Washington State

Wenatchee, part duh

June 13, 2016 By drpaddle Leave a Comment

It turns our those Repose Fire Logs do more than keep us warm and give us something to stare at. They attract creatures.

Before lighting: yeah, they look unusual, but they, too, used to be trees. In this state, the logs were actually not attracting any creatures, unless you count the hordes of American Robins. It is the Year of the Robin, yes? They’re everywhere we go (or stay) this Spring.

Smoke analysis: it’s like that of traditional kindling and split wood. A little smokey when first lit, then not so much. Also, as with traditional fires, breeze constantly shifts to usher smoke toward most smoke-sensitive person nearby.

It doesn’t take long for campfire goodness to unfold.

And that attracts beings.

It wandered up quite close to our campfire; it had moved away a bit before I got the camera fired up.

Bambi appeared to be heading for the shallows between the Wenatchee and Columbia rivers, where young salmon hang out until they’re large enough to swim out into the Columbia and head for the ocean without being swallowed whole by predators. I forget what the predatory fish are called — possibly “orcs.”

The Army Corps of Engineers, or maybe some Eagle Scouts cut a channel between the rivers to create this shallow lagoon. The salmon-babies are grateful, but the orcs are just frustrated. The lagoon was just down from our campsite, behind a natural hedge of, uh, plants.

There were also some human beings, but they did not approach too closely. And I had showered! But here is the thing: Sooz and I were both fighting colds, or flu, or some other upper respiratory affliction. There was some sneezing and coughing. Had I been a nearby human (and you could make the point that I was, but I mean other nearby human), I would have kept my distance.

And this brings our Wenatchee Confluence State Park saga to a close. I leave you with another lagoon shot. While I try to sort through the pix of our next destination — Osoyoos, BC — maybe you can see if you can find Bambi in there somewhere.

When you camping, you look at clouds more carefully. Why is that?

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Wenatchee, Apple Capital of the World

June 11, 2016 By drpaddle Leave a Comment

That’s right — it’s the Apple Capital of the World. It says so in big letters everywhere you look in Wenatchee. As we approached, and while we were there, and as we left, and then later as we came back through on the way home, we saw orchards, fruit stands, and all sorts of evidence of a healthy apple industry.

We did not, however, sample the apples. We did other stuff. The first of which was to park in this campsite the size of Lichtenstein, located at Wenatchee Confluence State Park.

Spacious campsites along the outside of the loops. These pull-through sites have extra-long pads that would accommodate some mightily large rigs. We were able to roll around the site until Toto was completely level — no levelers and no unhooking required.

We didn’t want to unhook because (a) we were only staying two days and felt we didn’t need to stray far from the site, (b) we had bicycles we planned to use anyway, and (c) unhooking and re-hooking causes unsightly perspiration (see future post on an upcoming power-tongue-hitch upgrade).

Our campsite had some welcome afternoon shade. Some sites around the campground are more shaded (more trees)… these pull-throughs on the edge, not so much. But most have a nearby tree where you can park a chair and contemplate.

We stayed two nights here. Originally we had planned to stay for one night only, but then someone told us about the Apple Capital Recreation Loop Trail, which we will presently discuss at length. From our campsite, here is how you get to it:

Our campsite was right next to a path 'trailhead.' This multipurpose trail headed off to a swimming beach, a launch ramp, some day use areas and, ultimately, to a connection with the mighty Apple Capital Recreation Loop Trail.

Our campsite was right next to a path ‘trailhead.’ This multipurpose path headed off to a swimming beach, a launch ramp, some day use areas and, ultimately, to a connection with the mighty Apple Capital Recreation Loop Trail.

This trail, which several locals called The Loop, is about 11 miles long, and forms (wait for it) a loop around part of the Columbia River. Half the trail is on the west shore, half on the east; there’s a pedestrian bridge (or at least a pedestrian path along a bigger bridge) at both the north and south ends.

If you had recently acquired bicycles and someone told you “flat trail, really nice, fun, scenic,” etc., you would change your booking at the state park to two nights, so you could try this trail. At least that’s what you would do if you were us.

As you cruise (in our case, poke) along the campground trail, you can, if you want, look across the river. That’s East Wenatchee over there.

The Columbia River. East Wenatchee… beckons.

The path wound through the park and, eventually, we found the Loop Trail and headed southbound (Confluence Park is near the north end of the Loop).

Once on the westside Loop trail, one encounters a string of shoreline parks. Somebody put a lot of thought and money into these. There’s something for everyone, and it all looks lovingly maintained. See that lightpost on the left side? The entire west side of the Loop is similarly lighted, so you may cruise, or poke, even when it’s dark outside, and you might be fine. But don’t go alone, okay? You could get hit by a falling apple and maybe no one will be there to help you. At night, I mean.

There is a native American legend about a coyote and his adventures helping salmon, yearning to spawn, upriver past a beaver dam. There’s no information on how the beavers felt about all this, but local sculptors know a healthy commission when they see one. There’s lots of art like this along the Loop. Pretty cool.

Did I mention apples? The place is crawling with them, and with all sorts of apple-focused businesses. You can’t even ride The Loop without being assaulted by apple paraphernalia, apple industry, apple lore.

More art along The Loop. Hey, we found something moving more slowly than us!

I dunno, you see one might river, you've seen 'em all, right?

I dunno, you see one mighty river, you’ve seen ’em all, right?

At the south end of The Loop there’s a 100+-year-old bridge, originally built to carry water to the then non-existent East Wenatchee. The idea was to make the area cultivable, by making water available. The bridge carried a pair of 12-inch pipes across (still does), and the scheme worked: orchards, houses, Walmarts, the whole thing — it all cropped up and eventually someone (Captain Obvious?) called it East Wenatchee. In the 90s, or maybe the 80s, the bridge was refurbished and a pedestrian walkway was added. So now the bridge transports both water and Loop enthusiasts across the Columbia. What doesn’t this bridge transport? Sooz. She’s not really into bridges. Yet.

Yeah, it’s just a big old bridge.

And then we rode back. At some point our sitting apparati got a little tender and we realized maybe an 8 mile ride would have been just the ticket. Rookie mistake! A fun day, though. We relaxed with a glass of real wine (NOT apple wine) and (of course) a Repose Fire Log fire.

Relaxing after a long day of sitting on bicycles.

You will want to know every detail of our fire-enjoying, including a visit from local wildlife. I will provide, soon.

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What? The rains have paused. Let’s get out there.

April 13, 2016 By drpaddle 2 Comments

It was the wettest winter in history here in western Washington, but that didn’t stop us from curling up in front of the fireplace and TV and staying there for months.

But finally… three glorious, rain-free days were predicted. We jumped onto the washington.goingtocamp website and snagged a waterfront site at our “back yard” state park (Belfair — only 45 minutes from home). Toto emerged from the side yard, and enjoyed an extended spa treatment to remove his winter coat of green scum. And off to the park we went.

It really was a nice campsite. Quieter, of course, in mid-April, mid-week.

It wasn’t especially warm — mostly in the 50s — but careful chair positioning and strategic use of the portable fire pit kept us comfortable. Tyler and Wally were happy to engage in extensive napping inside the Toto. I fooled around a lot with a new camera (thanks, fambly, for the wonderful gift!).

Mornings brought fog to the Hood Canal. Or fog brought the mornings. How can we know? Also, please note frost on picnic table. Also note cleaning fluid spray bottles. It is Spring, the time of Toto cleanup.

Whilst at our campsite, we welcomed hot water into Toto’s digestive system for the first time in five months. This did not occur without some misadventure. It turns out that winterizing an RV is not enough to ensure tranquility and unbroken things; one must also un-winterize. More on that later.

A lovely little salmon stream empties into the canal just down from our campsite.

Yeah, the salmon flop their way up here every November and croak. People have Festivals to celebrate, or, more likely, to sell arts and crafts that otherwise go unsold.

Yeah, the salmon flop their way up here every November and croak. People have Festivals to celebrate, or, more likely, to sell arts and crafts that have gone unsold — quick, before the steady rains set in.

This creek area gets much shadier after the trees leaf out. It’s good to see it in all its lovely states.

If you’re dry-camping, you can get a campsite right along the creek, which runs for much of the summer, if summer is normal for around here, which is to say there is still some rain, on and off. Maybe we’ll try it some time — though we’ll have to be frugal with electrons, because our solar panels won’t be able to gather many soltrons or whatever they are.

Any time other than high tide, you can walk out onto a rocky-sandy point and take pictures of your RV. Yes, that is a thing people do. This is what they capture. All of that grass in the foreground is underwater at high tide. But, who cares.

Not him.

There may be some interest here. If it involves food.

We rented a movie and watched it one night in the TotoLounge. The Big Short, I think. It didn’t really fit with the wilderness theme of our stay.

But a lovely stay it was. We will surely be back to Belfair some time — it’s so close to home. But the months ahead will take us on two long-ish trips through different parts of Oregon, up to British Columbia, down to Mount Rainier National Park, back up to the Olympic Peninsula, and to a raft of Egg Gatherings. We will surely enjoy them all.

If I don’t break the water heater again.

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The Belfair Boost, or how our mobile network booster works

August 27, 2015 By drpaddle Leave a Comment

Actually I have no idea how it works. I just know that it does.

I have to work, and we have to surf, and sometimes we want to stream audio or video, because what would the wilderness be without them? So we have the booster.

Cellphone, cellphone booster and a wiry mess.

Yeah, a little messy. Here, the booster and its rat’s nest of cords and wires lies seductively on our stove cover. My phone is in its grasp, and is also plugged into its USB port. Sooz’s phone cowers nearby. And the antenna wire snakes its way out the kitchen window.

It’s a Wilson Electronics “Sleek” model, consisting of (1) a cradle into which you can slide your phone or mobile network hotspot; (2) a magnetic-mount antenna with a long wire that plugs in to the cradle; (3) a 12-volt power cord that brings power to the cord from a 12-volt outlet in a car or RV; and (4), a USB outlet (on the cradle) into which you can plug your phone or hotspot so it won’t lose its battery’s charge.

When you plug everything and find a good spot to mount the antenna, it turns a weak signal into a stronger one; say, from two bars to four. The improvement varies depending on factors to boring to list here. I’m getting sleepy enough as it is.

Fellow trailerists have installed these devices in handy but out-of-the-way places, and added a different kind of antenna that can be permanently mounted high on a trailer’s outside side wall, or on the roof. This is my plan as well. However, the project is not at the top of my list yet, so, for now, we’re experiencing an absence of elegance.

We’ve extended the inelegance to the out-of-doors, to keep passersby entertained and perhaps comforted in knowing that at least someone’s campsite looks hokier than theirs.

The antenna wire drops outside to…

Well, to the kayak. The thing is, this type of antenna needs something called a Ground Plane, which is to say a flat, horizontal hunk of metal. And because it’s a magnetically mounted antenna, that metal needs to have some iron in it, the kind you find in a cheap camp stove. Voila.

Cellphone booster antenna stuck to closed top of camp stove, which sits atop a kayak on the ground.

… of course! The ideal antenna location.

Ugly as it is, this setup enabled us to stream two full episodes of Justified, which I recommend you watch at your earliest convenience, from Amazon Prime. Life is good. Cluttered, yes, but good.

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A different kind of kayak camping.

August 25, 2015 By drpaddle 4 Comments

I got to go paddling three times during our stay at Belfair State Park. Yippee! Sooz made this possible by agreeing to hang out with Wally and Tyler while I was on the water. This will surely cost me — and that’s only fair — and it was worth it.

This end of Hood Canal is fairly shallow, and the summer sun warms its waters to temperatures far more comfortable than you can find in most of the region, at any time of year. The water was also surprisingly clear for midsummer. Paddling alone, I stayed fairly close to the shore. I haven’t practiced self-rescue techniques for a while, so I thought I’d stay where I could swim (wade?) into shore if needed. Not needed though. What I mean is, I didn’t sink, and I didn’t dump. Good.

Doug heads out from the Hood Canal shoreline

When I lived in California, flat, saltwater kayaking like this was hard to find. Here in the Puget Sound region, it’s hard to get away from. Not complaining.

You can’t tell from the pic, but it was a little breezy and I was a little tentative on that first paddle — my first in more than a year. I didn’t venture too far, instead making “laps” back and forth in a half-mile area. It was fine. Getting back on the horse…

Kayak paddling along Hood Canal shoreline.

With the tide in, there were still some some tidelands showing, and these attracted birds, and I did what I do best with birds. I looked at ’em.

Here is what Tyler and Wally were doing while I enjoyed my little paddle. “Hey Tyler, what do you think we should do while Dad is gone and Mom is reading that book?” “Ah. Perhaps a nap, Wallace? I think yes. A nap!” “Okay. I’ll be right here beside you, prepared to grrrr if anything or anyone happens by, or possibly if a leaf falls. I wonder when it’s time for dinner. I really do.”

On our last full day at Belfair, I met a small contingent from the South Sound Area Kayakers — an Olympia-based club I’ve paddled with, sporadically, for many years — for a 12-mile paddle up to another state park and back. Great fun, and nice to catch up with one fellow I met years ago and who has done some amazing paddling trips lately. There was also the mandatory late arrival who held up the launch, forcing the group to carry their boats out farther and farther as the tide receded. We survived, and stopped for lunch at Twanoh State Park.

While we ate lunch and my fellow paddlers politely refused the store-bought cookies I had supplied, we enjoyed this view from our picnic table. Another lousy weather day in western Washington!

On this paddle we saw a few wild things… cormorants, a kingfisher, a few harbor seals, some Great Blue Herons, and the usual surfeit of gulls, traveling incognito. At the paddle’s end, I managed to find the deepest, muckiest mud for my landing spot, and a paste of salt and mud affixed itself firmly to Oscar Diggs’ hull. Cleaning it, a day later, was arduous, but also a good chance to catch up with neighbors who happened by.

Back at home, Oscar Diggs got a bath before returning to his hoist in the garage. I thought I got him clean and hauled him into the garage, only to see more mud — lots more — in a few spots I had missed. Back onto the lawn, and this time I got him clean.

So, yeah. Kayak camping used to involve careful stowage of just the right amount of food and camping gear into the boat, paddling off to some exotic locale, and then sleeping in a tiny tent on increasingly hard ground (that is, the ground got harder as I got older). Now, it’s sleeping in Toto’s deluxe master bedroom and toddling out to the water when… I feel like it. Not saying one approach is better than the other — neither is. But it’s nice to have the choice.

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Camping at the bitter end of Hood Canal

August 24, 2015 By drpaddle 3 Comments

I don’t know where I was there, for a while, but now I do. I mean I knew where I was, but I also knew I wasn’t writing. But now I am. I’ll explain later.

We took off last week for a six-day, five-night adventure at Belfair State Park in western Washington. We’ve been here before, but that was in late Fall and a little nippy. Quiet, though. This time, just a few weeks before schools are back in session, the place was packed. And not at all nippy.

By reserving precisely 9 months in advance we secured a “waterfront” site. I wanted to be able to do some kayaking without the hassle of carting the boat between campsite and launch point. Our site worked well for that, with a caveat: timing the tide.

Toto and Oscar Diggs in a stare-off with Hood Canal.

Our campsite T30 at Belfair State Park, just an hour or so after high tide. The only thing between us and Hood Canal was a path used by approximately 1240 people per day. Also, at max ebb tide, about a half-mile of mud and exposed seagrass and a lot of oyster shells.

Tidelands along the shores of Belfair State Park

At low tide our waterfront campsite became landlocked. Well, mudlocked. Here we have an example of a bad time to launch or land a kayak. Too much carrying a 50-pound boat over slippery mud and grass and sharp oyster shells. Still… beats real life.

But, hey, this trip wasn’t all about kayaking. There was scenery to stare at, a promised meteor shower, the mandatory dog-walks, and probably some work for me to do (clients always call just before we head out on a trip — in fact, I’ve learned that scheduling a trip is a good way to stimulate client demand).

Toto, some picnic table stuff, and Hood Canal.

It was 90 degrees the afternoon of our arrival. We focused on setup and dog-walking, and while we did that the tide rose. The timing of our trip resulted in high tides at early morning and early evening.

Note: this is western Washington, right next to Hood Canal, a fjord extending from Admiralty Inlet all the way to Belfair, some 45 miles. It’s August, but regardless, it’s supposed to be kind-of green. But it wasn’t, and it’s not. We’re sharing a drought with the rest of the west coast, and brown is the new green.

Campsite T30 as seen from the waterfront trail at Belfair State Park.

You can see that we had plenty of space in our campsite. Space enough, even, for Sooz to pamper the pooches with bowls of fresh water, delivered directly to them in the lounge chairs that are supposed to be for us humans. But. Because the ‘waterfront’ campsites are themselves fronted by a waterfront trail, some campers felt the need to access the trail through our campsite. In fact some felt that our campsite to be some sort of day use area. Many of these same campers were, apparently, immune to stinkeye. Eventually Sooz created a tasteful fence out of the plastic step-stools we use to get Oscar Diggs up to his perch atop TinMan.

Should you plan a camping or RVing trip to Belfair State Park in Summer? Maybe. There are many many many many many children, of all ages, riding skateboards and bicycles and hideous loud plastic annoying pretend cars pulled by bicycles, careening through the campground on the road designed for cars and trucks and RVs and suitably courageous pedestrians, and also on the aforementioned Waterfront Path, or did I say Trail.

I would like to provide photographic evidence of the camping-loop carnage, but I think I would then have to get signed releases from those boarders/scooters/bikers and that’s a higher level of organization than I’ve achieved as yet. But here’s a sense of how things look if you’re not in a waterfront campsite:

Kind-of crowded. The farther from the water, the more oppressive it felt. Yet it was completely full, so people are happy to be here, I guess.

But look, if you have the kids, or the boards, or the scooters, or the plastic cars, and you’re looking for a place to deploy them away from your home neighborhood, this might work for you. It clearly works for others.

So, for the moment, let’s leave it at this. You can have a lot of wondrous moments camping at Belfair State Park in Summer. You have to time things right, and some patience is required. But that’s okay, no? Yes. One wondrous moment:

This little feller is a Killdeer, I think. He (or she?) and I met on the waterfront early one morning and actually communicated telepathically. Oh probably not.

There is much more to report about this trip, and then some other stuff. I’ll get right on it.

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