#196 A Return for the Travel Blog

 A Book Recommendation

I recently read No Time Like the Future: An Optimist Considers Mortality by Michael J. Fox (Flatiron Books, 2020) and I highly recommend the book. It is humorous, uplifting, engaging, easy to read, and enjoyable whether you have an association with Parkinson’s Disease or not, although if you do the book becomes more of everything. The book details many of the ways that Fox has dealt with a life changed by PD.

No Time Like the Future has been a great help to me in the nine months since being diagnosed with PD and starting treatment (meds). I’ve had to learn

— to take my meds consistently and on time,

— to live with dreams that are acted out during the night and Anne has learned to duck my wild punches and flailing,

— to learn to keep my mouth closed and to force myself to swallow to keep from drooling,

— to learn, since both PD and the meds cause constipation, that prunes are my friends, 

— that I can still play and enjoy golf, albeit at a different level, 

— to learn to practice furniture surfing, just to keep a handle on things, and 

— to accept the fact that as my PD progresses I will face many new challenges and to accept them with grace.

For more information: www.michaeljfox.org.

To those who have told me you missed not seeing the travel blog I apologize for the absence. There was a period of creative doldrums that I hope I am now getting over. The rest of this post is the real return of my Travel Blog.

Notes and Photos from Three Nights on Washington’s Long Beach Peninsula

Finished with the Packing

At Bay City near Tillamook

Bee on Heather

North Point Lighthouse, Point Disappointment State Park, WA

Anne guards the ice cream from Scooper's in Long Beach.

A Contrast in Golf Clubs

On our recent trip to the Long Beach Peninsula on the Washington State coast, Anne and I (along with several thousand other end-of-summer vacationers) were blessed with a stretch of very pleasant weather. As the Willamette Valley was sweltering in ninety-plus heat, we enjoyed sunny weather with seventy degree temperatures with only light winds—perfect conditions for golf. Across the parking lot from our timeshare digs at the Surfside Worldmark Resort is Surfside golf Club, a 9-hole course we’ve played a couple of times before.

First Hole at Surfside

It’s been a hot, dry summer on the coast and the course was feeling the effects. Fairways were hard, baked out, and brown. But they played fast and were well cared for— we got plenty of run on good shots and sometimes too much run on bad shots. The rough was whispy and inconsistent, as you’d expect dry rough to be. Tee boxes and greens were in much better nick—I’d even call most of the greens excellent.

9th Hole at Surfside

Playing Surfside wasn’t like playing our manicured country club course, Arrowhead GC, but more like playing a Scottish links course at the height of summer. Fun golf on a beautiful day.

Contrast that golf with the next day’s play a few miles down the coast at Peninsula Golf Club in Long Beach. The first hole there was an indicator of the other eight holes. The first tee shot is over fifty yards of thick (some dry, some extremely wet) grass backed by a mucky, weed-choked creek. Beyond the creek was a dry grass and bare ground hillock. When we reached the green, part of it was green, but most of it was dirt patches. A couple of shots was enough to convince us that there was no way to tell which way your ball would bounce on the bumpy surface.

Peninsula Golf Club

Most of the course was in the same condition as the first hole—dry, wet (lose your ball in the tall wet grass), wild—the only constant was the course's inconsistency. We played our round in lovely weather and I even played well, but it wasn’t fun. The most interesting thing about the contrast of the two courses was something we found out later. The Surfside course has a much smaller grounds crew than the Peninsula course. 

Me on the 7th at Surfside

On the third day at the beach, as the weather turned cooler and damper, we went back to Surfside to play it again.

A Fortuitous Stop

After playing golf at Surfside on our first full day at the beach, we did a little exploring of the area. A surprise for us was the Cranberry Museum—a historical museum, gift shop, and 13 bogs of berries run as a project of Washington State University. 

Cranberries Beginning to Ripen

We got good information, some photos, and a taste of cranberry ice cream. The find of the day, though, was at the north end of Hwy 103 (the peninsula’s main road). There we stopped at the Oysterville Sea Farm, a retail outlet and cafe with great views of Willapa Bay across toward South Bend. 

The Long Beach Peninsula and Willapa Bay

I took a few pictures from outside the store/cafe and then we went in and shopped. As we paid for some soap and crackers (no, not to use together), the cook asked if we’d like some clam chowder…for free. Since it was the end of the day they were going to have to throw it out. Sure, we’ll help. He handed us two cups of rich, creamy, clam-filled delicious soup. 

View from Oysterville Sea Farm Patio

Anne again guarding the food--our free chowder/

I got some of my best pictures of the trip from the cafe patio and we learned that sometimes it pays to be late.

Great dinners of halibut and oysters at the Loose Kaboose in Long Beach.

The best sunset we got was on our first night.

NEXT: We'll hope for some good travels soon.

#192 Oregon Coast Trip

Anne and I finally got to do a little traveling, a very short trip on the Oregon coast. I did remember to set myself a photographic goal: try to get five photos each of the three days of the trip that are good enough—quality or story content—to share on a blog post.

Day One. We packed the Forester and were on the road by 9:30 AM. The weather was overcast and cool, but good for traveling down the I-5 and then to Junction City and the Poodle Creek cutoff to Florence (a route we had used many times when we lived in Brookings).

Our first stop was at the freeway rest stop (like a layby) just before Albany. We pulled into the facility and had to park near an individual having a dramatically punctuated discussion with himself. He was loudly argumentative and obviously high or mentally/emotionally challenged or both. From the car I took a picture, the first of the trip, but I don’t believe I should share the photo—perhaps if I were a photojournalist doing a story I might feel differently. Lots of weirdness in the world. Stop two was at Fiddler’s Green Golf Shop between Junction City and Eugene. We love to browse this shop and usually find an item or two to add to our golf supplies. On this trip, besides balls to lose, I bought a new PING putter because you can never have enough putters. It was a pleasant hour drive from Fiddler’s Green to Old Town Florence and coffee and a sweet at River Roasters. 

Anne at River Roasters

After a relaxed 45 minute break we walked down toward the docks and Anne’s favorite stop in town, All About Olives. There she spent almost as much on olives as I did on a PING putter—I do exaggerate…a little.

This plaque at the gazebo in Old Town Florence commemorates The Oregon Dune Mushers Mail Run, a trip by dog team over dunes, through rivers and streams, over quick sand flats for 72 miles in two days. I was one of the original mushers who ran the trail. I participated in the Mail Run for the first five years before my speech team activities got in the way.

We next drove out to the South Jetty for photos in the dunes. We managed to get a couple of decent photo stops, but the lighting was very flat. We killed a little time trying to get a few good images.

Grebe or Cormorant?

I think this is some kind of pussy willow which grows wild in the wetlands between the dunes.

It was now time to check in to the Landmark Inn, a block off Hwy 101 and only a few blocks from Old Town. Our unit was nice, a one bedroom with kitchenette (only missing an oven) and a dinette on the ground floor. The parking there is slightly tricky, but fine with the Forester (last visit we had a full size pickup). We took a short rest and then went back to Old Town for dinner at The Waterfront Depot. We didn’t have table reservations, but did get two seats at the end of the bar. The bartender was our waiter and put on a good show mixing drinks. Dinner wasn’t cheap (nothing on the coast is), but the meal was outstanding and well worth the price. Anne and I shared yummy calamari strips as an appetizer and I had the best seafood alfredo I’ve ever had. Even with my Glenfarclas 10 year old single malt, 

My Evening Tipple

we didn’t break the bank. We tried to pay for part of our trip at the Three Rivers Casino, but a couple of hours was enough to give up all we wanted. Time to go to our home for the next two nights.

Day Two. Late start this morning, both of us were tired from a travel day (out of practice). We got out to breakfast at the Little Brown Hen by almost 10:00. Always busy, always good. There are so many delicious breakfast choices it makes deciding difficult. I ordered two eggs, a side of bacon, and a plate-sized blueberry pancake. 

Several people (customers as well as waitstaff) commented or asked about the way I ate the pancake from the middle out. Even Anne had never noticed I do that. When I explained that starting in the middle keeps the syrup corralled, whereas starting the edge risks slopping syrup off the edge of the plate, I even got one “brilliant!”

After breakfast we drove down to the North Jetty where we’d never explored. We found some interesting forest paths and good river views. 

Too much photoshop?

Visited with a friendly local in the back of his pickup in the North Jetty parking lot.

The best photo opportunities came when we got closer to the dunes near the river mouth. 

Dunes of North Jetty

War of the Worlds anyone?

I’m glad we saw the North Jetty area, but the South has more photo potential. From North Jetty we drove back to the casino where Anne had a little luck and I ended up as slot fodder. Lattes and work time at the coffee shop took care of the rest of the afternoon. 

For dinner we went back to Old Town to the 1285 Restobar, a favorite of ours for good food and excellent service. I again had seafood alfredo which was delicious, but not quite as good as at Waterfront the night before. Give one 10/10 and the other 9.5/10. We went back to the motel and struggled to stay up until about 9:30. We are definitely out of traveling practice—it really wore us out.

Day Three. The trip home. We got a more efficient start today; up and packed and ready to check out by 9:05. Breakfast was again at Little Brown Hen—it’s the best spot in town and nothing else is very close. I had bacon, eggs, hashbrowns, and toast. Treat of the morning was the special homemade jams, blackberry and strawberry, which I used on the toast. Simple, delicious.

On our way out of town we stopped for gas at the local Fred Meyers. The whole trip in the Forester took one tank of petrol—good with current prices over $4 a gallon. We had planned on photographing at two locations on the way home. First was Haceta Head and Lighthouse. 

Hecta Head stands out in black and white.

I got good shots of a crow and the lighthouse from the Hwy 101 cliffside pullout. 

Hereto Beach

We walked out on the Haceta Beach for more photos before stoppong at our second spot, Seal Beach. Part of the walkway with views at Seal Beach was closed for repairs, but we still got some good views from where we could still walk.

The rocks at Seal Beach are more dramatic in monochrome. For those who know some Oregon coast geography, the small pinpoint of white at the upper right is Yaquina Head Lighhouse north of Newport. For those who don't know the geography, the dot is still the lighthouse.

In Newport we went to Starbucks for a latte break. Then, because we were making good time, we drove out to the Yaquina Head for photos of the lighthouse and resting sea lions. Our last planned stop of the trip was in Lincoln City at the Robert’s Bookshop. It’s my favorite used bookstore and I found a couple of photo books on the West and Southwest. 

But who's counting.

They make good editions to my collection. Anne bought a couple of books as well. 

The rest of the drive home was uneventful, In fact, the whole trip had been uneventful, but even though it may seem boring we both had had fun and felt safe. Now, Covid restrictions are opening up, but there’s a new variant to contend with. We’ll see what travel is next for us.

   

Going to the Dogs

This post comes in two parts, but both parts come from rummaging through old files and finding old slides not converted to digital. Both also refer to our Dog Time, the 14 years of the 70s and early 80s when we owned a kennel of Siberian huskies. First, an article I wrote which was published in the late 80s.

Elke: The Lessons of a Beach Dog

Oregon Coast Magazine, January, 1988

Without the slight breeze blowing in off the ocean the day would have been uncomfortably hot. The sun had finally burned away the accumulation of gray that is the usual morning on the Oregon Coast. Kids were splashing in the incoming tide and parents were enjoying the sand and surf of Neskowin as much as their children. Frisbees were as thick as sea gulls and almost as graceful as they floated, dipped, and dived on the breezes and currents.

Anne and I were enjoying this beautiful day from a blanket about halfway between the tideline and the beach grass. We had owned a kennel of Siberian huskies for several years, and found it an interesting diversion from our books and the sand fleas to watch the beach dogs interact with one another. Rituals of tail-sniffing were performed with medieval aplomb. Dogs would approach each other, circle, sniff, and then trot about their business. This pattern held for all manner of dogs—from the pampered poodle getting sand in her ribbon and still smelling of foo-foo to the Heinz 57 mutt whose last bath was a dip in the creek. 

One dog, however, didn’t fit this pattern. A small female elkhound made her way up the beach avoiding other dogs as much as possible. While the other dogs seemed to lack purpose in their meanderings, little Elke showed marked determination. Her beach wanderings were punctuated by stops at all human beach-toweled encampments. As she approached our enclave, she got a whiff of our tuna sandwiches. Instead of circling us at a distance and then moving on, she circled once and then lay down looking directly at us. With head up and ears erect, she watched us eat our lunch. After a couple of minutes she moved to our left and lay down not more than twenty feet from us. She watched us as we discussed the obvious ploy she was making to join our picnic. She continued to move closer until Anne could have stretched out and petted her.

Elke was a pretty thing. She had no collar and lacked the fat look of many pampered pet elkhounds I’ve seen. At the same time she didn’t look particularly hungry. She seemed healthy, bright-eyed, bouncy. When she realized we weren’t going to be taken in by her act, as cute as it was, she headed off to find some easier mark. Before she abandoned us completely, she gave it one last shot. Elke stopped about twenty feet away with her ears pointed back as far as she could get them. She was giving us a final chance to call her back to join in some potato chip munching. When her last effort failed to elicit the desired effect, she trotted off, checking each beach blanket picnic in turn.

I spent a delightful hour enjoying the creative, purposeful antics of Elke. If she belonged to someone, she had certainly found an effective method of supplementing her meals—not everyone could have been as hardhearted as we were. If she were a stray, her physical condition gave a good account of the effectiveness of her begging behavior.

Elke also helped me realize something about my own pets. She pointed out the manipulative behavior of which most of our pets are capable. I thought of our oldest husky, Myko, who knows the surest way to get all the petting he wants is to jump up, lick my face, and bounce down to be chased. No matter how hurried I am, Myko knows that this routine will turn me into putty in his paws. Our 14-year old cat knows that lifting a paw that was once hurt will get some extra snack—or at least a sympathy pet. And if the “hurt paw” doesn’t get our attention, he puts it down and lifts the other one.

Much that has been written about human psychology probably applies to pets as well. Elke had a purpose to her manipulative behavior—she wanted food. Our pets have purpose in their behaviors. By being aware of these purposes we can better care for the emotional health of our dogs and cats. 

I may have resisted Elke’s advances the first time we met, but after I realized what she had shown me about my own animals, you can bet that the next time I’ll invite her to join our picnic as an honored guest.

 Dog Days

 

The second find was a large set of slides from our sled dog running days. Now converted to digital, the pictures are of our dogs, pictures I took of other racing teams, and some extra doggy photos. Most of these photos were slides taken by a fairly ancient Petri fixed-lens rangefinder camera or my first Ricoh interchangeable lens 35mm camera. Captions will help fill in the details. Hope you enjoy.

The Dogs

Our second husky, Gromyko of Kolyma Creek, a great wheel dog and companion.

Myko, a good backpacker dog, carried as much as 15 pounds (about a third of his weight). He's resting at our camp spot at Green Lakes.

We'd take the team out for runs near Hoodoo Ski Bowl.  Mt Washington in the background.

When we lived in Brookings (1980-84), we'd often take the team out for run at Pistol River and stop for coffee break. We had eight dogs much of the time and as many as 14 with puppies. 

Racing

Lee Muller, Albany, racing at Sisters with his team of Siberian and Alaskan huskies.

Anne raced a few times. Her best race was this one at Beaver Marsh.

I raced in 3-dog, 5-dog and 7-dog classes (3, 5, and 7 miles). This was at Sisters. I don't remember the photographer.

Art Christensen, Turner, always had a fast team of Chilkoot hounds, his own mixed breed. They were fast and strong, but got cold quickly.

Me with a five-dog team at a Sisters race. In a normal year we'd attend 7 or 8 races in Oregon, Washington, Idaho, and California. Photo by Mally Hilands, Canby.

Not all our races were on snow. This is a photo of Darell Stewart, Canby, at a cart races at the Painted Hills in Mitchell, OR. Most of us would train our teams on gravel roads with wheeled carts. In racing season I'd try to get two days of training during the week and go to the snow on weekends to race or train.

I was much younger then and had hair.

Anne, seated on the left, was head timer for most of the Oregon races.

Running the Dunes

The Oregon Dunes Mail Run was a non-competitive event that I ran in from 1978-1983. The run was 72 miles in 2 days over and through the Oregon Dunes National Recreation Area from North Bend to Florence. This is Phil Armstrong of Eastacada negotiating one of the tall dunes.

This photo of Linda Robertson, Bandon, has won numerous awards in photo competitions.

The first year of the Mail Run we booted up to run into Lakeside at noon on the first day. The boots were to protect the dog's feet from the rough pavement. Most teams lost their boots in the first couple of hundred yards, littering the roadway. Anne had had to handmake all our boots. We found that the dog's feet were tougher than we thought. My team front to back, left to right: Waveet in lead, Malenski  and Attica in point, Tamarmick and Laca in swing, and Myko and Amorak in wheel.

It was difficult and expensive to own and work the kennel of Siberians, but it was worth every penny and ounce of effort. Some of the best years we ever had. And yes, the dogs absolutely loved to run.

We tried Tigger in lead, but he was too independent.

NEXT: Happy holidays