An Empty Desert Lake

The valley was green and brown, with signs proclaiming drought as we drove through California's Central Valley. Over the grapevine with the engine whining we crossed into Southern California where a controversy over water rights has raged for decades. As we turned east, chasing the distant lights of Las Vegas, pastel pink and periwinkle mountains rose out of the desert foreshadowing the beauty we were to find at Lake Mead.

We'd been warned not to visit Lake Mead this year. Water levels are at an all-time low, the lowest since the Hoover Dam was constructed and Lake Mead was formed by flooding the valley now hidden in its shifting waters. But we persisted, eager to get our sailing Hobie Cat kayak onto water. We envisioned sailing into tight canyons and seeing the southwest rock layers up close and personal.

Our boat, the Queen Bee, followed that yellow line from Temple Bar past The Temple, a large rock outcropping, through the somewhat narrow Virgin Canyon before coming to rest at a lovely sandbar just outside Hualapai Bay.

What we found was a massive lake, rimmed with colorful rocks showing the many levels the lake has rested at and then receded from over the years. The water lines resemble rings on a dirty bathtub, with invasive zebra mussel colonies hanging on for dear life twenty and more feet above the lake's surface. The tight twisty fingers we looked forward to floating in were dried up and instead looked like canyons rising out of the lake.

Enjoying the mesas and pretty clouds on a sunny day from the comfort of our boat.

In our three days on the lake, we saw just three other boaters, all in power boats speeding along in a hurry to get somewhere, I don't know where. One boat was piloted by a gentleman we'd met at Temple Bar when we were simultaneously launching our watercraft. He'd motored out into the lake to find us and make sure we were okay. We assured him we'd brought plenty of provisions and were self-sufficient, perhaps even better equipped than those back in the tiny outpost we'd left.

Our two nights of backcountry kayak-camping were superb. After sailing We set our camp up on a sheltered beach with lovely 360-degree views. Between our 4-man tent, our outdoor rug, our camp chairs and table set, our sun shelter and our doorstep swimming beach, it was like a private palace in the desert.

After sweeping aside some rocks and smoothing out the sand, we had a lovely foundation for our indoor/outdoor, sun-shaded, pop-up, backcountry cabin.

Our only visitors, apart from the concerned stranger, was a curious duck that swam by each evening. The first night as I lay comfy in our tent reading a novel, I heard an animal noise in the distance. It sounded like a howling coyote at first and I was very excited. Then the noise shifted to that of a donkey (wild burros are common at Lake Mead), before eventually revealing it's true source--a couple of lost cows calling out in anguish.

The sunset from our campsite was peaceful and placid, like we were the only people on the planet.

Our final sail started off with light winds and ended with gusts and water waves so strong that my entire cockpit filled up with water. The boat became a floating bathtub and I opted to sit on the trampolines and laugh like a hyena while the cold water pelted me and Josh sailed us back to dry land. It was an epic ending to our incredible adventure on Lake Mead.

 

Returning to Childhood Haunts

My hubby spent several of his formative years living in southern Humboldt County amidst the redwood trees and fog. So as we planned our travel route from the Pacific Northwest to Southern Utah, it came as no surprise that he wanted to take the coastal route and revisit some of his favorite childhood haunts. First up was Prairie Creek and Fern Canyon, which I blogged about already. These two destinations were places he'd taken me early in our romance and I enjoyed reliving those old times with him. Plus, seeing elk up close always makes me smile.

Our second day on the Northern California coast found us in places both familiar and new to me, as we continued along the pathway to Josh's childhood. Driving south on Highway 101, we hugged tight to the coastline and enjoyed sweeping views of rocky shores. Our first stop was at Patrick's Point State Park to take in the epic coastline and so I could pee while surrounded by wildflowers. (You know you would too if given the option.)

Pretty pink heart flowers spring to life on this Manzanita bush.

At Avenue of the Giants, we left the highway and meandered between the big trees and tiny towns enveloped within Humboldt Redwood State Park. A short hike in Founders Grove filled us with awe and harkened us back to both our childhoods spent measuring our smallness against the massive tree trunks. I recalled a grade school trip where it took all 28 of us kids holding hands outstretched to fully hug a redwood tree. And Josh and I laughed as we drove by scenes we'd photographed more than a decade ago on our first coastal California roadtrip together.

Josh's 6'3" stature is nothing compared to these old redwoods, which were much too tall to get all in the photo. You'll have to imagine them reaching three times as high into the blue sky.

The hollow in this tree is big enough to build a fort inside! Too bad that's against the rules here.

And then we pushed onwards to Redway, a small town where Josh's mom once worked in a bead shop. We drove down the narrow streets trying to identify the house he once lived in, before heading west on a winding road. The road ends at the bluffs of Shelter Cove, where we intended to camp in a public campground overlooking the shoreline that Josh had remembered fondly from his youth. To our disappointment, that campground had disappeared in the 25 years since he was last in Shelter Cove and so we made do with a grassy lawn set away from the bluff. (It was the only tenting option in town and we were much too weary to drive back inland in search of something else, although we wavered for a few minutes.)

Our campsite near one of the only trees in the park. It wasn't private but it was available and that was good enough for one night.

Luckily we came prepared with a nice bottle of sparkling rose from our favorite winery in Oregon's Applegate Valley. And so as afternoon turned to evening I joined Josh in his brown hiking pants and black soft shell jacket traversing the dark rocks that form tide pools just below the crest of Shelter Cove. Behind us yellow mustard flowers and purple prickly thistles climbed the exposed sandy hillside. And beneath my feet, gray polished pebbles filled my slip-on shoes as the sun warmed my shoulders. We listened to the waves crash and tumble against the rocks and a lone gull screeching on the breeze. The salty sea air filled my nose, displacing the earthy scent of redwood forest we'd left behind that morning. The world felt complete as I sipped my wine while watching a momma seal and her young pup play in the rollicking waters.

Seals and seal pups playing in the cold Pacific Ocean. This shot is from the next day at Seal Rock, just a short drive from our campsite, still in Shelter Cove.

Then, hand in hand, Josh and I climbed back up the cliff and returned to our campsite to make dinner and watch the fog roll in, hiding any view of the ocean and wrapping us in its chilly embrace.

Enjoying some Oregon wine from my sippy cup at the retired Cape Mendocino Lighthouse which now stands on the edge of Shelter Cove. I felt a little ironic drinking wine here as the lighthouse door sported a hand-lettered sign announcing Thursday AA meetings upstairs.

 

Hello from New Zealand (finally)!!

It has been much too long since I have written.* I wish I could say it was due to the lack of anything worth writing about. But that never seems to be the case when we're traveling. There is always something new, different or beautiful to share. And sometimes, more often than I'd like, there is something crappy to laugh about. Rather than focus on the downer side of the equation, below you'll find some tid bits from our recent day trips in and around Nelson.

*Note: it's not exactly true to say I haven't written, because I have been writing. I am working on my first novel for National Novel Writing Month (or NaNoWriMo as it known). So far I've written over 30,000 words and hope to make it to 50,000 by the end of the month. But this fictional narrative has gotten in the way of me writing the nonfiction that is our daily lives and, for that, I am sorry.

Nelson is a cute town of about 60,000 people on the north coast of New Zealand's South Island. It is a sunny spot when there are clouds and rain all around and there is plenty to do within an hour's drive or less.

Tahunanui is a lovely beach right in town. It has soft sand that stretches for a long way (longer than I could walk with my limping foot) and the sand wraps around a little point that sticks out into the Tasman Sea. Kiteboarders can be seen playing in this shallow sandy shoal on windy afternoons. And plenty of dogs are keen to play in the small waves. One day we even saw a dozen or so brave souls in wet suits practicing their paddle board rescue skills -- either that, or they were awful surfers.

On a sunny day, the water in Nelson Bay is a lovely sea green, that color of Crayola crayon that never looked like the sea back home. In the distance are the blue mountains of the Able Tasman National Park. And on the water is the occasional bright red barge providing a highlight amongst the cool blue green hues that roll towards the horizon. It is truly breathtaking, even on rainy days of which we've had only a few.

Our first real outing from Nelson took us to the east about a half hour to Cable Bay. Again the water here is spectacular and the adjacent hillsides are green and covered with sheep that look like cream puff dotting the landscape. On the slightly rocky beach are piles of drift wood, including several pieces that function nicely as impromptu benches. Josh and I had a sit, and then I continued sitting as he strolled to the top of a hill and looked over into the bay beyond.

Our second big adventure took us up into Takaka Hill, about an hour's drive to the west. We stopped off for a short, ten-minute (even with my limping pace) walk to the Riwaka River Resurgence. The Riwaka River, like most of the rivers in the area, has significance to the original people of New Zealand, the Maoris. And the Resurgence is held particularly sacred. The pool of clear blue-green water that marks the Resurgence is quite stunning, especially when the clouds let the sun peek out. Josh and I were curious what lay beyond the pool as we speculated it would be a good size cave, but we didn't get to check it out. And no, we didn't swim in the water as it was frigid!

Further up on Takaka Hill we came to Ngarua Cave, a commercially operated cave tour. We've been on several such tours this year in South Africa and Oregon and possibly others I'm forgetting. This one was very cool, albeit half as long as it should have been. The cave is wet so a lot of the formations look like bumpy coral, which I know is special but I honestly find a bit boring. Luckily for me, there were also stalactites, stalagtites, straws, flow stones, and bones from the extinct Moa (an ostrich-like bird with no wings whatsoever). It was very pretty and I wished I had brought my headlamp and also could have ditched our tour guide who rushed us through the cave so he could get back in time for the next tour.

Having had our caving fever reawakened by Ngarau Cave, we took our rental deeper into the Kahurangi National Park along a gravel road. Knowing that our car rental insurance wouldn't cover us on thus road, Josh drove extra carefully. On the way in, we'd spotted several wild rabbits, a couple flocks of sheep and a herd of very hairy cows. After about 10km of slow going on the mostly flat road, we emerged at the trailhead. There I plopped down at a picnic table surrounded by grass to work on novel and Josh set off into the forest in search of Harwoods Hole.

Harwoods Hole reportedly drops some 183 meters from the surface into the first of many rooms that lead deep into the mountain. From the trail, you can barely see into the hole. Still, Josh enjoyed the opportunity to stretch his legs and enjoy the view.

We've have so many adventures in the area, with so many lovely photos to share, that I'm dividing this post into few shorter posts. Enjoy!