Doc’s Sunrise Rants

Each day I was gone, I found a spot of cell reception and called my kids. Each day, this is how it went:

To Sarah - “Hey, how’s the farm?” “Fine, don’t worry” “I’m not worried. Have you talked to your sister?” “Bye Mom”

To Katie - “Hey, have you been home this week?” “No.” “You should stop by, talk to your sister.” “Bye Mom”

To Jake - “How are you?” “Fine. And no, I haven’t talked to my sisters”

See, my girls had a big gigantic stupid fight on Memorial Day weekend. They haven’t spoken to each other since. Katie actually packed all her stuff and moved out. Jake was in the process of moving out anyway, and the fight quickened his pace - and now he’s avoiding both girls because he doesn’t want to take sides - like me, he thinks they’re both wrong. Their older brother is not as diplomatic, calling them both repeatedly and telling them they’re acting like children.

Sigh.

So, day 6 ended up as a stay put day. I decided there was more to see around Wallowa Lake, and with the kids still fighting, no reason to head home. I paid for another night of camping. I wonder how much this guy pays - he hung out with his buddies day and night in the campground. There were signs up saying not to feed them as a few injuries has resulted, but there were still idiots going up and and petting him, feeding him cookies.

Deer

Anyway, there’s a lot to do around Wallowa Lake. A reasonable person could spend a couple weeks there and not see/do everything. Fishing, hiking, horseback riding, para-sailing, galleries, foundry tours, micro-brews, the tram, white water rafting, and Hells Canyon. I quickly ruled out horseback riding, as I can do that at home, para-sailing because I think its ridiculous, and white water rafting, as I’d passed all the rivers on the way up and they were WAY HIGH with melt off. No thanks.

First thing in the morning, I did a little fishing, and caught a 20″ Kokanee from the shore with a wet black gnat, the cheap kind that comes in a 10 pack at Walmart. A Kokanee is a land locked salmon. In a lot of east Oregon lakes, they are an invasive species and there’s usually a high limit, like 15 or 20 fish.

Doc’s fish

After breakfast, the neighbor camper, Bob, and I did the tram. Mrs Bob didn’t want any part of it, preferring to stay in camp and babysit Baby. Baby was absolutely fine with that, as she still hadn’t forgiven me for the fire incident.

The ride up to the tram was awesome. From the top, there are hiking trails that go to different points on the summit and you can see as far as Montana, if it’s clear, which it wasn’t as soon as we reached the top. The trails were still mostly socked in with snow too. We had about 20 minutes of dry weather and then the clouds rolled in and started to pour down rain. The tram ride down was less awesome as there was lightning streaking all around the cars.

View of Seven Devils

View of the lake

After the tram ride, I collected Baby and went into Joseph for a little art and beer. After two galleries and two beers I was bored. There are only so many pictures of mountain scenes and horses peeking out of the birch trees, and indian maidens I can handle. The beer was slightly better but I am totally not into beer so all the talk involved in tasting was lost on me. Shut up and give me a glass already. In one of the local stores, I inquired about road conditions up to Hat Point, the nearest point at which Hells Canyon is visible. It’s about 40 miles from Joseph, some of it paved, some of it well maintained gravel. You travel through the small town of Imnaha and then past a few really, really isolated ranches. My mini van had no problem negotiating it. The view included the 7 Devils range in Idaho. Hells Canyon is deeper and wider than the Grand Canyon.

Road to Imnaha

Imnaha (A very scary little town)

Road to Hat Point

Viewpoint on road to Hat Point

The next view point

Just before Hat Point - Seven Devils

Hat Point view of Hells Canyon (And Snake River)

Sign at Hat Point

Text: “A horse bucked. A cowboy lost his hat. It was later found and hung from a tree, where it remained for a year unclaimed. And sometime in the 1800’s,”Hat Point” got its name.”

Lookout tower

Then it was back to camp. Another day down.

Day 7 - Ukiah

Sometimes, the beauty in a snarky post is the comments they receive.

Dusty writes:

Yep brilliant.
I am not challenging you on your claim to be smart or write smart or write well but what the fuck are you doin?Why do you people still fuck with me? huh professor?

Hard for me to believe it’s out of pity for me.

Arrogance

and it looks like when you went for a dash of stupidity you found out someone had unscrewed the top and you dump over half the shaker of pure dumb into the mix.

here is your translation professor

you fuckin steal from me and get away with it. make a fool out of me and get away with it. now you are fuckin dumb enough to start fuckin with me in real life. continue to thieve my shit. AND you’re dumb enough to ridicule me online….and in i way that there is NO WAY i wouldn’t see it.

I think your stupid

but I give you the benefit of the doubt and leave it at angry, hurt, and recently suicidal (evedentally)
but I’m not going to argue with you.

post whatever you want. reading mean shit was never my obsession. uncovering the lies meant to have me believe i was crazy it what i obsessed over.

anyway fuck you, return my shit, if i see you or your friends lurkin round my house in the middle of the night (or day) and especially if I have my daughters. The second they leave for their mother’s I will loose my shit.

so I would appreciate it if you stopped.

Um, okay. I’m not exactly sure what it means, but remember folks, you read it here first.

First, to clear a couple things up. I do own a travel trailer, and could have hauled it around the state, making my trip more comfortable, but it would have required some advance planning (it’s currently employed as a spare party space for adult-child overflow), and had I taken it, I would not have been able to negotiate some of the tight quarters I can get into with my little van. I was quite comfortable, but maybe a little dirty, all week.

I could have stayed in motels too - but then again, that would require staying near or around populated areas. Most of the small towns I traveled through didn’t even have a motel. That brings me to a comment about not meeting more weird people - I met ‘em - and they were all in the small towns I traveled through. Some of those towns are downright scary. Ukiah (which I haven’t covered yet) comes to mind. Sometimes, I’d pass through a town, and not see a single person. As for weird, well, I can’t really judge. I was traveling with a cat. And talking to her. Being on the road like this has made me brave. Staying in isolated campgrounds, alone, posting pictures of myself, hung over, 8 hours on the road, no shower for two days. I wouldn’t have met many people holed up in motels.

Anyway, we (Baby and I) left Phillips Reservoir around 9 or 10, whenever I felt that Baby’s brush with death was downgraded to just another dumb thing she’d done. She retreated to the very rear of the van and I set the Tom Tom for Joseph, Oregon.

Our route took us back through Baker City, and into country I have traveled to before, but it was always on the way to somewhere else, never as a destination. Baker is a beautiful, historic town, nestled right between the Blues and Wallowa mountains. Now its the center of socialization for a large sparsely populated area, but its history is in westward migration and gold. I could live in Baker. The historic part of town is well preserved. Most of the old buildings were constructed of stone and then covered with stucco.

Baker Street Scene

As the day wasn’t particularly warm and the hour was early, I left Baby sulking in the car (with her fan and the windows cracked), and spent time at the Oregon Trail museum and the Baker County historical museum. I love Oregon Trail history. My ancestors traveled on the Oregon trail and my grandmother’s grandmother was the first white child born in Oregon territory. To have traveled through the same rugged country over the past several days, in an air conditioned car doing 65 mph, I had to keep reminding myself what the trip must have been like, 150 years ago, doing 8-10 miles a day, pulled by tired oxen.

Oregon Trail Museum

Wagon Trail Ruts

Baker Valley

After sampling all that Baker had to offer, we headed north on I-84, the only time I’d hit the interstate in 8 days. If I had to spend 40 miles on the interstate, this was the place to do it. It winds through a beautiful valley past picturesque ranches, back-dropped by the Wallowa Mountains. 40 miles to La Grande and we headed NE into the Wallowas, towards Hells Canyon.

View of Blue Mountains near North Powder on I-84

I have been on some beautiful stretches of road. Highway 82, between La Grande and Joseph, is by far my favorite. The valley ranches stretch right to the foot of the Wallowa mountains. Picture perfect mountain vistas, wild rivers, wildlife and livestock. Trees, lots of sky, pristine lakes. Magnificence.

Wallowa Valley

Joseph has transformed, in the 30 years since my last visit to this area, from a tiny rural community that served the few hardy sportsmen who ventured in, to a huge artist colony. Galleries, shops and cafes, and a bronze casting forge.

Bronze at the entrance to Joseph

Chief Joseph’s Grave (Outside Joseph, on the shore of Wallowa Lake)

About 5 miles from Joseph is Wallowa Lake and a huge State Park. The last time I was here, there was the park (perhaps half the size it is now), a couple of guest cottages, a small marina, and a horse packing station. Now it’s grown to include a general store, a tram to the top of a nearby mountain, lots of private cabins, and a second camping area - this one populated by already-set-up RV’s, allowing one to simply drive in and camp in an already established site. I cringed.

I’d come too far to change my mind about staying, plus, we were getting close to 4 PM and the daily thunderstorm, so I went ahead and registered at the state park and was given a very nice site - not secluded or anything, but with a little stream running to the back and best of all, right across from the showers.

I settled in, took my shower and walked down to the lake with Baby. Baby loved this campground because there were PEOPLE. Baby is a slut. Baby loves the attention of strangers. Baby will let out little meows and roll on her back, as if being a cat on a leash isn’t enough to get people to go out of their way to come over and say hi to her. She was in heaven.

While I was walking along - and Baby walks very well on a leash, even with burnt feet - this lady stopped, stared and said “What is that?” in the most incredulous voice. Like she’d never seen a cat. I said “It’s a cat”, and she went Ohhhhh, like the idea just dawned on her. I suppose maybe she was suffering from one of those invisible disabilities, like stupidity.

As I stood on the lake shore, considering whether or not I should reserve a boat for the next day (to fish), I sensed a darkness from behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the nastiest looking black clouds moving in from the south. Fast. Lightning cracked. I was about a 1/4 mile from the trees, making me the tallest thing around. I thought it prudent that Baby and I high-tail it back to camp and the safety of shelter. We barely made it before the sky literally opened in a gushing downpour. 4 PM, right on schedule. I sat under the awning attached to my van while the wildest lightning and thunder storm raged for HOURS. Baby had enough after about 15 minutes and clawed at the door of her crate until I opened it and let her hide in there.

I watched as a couple of girls, 20ish, rolled in and made camp in this horrid rain storm. They had a tent like this. After they set the tent up, they retreated to their car, and as far as I know, stayed there. It was a small car, and whether or not it was more comfortable than the tent is a mystery. I never saw them again that night. Even in nice weather, that tent would have been a stretch to stay comfortable in, regardless of how “close” two people were. I admit to considering the situation probably longer than necessary though.

I made a fire, and as my awning extended right to the edge of the fire ring, I enjoyed the fire and stayed nice and dry. I invited a friendly looking couple from next door to come and join me, which they did. I did this because I think that’s what people do in State Parks, right? Anyway, it appeared to be the correct choice because they brought smore stuff and wine, we pigged out and talked about Oregon (They were from North Carolina).

Baby never made an appearance, between the burns and the storm, I think she’d had enough traveling.

That night, I was thinking the mega State Park wasn’t such a bad idea at all.

North End Wallowa Lake

View Point from Lake Road

Looking to the South and Mt Howard

Tomorrow - Exploring Eagle Cap

The Tram at Wallowa Lake

You probably think this post is about you…

Anyway, the travelogue isn’t done, but I had to return to work on Monday, which sucked after three weeks off, but with a job, and a farm, and a life outside the internet, sometimes blogging doesn’t get finished. The rest of my travel story is drafted, I just need to format pictures.

Long time, regular (and irregular) readers know that I don’t tolerate much in the way of stupidity and farce. I don’t have time or patience. I have openly (as opposed to anonymously) attacked, and yes, I’ll use the word attack, attacked authors, articles, associations, and simple minded bloggers who post untrue, unkind, and malicious crap. When it’s just ridiculous, I mock, which is a gentler form of attack.

Still, I don’t use pseudonyms. I don’t hide. I don’t delete posts (and rarely comments).

My previous post was a guideline, my opinion of what would generate red flags to me. I don’t care if someone writes a blog that’s a total fabrication. Who does it hurt? As long as that person isn’t targeting innocents for money, who am I to judge if that person needs the admiration and sympathy of complete strangers? It doesn’t anger me, all I feel is pity.

It seems that at least three internet entities believe I was writing about them.

Well, I was. And as long as you three know I was writing about you (and a legion of others), then my work here is through.

Keep in mind, you three, (and all you others) - I’m smarter than you.

That is an honest and true fact.

Lying Bloggers

I followed the story from a tip on a message board. I think the blogger in question has deleted the entries, but the ones I read were targeted towards Christian pity, which was answered in the comments.

There are a lot of bloggers out there spinning fictitious life stories, but this one was pretty brazen.

How to spot a “blog of wild fabrication”

The author is the victim of at least 5 diseases, disabilities, or afflictions, and is close to death nearly all the time.

The author has suffered through the deaths or serious illnesses of 20 or 30 close relatives, neighbors, and friends, generally in the very near past. He or she was present and chief supporter, nurse, and confident at each tragedy, despite his or her own illnesses/injuries.

Regardless of health issues and/or admittedly busy life/work schedule, the author has time to blog long and detailed posts about the minutia of every day life. Interesting and culturally significant events happen with such regularity, the reader forgets to ask “wow, can this all be true?”

During “slow periods” of imagination, the authors “stories” sound eerily similar to topics discussed on “big name blogs”, as in “Pioneer woman gets a lot of hits when she talks about her retarded brother, so I’ll have a retarded relative too!”, only Ree’s stories hit home with the bite of truth, and the author’s relative sounds just like The Other Sister.

I’m just saying.