Woods Walker NW

New Years on the Mountain

2012-01-01T22:36:00.000-08:00

Sunshine Beach in December

2011-12-08T22:42:00.000-08:00

A simple tarp, don't leave home with out one

2011-12-02T18:03:00.000-08:00

Question, what can keep your dry in the rain, warm in the cold, cool in the sun, collect rain water for drinking, be converted into a stretcher, signal for help in times of emergency, and endless other thing, a tarp. I personally consider a tarp just part of my survival gear. On every day hike, hunt, backpack, snow shoe, and ski trip I pack a light weight nylon tarp and para-cord. Quick and simple to setup I can be out of the rain or sun in minutes. I keep my tarp or hoochie rigged at all times to aid in quick setup. Using a para-cord ridge line and para-cord guide lines I can pitched it anywhere I have at least one high point or one trekking poll. For the ridge line I use a klemhiest knot, a cousin to the prusik. If staking out the sides I will use a stakes that have extra large cord loops. This allows me to us a prusik knot to tension the line. A prusik holds better in wind then a any sliding hitch. When anchoring the guidelines to a object a highway mans knot is the only way to go. Quick and simple to untie and never slips on the stormiest days. Tarps are light, cheap, and common. There is not need to eat meals in the rain or bake in the hot sun during a rest break.

A winter day on the bay

2011-11-23T11:33:00.000-08:00

Eating Sea Food by the Sea Shore

2011-11-12T17:10:00.000-08:00

Dishes done and camped picked up for the night I sat down next to the fire and lit the evenings cigar. With in a few minutes of the lantern being snuffed a raccoon climbed the picnic table and start to help its self to the live clams in my plastic bucket. Shining my flash light gave the animal a pause but only long enough to give me the evil eye. As I had spent the better part of the afternoon working the mud flats for my clams I was not giving anything away. I jumped to my feet and banged a piece of firewood on the table. The raccoon ran off. A few pieces of wood later my cigar was finished and so was the evening. I placed the rest of my firewood on the top of the bucket, check the campsite, and headed to bed.

As the side door of the van opening I spot trash on the ground. I had not left any trash out, what the hell. Noticing the cooler and the tupperware on the ground I realized I had been robed. Robed by a raccoon or two. The buggers crawled into the cooler and cleaned me out. Paprika beef and rice, bagged salad, Dr. Pib poached chicken, a full package of hot dogs, and my breakfast egg bagel. Maybe I should have just let them eat the clams... After cleaning up the mess I packed camp, cracked the morning soda and head for the boat dock. I had dropped a crab trap the afternoon before. With any luck I would be having fresh crab for breakfast, I'd be ok with that.

Launching the canoe into the Nehalem Bay I had just as many looks as the day before. Out of the eight crabs in the pot two were keepers, breakfast. Boiling the crabs the sun started to warm the air. Perhaps the best breakfast had on the coast that day.

Moving down the coast I settled in at Netarts Bay. Paying the $3 day use fee I unloaded the canoe, rigged the crab trap, and strapped the dog into his life vest. Paddling out I crossed several shallow bars before tossing my crab pot over. Traversing the bay and stretching my legs on the far beach the current from the out going tide started to pickup. Having little experience paddling in a coastal bay I made the unfortunate mistake of not cutting a crossed the current and floating into the launch. Rather I followed the line of the beach paddling with the current, planning to cross over at the mouth. Closing on the mouth I could see the water rushing out of the bay making turn the realization of my mistake set in. Like all sins I would have to pay my penitance. It would take me almost a hour to travel hundred and fifty yard tacking crossed the current. It was exhausting and unstopping work. If I stopped paddling for only the shortest of time I would slipped several yards down current.

Reaching the boat ramp I wobbled as I got out of the canoe, legs of jello. Giving the dog fresh water and storing the gear we set down the beach on feet as we waited for the tided to fully recede. Later when I would go to retrieve my trap I would learn from my lesson and paddle the slip water along the steep rocky bank. My crab pot would never be found. I looked until well pasted dark. Putting red and green glow sticks on the bow and wearing my headlamp. Perhaps I missed it, perhaps another fisherman pulled it up, or perhaps and most likely I had set the pot on a bar that was exposed at low tide. Regardless the pot and rigging wear gone. This time I would float into the launch perfectly.

Pulling off the road a mile and half or so down the bay and with a glow stick tied to my van mirror and one around the dogs neck we started clamming, To this point I had only been clamming a few times before in my life and never in the dark. The lantern lit the way crossing the mud flats. For two hours I wondered around looking for clams and maybe my crab pot. Crossing pools of water and sinking in soup like mud. Four cockles, one bay clam, and 3 razor clams was my haul. Not bad for a new comer I should think. At times the experience was a little nerve racking. With a light fog in the air and unfamiliar grounds I was grateful for my glow stick dangling from my mirror. It gave me a point of reference, let me know how far out and north or south I was from safety. As my fears of tide raising around me set in it was time to call it a night.

Why Wool?

2011-11-08T20:53:00.000-08:00

Because it really is the best and in the spirit of Letterman I have created a top ten list of the reason to wear wool.

It does not melt when you get close to a fire, or drop a cigar ash on it.
It will be warm even when wet.
It wicks moister away from your body.
There is no swirling, swishing, when you move or walk.
When they are done shearing the sheep there are tasting meat to eat.
Well made wool is soft and comfy.
No one ever says “I can't believe its not wool”
It has worked for all great explores
Wool biodegrades
Timeless Style

The squirrel I stalked, the eyes that glowed, and a walk in the flog

2011-11-07T22:38:00.000-08:00

Elk Camp 2011

Cashe Meadows was a quick two miles hike away however I would take much longer. Having packing sandwiches, cashews, and some cheese I planned to be gone for a little over eight hours. Slow walking the trail, and then sitting in a make shift hide in on the meadows edge. I had been hunting hard for two days, two I would walk the high way of the woods.

Thump, thump and a rustling branches stopped me cold. Raising my binoculars I scanned the forest. Thump, thump, rustle, rustle I heard again. Slipping out of my pack I started my stalk. Fairly sure it was not an Elk my desired quarry , perhaps a black bear having a conversation with a stump. Slow I walked feeling each step before placing my foot. The sound grew closer as I moved, whatever it was it was not moving. I checked the wind, my favor. The forest went quit, I slowed and paused. Thump, thump, rustle again. The noise was coming from the top of a tree. Perhaps a bear? Standing almost under the tall full tree a pine cone hit my pack. Two more fell as I realized that I had spent the last 30min. stalking a Gray Squirrel collecting pine cones. My laughter that followed the colorful metaphors the laughter cleared the forest.

Eating a late lunch at Cache Meadow the stillness and the sound of the grass were of note. Finding a spot with good cover and favoring the wind I set a small field blind and settled in my cozy extra layers. My blind over looked a feed area and a watering hole with plenty of fresh sign. Comfortable, warm and having a full belly I feel asleep, just me the trees. Lucky I don't snore as I awoke to a very distinctive sound that of an animal feeling on low glassy vegetation. It was coming from my left and loud enough to have woken me up. I could not see the animal though the thick vegetation but it was maybe 10ft. away. There was no way I could move out of the blind with out making a lot of noise, so I waited. I still don't no why but the animal spooked and took of at full steam and out of the area. Dark was closing in and the smell of the Meadow was starting to wear. I packed up, downed a liter of water and prepared for the dark foggy walk back. With the fall of night the settling of the fog had began.

My view on the return trip

Visibility was not bad for the first time as my headlight caught the eyes in the woods. They were blue, round and small like glowing blue dolls eyes. Close together and ruffly three feet off the ground my brain knew it was a deer. Some how my hand flipped the safety on my rifle to fire. I would see a total of five sets of blue eyes and a set of yellow. Seeing all of them as I ascended to the plateau. The fog was hit and miss on the way up. At times it was hard to see more then ten feet. Hundred yards or so past the first set of eyes I shouldered my rifle. With each set of eyes or pairs of eyes I would stop. Watching there reaction. At times I would see deer bedded right next to each other. Leading me to this question. Do deer have friends. Why were some bed alone and others in pairs?

Reaching the plateau the fog grew thick. The spider webs under the tree fungus glowed as the light reflected off the water drop lets. At times looking like a seen out of the movie Avatar. Whole logs would light up as if bioluminescent. The rest of my journy back I would not see more then twenty feet and at times as little as three. Though the rocky cliff areas it was a bit unsettling. Gracefully I had brought my best headlamp and was on an established trail. By far the coolest, funnest, and most enjoyable night hike I have ever been on.

Dinner

The Ollallie Oasie

2011-10-12T01:04:00.000-07:00

Ollallie Butte

Waking to the pitter patter on vent of the van I knew it was raining and that I was moving camp again. Having never been down the Olllallie Lake way and looking for something new I loaded, put on the oldies, and set the cruise at 25mph.. Taking the 42 passed the Timothy Lake turn and historical ranger station. Skirting the warm springs reservation boundary and not 35min. down the road I passed a ODFW tracking truck. A miles or so later I passed a ODFW field tech with a potable tracking receiver. I now wish I would have slowed and asked what they were tracking. Anyway I also passed several hunting camps a long the way, a few looking very wet.

The road giving way from asphalt to gravel the van rattled, squeaked and lumbered along. As I approached the lake a sign read resort close, so much for the hope of a warmer shower. As I rounded the lake I forgot about a hot shower and I took my first view of Mt. Jefferson, realized I had the lake to myself, that the sun had come out, It was fantastic. A natural mountain lake, with dead standing timber still lake side, rocky bouldery bottom, water so clear you could see 30ft down, and a snow covered butte in the background. It did not take long to find a place to call home.

With the sun out with its blue sky backing and having unloaded the canoe I took to the lake. Paddling its perimeter there were only the fantist signs of the lakes undoubtedly high use in the summer. As I neared the south end of the lake I pulled the canoe in. Pushing over and bucking two dead standing snags. This was quality hot dog cooking wood.

Firewood collection the fun way!

Returning back to camp the dark clouds I had seen rolling over the mountain like big waves on the North Shore of Oahu had almost arrived. My blue sky was gone and there was still fire wood to attend to and the matter of a bath. Having hung my tarp and prepared all the fire wood for the evening I gathered small tinder. Four strikes of the flint on steel and a spark took hold in the char cloth. Placing the ember in my tinder bundle and coaxing it to life as if giving CPR it ignited. Once I had gotten a good base fire it was time for a bath. The rain had started in starts and stops and the tempiture had dropped. The lake ice cold and the water in my solar shower only slightly warmer I opted for slightly warmer. I got though washing my hair before tapping out. The last of the two hot dogs eating, camp policed, I settled into the fire.

And that is were I found myself, fireside writing this. The sound of the rain on the tarp as it lifts and falling with the wind, a crackle of the burning wood. I sit in my camp chair on a wool blanket to keep my back warm. A glass of tang and a bottle of scotch -single malt- on my archery target repurposed as a end table. Lamenting the fact that in order to be in this place or one like it on my own now is when I must make the journey. A cold, rainy, fall nigh. No stars to be seen, but no other campfires either. It would be easy to say bloody hell I am going home. To be trapped most of the year in the comforts and convenience that home brings. While so many reflect upon there short summer and remember the things they wanted to do, they wish they could have done, or had done and so baddy want to do again. I will reflect upon the next quite and scenic place to sip my scotch smoke my cigars and gather warmth from a campfire.

Getting in touch with old skills

2011-10-12T00:49:00.000-07:00

Pin Pitch Glue

Deciding I need to take sometime to practice old skills I pulled up stakes and moved camp. Landing in the overflow area of Clear Lake campground. This would allow me to do some scouting for future hunting and ski trip as well as being a great place to practice fire by flint and steel. Mostly because the overflow campground does not have much in the way of forest ground litter and no dead standing timber. During the summer anything that can or might burn is chopped, cut, and split then tossed in the fire. Coming up with only a pine knot and a piece of root from and old up rooted tree. Turns out both of these are hard to brake down in a structured way. Going for feather sticks I settled for chopped pieces. However at least in this case both were filled with resin. I have know about collecting pine knots for a brighter fire such as that desired when reading, writing, are repairing gear. But I had never really given them a thought when it comes to lighting a fire. As for the roots. Well I never really gave them much though at all. Being hard to harvest most of the time I normally just pass them by. Being that this tree had been down for sometime and the roots were dry on the inside they took a flame like TP to and outhouse –arrives fine but does not stay for long-. It would make a good second or third stage wood choice though.

Getting on in the evening I started to think about dinner, sauteed onions, roasted bell pepper and hot dogs. Keeping with the primitive theme I chopped out a cutting board and primitive fork. The cutting board mostly created with my axe and the fork my bush knife. Both great projects for tuning your skills with these tools. Sometimes doing the simplest of tasks even ones you have learned many times before can be the most rewarding.

Cutting Board and Primitive Fork

I think this is the key to a great trip. Many people don't seam to match there needs and there desires with there actions. I have been on outings when everything of gone wrong and we should have been miserable, but instead had a great time. By the same token I have been on trips in which on paper I should have had a great time, but the trip was ho-hum. There is no point to an adventure if you are going to do the same things in the same way as you would at home. Because then it is not an adventure it is changing neighborhoods for the weekend. And when you do get to your there you will want to go home almost right way. For you will have taken your baggage with you. And home will now look like your escape.

The Great Squirrel Hunt

2011-10-12T00:46:00.000-07:00

Leaving later then expected Friday night our squirrel posse head to the woods. Well if three counts as a posse, Neil – the early riser, Jenni – the afternoon riser and sister, and myself. Our plan was to base camp at Northarm Campground on Timothy Lake in the Mt. Hood National Forest. In the morning we would travel to the small mountain lakes and well blast a few squirrels. This would be followed by eating squirrels and of course taking pictures of eating squirrels. Arriving at the campsite around 10:30pm camp was quickly made and everyone turned in for the night.

See the Excitement

Getting a late start -the last person up around 11:00am- we piled into the pathfinder and set fourth to find squirrels. First stop would be Dinger lake. I had harvested a few squirrels there the previous year and they always seemed to be about. Quarter way around the lake we split into two parties. I traveled lakeside walking slow and quite. Air in the valley was cold and well settled. After 45min. or so I spotted a pink hat in the woods. Now the deer could have gotten smart and started wearing hunters orange during deer season, perhaps they just got the color wrong. After all deer can not see in color right. But for going that I assumed it was one of the many deer hunters crawling all over the woods. Meeting up with the hunter and chatting a few I learned he had humped up though Dinger Creek, thick cover and hard going. I had walked this the year before when scouting and it has a higher then average suck factor. Interestingly enough I have run into many hunter around Dinger in the last few years. Having never seen any evidence of a harvested deer or talked with a hunter having harvested at Dinger I wonder way.

Watch Your Head

Having parted company and making my way back to the rig I herd the crack of a 12ga. and then another. Getting closer I inquired how many Neil and Jenni had gotten. After all I herd two shoots, so I figured at least one in the game pouch. Nope still squirrelless. By this point Jenni had decided that she was not a hunter and had gotten rather board. She had also decided that blowing a few hundred rounds of ammunition at inanimate targets would be just the thing to cure for her boredom, who was I to say no... After all I can get behind the need to put hot lead down range on a collision course with no longer sentimental objects. They had purchased a new benelli 410 shoot gun and enough shells to kill every squirrel in the forest. And since the shiny new gun was not going to provide a cute fury creators for our dinning pleasure it should at least be broken in. Arriving at our favorite shoot pit and laying down a tarp for easy clean up, it was not long before something sounding much like I imagine a running drug cartel street fire fight could be herd. Each taking turns with their handgun, rifle or shoot gun of choice. Let me tell you if there had been a squirrel between use and that big pile of gravel it still might have had a chance. 45Min. of half target and half stress relief shooting later I was informed I was the only one not hungry.

Before we knew it the five o'clock hour had arrived and hunger had set in with even me. Returning to camp we would spend the rest of the night eating and sitting around the campfire. Though no cuddly but tasty walking protein snacks were harmed in the making of this camp trip. The simple act of going to the woods with friends and family, playing with fire, and shooting perfectly good ammunition at a perfectly good rock pile was a great harvest in it's self.

Making Pudding & Eating off the sidewalk

2011-09-28T23:38:00.000-07:00

Acorn Meat

Over the last few years I have taken several of the classes offered by John Kallas at Wild Food Adventures. While all have been interesting and informative, by far this last weekend was the most practical and useable of them. Attending the Acorn Pudding & Volatile Oils on Saturday and the Neighborhood Foraging; Fall Fruits & Nuts on Sunday.

Acorn Leaching

Let me be the first to say that I am not going to be collecting acorns by the bushel anytime soon. However, the process of processing them has given me several ideas for other foods. John's basic steps to processing acorns are 1.Collect, 2.Dry 1 Week, 3.peel, 4.Rough Grind 5.Dry, 6)Fine Grind, 7.Leach, 8)Use or dry for storage . This all sounds basic, and it is, however there is some thought needed when you setup the leaching system. At the moment I struggle to figure out how you might integrate acorns into a modern diet given the amount of processing needed. They were used in great quantity traditionally by native tribes. However, that does not mean they would work well today.

Still in Action

While the acorns were leaching, John setup a small still using parts from his kitchen (pots and pans). Placing mint stalks and leaves in the still, in a short time we had extracted the volatile oils from the plant. Though I know this was setup as a time filler while we waited for the leaching, it was very cool to see this done with things found in most kitchens. Once the leaching was completed, the pudding was assembled. Very tasty it was, even the youngster in the class was lapping it up.

John Kallas in his not so waterproof rain coat

Sunday afternoon the rain was rolling in and out and cycling from annoying to torrential. The essence of the Neighborhood Foraging; Fall Fruits & Nuts class is to get you to realize how much worthwhile food is within a few steps from your door. We identified and tasted several things including apples, plums, wild peas, dandylions, cats ear, rose hips, and a few others, most growing along the sidewalk. You can totally learn most of this information from many of the wild food books. However having a guide like John telling you keys to identifications, seasons, and answering your questions is more than worth the cost of the class.

Our class 'herd" moving though the neighborhood

WildFood Adventures Classes I Have Taken:

Sea Vegetables of the Pacific Coast

Wapato Island Wild Food Expedition

Marshmallow Meringue & S'mores

Wild Foods in Wilderness Survival

Acorn Pudding & Volatile

Neighborhood Foraging; Fall Fruits & Nuts

Fall on Serene Lake

2011-09-28T23:18:00.000-07:00

Boot Protector Scotch

8pm as I pulled off the highway onto a familiar Skyline Rd. Having already collected my radio and other supplies from the Zig Zag ranger station, I was headed to the Frazier Fork Turn Around for the night. Having driven this road perhaps a hundred times, there was no need for a map. Strange how even though you're on a road, it does not take far before the feeling of being on your own can take hold. As I approached High Rocks, a well-rounded mature cougar strolled across the road. Having had the high beams and fog lights on, I was allowed a good view. Body perhaps four or four and a half feet in length, tail held in the classical u-shape. The cat walked across the road and up a small embankment. I slowed and stopped. For several seconds it looked with interest. Scotch having seen the big cat fully held his bark. Then with a turn of his head and a few steps he was gone into the darkness of the tall timber.

Bloody hell, there were two small buses at the trail head, and youth trail crews to boot. Though I would be working for the Forest Service as a volunteer I was hoping to scout for Elk at the same time. This group will have spooked them into the next zip code. Re-packing my gear and setting my van for the evening I sat next to the campfire. With a pinch, push, and a snap of a match my pipe was lit. It was not a bad way to end the day. A beer in one hand and a tobacco pipe in the other, light of the campfire and the clear skies, kept company by the tall silhouetted pines and a dog at my feet, the day slowly ended.

Upper Rock Lake

With pop-tarts down, a light of the morning cigar, down the trail we went. It was not long before I ran into the work crew. Scotch ran ahead, stood in the middle of the group, and with a winning bark announced he had found them. Many of the kids stopped to pet Scotch, one very happy dog he was. A few of the kids and leaders looked as if they were not going to make it the 1/4 mile to the trail head. Things hanging off their packs and sloppy steps were all too common within the group. First stop would be Upper Rock Lake. This is a long shallow lake with good fish'in and great campsites. Most people will stop at the first campsite they come to where the trail dumps onto the lake. However, if you continue left or right around the lake you will find more sites, but go left and be picky. If you are the type that can not give up your toilet seat there is an old outhouse that has been rehabbed just as you hit the lake. You will be able to see it as you get closer on your left hand side. But a warning; by rehabbed I mean there is an old inflatable boat for a door and no roof. After my morning check-in with Columbia Dispatch -The dispatching service for Mount Hood National Forest Service- and a little water, I was back on the trail. As I made my way back to the junction leading to Serene Lake, I once again ran into a few youth corps members. After swapping stories and some local information, I was on the move, Scotch leading.

Upper Rock Lake - House of Ease

Upper Rock Lake Pit House - NEW SEAT

The hill into Serene Lake is properly long with more than a few switchbacks. The trail is totally hike-able at night with a good headlight. However, there are a few dry creeks, lots of exposed roots, and tons of rocks poking out everywhere. As the terrain levels out, you know you are getting close. You think you should be there, and then you spot not a beautiful lake, nor a campsite, or even a creek, but rather a small sign and a part in the trail. Turning left it is a short walk to the lake, the picture seen in backpacker magazine, and a great swimming hole. The lake sparkling with gin clear, a gentle breeze drying your sweat from your shirt.

Serene Lake

Unlike many backpackers, I value the whole experience, not just that of walking the trail. While many packers pride themselves on shedding weight from their equipment -found by the oz. or grams-, on the other hand, when I arrived, I placed my glass bottle of Samuel Smith Oatmeal Stout in the lake. Then stripping to my skivvies I plowed into the water like a goose coming in for a landing. Cold, refreshing, ok really cold. Drip drying in the overcast sun I spotted a canoe just down the shore. “Who in their right mind hikes a canoe three miles in and up the switchbacks?” The answer is, "I don't know," for I had the lake to myself for the night.

After a short two hour nap, I cracked the beer and started a fire, as it was time to start thinking about dinner. Having cooked beef stir fry at home before leaving, I just needed to heat it and boil two eggs for breakfast. The stir fry consisted of sautéed onions and peppers in browned butter with toasted garlic. Slow simmering cheap stir fry meat in molasses, apple vinegar, garlic, olive oil and of course salt and pepper. Rarely do most packers eat so well. Freeze dried meals and bars of compressed chicken feed seem to be the fare for most. I know it weighs a little more to bring real food to the wilderness, but it is so worth it. Dinner done I had nothing left to do but sit back and watch the day turn into night. As the skies darken, the clouds turn from white, to grey, to pink, then red. The crayfish came out from under their rocks and fish start to feed with vigor. The lake's water was so clear I could see fish twenty feet from the bank during sunset. How could I have forgotten the fly pole?

Dinner warming on the fire

A half stuffed cannoli. That is about how I felt crawling into bed for the night. My sleep system for the evening would be a Black Diamond Megamid -does not have a floor-, biv bag, exped down 9 mat, and a marmot sleeping bag. Having never used this combination before, it turned out my new mat is so thick there is not a lot of room left in the bivy bag. I could have used the biv bag to hold my feet as I did sit ups the fit was so tight. After just putting my sleeping bag on top, all was solved. There is nothing like sleeping out during fall in the mountains. The air is cold, crisp, the bugs have left, and night is of a good length.

Lots of colorful metaphors later I climbed out of my tent. Not because I needed to pee, nor because the dog needed to pee, but rather because I could hear my cell phone alarm going off. It was 6:30am and my phone was hanging in a tree, in my pack. The sound was echoing across the lake and it was not going to stop. Climbing out of my tent, the sun had just started to light the sky. I lowered the backpack and turned off the phone. Moving to an open place with my sleeping bag I sat for two hours as I watched the sun slowly march over the horizon and down into the valley. Cleaning up some trash and packing gear we headed for the trail head. Ten o'clock before we left the lake and temperature was climbing. You could not have asked for a nicer day.

The Deer I did not shoot, the man with a chain saw, and a big trailer in a small place.

2011-09-19T14:44:00.000-07:00

Having bagged a Grouse and a little lunch I set out after the animal that brought me a 100 miles from home to this cold drizzly valley, deer. I had seen signs; both tracks and scat, some very fresh. As I started down an abandoned old road, I caught sight of an ear flicker. Moving slowly, I started to close the distance. I could see that it was a doe, and a large doe at that. I had closed to forty plus yard the deer quarter away. My arm rubbing against a small pine the deer spooked cut the wind and bolted, stopping 30 yards to my right. I froze in place trying not to blink and breathing shallow. I could see the deer's ears moving, nose in the air. She had not moved far enough to smell me. But it knew I was there, the deer just did not know what I was. As the doe moved slowly though the brush I nocked an arrow and moved to a firing position. Seeing only a light brown shadow moving though the thick brush I waited for an opening. Turning towards me now at sixty five yards the doe faced me as to stare me down. I ran the odds in my head, sixty five yards, heavy brush, fifty pound recuve bow, 110 gain cut on contact broadheads mounted to light and fast carbon arrows. Though I could not make the shot simply being able to see this large of a doe at such distance for so long was worth the aches of the day.

Waking the next morning late and to the sound of a chain saw my private valley was mine no longer. A Pop Tart and a few cookies later I was back in the hunt. I would move though the other side of the valley today crossing back over in the evening and then up from the floor. Mid day I ran into my chain saw alarm clock. As it turned out he was a volunteer trail crew member from the Estacada Mt. Hood ranger station. Nice chap with a nice wire haired dog. He was cutting the overgrown Cotton Wood Lake Trail. We swapped stories for 1/2 hour or so and parted company.

So that is what a trees brain looks like...

That evening I decided that I would move locations to the other side of Hideway Lake just northeast of Shell Rock Lake. As I pulled out of the valley, I passed several hunting parties, including the traditional half sauced and driving party. Having found a flat spot in a pullout, I set the van for the evening and settled in. Not 30min. later I could hear a pickup just down the road and as I peaked out the window I could see the marker lights for a trailer. I sat and watched for a few minutes, realizing they were going to try and fit a large trailer into a spot too small for their rig. I donned clothing and crawled out. I walk to the edge of the brush line. As it would turn out the truck and trailer belonged to a nice couple looking for a place to set camp. They pulled the rig 20ft down the road to the opening and parked for the night. We chatted for a few minutes and parted.

Ruffled by a Grouse

2011-09-19T12:41:00.000-07:00

I had been fox walking for three hours though dense brush, dry surface cover, and rocky slopes. Just starting to see signs of my quarry and dropping into a small creek bottom a covey of ruffled grouse flushed from behind, a rush of noise as they took flight. By the time I had an arrow nocked they were overhead. I took aim and loosed two flu flus, both a miss. Not thinking twice, I nocked a standard arrow with a cut on contact broadhead took aim and loosed. I watched as the arrow bisected the grouse, but I was confused when I heard a small thud. Splat or squish ok, but thud?

The bird had been coming in for a landing when I struck it. And as it turned out, the arrow passed through the bird and into the ajoining tree branch. Only with my luck. The bird was twenty feet up in a tree skewered like a kabob. I tried climbing the tree and the adjacent tree, this was only going to lead to a trip to the ER. After some thought, I cut a long branch and lashed my folding saw to it. I would attempt to cut the branch and recover my arrow and the bird. The first branch was not long enough. Cutting a second, and more than a little frustrated, I started to saw. The whole assembly must have weighed thirty pounds. Had I not been there, I would have said big deal. But holding thirty pounds vertically while trying to work a saw at the end on a branch that you could only barely see though the cover would ruffle anyone's feathers. As I worked my makeshift tree saw, I was having a hard time keeping the saw in any of the three or four tracks I had made. If I lowered it too far it would pinch and the blade would start to bend. As I stopped for a break, I snagged the arrow and the bird and arrow fell to earth. If music could have played and champagne quarks could have popped they would have.

Processing a bird in Oregon is kind of a pain as you are not permitted to practice breasting. Breasting being a method of removing only the breast meat from the bird. This is done simply by placing a foot on each wing and pulling up on the feet. Packaged and ready I started for the van crashing though the woods as if a D9 Cat was clearing a road. It was now 3:30pm and I was hungry, and the rain had started -a good thing- and sore in the legs I was ready for a break.

It got my spike, I got it's scales

2011-09-14T01:13:00.000-07:00

The water of Smith Bybee lake was much warmer and slimier feeling then just a few weeks ago. It had dropped another foot or so and in many places it average only about three feet. With no wind the waters were glass smooth and the tell tell ripples of carp surfacing were easy to spot. We had come to spear fish for carp once again. I had brought my home made spears -wooden broom hand and frog gig- and this time would be sitting in the front of the canoe.

Paddling to the west side of the lake I could see fins in the distance and made my first throw of the night. This being the second time I had ever tried to spear a carp I was not surprised with a miss. And as we paddled over to collect the spear the carp appeared on the other side of the canoe. We chased, stalked, and floated for a good 15min. trying to stick the bugger. It would have nothing of it. Then I noticed a strange v-shape wake head towards the bow. It was the carp playing chicken with the canoe. The was a big fast fish it was as if Captain Kirk had call to a little Scotchie and asked for ramming speed. Flashes of the movie jaw ran though my head as I watch the wake approach. I raised my spear high and heaved it as though I was hunting loin in the African bush. The spear flying forward, cutting though the water, coming to rest stuck in the mud. The fish passed under the boat. It was another clean miss.

Missing several more fish I started to wonder if this would really work. I spotted my next fish it was ten feet from the boat. As the distance closed on the fish it seamed as if it was starting to spook. I raise my spear, we were five feet and now the carp was to my right and slightly behind. I twisted my hips and released. The spear tracked true entering the water at a steep angle. This was critical because of the wooden shaft the spear would defect quickly if the angle was to shallow. The water erupted in splashing and the spear moved along the top of the water, “I got one”. As the canoe was maneuvered closer the spear stopped moving, floated to the surface, and a dark shadow moved under the water. “Crap”

I recovered the spear, it was missing one tip and there were a few fish scales stuck on it. I was so close. We tried for another hour to get a fish. Had several close calls but just could not get the angle, distance, or destination right. There were no fish in the boat and was about to be no sunlight. It was time to head for home.

Rafting, Drinks, and Cigar shouldn't this be everyday

2011-09-11T16:06:00.000-07:00

Wiggling into a wet suite for the very first time and feeling much like the stuffing in a pork chop I made small talk with our river guides for the day. Once our group of seven had pulled, pried, scrunched and grunted there way to slender, shallow breathing, blue faced shadows of their former selfs we loaded into the van for a short ride to the launch point. Our guides described themselves as somewhere between hippie and corporate rafters. This was all while offering a nice selection of music on cassette tapes with timeless artist such as Billy Holiday. Clearly we had chosen wisely.

Best Job Ever

The Guide

Having got the boat unloaded and rigged, the safety talk complete, our life vest and helmet bucked we arrived riverside; to find our launch point was a slow pool half the size of the boat in the middle of a class three rapid. Seconds later and being at the front of the raft I was soaked as the first wave crashed the bow. Swiftly the river moved much of the time keeping us in solid class two and three rapids, frequently enough to keep us all wet and engaged. Our second guide and safety kayaker showing off with a rock spin or by surfing a rapid curls. We listened for the calls -paddle 1, paddle 4, back paddle- all while running top drop, the grasshopper, siwash, the corkscrew and others a rhythm was found, most of the time. Sliding over rocks, underwater, and backwards though one rapid the waterfall started to approached. The boat practiced a a few get downs. Not the latest dance step , but rather a way to get everyone low in the boat and finding hand holds. One member of the raft opted out of running the falls. Reaching the portage pull out we could hear the falls as we dropped one.

A few more practice get down and then the call came “paddle full” all paddles dug deep and each person waited for the call “get down”. As we crested the edge of the falls the call “get down”. Plunging down the falls the boat fully submerge with incredible force. Then as if river spat us out we emerge, the self bailing boat drained, and we were called to paddle again. Pulling over to the collect or missing boatman the guide asked if anyone wanted to jump off the bridge. Three of use hoped out of the boat, I was the first to jump. The bridge being 25ft or so was by far not the highest jump I had ever made. But it was the first with a lift jacket and helmet. As I entered the water it rushed under my helmet and made sure my jaw was closed. Reaching depth I was rocked to the surface as the current carried me to the boat.

All gathered again before launching our guide asked if anyone wanted to ride the bull though the rattle snake. After a few concerned looks and a explanation three gathered on the bow. We would ride the raped our feet hanging in front of the raft and holding onto just the perimeter line. As the forward heavy raft nosed into the rapid it plunged down submerging front, highly recommended. Having ridden the rattle snake rodeo the remaining trip to the pullout would be tam, relaxing, and high in conversation.

Look for the sign and order a beer

Having changed out of our wet suites and thanked our guides we were both hungry. The “Pub” in Hoodriver proved to fit the bill. Ordering a bangers and mash, a gimlet, and a beer. Perhaps one of my favorite pubs and definitely my favorite pub in Hoodriver the British Pub has the feeling of a small town English pub with solid food and drinks. Bellies full we walked the town and poking our heads in a few shops. After running into a former co-worker and with the heat of the day upon us we stopped at Mike's for two scoops.

Traveling back to Portland the day continued to warm. It was the kind of day when even the deepest creeked valley with the thickest cover would roast and sweet. In search of cool air and a cool drink we stopped at the Siloh Inn's The Mark. Not being a standard hotel bar it is a cigar bar. Stogies, drinks, and a fantastic kobe beef burger later the day was done.

Back end ventilation with a side of ladder

2011-09-10T18:05:00.000-07:00

Add caption

The back of the van not only gets really warm. But it also get a bit smelly as it is hard to ventilate at night. As well I want to be able to cook inside this winter. The obvious solution was to install a vent just behind the rocket box. It is a simple thing really cut a hole in the top of the roof and screw down the vent. I started by centering the vent and as Norm said “measure twice and cut once”. I traced the outline of the vent and drilled a hole in the center of the square. Using a wire coat hanger to prob under the metal for a support rib I found that I would have to move the vent back three inches from my original location.

Having a jigsaw, aircraft snips, drill, and cut off wheel to make the hole. After some head scratching I started with the jigsaw and quickly broke a blade. Because to the original conversion of the van there were wires and wood supports that I would have to avoid. I ended up cutting at lot of the metal with the snips. However I also discovered that a sheet metal is sharp as I sliced my finger open when the snipes slipped. Once the hole was about the right shape and size I started to fit the vent, I wanted a sung fit. Marking and traced the headline was done by drill a hole in each corner and a hole between each hole. I then marked the liner with a marker and ran a knife along the line. Using the Jigsaw to cut the liner and fit the inner bezel.

Once there was surety that the vent would fit I laid down a thick bead of RTV on the edge of the hole. Placed the vent down, screwed it fast, and then used RTV to seal the steel metal screws and contact edges. The last thing was to fit the bezel on the inside. Because I had cut a wooden headline support I used two extra screws into the support rib.

Having an extra rear door ladder laying around I fitted it to the side door for access to the rocket box. This turned out to be a fantastic idea. It does not really effect my side view mirror and keeps me from needing to hold onto the box as I search it.

An evening on Smith Bybee Lake

2011-09-03T15:40:00.000-07:00

6pm canoe on my shoulders for the short walk to the waters edge. As I made my way down the path I was surprised at how low the lake had dropped. Launching 100 yards past the end of the gravel and on to the sandy bottom on the lake. The water was it's typical turbulent shads of brown and green. The plants lining the lake stood testament to the drop in water with a white band ringing the lake. The breeze slowly stirred the lake and the waters surface. I had brought the fish spear and the plan was to try for a carp.

As we approached a spit of shrubs that divide the eastern part of the lake the bottom of the canoe was bumped by a carp. This was the first of many such bumps that would happen on the paddle. Floating in to an area with dense underwater vegetation the paddling became laboursome and the canoe slowed. Blue Herons sounded making a noise as if you had taken the cry of a pig and the quack of a duck an placed them in a mixer. Rounding the spit a carp had come to the surface to feed and dwelled for a time. It seamed to be almost sunning itself. We could see the fishes pelvic and dorsal fins as it rolled in the plants.

Spotting a small island exposed by the low water covered with Pelicans we paddled towards. As we approached the birds began to fig-it. Slowing and changing to the Indian stoke we moved slow and silent. Then all at once the bird broke as if a flight of B-52 bombers were taking off for Germany. Flying in a clustered formation over out heads it was a fantastic sight.

Several times we tried to float into small coves and surprise carp. However we were never able to seal the deal. The carp were there, we were there, but a spear is a close quarters kind of thing. As the sunlight faded and heading back to the launch a beaver was spotted. There are several beaver lodges around the lake, some rather large. Attempting to get a closer look we paddled hard and closed to twenty feet. It was an awesome sight to see a beaver swim though the middle of this lake.

Returning to the launch and taking a moment to watch the last of the sunlight. This a is a great wonderful little lake is hidden within Portland city limits. Why are there not more people here? Why are their never more people here? Whatever the reason I am thankful.

How to make your camp neighbor heads turn – Roast in rock oven

2011-09-02T15:51:00.000-07:00

I have cook more then a few things in rock ovens now. This however would be the first time for a ground oven in a campground fire ring. You start by collecting rocks somewhere between the size of your fist and your foot. Flatter rocks work a little better then round rocks, and they need to be none river rocks. We needed about 25 such rocks to line the hole I had dug in the fire ring. The removed dirt was placed on a plastic tarp as it would be needed later. The hole lined and additional rocks placed on the top rim I back filled between the edge of the hole and the rocks, back filling helps hold heat. I recommend double lining the bottom of the pit. This will give extra room for the ash left behind to fall. A large fire was built in the center of the rocks, aloud to burn for 2 hours. During such time you will need to gather green sticks and bows. The rock oven is constructed like a massive sandwich. At the very bottom -the bottom of the hole- dirt. Moving up you then have rocks, meat, rocks, green sticks, bows, fabric or moss cover, then finally sealed with dirt.

Rock Oven with meat in it

Once the fire has died down you will need to remove all large pieces of unburnt wood and coals. The remaining ash can been moved to the cracks between the rocks. I do this with a short handled shovel. Placing the meat into the oven it is placed directly on the rocks, heavy fat side should face up. We used very cheap bottom round roasts, each weighting about 3 pounds. The extra rocks placed on the rim of the pit should be rolled onto the top of the meat. You will hear the most fantastic sounds as the meat shrinks and browns.

Green sticks of 1/2 – 1” in diameter are then placed on the top of the oven This will create a small air gap on the stop of the oven. They also serve to keep the bows from direct contact with the rocks. Bows are then placed over the green sticks. The bows help keep the sealing dirt out by providing support as well as add moisture with in the oven. Place either a cotton bed sheet or a few cotton t-shirts over the bows. Traditionally carpet moss would be used for this. However removing this amount of moss for a rock oven I can not justify.

T-shirts over bows

The last step is to cover the oven with the dirt removed when digging the hole. This is a critical step as the dirt seals the moisture and heat in the oven. If I can not create a clod by squeezing the dirt in my hand I had moisture. Doing this on beach you should only use wet -not soupy- sand. Once the dirt is placed over the oven there should be no jets of steam rising.

Sealing Rock Oven

Sealed Rock Oven

Opening Rock Oven

Using a thermo probe with a long cord we were able to watch the internal temperature of the roast. A room temperature roast should cook in about 85min. or so. I would recommend that once the roast reaches 155 degree internal temperature you pull the roast 10 degrees before the temperature you want. When opening the rock oven you have to been very careful. There is a lot of heat and seam trapped in the oven. I started at one end brushing on the dirt with a shovel and then by hand. Then slowly rolling back the t-shirts and allowing the steam to vent. The most fantastic smell rose into the air. The people in the campsite adjacent stopped in their tracks and look upon the pit. Removing the bows and green sticks and rolling the rocks off the roast our mouths watered. Placing the roasts on a cutting board the feasting would begin.

Lets Eat

Keep your cooler, cooler and your ice longer...

2011-08-30T22:35:00.000-07:00

Cooler with bicycle tube lid seal

If your coolers are like mine they are middle of the road Coleman, Igloo, and like brands. Coolers much of the time are constructed like a Vacuum Flask. This means that the inner liner is connected at the lid ridge to the outer shell. In most cases there is only air between the two layers. However the better quality and more expensive coolers have foam. They also have a rubber gasket or o-ring between the lid and body to prevent air exchange. A quick and simple way to improve the the efficiency is to stop or lower the amount of air exchange between the lid and main body. River guides offend do this with foil backed tape. However using a bicycle inner tube will work almost as well. Simply cut the inner tube so that it looks like a giant rubber band. Make sure you have a tit fit, 16-18' bike tubes will work for most coolers.

Cooler Tips

Create additional lid seal
Open the lid as little as possible. When cooking a meal pull everything you will need at once. Put it all back at once.
Use a separate cooler for drinks.
Do not store in hot car or in direct sun light
Use a combination of block and crushed ice
Additional insulation using a car sun screen or all-weather space blanket
Place a small cooler for frozen items in larger cooler. Both cooler will need to have ice.
If you are going to use dry ice you will need to put 1/4 of Styrofoam insulation over the ice.

Make the noise stop....

2011-08-30T20:34:00.000-07:00

Driving into John Day early in the morning few things were open. Not being able to take the dirty van anymore I putted into a self wash. Ten dollars in quarters later I had pressure washed and vacuumed the van to a state of tolerably. Stopping at the Thriftway for a donuts and soda I in queried about a sporting goods store. As a side note small towns have fantastic donuts like the maple bar with white chocolate cream cheese frosting with chocolate maple drizzled on top that I had that morning.

I was told that for archery supplies I should go to the Ace Hardware a crossed the street. For general hunting and fishing I should go to the the Ace Hardware in old town. Being that I was looking for broad heads and a braided loop for the fly pole I ventured over to the Ace. As I sat in the parking lot waiting for the store to open I happened to look back a crossed the street. There siting in the shade of the morning sun was a black tail deer, a 6 pointer. Holly hell. The deer sat and watched the store open and traffic go by.

Having collected my supplies and some small talk later I was on the road. I still needed water this I would find at the Clide Holiday State Park and like most state parks it was incredibly nice. In the middle of scrub and dust I drove into a green grassed desert oasis. Taking the tour I found a spot to fill the water cans and slipped onto the road. The plan was to drive though the John Day National Monument and then camp outside of Fossil for the night. The day was hot before noon and the van was running smooth but warm. The dogs tongue growing long in the heat I pulled into a place called the Shady Grove Recreation Site operated by the BLM. Not as nice as the state park by any reach of the mind. Parking in the shad I propped the hood to let the van cool snag the fishing poll and head for the river. First order of business would be to throw the dog in for a bath and cool down. Scotch flashed me the dad, dad, dad, no look as he was being launched into the water. Upon retuning to the river bank I got a dad don't do that but it felt good look.

Checking the fishing regs quickly I dropped a line and started to get hits right way. I tried and tried to set the hook and real in a fish but just could not seal the deal. The next bit I jerked the poll hard and fast and couldn't believe it. It was crawfish not fish taking the bait. With this new reality I packed the gear and we set off fossil.

There are many hills some of good size between Shady Grove and Fossil, OR and on one such hill the temperature gauge started to climb. Keeping an weather eye I pulled over just as boil over happened. This kind of thing never happens in the best of placed, but we were in the shad. I lifted the hood, inspected, and using 5gal. of my water supply I cooled the radiator. A short 30min. side bar and we were on the road. The van was still running hot but safety, the air temperature was climbing. Forcing me to pull hills at 35 mph and let gravity take me down the them I was able to keep control of the engines temperature.

I passed though fossil and the one stop sign, point in the direction of Antelope, OR and press on. Somewhere between Fossil and Antelope would be the campsite for the night. Getting out my maps showing the BLM and other public land I ready for a hot afternoon in an almost shadeless environment. Pulling up to the first service road it was closes, and this would be the story for the next three. I passed a sign that read “OSMI John Day Fossil Station” and then notices figures bounding though the brush. Quickly pulling over, key off, and binoculars in hand. It was coyotes, a group of five. Two dispersed quickly, one never stopped running, and two took shad next to bushes. I called to them, their fascination was fixed. For 20min. perhaps a little less were watched each other until only one remained. This coyote seamed to be covering the retreat of the others. Acting in ways in which I would what to watch him and not the others. It would yip, howl, rub on the bush, get up and down and yip some more. It worked as I lost the others all together. After a few minutes it turned and walked up the hill with out using cover.

Entering Antelope I started looking for a cool place to park and a cool something to drink. As it turns out the only place in Antelope is a Cafe & General Store. In the back there are a few previsions, flour, sugar, candles and the like. In the front a counter like that of a fifty’s dinner. A life long cowboy sat talking to the owner, waitress, head cook and bottle washer. I asked for a cooled drink and a ice cream, “$2 please”. I would have paid $20 at that point. Some local information later, a watering of the dog and I was on the road. After my meeting of the cowboy I bagged the idea of camping around Antelope. Besides I had had enough direct sun for time, I wanted trees, lakes, and shad all-day.

The new plan was to camp a Badger Lake on the backside of Mt. Hood. Coming out of Madras the van over heated again. This time not having extra water to spare I waited almost an hour for the van to cool, and this time there was no shad. One the road again the night temperatures started to settle in. The van was still running hot. The first squeak started, then more, stronger, and louder they grew like a weed. By the time I reached the end of the Warm Springs Reservation on Hwy 26 I though the dog was going to start to howl for the squeal of the belts. It would not be until I reached Rhododendron, OR 45min. later I would get relief. Stopping at the Thriftway I purchased a can of belt dressing. This helped the problem until I left the parking lot. I completed the drive home that night squealing the whole way..

It would not be until the following days that I would come to learn my water pump had started to let go and coolant had gotten on the belt glazing it over. Vinne de Van is proving to be hearty and reliable.

It was a hot dog eating wondering kind of day...

2011-08-21T11:06:00.000-07:00

Getting up early this morning having had packed camp the night before their was only the matter of the shower to attend to. Though this was my third Solar Shower of the trip, it was the first the sun had not warmed the water to a pleasant 120 degree. By 8:30am I was back in Burns, OR. It happened to be the day of the Desert Rally and there were Harleys a and classic cars clawing all over. As I went though town collecting supplies and talking to locals more and more appeared. Bars and restaurants like blocked off prime parking areas as “Bike Parking Only”, clearly this was to a big event. I found by talking to the locals that live music, a dance, poker run, and many other activities were in the works for the day. Stoping by the DQ I had a small blizzard and got Scotch a kids cone. Four licks, 4 bits, and it was gone. What a happy dog. On my way out of town I wanted to drop a few things in the mail and so began the great stamp hunt. This would be my own little Desert Rally event. The goal was to find 4 stamps. Having come from a US Bank I knew that I could by them from the ATM, but I had to purchase nine.

The first hot dog of the day came from a place called the “Dog House”. It was a stand alone cart much like you would see in Portland, OR selling coffee. I walked up to the window and a older and bit grizzled looking women slid the window open. She had on a t-shirt that said “Crazy Bitch” and ask me what I wanted. My first though was does she have a gun in there, because you know she knows how to use it if there is. I glanced over the menu and then said “One dog, onions, mustard, Pepsi”. “Three dollars”, she took my money and slid the window shut and moved so I could not see her. After wondering for a few minutes if I was going to get food or stiffed. And if I did get stiffed was I going to confront a women with a t-shirt the read “Crazy Bitch”, the window slid open again. “You want grilled or raw” “grilled” “Here you go” she handed me my soda and slid the window closed again. Soon I was presented with a a hot dog. It was of a good size with far to much grilled onion, it was perfect. As she handed me the dog I asked “You wouldn't happen to know were the Post Office is” “Down that street at the end pasted the light” window slid closed again and she disappeared in the back. Not much for small talk, but a good hot dog.

I arrived at the Post Office knowing they would be closed but hoping for a stamp vending machine, goose eggs. Well maybe Safeway that is were the lady at Walgreens said to try. I rolled over to the Safeway to find that they sell books only. However I was told by the customer service person the post office had a vending machine, she had seen it the other day. Thinking I may have missed it I went back to the Post Office. Nope it was not there. However there was a hole in the wall were it had once been. Giving up I went back to the bank, bought nine stamps, and returned. As I drove up to the drop boxes I thought how funny it was, so hard to get 4 stamps when they had two drop boxes. One said “Local Letters” the other said “Out of Town Letters”. In this small town people still send letters to people in the town. How come I could not simply get 4 dam stamps?

By 2:30pm I was at Forest Service Rd. 37 off Hwy 395. As I turned down the road I thought how nice it was to be on a paved road heading in the forest for a change, that ended after a few miles. I passed hundreds of cattle some having no care of my presents. Others seam to command there place along their road I was traveling. One caff gave me the evil eye it a caff ever could. I wondered around the Malhuer National Forest for several hours. At times parking the van, grabbing the shoot gun and walking just to see what was there. During one such stop Scotch jumped out and darted around exploring and smelling every bush. I called him over and as he scrambled my way ran right into a bog. I could not believe this he was covered in black nasty mud up to and covering his chest. At one point I ended up on heavily rutted roads with no way to turn back. As I carefully placed each tire on the ridges of the ruts and traveled slow as to lot loose ground clearance to suspension movement. Making my way back to Hwy 395 I then cut to the east and climb another forest service road towards the local fire tower. Hoping for a view I was greeted by a very nice fire spotter who told me about a lake and a campground not far. She ended by saying “There was water at the beginning of the season with all the snow and rain. However the dam leaks and I am not sure there will be any water there now”.

What is that smell, hot wires? I shut down my charge system for the electronics. Nope it is still here, crap, crap, it is my brakes. As they became soft I was half way down a steep, ruff, curvy slope and thought I would loose them before the bottom. I had weighed the van at a closed scale leaving Burns, 50lbs. under max GVMW. I was able to slow enough to put the van into first and let the motor work as a brake going down the hill. I keep remember what an old timer trucker once told me. “When your brakes are really hot whatever you do don't stop. You need the air flow to cool them down. If you stop they sometime start a fire.” I crawled for 2 miles at 10 mph before touching the break, hot dam they worked again.

Arriving at Canyon Meadows Lake campground the place looked abandoned. No campers, no signs of campers, no camp host, no fee box. Making the loop I drove by the lake and sure enough there was nothing but a creek left. I checked the pit house it was clean, stocked, and smelled quite pleasant. Shortly after selecting a spot another truck rolled in a setup at the other end of the campground.

Dinner time, as I went though the pantry and cooler I decide to save the steak for tomorrow night. I would just boil some dogs and call it good with a pudding cup desert. It was not until I place the dogs in the pot I remembered about lunch. Quick a simple dinner was over and the dog need to do some walking. The “lake” is in a deep depression and the road travels along side. We walked along looking out on the meadow though the branched of the tall pine trees. I spotted a doe and fawn down by the creek. This was the 3rd and 6th doe and fawn of the day. We had also seen three bucks, all still in velvet and all young. With deer season opening in just a few day this only feed the anticipation.

Millbank Bag – Old School Water Filtration

2011-08-20T11:23:00.000-07:00

Since the time of Napoleon people have been passing water through densely weaved cloth to filter out some of the unpleasant things it contains. And really a Millbank Bag is nothing more then a refined way of doing this. The Millbank Bag you see in the pictures is a NATO issue (8465-973-6663) water bag. I traded a friend in England a K&M Match case for it. However you could make one very simply from any densely weaved cotton fabric. Things such as a high quality pillow case, old bank coin bag, pant leg, or fabric of the bolt will all work. You can also use a coffee filter for small quantities of water. A few key feature are the ability to hold the bag above the collection pot, and a tapered point to control wear the water exits. This does not sanitize the water,it ONLY FILTERS OUT LARGE ORGANICS AND SILT.

Instructions for Use:

Place in water source until complete saturated.
Ring bag under water
Fill bag and let it drain back into water source. (Do not collect this water.)
Fill bag by scooping bag though water or pouring from dirty water container.
Let the first bit of water drain with out collecting.
Collect draining water
Sanitize water. By boiling, bleach, or other method.

The cow is rubbing it's ass on my van...

2011-08-20T11:10:00.000-07:00

The van was moving “Scotch lay down dammit. Dammit Scotch lay down” as I rolled over he was right next to me and the van was still moving. I reached for the pistol an before I could get my hand fully around the grip I notice a old raggity one horned steer out the back window. He had back himself up against my spare tire and was taking care of an itch. I could not help but laugh and in the process spooked the steer mid stroke. He took off flat out and shortly so did 20 other cattle. After watching this small 60 yard stampede I went back to bed.

After packing camp I started back towards Burns, OR. On my way out just before the cattle gate there was the same raggity old one horned steer in the middle of the road. He stood there as I approached, not moving, not flinching. I looked around to see if there were caffs or other cattle near by, they were 200 yards off in the bush. I stopped 50 ft from the steer. As we both looked each other over I wondered if he was going to charge. If he did could the van survive a full frontal attack. I honked my horn, he did not move. I honked again, still no movement. Putting the van in drive and creeping forward I honked a third time, he step 3ft. of the road. As I creep forward the steer stood fast. As I passed him our eyes meet, him standing feet from my driver side door.

Returning to Burns, OR I dropped into a few of the store I could not visit the day before. In the cool of the morning I can leave the dog in van for sometime without worries. The guys at the two local sportsman shops were great. Though I was with out doubt an outsider they still gave me great idea's for place to camp, hunt, and fish. Particularly the at B&B Sporting Goods, go their buy a map then put it on the counter and ask them to tell you about it.

Around 2:30pm I arrived at Moon Reservoir and found a great site to camp. Gave the dog a much need dunk and de-dusting, watched the pelicans and other wildlife for several hours. Ending the day again with a cigar and scotch I had no complaints.

Home on the road

Laundry and a Burger

2011-08-20T10:55:00.000-07:00

After cleaning up -dish and and a shower- and packing camp I started for Burns, OR. It was nice to be on the move again. Mostly because I could see the contrail of dust leaving my van as we sped down the highway. It left using Hogs Back Rd. to Hwy 395 and a short distance down 395 I found the BLM Well Side Rest Area and was able to empty the jon and fill the water cans. Setting the cruises at 55 mph I settled in, next stop would be the Archery Store in Riley, OR.

In Riley there are 3 things, a post office, a general store with gas, and archery store in the same building as the general store. The town sits at the cross roads of Hwy 395 and Hwy 20. The general store was a country 7-Elven but the Archery store was as well stocked as any store in Portland, OR. If you are passing by and even have and fleeting interest in archery I highly recommend stopping in.

Stopping at the BLM office turned out to be a good call. Many times I find that local gas station attendant knows more about camping, hunting and fishing in the area then counter personal at agency offices. However this was the exception. I picked up a few maps and some good information about BLM land. As a side note BLM has a very different feel and approach then the US Forest Service.

At the gas station I asked about laundry and a burger. I knew that I was in a small town when I had two pumpers come over. They played with my dog, washed my windows, and talked hunting. They told me the Jiffy Wash was down the main drag behind A-1 Transmission. As for the burger I was pointed to RJ's drive-in. I inquired about getting a internet connection and was pointed to the local library. Also as a side note Jiffy Wash does not have a coin machine, plan ahead. Wash done and email checked I parked at RJ's. It is an old fashion kind of place you sit in you car toot your horn and they come to you. Though the burger was very tasty, it is to bad they did not have old fashion service. Once I was done and the bill paid I walked inside to get an ice cream cone. I stood at the counter for a good five minutes as I listen to the staff in the back complain, I left.

On my way out of town I stopped at the local Safeway. Somethings I guess are the same everywhere as a few local hoodlums sat outside having nothing better to do. As I walked the store I was amazed that some products were less expensive then in Portland, OR. While others I would have thought would be much less expensive were very high. I paid almost twice what I would expect to pay in Portland for beef. However I had passed hundred of beef cattle on the way in to town.

Driving though the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge was really quit enjoyable. Lots of birds of all verities, rabbits, and cattle set in a seen from Crocodile Dundee, highly recommend a visit. Pulling off on to S. Harney Lake Rd. the gravel quickly gave way to the familiar dusty dirt roads. As I bee bopped though the desert I rolled around a corner and up a small hill were a Jack Rabbit sitting in the shad unwilling to move. He had found a cool breezy place with some soft fluffy dust to rest in. As I came closer and slowed the rabbit waited until 3ft to bolt. A few dust filled miles later I pulled down a spur road to its end, this would be home for tonight.

The sun starting to set, I ready the van for slumber. There would be no need for a fancy camp as I would be leaving in the morning. Domestic duties completed I grabbed the spotting scope, a cigar, and the bottle of scotch and finish my night out on the top of the van. I could see for miles all around. The bird and bats darting around, cows vocalizing in the distance, and the faintest of coyotes yips completed the night. Sitting there for a good 3hr. watching the sun lower and the moon raise was simply fantastic. For the first time I think in my life I was able to see the milky way and see stars from horizon to horizon.