels cutting through mountain rock.

Unlike the driver in McCall’s tune, however, my foot was frequently on my brakes. But since almost no other vehicles were on the road, and since I kept my speed slow enough to feel safe, my heart pounded only with the pleasant thrill of being privileged to drive through such a fantastic landscape.

I love dandelions, but then perhaps that's because I now don't have a lawn to maintain. -- Photo by Pat Bean

I passed quite a few large, scenic RV parks along my drive up and over Wolf Creek Pass, which traverses the mountains from South Fork to Pagosa Springs. But all were closed.

They reminded me why I usually took the more southerly route through New Mexico when heading northwest this time of year.

But I had no regrets. I may be an old broad, but I’m still up for an adventure.

I was quite happy, however, when I came upon the Riverside RV Park just outside Durango. It was open. While it had been a short day in miles, only 131, I was ready to take a break from sitting behind Gypsy Lee’s wheel.

And that I was assigned a site right next to a small pond, where mallards were floating, the ground was littered with dandelions, and where I could watch a robin pulling up a worm for dinner from the damp ground, was the cherry on the top of a hot fudge sundae.

Life was good once again. .

Day 8 of the journey, April 26, 2011.

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Vernon to Liberal: An Ordinary Day on the Road

Posted in Birds, Journeys, Nature, Travel, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on April 24, 2011| 5 Comments »

I think Maggie was as surprised as I was on seeing a circular sidewalk, landscaped with funky art, that led nowhere off to the side of the Western Star RV Ranch in Liberal, Kansas. -- Photo by Pat Bean

I saw turkeys alongside the road when traveling Highway 83. — Photo by Pat Bean

 

“He who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe is as good as dead; his eyes are closed.” Albert Einstein

Travels With Maggie

After rising early, drinking my cream-drenched coffee while posting my blog, catching up on e-mail and reading the New York Times online, then waking and taking my dog, Maggie, for a walk, I decided to get a few extra miles on the road this day.

I did just that – making it from Vernon, Texas, to Liberal, Kansas.

Vernon lies along the route of the former Great Western Trail and millions of cattle passed through the town during the late 1800s. Liberal lies along the route Coronado took in his search in the mid-1500s for the mythical Seven Cities of Gold.

The distance between the two historic cities, if you take Highway 287 west to Childress and turn north on Highway 83, is 261 miles. It was an eye-opening journey.

The landscape was mostly occupied by agriculture fields with an occasional oil rig plopped down in the middle. Sometimes the pump was rusted and still, sometime rusted and pumping.

The flatness of the land was broken by stumpy hills whose summits looked out for miles and miles to an almost endless horizon.

A multitude of birds were out enjoying relief from the high winds that had dominated the outdoors for the past several days, during which I had mostly only seen turkey vultures. This day I identified robins, great-tailed grackles, house sparrows, mourning doves, meadowlarks, red-tailed hawks, horned larks, rock pigeons, Eurasian collarded doves and even a half dozen wild turkeys.

Then there was the dinosaur near Canadian, a funny name for a Texas city I thought. A bit of internet research after I had settled in for the night told me the town was named after the Canadian River. Since the river’s headwaters are in Colorado, that left me wondering where the name of the river came from.

I’m still wondering about that, but I did learn more about the dinosaur that sits on a prominent Mesa for the viewing pleasure of Highway 83 travelers. The 50-foot brontosaurus was created by artist Gene Cockrell and named Audry after his wife. You can see a picture of the long-necked creature – the dinosaur not the wife – at RoadsideAmerica.com

I laughed when a huge RV overtook and passed me towing a fancy barbecue smoker with all the works. Then I wondered where those folks were going to settle for the night and if I could finagle an invitation to dinner. The rig disappeared over one of the hills, however, and I never saw it again.

Almost before I knew it, the miles were behind me and I was hooking Gypsy Lee up at the Western Star RV Ranch on Highway 54, five miles outside of Liberal.

The park had a a circular sidewalk, leading nowhere and with funky landscaping art, where I took Maggie for a walk. A patch of sickly grass with stickers, however, lay between it and the graveled RV area.

Poor Maggie got a sticker in her paw. She stopped, lifted her foot and demanded with a painful look that I Remove the nasty offender! After it was out, I then got the toasty brown-eyed look that said Carry me to the sidewalk.

Of course I did. She’s the boss, or so my kids are always telling me.

I also shared the red beans and rice leftovers from the night before with her before we settled down to watch an episode of Castle on my DVDs. She got a doggie treat and I got some peach yogurt to eat as we watched.

As my travels go, it was just an ordinary day. But I loved every minute of it.

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Walks, Bluebonnets, Skyscraper and Waterfall Eat the Day

Posted in Journeys, Nature, Travel, tagged , , , , , , on April 23, 2011| 3 Comments »

Bluebonnets -- Photo by Pat Bean

The Wichita Falls waterfall.

“To my mind, the greatest reward and luxury of travel is to be able to experience everyday things as if for the first time, to be in a position in which almost nothing is so familiar it’s taken for granted.” — Bill Bryson

Travels With Maggie

After hiking a mesquite grove at Lake Arrowhead State Park, stopping to photograph bluebonnets that I figured would be the last ones I would see for the year, and visiting Wichita Falls’ tiny skyscraper, a Ripley’s Believe It or Not wonder, I stopped by Lucy Park to see the city’s better known landmark, its waterfall.

While the city is named for the waterfall that once dropped down from the Wichita River here, this is not it. That falls washed away in a flood back in the 1800s. The replacement for the original is a 54-foot tiered waterfall created by man back in 1987. They say you can see it as you cross the river bridge on Interstate 44, but I wanted a more personal experience.

It was a gentle walk to the falls through the landscaped park along the bubbling river, past ponds favored by mallards and beneath pecan trees. The time it took to view the falls, however, put me behind schedule. I create that problem a lot.

Once back on the road, it was quite windy. So I stopped just 50 miles down the road in Vernon, where I checked into the Rocking A RV Park and fixed some red beans and rice for my dinner.

I shared with my dog, Maggie, then together we took one final walk around the park before settling in for the night.

Since my travels are not measured in miles, I was one contented traveler. Maggie appeared pretty happy, too.

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Journey’s First Night Spent at Lake Arrowhead

Posted in Journeys, Lakes, Nature, Travel, tagged , , , , , , , , on April 19, 2011| 1 Comment »

 “Let your mind start a journey thru a strange new world. Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before. Let your soul take you where you long to be … Close your eyes and let your spirit start to soar, and you’ll live as you’ve never lived before.” Erich Fromm

Lake Arrowhead fishing pier -- Photo by Pat Bean

Travels With Maggie

It was a helaciously windy drive on this first day of my journey to Idaho for the summer, but the splendidly colorful buttercups that brightened the roadside cheered me up.

I was even welcomed with bluebonnets when I hit Lake Arrowhead State Park just about 15 miles outside of Wichita Falls and 150 miles from my journey’s beginning in Rowlett. It’s the first of several public campgrounds I plan to hit as I slowly hop West and North to escape summer’s heat.

Since it’s now 92 degrees outside, I would say I’m escaping just in time.

Black-tailed prairie dogs call Lake Arrowhead State Park home. -- Photo by Pat Bean

I took Maggie on a short walk as soon as I hooked up, then afterward went on a quick bike ride to snap a few pictures for the blog. I’ll go again when it cools off but for now I’m vegging in air-conditioned comfort in my RV.

Maggie, meanwhile, is in her favorite spot, sprawled out on our over-the-cab bed directly in front of the air-conditioning vent.

Lake Arrowhead is a reservoir on the Little Wichita River that supplies water to Wichita Falls’ residents and recreational opportunities, especially fishing, for visitors. It’s pretty all right for birders, too.

I saw my first of the year scissor-tailed flycatcher just as I drove past the entrance and other birds everywhere including, great blue herons, great egrets, mockingbirds, red-bellied woodpecker, mockingbirds, coots, Canada geese, great-tailed grackles (including a pair mating), barn swallows, red-winged blackbirds and killdeer within 15 minutes of arriving.

Life is good.

P.S. If you’re in the Wichita Falls area May 13-14, and enjoy 1800s history, drop by for the park’s Buffalo Soldier Encampment.

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Memories of My Grandmother’s Home Improve With Time

Posted in Journeys, Travel, tagged , , , , , , , on March 31, 2011| 4 Comments »

I remember sitting on these back steps eating praline candy my grandmother made from pecans I had picked up off the ground. I ate so much I got deathly sick and have never liked praline candy since. -- Photo by Pat Bean

“The richness of life lies in memories we have forgotten.” — Cesare Pavese

Journeys

When I was three years old, my grandfather died. My father took it as an invitation to move our family of three into my grandmother’s house. We stayed there for eight years, moving only after my grandmother died.

Those years weren’t a happy time in my life. My mother and grandmother did not get along; and my father was a good-timing Charlie who left the house early, came home late and almost always gambled his paycheck away.

My life was squeezed between the petty bickering of my mother and grandmother, and my mother’s shrill voice berating my father when he was home. My dad never fought back, and because of this I erroneously considered him the hero and my mother the villain of the family.

Into this chaos came two younger brothers demanding my mother’s attention, and making me feel even more unwanted and unloved. It was with great glee when I could put this past behind me, although of course, as we humans so often do, I created another kind of chaos for my own children.

Mostly dead now, this large tree in the neighbor's yard was an ideal one for climbing, and I spent many an hour nestled among its branches. -- Photo by Pat Bean

I’m not sure why, but this time when I was visiting Dallas, I had a deep-seated urge to find the home of my youth, the one in which my grandmother taught me how to cook, the one where my mother sewed me a beautiful blue flowered dress from a flower sack, the one where I had a faithful canine companion named Blackie, and the one that had a large swing set in the backyard on which I played circus trapeze artist.

My oldest daughter drove, and together we found my grandmother’s house, where it still languishes, dilapidated and condemned, in the small Dallas suburb of Fruitdale.

Of course there are differences. There is no lush gardenia bush, whose fragrance still haunts me, beside the front door. Two houses now sit where my mother had attended a large vegetable garden. And houses now stood in the large cornfield across the street, from which I remember my dad sneaking into at night to bring home a few ears for supper.

I suddenly remembered how we all laughed, even my mother, as we ate old Miss Hallie’s corn slathered with homemade butter. Strange, I thought, what a difference 50 years had made in the memories that now seemed important.

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