boondocking – Page 3 – The MoHo and Other Traveling Tales

The Other Oregon

Currently we are in Summer Lake, OR in wild rain and hail

This was written from Plush Oregon May 23 High 52 Lo 32

There is a mindset called Oregon. Usually it revolves around lots of green and lots of rain. Images of Mt Hood, the Oregon Coast shrouded in fog, verdant green valleys dotted with farms, vineyards, little villages with covered bridges are the epitome of beautiful Oregon. But there is another Oregon, one that covers more than 2/3 of the state. The East Side as we call it, is high sage desert, bisected by Highway 395, that mythical road so many RV’rs love to travel. But even beyond 395 lies a wild and empty Oregon called by some the Oregon Outback.

There is a Scenic Back Country Byway that exits east from 395 just north of Lakeview, following Highway 140 through the Warner Canyon and then leaving the highway to travel north and east through the Warner Valley, where the pavement ends, over Hart Mountain, and crossing the open desert toward the remote wild mountains called “The Steens”.

It is a huge, vast, silent land full of nothing and everything. Several times in the last few years we have passed along the southern boundary of this wild country on our way east somewhere and looked up at Hart Mountain…saying…remember? Remember how wonderful it was?? Yes, we remembered and finally decided it was time to return to Hart Mountain and the wild Oregon Outback.

On this week long journey, we didn’t plan to go to the Steens, saving that for another time later in the season. Our decision was a good one, since the upper reaches of the Steens are still deep in snow. We planned for three nights boondocking, and knew that we didn’t really want to get to the Plush area too early in the afternoon, so had to wait until noon to leave Rocky Point. It was funny how hard it was to go slooooow, and take…our….time….before….getting….on the road. Usually on travel days we are all hot to trot and want to get moving early.

The route to Plush, Oregon, where we planned to find a boondock site, is a familiar one: traveling east on 140, through Klamath Falls, continuing east through my old survey area in remote parts of Klamath County near Beatty and Bly and finally arriving at the small town of Lakeview. Even though we were only 1/3 tank down in fuel, it was important to make sure our fuel was topped off before heading into the outback. There is no fuel out there, the distances are long, and we would need to use the generator.

Another important Lakeview stop was at the Interagency Office right on 395 just south of town. I spent $4.00 on a Lakeview District BLM map, at a scale that makes navigating the desert reasonably easy. We also have the GPS unit, (sort of useless when most of the time it says “driving on road”), and the DeLorme Benchmark maps for the area. The phone and the iPad are useless out here, since there are no signals anywhere. Well, almost no signals, but I’ll share that one later.

The cold, snowy storms that blew through this part of the west were almost gone by the time we reached Lakeview, but there were still huge clouds and some snow flurries here and there as we crossed Quartz Mountain. Once on Warner Pass, where we expected snow, we were blessed with only a little bit of rain. The skies cleared as we climbed up over the pass, turned north on the Plush Cutoff and were awed once again by the long uplifted fault block mountain that is Hart.

Home to the largest antelope refuge in the country, with a western scarp slope populated with bighorn sheep, Hart Mountain rises from the desert like some kind of mystical dream. Maybe it is only me, but this mountain calls my soul in ways that even the Steens don’t. I know, I know, it wasn’t long ago that I was raving about the east slope of the Sierras. Still, Hart Mountain looming above the Warner Valley is a sight no mountain lover should miss.

It isn’t a group of dramatic peaks. Instead it is a long linear mountain, with a steep western scarp rising 3,500 feet to the 8,000 foot summit, and an east slope that slips off gently to the eastern desert. The top looks nearly flat from a distance, but a closer inspection reveals many deeply cut canyons and cliffs that I have never seen except from the road. I think my days of exploring these rugged canyons on foot are long behind me.

On this Thursday afternoon, the early beginning to the long Memorial Holiday Weekend, we were very nearly alone on the road into Plush, a tiny community best known for its tiny grocery store and bar and its rock shop. Armed with our BLM map, however, we had no need to stop, and headed north through town on the Hogback Road. Within three miles, the road turns to rough gravel, and a few hundred yards after that, road 6175 winds up Miners Draw into the Coyote Hills. We unhooked at the turn to go check for a place to be.

Just up the road, on the crest of the hill overlooking the valley, we found a large rounded out area, flat as can be, protected on three sides by a low hill and facing the beautiful scarp of Hart Mountain in the east. The site was clean and smooth except for a small pile of firewood someone had left behind, and we couldn’t believe what perfect luck to find such a spot.

Settling in for the evening, we walked up the road into the hills for awhile, and came back to fix supper while we waited for the sunset. The full moon was coming up at 7:30 and the sun was setting at 8:30.

Spectacular, or so we thought. Even with the clouds in the west, the sunset was rather dull. I guess with zero pollution there isn’t anything around to refract the light and make color. Our night was utterly silent, utterly dark except for the moon in and out of the clouds. Boondocking at its very finest!

Late Spring Snow and we are going camping?!

Home in Rocky Point, Oregon
Current temperature: 40 degrees F, with melting snow on the ground. Lo tonight: 30 degrees F with a chance of snow
Yes, we are going camping. We are leaving tomorrow for the eastern side of Oregon, planning a combo boondocking/rv park trip to the high sagebrush desert. We did plan to leave on Tuesday afternoon, but some severe weather warnings were a bit daunting, and we decided to postpone our little journey until the weather shifted a bit. Good thing! Yesterday afternoon the snow hit and by 5pm we had snow on the trees and even some snow sticking to the ground. The weather report optimistically says that “with warming temperatures and longer days, the ground temperatures should be warm enough that the snow will not stick”. Ok then. It is now almost noon in Rocky Point, and true to the forecast, most of the snow is melting, but more may be coming tonight.
Mo is bringing the MoHo up from the shed to park in the driveway, ready for loading. As much as we love having the place in Grants Pass, it sure is wonderful to have our rig right here when we are ready to travel. No trying to remember what to take, what is at the cottage, what is in the MoHo. Just walk outside, check the cupboards, and pack accordingly. Nice.
Speaking of weather, my daughter who relocated to Texas last year has now relocated again to Grand Junction, Colorado. Closer to me, closer to her son, and better jobs for both her and for her sweetie. She drove north through Texas with a U-Haul the day of the tornados. She missed them. My son lives in Joplin Missouri, and while he was hit by the last big tornado
May flowers on May 22
there, the small twister that touched down in Carthage missed him by 15 miles. Truck driver daughter and her husband are delivering jet engines to Winnipeg, and so she is also out of the line of fire. I just can’t imagine what those people in Oklahoma are going through. Can’t imagine.
Mo and I watched the news, and said our thank you’s for the gift of living in a place without tornados, hurricanes, or major floods. It can almost make you feel guilty for being so lucky in the midst of such horror, but I do feel lucky, and blessed, and sad for those people who have lost everything. Of course, disaster can strike anywhere. We live in Earthquake country, are surrounded by volcanoes that could decided to heat up at a moment’s notice, the wildfires of our hotter and hotter summers could strike anywhere, and of course winter can deal some pretty angry blows. Nothing like a tornado though. However, I often talked to people from hurricane country or tornado country who looked at me like I was crazy for living in earthquake country California. It is all about where family is and what you are used to, I guess.

May flowers on May 19
Since we got home from Death Valley, we went over to the cottage and worked a bit, mowing and trimming and fixing up little things here and there. I was treated to a Mother’s Day brunch by my Klamath Falls daughter and family, and Mo and I did our annual outing to the Taste of Klamath event in town that we have enjoyed for several years now. Small town stuff, but nice, and it supports our local historic theater, the Ross Ragland. We are gardening, and until yesterday, the weather cooperated perfectly. It has been unseasonably warm, with temperatures in the 80’s here at Rocky Point. That is a lot more like July and less like May, but it made working in the yard an absolute delight. 80 degrees and sunny skies with a nice breeze is just about perfect as far as I am concerned.
The only thing that seems to keep eluding us is a kayak outing. On the days when it might be something to do we seem to always have something else more pressing taking up our time. Ah well….eventually those kayaks will get on the water again. We actually planned to take them on this trip to the east side, but the weather predictions have us thinking otherwise. Why load up the kayaks if it is going to be in the 50’s with possible rain?! Nah…we will wait for better days. I guess you could call us fair weather kayakers, although I do have photos from years past when we are on the water as early as March!
I did manage to get in on the Google Plus Hangout that Rick set up for us to learn a bit more about how it all works. It was great fun seeing everyone online and joining in on the conversation. I haven’t managed to do the Skype thing very much since I didn’t think I had the bandwidth. Maybe I can manage hangouts now with distant kids and friends. I hope so.
On our agenda for the next few days: Plush, Oregon, home of the famous BLM sunstone diggings. Hart Mountain Refuge, home of hundreds of pronghorns and some beautiful natural hot springs and a small developed hot spring pool. Summer Lake, Oregon, home to another wildlife refuge, more hot springs, and untold numbers of waterfowl. Ana Reservoir RV campground, on the Ana River and the reservoir, not far from summer lake will provide us with electric and water and a place to dump after three nights boondocking on BLM lands. Should be a nice trip. I don’t imagine there will be any kind of internet, or even phone connections to speak of, so I’ll just have to get caught up on photos and stories when we return to Rocky Point.
In the mean time, I thought it would be fun to put in a couple of photos from our very first camping trip to Hart Mountain back in 2004, before we had any kind of motorhome. I think this may have been the last time we tent camped. In spite of discussing carrying tents and sleeping bags in the motorhome for getting really out in the boonies, we have yet to actually do that. Somehow the comforts of home win out. I spent a bazillion years tent camping, and I do love it, but oh oh oh….it is so nice to have shelter and a bed off the ground. If I could just figure out how to see the stars at night from the MoHo the way you can seen them from a tent it would be perfect. My best memory of Hart Mountain is sitting by the campfire watching the stars come up right on the horizon, just as big and bright as they were in the entire huge sky. It was amazing.

Back to the Desert

On I-80 between Winnemucca, NV and Wells, NV

We have spent a lot of time this past year traveling the coast and the western valleys of Oregon and California. Our little winter time jaunts to Desert Hot Springs require a lot of traveling south along interstates. One of the advantages of living in this part of Oregon is that the northern high deserts are just a skip away to the east. For this trip to Colorado, we decided to follow our infamous Highway 140, (the one we take to Medford all the time) due east toward Lakeview, over the Warner Mountains, and south to Winnemucca.

At the moment, we are on I-80 heading east from Winnemucca toward Wells, where we plan to find a resting place. Interstate traveling at its mind numbing finest, but the visions of the last evening and this morning are still fresh in my mind. We are on our way to a family reunion, and Mo’s brothers are traveling east this morning as well. Original plans included all of us leaving this morning, and Roger and Nancy planned to come south to Rocky Point to caravan with us. Instead, they traveled north to caravan with Dan and Chere, and pick up brother number three, Don on their way east past Umatilla, Oregon.

Mo and I were almost ready to go on Saturday night, with only a mid-afternoon Sunday anniversary party to attend, and we looked at each other and said, “Why wait till Monday”. The original plan also included a driving day of more than 500 miles, not something we were particularly excited about. Instead, we dropped in on the party, and dropped right back out again and were on the road by 2:30 Sunday afternoon. Made for a bit more of a rush on Sunday morning, but well worth it.

We haven’t traveled 140 east for some time, and spent much of our conversation trying to remember which routes we had taken on which trips and during which years! What we both remembered, however, was that the road east of Lakeview was narrow, but quiet and beautiful and we knew there would be someplace where we could spend the night on the boonies.

This route is the one we have taken a few times, visiting the amazing Hart Mountain Reserve, camping at the mysterious and magical Steens Mountains, and returning through the Sheldon Wildlife Refuge looking for wild horses. We love the desert, and yet somehow we had forgotten just how much we love it. The vistas opening out to nothing, the roads empty of anything but stray cattle, the spacious skies all make for spacious open mind thoughts, uncluttered. Love that.

We got gas in Lakeview, at $3.73 per gallon, after realizing that the next reasonable gas was more than 200 miles distant in Winnemucca. Driving over the Warner Mountains was quick, and in no time we were dropping down the basalt canyons toward Adel. The meadows opened up to the south of the highway, and a wide level pullover shaded by a single juniper called to us. By 6:30 pm we were settled in with the slide open, the jacks down, and dinner in the skillet. Both of us were happy to have an extra 150 miles under our belts so our Monday drive to Wells would be a manageable 350 miles or so.

The silence was beautiful, and Mo and I just relaxed, and read a bit, talked a bit, and then started laughing when we couldn’t figure out what the animals outside our rig munching happily on the grass should be called. I wrote to Jenna and hopefully she can answer me. We called them cows, but then thought that cows are only females. Then we had the conversation about what is a heifer, and what animal do you castrate to make a steer if it isn’t a cow, and it is obviously a boy.. We went down the lane with a cow moose, a cow buffalo, a cow elk, and the a cow cow, of course. Then a bull cow? like a bull elk? This is the kind of silliness that can overtake at a boondock site in the middle of nowhere.

The goal is to reach Rock Springs, Wyoming on Wednesday where we will hook up with the brothers and their rigs and camp with hookups at the KOA. Then we will all caravan east toward Laramie, and then south to Lakewood and the rest of the family. I would imagine this first night in the middle of nowhere in Eastern Oregon was possibly the quietest night we may have on the entire trip. Our only sounds were the cows and a very occasional car passing by. The stars were brilliant, even the ones low on the horizon, just as I remember from so many years ago at Hart Mountain.

This morning we were treated to high pink wispy clouds to greet the day, and then even a bit of rain between Denio and Winnemucca. I haven’t seen rain in this part of the desert for a very long time, in fact, I don’t remember ever seeing rain in this part of the high desert. I drove this morning, Mo took over at Winnemucca, and before long we will be hunting for another desert boondock site.

The long trek home, and breakfast with Donna and Russ

February 24, 25, and 26 Friday, Saturday and Sunday

Once on the road again, we enjoyed the beautiful drive across the Astoria Bridge, once criticized as “the bridge to nowhere”. We crossed the Columbia River for the last time as we traveled its southern shore toward Portland. All routes pointing south encouraged us to cross the bridge at Longview and continue south through Portland on I-5, but we had other plans. As mentioned previously, Mo grew up in Columbia City, and it’s always fun to retrace old steps and check out how the old homesteads are doing.

The drive along the river was beautiful, even on a cloudy day, and traffic was light. Mo’s school still stood, and big old house that Mo grew up in didn’t look much different than she remembered. She laughed as we crossed the steep street that used to serve as a sledding hill when the occasional snow storm would hit. We drove on to the nearby St Helens to see the two houses that her grandfather built. They looked a bit worse for wear, but were still in use. As we drove around she told me stories of her aunts and uncles, grandma, and grandpa, and what it was like growing up in a small town in Oregon.

We kept our NUVI Garmin tucked away for the entire trip, relying on the phone to get us around, but for navigating freeways in big cities, Garmin Girl can’t be beat. Even in a city we know well, it was nice to have the image pop up when it came time to remember which lane we needed to get from the 30 to the 405 to the 5 going south. Traffic wasn’t a problem and Mo maneuvered through the city with ease.

By the time we got to Eugene, the threatening storm clouds turned to heavy rain, and we settled in to our free parking spot just in time. Our choice for the evening was the Valley River Mall in Eugene, reviewed both here by Laurie and Odel and here by Nina of Wheelin’It. I read both those reviews and easily decided we wanted to make use of this delightful free space for our night in Eugene.

Just across the parking lot was one of my favorite Mexican restaurants, El Torito. We had soup thawed, but it was time for a Marguerita and with our luck it was still Happy Hour at the bar. We had drinks for $3 each and a tremendous plate of fabulous nachos to share that made dinner completely unnecessary. The place was jumping busy and our cute little bartender asked us if we intended to “party like rock stars”. Hmmm. Not so sure I remember what that even means any more!

The next morning we were up just in time to button up the rig and see Russ and Donna drive up to our door. Their plan was to take us to their second favorite restaurant for breakfast since it was right on our route. We met the two of them once before in Eugene, and knew that a visit would be full of fun and laughter. Russ and Donna are really so much fun to be around. Russ is always doing something silly, cracking jokes and one liners, and Donna knows just how to bring out the best in everyone. We all laughed and played a bit in the remnants of snow on a parked truck. No, that snow wasn’t on our road, thank goodness!

Back on the road again, we traveled through all sorts of dramatic weather, including snow, sleet, rain, sun, and wind on the way west to Florence. Once there, the sky was gorgeous and we found blooming camellias lining the road next to the Joy of Quilting, where I decided another stop was in order.

In no time we were back at Harris Beach State Park, where once again our A10 site was the only one available on the front row with a view and cable. With the gorgeous sunshine and hardly any wind, we were thrilled to take another walk on Harris Beach as the afternoon turned toward evening. Finally, after carrying that firewood I bought originally the first night we were here, and carried the entire trip in the baby car, Mo built a big campfire. We sat outside enjoying the clear but chilly evening with our supper.

We have an ending routine that works pretty well for us. On our last night in Brookings, I do laundry at the park, where the machines cost just a buck and a buck quarter to dry. Mo gets everything cleaned and stashed for the night and we usually sleep without sheets since I want them clean for the next trip. In the morning we dump the tanks, add the smell prevention stuff to the gray tank, and head for town unhooked. We fill the MoHo, assuming that gasoline will be more expensive when we return for the next trip, and drive across the street for a McDonald’s breakfast before heading for the car wash to clean off the salt spray from the rig before slipping her back into the storage shed. This time our little routine was thwarted with the car wash all closed up, and it’s the only one in town. Since we are planning on coming back in three weeks, hopefully that salt residue won’t hurt anything till then.

Then with everything piled into the baby car, dog, cat, ice chest of fresh food still remaining, clothes I can’t bear to not have in both places, and other assorted flotsam, we make the 4 hour drive back over the coast range to Grants Pass and over the Lake of the Woods pass to home. Last year our routine was a bit different, traveling south to get the MoHo in Redding. We both have decided we like this routine much better. In fact, Brookings and Harris Beach are so darn nice we could just unpack the MoHo from storage and stay there without traveling anywhere. But not next time. Next time we will again travel south to California, hoping to find some warmth and some blooming wildflowers. I do love love love that RV life.

Day Trip to The Slabs

It is five am and I have been awake for awhile now, who knows why. We have been traveling for the last few days, choosing to follow the coastal route through California north from the desert. We have taken our time, ambling north at a rate of about 250 miles per day, taking advantage of Military Family Camps and Passport America to park for the night in reasonable comfort. As usual, when I can’t sleep, I thought perhaps I could write about something with a bit more depth than I am inclined to write later in the day when real life is closer than my dreams.

For many days now, I have been thinking about what to write about Slab City, otherwise known as the Slabs. It is easy to post the photos, to write about the physical reality of the place. Many folks on the road in this part of California have done just that. The physical reality of the Slabs is simple. It is located in a wide open part of the desert east of the town of Niland that has little to offer except simply space. On a section of state land that once held the Camp Dunlap Marine Training Center, there is now a free boondocking oasis for RV’rs of all kinds.

At first glance, entering the area is somewhat shocking, depending on your point of view. Folks who come here seeking refuge because they know about the culture will feel welcomed and safe. Mid America types of RVrs in their big rigs coming here for the first time might be overwhelmed by the apparent lack of any sense of beauty or order. Boondocking types who seek wide open empty spaces might think the place is much too populated. Boondocking types who love the Quartzite atmosphere of daily social gatherings of like minded folks will love it.

We had no plans to boondock in the Slabs, but I wanted to see it. Occasionally I read about folks coming here with their thoughts and experiences, but my view of Slab City has been forever altered by the writing of just one man. Randy, of the Mobile Kodgers, let me see this place with completely different eyes than I would have ever seen on my one afternoon drive-through. Randy’s blog isn’t your everyday blog of the typical RVing full-timer. Much like Debra in Bisbee, Randy says things that might make some people a bit uncomfortable, but he tells stories like few people are willing.

Instead of simply gawking, Randy makes the effort to dig in deep and get to know a place and the people who inhabit it. I think it is because of Randy’s blog that I have been unable to actually write about Slab City, knowing that I can’t come close to expressing what Randy has found and the stories behind the trash and the once homeless lost people who have chosen to live there. If you have an opinion of the Slabs and haven’t read Randy’s blog, check it out and learn something. I surely did.

After a bit of a disappointing drive around the Salton Sea, we saw a sign for Niland and Salvation Mountain. Mo had no idea what awaited us, but I told her that we needed to go there and see it in person. We took the gravel road east and in a short time the multicolored painted mountain appeared. Salvation Mountain is a story of it’s own, again Randy has written about the artist in depth, in ways you might not find on websites telling the story of this amazing piece of crazy folk art.

I cannot even come close to writing about Leonard Knight the way that Randy has. Here is his story about the creator of Salvation Mountain. It was with awe and respect for all the different people in the world that I walked through the nearly psychedelic interior of the hill. We walked past great piles of paint buckets donated by every major paint company in America into one man’s vision of the message of God’s Love.

Deep inside we found four young folks and their dog, taking photos, and they asked me to get a shot of the four of them. They were friendly, open kids, who had driven from Tucson to spend New Year’s Eve at Slab City. They looked at me when I asked why they were here with surprise, as if I should know that the New Year’s Eve party at the Slabs was something not to be missed. While one young woman casually rolled a joint, they told me that Slab City was a dummied down version of Burning Man, only it lasted all year long.

There are no police here, and rules of any kind are conspicuously absent, an important feature to folks who choose to come here and stay. Dogs run freely, rigs range from huge Class A’s to ancient trucks covered with folk art. There is a library and an internet café, tucked away in old buses or tin shacks behind cape verde trees. There is trash everywhere, and much of the trash has been converted to art.

In the midst of the dusty dirt roads, we suddenly realized that an airplane was landing in front of us, and like the other trucks driving around, we pulled over to the side of the road to let it land. The pilot of the small plane taxied up to his big Phaeton, greeting some fellow campers. No rules.

I am pretty sure that Mo and I will not ever choose to boondock here. Our vision of boondocking is more on the level of wide open and silent, like the area behind the Alabama Hills in California, or the Top of the World Highway in Alaska. We have parked in Quartzite, but not during the high season, and our idea of fun socializing is more often one couple at a time rather than big gatherings of happy hour get togethers. Still, I am so glad I got to see this place, had the chance to walk inside Salvation Mountain rather than just look at photos, had the chance to watch a little plane land on the dirt road, and to see the myriad types of shelters that so many people call home.

I am glad there is a place like this in the world for those who choose to be there.