#225 Some History and Travel Stories

 

This is not the post that I expected to put up this month, but trouble loading older photos from external hard drives has commanded that I punt that plan. The new plan (this post) consists of a memorial I have wanted to present for years and a couple of stories from my travel book (16 Years of Travel in Scotland, Ireland, England, and Wales which is still available on Amazon) intermixed with photos taken recently around the Canby Community Park. I hope you like plan B.

R.S.Baker

The pictures of R.S. were taken in 1978.

My introduction to Robert S. Baker, professor of English at Oregon College of Education, was the summer I went from Linfield to OCE in Monmouth. After four years at Linfield I didn’t graduate because of not having a second year of foreign language even though I tried them all. Instead, I transferred into a fifth year program to get my teaching credentials. That summer session I took a massive load of classes, many were lower division to get me up to speed with the education requirements and meet OCE’s requirements for a degree in English. My Linfield major was speech with a minor in English. I needed several writing classes as well some more extensive Lit classes. Thus I met R. S. Baker.

Baker taught a graduate level composition class needed for a fifth year program. I had made my way through Linfield’s English requirements by writing essays—I even ghosted essays for frat brothers for extra income. This one class would be a snap. The summer class was made up of many working teachers getting needed hours or degree requirements and a few undergrads with me somewhere between the two. After some basic class info, professor Baker gave us an in-class writing assignment. The topic was a personal essay about something easy to write on. We turned our essays in and I thought, "Easy peasy."

The next day we all showed up and Balker chose a paper to read to the class—he chose my paper. What a great thrill! He read the one page paper aloud, then looked at me and said, “Mr. Jones, this is a f***ing piece of shit!” He outlined all that was wrong with my writing  and tore the paper in half and threw it in the bin. He read a couple more papers, not as bad as mine, but still weak. He assigned us the next essay and I walked out crushed!

I did better on the next paper. Half the working teachers did not show up for the third session. Those of us who stuck it out worked really hard. I know I never worked so hard for a “B” in my life, but I learned. 

Over that year at OCE I had R.S. for every class I could. When I went for my Masters at OCE (now Western Oregon University) I took more classes from Baker. I was one of numerous R.S. Baker disciples and he became a friend. We’d talk in his office crowded with books and go to jazz concerts together, Not only was Robert S. Baker an outstanding teacher who helped us get the best out of ourselves, I consider him one of the major influences in my life.

Bio

Born Robert Samuel Baker in 1926 in Weed, California. His elementary schooling was in Salem and he graduated from Vancouver HS, WA, in 1944. R.S. spent time as a Merchant Marine and with the Army Signal Corps where he was stationed near New York City where he developed his love for jazz. After his stint with the Army, he went to Pacific University in Forest Grove, graduating with a degree in literature in 1953. He earned his Master’s Degree in English at the University of Chicago in 1956. Baker started his teaching career at OCE where he taught for 31 years. While teaching he published numerous articles in publications such as The Nation and Commentary. He remained a jazz devotee with special affinity for female vocalists. He died on June 26, 2004, and will always be remember for his influence on so many teachers.  

Attack of the Ducks

While touring the far northwest corner of Scotland, from

Durness east towards Tongue, we had one of our most unusual

animal encounters. We were attacked by a flock, herd, bevy, covey,

gaggle, crowd, or what ever you call a gang of crazed ducks. I had

gotten out of the car at an ocean overlook to photograph the view

and was soon accosted by a group of local ducks, at least they all

quacked with a northern Scottish brogue. They kept up their

begging behavior as I walked across the road, but left me when

I headed down toward the beach.

After about ten minutes of picture taking, I walked back to 

the car. Anne had rolled down her window and was shouting 

at me to come feed the ducks who had been pecking the car 

door under her window demanding a ransom of cracker crumbs 

for her release. I found some Carr’s Cheese Melts (our  favorite 

cracker) and lured away the mob who I discovered would fight 

each other to eat right out of my hand. We were several miles 

from even a small village in the remote far northwest corner of 

Scotland, yet the ducks were able to eek out an existence by 

gang attacking tourists. Clever birds!

Attack of Ice Cream Crazed Gulls

In Llandudno (clan-DID-nu), Wales, we hit an absolutely

gorgeous stretch of weather--clear skies, 80 degrees, almost no

wind--in mid April. After golf one afternoon we walked from our B&B

down to the waterfront and then out the Llandudno pier. It was too

early in the season for most of the pier shops and attractions to be

open, but the ice cream shop was doing a brisk business in the fine

weather. We each bought a cone and continued to walk out toward

the end of the pier making jokes about a long walk on a short pier.

Without warning, a gull swooped down and hit Anne’s cone holding

hand, knocking the ice cream and cone to the ground. A couple of

gulls pounced on the dropped cone with relish. 

After seeing what happened to Anne, I guarded my cone 

much more closely. I saw a gull dive at me and turned to the side,

but the gull hit me with a wing and knocked my glasses off. It might

have been the same gull who hit Anne or a different one, I didn’t get

a chance to ask for identification. In trying to keep my glasses from

a watery grave off the pier, I dropped my ice cream cone to the

great delight of another couple of gulls.

Without ice cream cones we walked back to the beginning of

the pier and noticed locals standing next to protective buildings

enjoying their sweet treat. When we told our B&B hosts about the

vicious attacks, they apologized for not telling us that the local birds

were a “tad aggressive.” Tad aggressive! Our military needs these birds!

NEXT: Your guess is as good as mine.

#221 Two stories and Two Sets of Photos

Bald eagle with dinner in claw, WA state.

HAPPY NEW YEAR! This post contains two stories that are sort of related and two groups of photos (the birds and the bees/bugs) that are related to each other, but not related to the stories. I hope both the stories and the photos are enjoyable in their own way. It’s going to be that kind of year—all mixed up. but we still find joy where we can.

Goshawk in forest, Perth, Scotland.

Goshawk in flight.

Voices in the Wall 

It was a lovely afternoon for watching the Lamlash Bay lap on the shore of Isle Arran, Scotland. After a great round of golf at Shiskine GC, we had stopped at Arran Cheese and picked up a couple of rounds and some crisps (what we’d call crackers) for snacking. Back in our room at Lilybank B&B we had cut into one of the cheese rounds, broken out some crisps, poured two generous drams of Lochranza single malt scotch, and were sitting back enjoying the view of the bay and the Holy Isle. We were the only guests so far in the B&B, but yet we could hear voices. The closer we listened, the more the voices seemed to be coming from the wall of our room. Was it the whisky? Was our room haunted? The voices were indistinct, yet they were recognizable as voices. I walked over to the wall for a closer listen.

Gannet

A very patriotic gull.

 

I couldn’t tell what they were saying or where exactly the voices were coming from, but they seemed to be repeating the same refrain. I went to the door and listened outside the room. No, they seemed to be just in the wall of our room. As I moved along the wall to try to pinpoint the voices, the sound moved from the wall to my backpack which leaned against the wall. 

It took me only a moment to find my mini voice recorder, the one I use for verbal notes as we play a golf course. Somehow it had turned on and was playing back the same sentence describing a hole from the previous day’s golf. Mystery solved, but it might have been a better story had it been a talking mouse in the wall or the spirit of a former guest who really didn’t want to leave the place. 

Pheasant near St Fillins, Scotland.

Red grouse in Glen Quaich, Scotland.

Duck, Lower Slaughter, Cotswolds, England

Meadowlark, Taos, NM

Scottish Robin

The Noise at Home

First, some background. A couple of months ago in the middle of the night one of our smoke detectors started beeping one chirp about every 15 seconds. We checked all the rooms in our unit (two bedroom with a den) to make sure there was not a real emergency. When we were satisfied that we were safe, we realized we were still being annoyed by the constant chirp telling us the battery in the detector was running out. With no ladder or willingness to climb up one if we had it, we called maintenance. Even though it was 1:30 in the morning a worker came to the house and changed all the batteries in all our alarms. Ah, senior living.

Now to the real story. A couple of weeks ago, again in the middle of the night, about 2:30, I was awakened by a very piercing but soft noise—a whistle or alarm sound. I had been sleeping in my living room recliner— something I often do when my Parkinson’s tremors are acting up. I looked around to see if I could see a source for the now irritating noise. I couldn’t. So, I got up and looked at every electric item we had in the room (tv, radio, DISH module, alarms, clocks, stove, fridge, microwave, etc.). Nothing was making the noise. By turning my head I tried to triangulate the location. Nothing was definitive. I checked every other room and outside, but I was sure the sound was emanating from the kitchen-diningroom-livingroom area. I still couldn’t identify a source for what now sounded like constant electric screaming. 

Canmore, Alberta, Canada

Yellow Swallowtail

"Let me out!" Huntingtower Castle, near Perth, Scotland

I finally woke Anne, who had slept through the noise and my noise because, of course, she doesn’t wear her hearing aids at night. Together we went through the whole process again and came up blank. We were just to call for help when she said, “Wait a second.” She moved a couple of books on a shelf, “Look at this.” She was pointing to a small, very old Sharper Image travel clock. It was indeed the culprit. I turned the clock over to see battery acid leaking out of the battery compartment. It was so corroded that the alarm must have been shorted out. Plying the batteries out shut off our noise invasion. Not as interesting a tale as voices in the wall, but certainly closer to home.

Assassin Bug (?)

In Scotland this would be called a ginger wooly bear.

This walking stick hitched a ride on my golf club bag.

If you want to view some really fine wildlife photos, check out the sites that feature two of our great friends from Canada. See Kathryn Delany's website -- www.colorsplashes.com -- and find Nick Delany's work by going to www.psa-photo.org and searching for Nick Delany.

NEXT: We've had the birds and the bees; next is, of course, the Beasts. 

#203 Central Oregon Beach Trip

A two night trip to the Oregon coast is the meat of this post. The plan was to visit some of our favorite sites and eat at some of our favorite seaside restaurants. A great plan got even better when the weather turned super nice on the coast—sun and fog, while the valley sweltered in unseasonably hot conditions. My photo kit included three cameras—a Nikon Z50 with a 24-200 lens and a Nikon Z5 with a 24-70 lens for landscapes, and a Lumix LX 100ii for quick grab shots and interiors. The trip also included short stops at the two local casinos (Spirit Mountain in Grand Ronde and Chinook Winds at Lincoln City) where Anne won enough to almost cover my losses.

Book Store

Our first stop at the coast was at our favorite used book store, Robert’s Bookshop (SE Hwy 101 in the old Nelscott District of Lincoln City). Opened in 1987, the bookstore has more than 200,000 used and antiquarian books—1.64 miles of bookshelves. Anne found some art books for her watercolors and I bought two photo  books of Ansel Adams’ work. Check with the shop about trading or selling books. 

Anne found the books she needed for her watercoloring.

  

Bridge and Marina

We stayed in Newport at the Hallmark Resort near the Nye Beach District. It’s not inexpensive, but then nothing is today. Our accommodations were lovely and we had a great beach view. Our hotel was close to the famous Yaquina Bay Bridge and the Newport marina. During our stay we made a couple of trips there for photos. The bridge was started in 1934 and opened in 1938. It’s over a half Mile long and is 133 feet above the river. There are good views of the bridge from its base and from the active marina.

Even tattered and wind torn Old Glory still looks good.

Beach Scenes

One of our favorite spots to visit in the area is the Yaquina Head Lighthouse Natural Area (BLM). Here you can visit the lighthouse (tours available in season), see seabird rookeries, go tide pooling, and see sea lions. The lighthouse saw first light in 1783 and stands 93 feet tall. Another area worth a visit for the views is the Devil’s Punchbowl on Cape Foulweather between Newport and Depot Bay. The punchbowl is a large natural sea cave (without a roof) that can spout at high tide. We visited at low tide, but the views from the overlook are grand.

A foggy view of the lighthouse.

Yaquina Head Lighthouse at sunset from Nye Beach.

Several varieties of seabirds nest on the rocks around Yaquina Head.

Piles of driftwood are put to interesting use on the beaches at Lincoln City (old Taft). 

Sea lions lounge on the spit at Salishan south of Lincoln City.

The view north along the coast from Devil's Punchbowl.

At the Devil's Punchbowl overlook we saw this poor squirrel clinging desperately to a tall dead tree. Obviously frightened, the squirrel let me get quite close. Its perch was very precarious with a long drop beneath. Perhaps it had been chased to this perch, but we could see it wasn't comfortable.

Food

There are some great places to eat on the Oregon coast and we are blessed with a nice variety of eateries in this section. Two of our selections were rebuilds. Both Dory Cove Restaurant and Otis Cafe had had thier original shops burned down. And both have comeback stronger in nearby locations. There are also plenty of fine dining restaurants in the Newport area as well. We couldn’t get a table at Local Ocean (the beach restaurants do get crowded), but we did eat at Georgie’s next to the Hallmark Resort. The restaurant, opened in 1998, has wonderful ocean views. Not far from our accommodations in the heart of the Nye Beach District is a great Irish pub called Nana’s. It’s a staple in the area and we think it’s a little touch of Ireland a block from the beach. We also found Triple-D funk at the 24 hour Newport Cafe on Hwy 101 in the middle of town. As you can see from the pictures, we never go hungry when we travel.

Late Lunch at Dory Cove.

Breakfast at Georgie's (Thanks Charleen and Dave)

A chicken pot pie for me and steak and ale pie for Anne.

Breakfast at Newport Cafe

Highlight of the Trip

The Siletz Bay Wildlife Refuge was established in 1991, but we’d never visited it. That’s a mistake we won’t make again. This is a hidden gem. The refuge contains salt marshes, mud flats, sloughs, conifer/hardwood forests, and rivers which attract a good variety of birds. The refuge has a nice parking area, several hiking options, is open from sunrise to sunset, and is free, though no pets are allowed. Look for the sign on the east side of Hwy 101 after crossing the Siletz River south of Lincoln City.  We had a wonderful time on an easy 3/4 mile walk.

Wood Thrush

This pair of noisy Canadian geese were creating quite a racket defending their nest from another pair.

The path we took in the refuge was well maintained.

We packed a lot into our two days in Newport. And even though we been there many, many times before, there’s always something new to see or discover.

A Newport Sunset