RAFTING THE STANISLAUS

On my way home from a doctor's appointment yesterday, I stopped to take a picture of the nearly empty reservoir. The old bridge is visible and you can trace the  winding road from the Calaveras side of the river down to the bridge. Plus there is water, no longer just puddles. The Army Corps of Engineers ordered water flows to assist the salmon and other fish smelts. They need water that is cool enough to hatch. 
Seeing the old bridge brings me three distinct memories. My mother lived with me near the end of her life and she drove that route to Sonora and claimed it to be the worst road she'd ever driven. I chuckle because I love that windy road. Maybe being raised in the flat state of Michigan gave me an appreciation for the mountains and mountain driving.

The second memory is the white water rafting trips I took when the river was natural. It was so popular with rafters that a huge protest movement against damming the Stanislaus took place. One protester, Mark DuBois tied himself to a rock so they couldn't flood the place without drowning him. An activist is what I've always been, so I  protested the dam too, by writing letters.
 Mark DuBois had to give it up because it took over a year for the dam to fill by a strong rainy season. The Stanislaus has the deepest limestone canyon of any river in the United States, which is what made it such a good ride.
Our local paper had an article last week about Mark who returned for a rafting trip once again down the Stanislaus. Had I known ahead of time, I'd have gone on that trip with him. Well, actually, that is just wishful thinking.
Another memory I have of rafting that river is of friends, Howard and Gerraine Hoyt and their youngest daughter, a real beauty at about age 16. The guys who guided the rafts were a wild bunch of young guys who worked during the summer and went on welfare during the winter. They were obviously filled with testosterone and our guide had shorts on with no protector and everything he owned was hanging pretty loose. He couldn't take his eyes off of Kelly. At the end of the trip, Gerraine wanted a picture of Kelly with the guide and she very matter of factually asked him to tuck his stuff into his  pants before she took the picture. We could see him blush under his deep tan. It still makes me laugh because none of us found it offensive or fussed about what we all noticed. Ah, to be young again. Wasn't it fun?

HODGE PODGE

Jim and I walk everyday and I usually bring my camera everywhere I go. Some deep cleaning, Pledging cupboards, cleaning the window runners,  hand washing, and etc. yesterday, so today, you get hodgepodge. Our neighbor has a bird feeder and I managed to get a few good shots of a pileated woodpecker several days ago.


He came,he ate.


I like the way they hang on to eat. For some reason or other, the jays come and hassle the other birds, but this feeder foils them and they can't get anything out of it.


Finches have their own feeder and the jays can't get their seeds either.


The river is low, we notice a camp across the river that in past years had but a  narrow strip of gravel in front of it.


The river has such beauty and serenity.


I didn't think this picture across the river would turn out. A small deer has nothing to fear to browse during day time.


Thunderbird Thousand Trails Park has sites on the hilly side of Ben Howard road as well as  the river side of Ben Howard. We walk both. Someone planted ivy on this tree.


It will eventually reach the top of the tree and most likely kill it. Reminds me of the strangler figs we saw in Costa Rica. The tree dies and the fig remains standing in a circular shape of the tree it killed. Of course, sometimes, the fig dies too.

On the way to town, one day, I spotted a huge tree with bright red "berries". It was huge and I could never find it again to take a photo. Several smaller ones were about.


A close-up of the clusters and the leaves. It may be a kind of pepper tree. The huge one I saw was spectacularly beautiful.


The day we went to the parade, we had one of the worst lunches I've ever paid for at the Sock Eye, a restaurant with a beautiful view of a lake, but untrained wait help, slow service, and tasteless food. I can only think of twice in my life, I wrote a note and complained to the chef and manager about the food.


Late in the afternoon, I tried to read my book, but cheerful, fun voices floated up from the river as people enjoyed a Sunday river float. I got up and took a few pictures. Jim, with his impaired eyesight, took his pictures blindly, hoping for the best.  Thunderbird Thousand Trails on the Skykomish river, is one of my favorite spots to stay.

One of these time, I'm going to take this trip, "....down the lazy river, come as you please..." as it says in the song.