The Dilettante Traveler

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

The Three Beeves

I think this one must be Butch Cassidy, showing off his tasty flanks.

And these are clearly the Sundance Kid on the right, and maybe Long John Silver on the left? I'll have to ask . . .

Just got a phone call from Ian—in the way of spousal intuition I had left him a message a scant 20 minutes before, just as he was coming into cell phone range. He's currently off the coast of San Diego (there's a dim gray line along the eastern horizon that is claimed to be land), and the sea is glassy calm. This was not true on Thursday, his first day out, when he felt, unfortunately, a little vomity. He wondered a bit why, in fact, he came on one of these boats again, but then the fun part of sorting a plethora of dead fish returned and he remembered. I guess it's about 80 degrees today, and the people on the boat are talking of throwing a ladder over the edge and going for a swim. Presumably no sharks have been sighted.

There are two boats participating in the survey at the moment, and each lost a sailor (as opposed to a biologist, as Ian is) in their last port, Morro Bay. In the salty, tarry, rummy tradition of seafarers, these sailors got very drunk and disorderly. One maybe just failed to return to ship the morning they were supposed to sail (and was replaced by an extra crew member already on board for some reason); the other spent the night defacing businesses in Morro Bay, then somehow broke into the Coast Guard station and tried to steal a dinghy. He was replaced by a random sailor down on the docks, unaffiliated with the boat, who had participated in one of these surveys about 8 years ago, for the same reason.

The survey has had a couple problems—on one of their net settings, they evidently caught something too large for the boat to pull in (giant squid? Gray whale? Russian submarine?), and spent quite a while hoping it would dislodge, because a net large enough to go down 1500 fathoms (9000 feet) is expensive to replace. Eventually the thing fell out and they brought in the net, but it set them back a little. There may not be, after all, time for an afternoon on Catalina.

And that's all I know!

Monday, July 20, 2009

Walks and Rides July 20th

Today we mostly took it easy--a stroll around the 80+ acres in search of cows (or steers, more specifically)--no luck. This was a pretty flower, though.

At one point, we lost the path and walked through this. I didn't think too much about poisonous spiders or snakes (thank you, Sonja) as I clambered through the undergrowth in my Keen sandals.

Some trees that I helped plant a couple years ago.

Four dogs in Northern Idaho.

More dogs in Northern Idaho.

Gratuitous Northern Idaho shot just for Joel.

The gate . . . to nowhere.

Northern Idaho shots attempted through my sunroof as I drove down 95 to Moscow.

My entire pack. Since we'd had a relatively easy morning walk, and I planned a relatively easy evening ride, all the dogs came, and they loved it. I have occasionally wondered how Sikem would respond to an injured dog lashed to his saddle.

An arty shot of myself. Note the averted gaze and the oblique angle. Mom, note the helmet.

Animalities

As the pack leader and only human of my social circle right now, I am enjoying observing the similarities and differences between members. The members consist of three cows, whom I have observed so obliquely that they barely count as pack members; one horse, who I have spent a few hours with over the last couple days, primarily on his back; and four dogs: two chocolate Labs, an Australian shepherd, and a Hoover.

For today's walk, I intend to hike around the pasture that the cows are in—I have to go in to town for some supplies (a cowboy hat from Tri-State, "Idaho's Most Interesting Store," for one), and so I thought that an easy walk, and perhaps this evening an easy ride, would be in order. Anyway, I will presumably at least observe the cows, of whom there are three, as more than just glints of hide: Butch Cassidy (named because, as A says, he looks like he's already ready to be butchered), The Sundance Kid (who is golden), and one I can't remember the name of.

Sikem is a sweet boy, but he's very mopey. This is the first time in his life that he's ever been without other horses longer than a couple hours, and he doesn't like it. He eats disconsolately, ignores Hoover's apprehensive grrUFFing disconsolately, trots and canters, eventually, if I make him, disconsolately. The first two days he whinnied with great frenzy, for several hours. Today, he is standing silently, disconsolately, in his pasture. He is funny when we're out on rides—I take Hoover and Sadie, the shepherd, and they bound endlessly across the trails from one side to another and into the woods where they rustle and crackle about, and occasionally dislodge huge wild turkeys. Sikem insists on forgetting, the moment they're out of sight, that they were with us in the first place, and looks anxiously about him at the noises, ears pricking this way and that. He was distinctly unhappy with the giant turkey that flew—somehow—right across his face the other evening.

The dogs I get to understand the most. Tessa, a chocolate Lab about six years of age, is a new addition to the family here. She is the former dog, from Seattle, of one of K's nieces, and was banned from the city for nipping toddlers. She is a lunchmouth who evidently takes food off the counters if any is left, and bullies her way into eating Sadie's food once she's finished with her own. She likes to sit by the new front door in the evenings. The door is mostly glass, and whenever Tessa moves, she sees a dim reflection of herself, which she interprets as a threat from outside, and she goes off into a volley of loud, frantic barks.

Sadie, maybe about three, is more of an observer in the house, although after we've all gone to bed her protector instinct comes out and she barks hysterically at nothing. At 11:30pm. And then 12:30am. I finally went and got her last night, and brought her upstairs to my bedroom, to sleep with me and my dogs, and she seemed to calm down. She did try to get me up at 7:30 this morning, but I told her in no uncertain terms that any dog waking me up at 12:30am does NOT also get to wake me up at 7:30am. She went back to sleep, and we got up at 9. She and Hoover are a very good match, both for playing together, and for simple energy. I cannot believe how much they can run around on our walks, and then on our rides, and then around the yard once we're back home in the evenings. I know that I estimated the walks that I've been on at around 3 miles; I'm sure they've done at least three times that.

Hoover is in his element. He's not on his leash, so there's no threat to him. Two stranger dogs came into the yard yesterday, and he greeted them cordially. He has also discovered the joys of swimming, and surprisingly, is perfectly willing to sleep on his bed on the floor of our room, even while Spackle is on the big bed with me. I somehow managed to leave his collar in Seattle and so he could be a feral dog, but I decided to put Spackle's collar on him and let Spackle be feral instead. The second night here, after our first full day of insane racing around, Hoover had a bit of an allergic response that led me to call the emergency vet (who Spackle visited almost 8 years ago when he caught a stick in the back of his throat, jamming a big hole into his soft tissues). His eyes were red and puffy, he was snorting and wheezing, and he threw up part of his dinner (which he found on the grass and ate the next day). He was very unhappy, and I freaked out a bit. He's a rough-and-tumble dog, though, and by the time I was speaking with the vet, maybe 10 minutes after I noticed his distress, he was already rolling around on the living room floor, play-fighting with Sadie.

Spackle is also in his element. He gets to run around in nature, then swim in a pond, then towel off in a manure pile (which led to him getting a shower our second night, which seems to have led to him avoiding the manure pile since then). Yes, I'm a proud parent, but he's a remarkably smart dog, and sweet, and funny, and calm. While Tessa is barking at her reflection, Hoover and Sadie are on high alert, growling a bit, ready to bark if need be. Spackle sits on his bed and looks wonderingly at Tessa. His back legs are not as strong as he'd like, I'm sure, and he's worn out by the end of the day when we go to bed. When I invite him up on the bed, he puts his front legs up and stretches out, but can't quite find the strength to get up completely. He looks at me ingratiatingly, wagging his tail, until I scoop up his hind end and deposit it on the bed. He then walks up to the head and curls himself up on my pillow. As soon as I am done brushing my teeth and ready for bed, I push him aside.

Anyway, I am certainly not bored or lonely with all these different creatures to observe, interact with, be annoyed by, love.

Sunday, July 19, 2009

Ride on the 18th, walk on the 19th

As you see, Hoover learned his lesson well about getting lost in the woods. He is not going to let Sikem out of his sight. Actually, he's probably too close to see him. I think Hoover is relying on touch.

Dogs in a sylvan spring. The spring is bubbling from mud, not rock, so it's not actually very pretty to humans. But it sure is to dogs.

Back at home--the legs of a supremely happy human.

Saturday, July 18, 2009

Way Overestimated

I just used google maps to do a rudimentary sketch of my routes today, and it appears that each circuit, the one I did on foot, and the one I did on horseback, was about 3 miles, not 5 or 6. Still. It was hot. And dry.

First Walk

Get the water while you can, folks! Indeed, this was the last water we saw for probably another hour. Yes, the thermometer says 96.5. No, I did not wade in the mudhole myself, nor did I drink from it. No, I was uncleverly not carrying any water with me. We walked about 1 3/4 hours, so I'd guess 5 or 6 miles. Tomorrow I'll carry water.

Schadenfreude.

Proof that Hoover can swim, and did swim--all of his own volition! Helps for it to be in the 90s.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

The Road Home

One might have expected me to sleep soundly and longly in the fancy bed at the Kingfish Inn, but, alas, it was not to be. Sure, most of our trip was finished. Most of my need to be alert and aware had ended. I no longer had 10-year-olds sitting in the bow of my boat going through rough water. I no longer had a hundred miles to go on one paltry tank of gas, hoping I wouldn't run out. I didn't have to worry any longer about how low the tide would be, and about getting the boat back onto the trailer. Our food hadn't run out (although it pretty much had run out of vegetables).

But, we still had 100 miles to go, many of them on the freeway, towing our boat at high speeds, and then when we arrived in Seattle, we had to put that same boat back in the water at the Sunnyside dock, basically in the middle of the business district as far as potential traffic went for 5:45pm. And then we had to deliver the trailer to Lake Union Sea Ray before 6pm when they closed up and went home.

So, when I wasn't dreaming about Christina Aguilera being in bed with us (quite modestly dressed, actually. I asked her if she was going to have any more children and she said yes.), I was lying awake playing over and over in my mind a video of me backing up the boat, and how I would turn the steering wheel of the car to get the boat to go where I wanted. I finally came to a conclusion that made sense to me—turn the wheel the way you want the back of the boat to go—and went to sleep.

Our breakfast the next morning was lovely, and after a bit of time spent tidying up the land, locking the outhouse, and pulling up a bunch of thistle (just in time, too, as our land was hayed today), we headed for the ferry, Ian driving. There was a slight hitch at the ferry dock where the woman in the booth wouldn't let us get in line, even though there was space to park, because the ferry we were going to get on wasn't the one that was leaving next; Ian managed to drive back around the booth without crashing into anything and we took a trip around the large block by our land. Everything there was still fine. When we got back to the ferry line the woman explained that, in a cost-cutting measure, she was the only one working in the upper lot for the day, and she simply couldn't tell people when to stop and when to go for boarding, and do her other job. We agreed with her that there are some costs that should not be cut.

Anyway, we made it onto the next boat without quite the squeeze of the first one, and after a brief visit to the bathrooms upstairs, came back to sit in the car.

"I think I've finally figured it out!" I said to Ian, about backing the trailer. "When you want the trailer to back around to the right, you spin the steering wheel clockwise. And when you want it to turn left, you spin the wheel counterclockwise!"

"Um . . ." said Ian gently, "I think that's actually backwards. I think you have to spin the steering wheel counterclockwise to get the boat to go right."

I burst into frustrated tears. "I will never figure this out!" I sobbed. "I'm used to being able to do things like this immediately! I know it's only fair that you should get to do things better than me, BUT I DON'T WANT YOU TO! I WANT TO BE BETTER!"

We did laugh then, because it's true that Ian should be able to be better at some things than me, and it's completely true that I shouldn't care. But I'm a 4-year-old and heart, and I do care.

We stopped for a meal at our new favorite place in Mt Vernon, Mexico Café, I practiced backing in the giant parking lot with some success, and then Ian asked if I would be willing to drive the freeway part.

I was perfectly willing, but my anxiety reached such a fever pitch within a few miles that I almost had to pull off and let him take over. I'm not sure what it was, except perhaps simply a week of high alert that was finally starting to have a more serious physical effect. I hadn't felt anxious at all earlier in the week, but I had been hyperaware, and hyperawake about everything going on around me. Finally, on I-5, with nothing but 3 other lanes of hurtling steel boxes to dissipate my stress, it almost became too much. I took deep breaths, though, and chose to stay at a speed I felt was safe, over on the right side of the road (very unlike my single-car driving style), and we made it without mishap.

I wanted to back the boat into the water at Sunnyside, with Ian's direction, and the rain (which had continued down to Seattle) had kept most people away from the water. There was one man waiting, trailer in the water, for a friend to bring a boat around; when he saw us begin our maneuver, he kindly moved out to the non-dock side of the ramp, and let us have the dock. His friend appeared with their boat, they got it loaded up, and were long gone before we even had ours quite unstrapped and ready for launching. But we didn't hit anything, and I did manage to get the boat in. Ian whizzed the trailer around the lake to Sea Ray, I putted the boat around to Seattle Boat where I left it and walked home; Ian and I met at our garage, spent.

You might think that we would collapse in heaps at this stage, leaving the car full, and sleep for the next 15 hours. That would've been smart, but instead we unloaded and Ian took off for a work do, and I, being me, started the laundry. Both of us supremely happy.