A cool crisp morning, with the sun warming the rock face along which we'd camped. The river gurgles quietly and in this photo you can see the remnants of the full moon overhead (click to enlarge).
I'm fixing breakfast in the camper: Boise co-op fruit and Bruce's organic whole-milk yogurt--magnifico--and semi-boiled eggs with the last of the garlic bread (thanks again, Camille, for letting us hunt and gather at your co-op)
Suddenly I hear Art talking to someone outside. It's a state trooper seeing the hood up on the Ford and asking if all is OK. Art says yes, a gorgeous morning to be out.
The trooper leaves and we're back to being alone until one of the nicest humans on the planet arrives with his two pups. Ron Smith, walking his dogs along the Sprague Rover, confirms we're in a picnic area but nobody cares if people camp here. He tells us about free camping in Forest Service Areas (we thought it was only BLM lands) and their tendency to be unmarked.
Hmmm. That explains yesterday's missed campsite.
Ron's a good guy, and we talk for more than an hour about his rural living now after 25 years as a construction supervisor in New Jersey. He misses the city, opera, ethnic restos. Says he lives in Bly just up the road, and as he departs he asks us to call him if we need anything.
A couple park views as we depart.
Truck lunch: raw veggies and olives.
I consult The Oracle from time to time to ensure we're on the right path.
Did we mention yesterday the opaque markings of Oregon campsites? It's another such day today, though the (orange) drive is nice, along Upper Klamath Lake, searching for a site we saw on our map. See Crater Lake up there, like a cyclops eyeball?
It takes a while, and again we're not at the site we targeted, but it's a beauty.
And it's free. Only challenge is they've taken down the seasonal literature and we miss the fact that all the toilets are closed save for one, about a quarter mile up the camp road. We'd parked near another, but the doors are locked and after I try unsuccessfully to break in with my Illinois drivers license I turn to Art who ignores my pleas for help in favor of looking at tall pines (he's such an Eagle Scout).
Still, a lovely day for walking and Art makes a picture of some fungi on a log.
There's a calm sparkling lake just steps away.
Early supper and what we're reading: Thai vegetable soup from the Boise co-op flavored with lemongrass and coconut milk, plus pate and crackers. It's been so long since I've read a Scarpetta novel I didn't know she'd married her longtime love, handsome FBI agent Benton Wesley. Cornwell's later books have become stilted somehow.
Sign on (locked) toilet house.
Tall pines scent the air.
And reads on his ipad, a gift from Heidi Hough & Associates to her favorite associate.
Maybe he set this beautiful campfire to say thanks.
I'm writing to you from beside it, my equanimity restored after a day in the woods. The stars are out and tomorrow we're heading for the Redwoods National Forest in northern California, an unscheduled but highly anticipated side trip. I've never seen a redwood.