Day in the Wilderness

Click here to see where I went today.

I went to the wilderness, even though I got a late start.  I went to Opal Creek Ancient Forest, where there are trees I swear five feet across and so tall I went dizzy looking up from the bottom of the trunk, to peer at the top. 

Opal Creek isn't that far from where I live, by the back roads.  It is in the Little Santiam Recreation Area, north of highway 22, and just north of this county's line.  N. Fork Road you take from highway 22, up past campgrounds and county parks and swimming holes.  Past Elkhorn.  Til the road turns to gravel.  Then finally it forks and you stay on the bumpy washboardy one to the left.  To the right, if you take that forest service road, you go down to Three Pools, a  very cool swimming hole.  If you go further, you'll hit Shady Cove campground, where I intend to camp before the summer's done.

The upper forest service road, 2209, dead ends at Opal Creek Wilderness area's gate. 

Before I got there, driving through Scio and on to Lyons, from Albany, I was listening to my favorite OPB show---Prairie Home Companion.  I love that show.  Makes dysfunction ok.  Makes me laugh.  I love the songs.  Sometimes the songs and the way they are sung make me cry.  It's a down home homey show.  It's like a cozy blanket.  Like a campfire.  Like corn on the cob with butter melting.

So I get up to the gate and off I go.  I am wearing jeans and a T-shirt and my old tennis shoes.  My sandals dangle from my decades old daypack, in which I carry lunch, Vitawater I got at a service station, and my shorts.  I've also got my bear pepper spray.  I just always carry that.  Not so much for bears, you understand.

I have my old single ski pole, by this time, the snow cuff at the bottom is mostly broken off.  It's my walking pole.

I'm determined to swim in Opal Pool.  The photos online of Opal pool are sublime.  Last summer I drove up to this trail, but much later in the day and I only got so far as Merten Mill and 2.5 miles in, and I climbed down a steep bank and went swimming in a pool there.

Then I hiked back and got back as dark settled in.

This time, I got out my door by a little after noon and was hiking by 1:00.

I get to Merten Mill--a preserved old mill site, with rusted out pieces of equipment all over and a half gone building or two.  On I go.  I pass up the trail to the right, that crosses by foot bridge Opal Creek and proceeds up the other side, eventually coming to Opal Pool and if you continue from there, Jawbone Flats, the little town back in there, ten residents, a research and education center.

On I go from Merten Mill.  It's a easy hike really.  I'm seeing lots of other hikers, some with friendly dogs, some with kids, some with backpacks, on their way out.

It's like being right in the middle of Prairie Home Companion out on the trails most places.  Almost just like it.  Maybe that's why I like hiking so much.  The people you meet are spectacular.  I think so anyhow.

Finally, on a hill, I'm talking to myself, encouraging my bad leg on and don't realize a pair of older hikers have popped out from around the bend.  In apologetics, I tell them, "I talk to myself all the time."  "Well what do you say to yourself?" the lady asks.  "I tell my leg what a good leg it's been and how I know it can make it all the way," I say, with a smile.

I ask how much farther to Jawbone Flats.  The woman says  300 yards and the man says 500.  I think the man was closer to right.

All of a sudden there it is, announced by a little square wood sign that says, simply "Jawbone Flats Population 10".

The dirt main street has private residence cabins and rental cabins on either side.  I beeline it for a little rustic cabin with a sign that says "Company Store" and go inside.   A man  sits behind the counter on the left.  To the right, I eye a plate with one lone brownie left.  $3.00, the little sign says.  I'm thinking about buying that brownie.  Then I remember I packed a lunch.  I tell the man who immediately has required my first name, that I'm taking a hike for my constitution, but I need to sit a spell.  He motions me to the bench on the porch.  I put my pack down and throw my legs up on it and lean back on the bench.  What a life, I think.   The man comes out and sits beside me, throwing his legs up on the porch railing.

I say, "So do you get paid to live out here?" 

"Yeah," he says, almost apologetically.  We sit and yap awhile about this and that.  I ask where Opal Pool is and he points up the street to a brown building, the paddle wheel water powered generator building, and says, "Make a right there and follow the signs."  So I do.

I take a right.  There's a flat field, with a camp bathroom for backpackers.  On I trek until I see a sign pointing down that says "Opal".  I head down.  Three women at that fork and ask if I know where the trail I was on goes to, pointing on, not the way I came from.  I said truthfully, "I really don't know."  They hesitate, then start off, but one turns and says, "Where's Jawbone Flats?"  I point down the way I came from and they look relieved and say things like, "I guess asking the right question is important."

I come to a bridge and stare at the beautiful falls of Opal Pool.  But it doesn't look like online, like a swimming hole . I turn and look down stream and see a beautiful crystal clear opal colored pool.  Takes my breath away.

I crosss the bridge and find a way down to that pool.  I take my shoes off then my socks and stretch my toes out.  Then I unhook my sandals from my pack where they swung, being bungee corded on.  then I take off my jeans, beneath which are my shorts.  I put on my sandals, grasp my old ski pole, and wade in.  The water is so beautiful it calls to me.  Water has that effect on me.  But it's also freezing cold.  It's take your breath away turn your legs pink cold.   I go in anyhow.  It's too clear and beautiful for words. 

I don't stay in long because I don't want to die of hypothermia even though if you were going to die somewhere, this would be the most beautiful place in the world I can think of right now to be your last look at the world.

I pass a couple on the way up the bank who reiterate my thoughts on the beautfy of this place.  They said they decided to go ahead and buy a travel trailer.  They were going to wait til they were old and retired, but....

I interjected...."you want to live now." 

"Yes," they both said almost at the same time.  "We've taken it out 25 times already this year.  We even snow camped." 

"Right on!" I said.  I told them how I've vegetated in a vile mood and now I'm trying to get out into this beautiful state instead whenever I can.  "We could die at any moment," I said, remembering the CO shooting again.  "I want to see places like this."

The couple both nodded. "We do too."

I went back down the other side of the creek trail, which was rocky and narrow and beautiful.  Finally I came to the bridge that crossed back to the other side and joined the main trail in, just beyone Merten Mill.  So I knew where I was then and knew I had a couple miles at least still to go.  My right leg was hurting.  I began to sing to myself to keep my mind from it.  I had a hard time coming up with songs whose lyrics I could recall, however.  I remembered "Joy to the World" by Three Dog Night, of all songs.  Then a Cheeseburger in Paradise came to mind.

A family passed me.  The woman turned, asked "Was that you in the water back there?"

"It was," I admitted. 

"Was it cold?" she asked.

"Freezing," I said.  She smiled.  "Good for you for going in." 

I said, "It was something that had to be done."

I made it up the trail the last couple of miles and sprinted the last quarter mile.  My bad leg said it wanted to do that, to show me it could and that it did and would support me.

I was humming Margaritaville by then and was very sure I was warped somehow into an OPB broadcast of Prairie Home Companion.

My Garden is a Blessing

Bush beans from my garden for breakfast!

The zucchini growing outside are volunteers, from seeds in the compost.

I didn't put much effort into this year's garden.  Last year, I transplanted my strawberries out of the garden box to the landscape strips in front of the house, to give them more room.  I didn't expect too much from them, since I transplanted them late, but I got a good crop nonetheless.

I have enjoyed cauliflower, the best I've tasted, from plants I bought young at a West Albany student greenhouse sale.  I attended the sale because my neighbor's son is involved in the greenhouse.  The small spindley plants grew into great cauliflower!

I have had carrots, tomatoes, kale, onions, lettuce, bush beans, peas and squash.  Lately, I've been eating mainly garden produce, which greatly reduces my grocery costs.  I have soup I've been eating for days that includes bush beans, zucchini, onions and carrots from the garden.  I had fried zucchini last night.  I sometimes cool the beans after cooking them, and eat them as finger food, in home made dip.

My garden has blessed me greatly.  I am lucky to have a bit of space, though not much, to grow some food.  I have no gardening expertise, no green thumb and bascially throw down some seeds and water when I might remember to water.

Screech visits quite often.  He rushes up to me like I'm a long lost friend, rubbing against my leg.  But, Screech is Screech and as he rubs against my leg, he hisses and growls.  Makes me laugh.  He wants wet food and likes to eat it in my garage so the neighbors' black tux barely noticed police cat doesn't go after him.  He tries to sleep in the neighbor's shed, which causes ruffles with the police cat, who has issues from lack of love.

So, sometimes I let him sleep in my garage.

Softee me.

The Seed Farm Siamese Video

Today, Vivienne, a friend from Brownsville, transported Simon (formerly of "The Bushes, Albany, OR) and Kahlua and Sambi, the seed warehouse kittens, to a WA state Siamese rescue.  I wanted to cry my eyes out to see them go,, but hopefully they will get great new lives!

Thank you, Vivenne, for making that happen and to Terrie for taking them on.

I also transported a very ill Lebanon kitten to Portland today where he went off with a Portland rescue and he will see a vet tomorrow. I met the Lebanon woman who rescued him from a yard where a man feeds strays to take him, this afternoon, and first saw how bad off he is.  The kitten would be dead in that yard right now had she not taken him out.  But his eye is gray and bulging and his stomach feels mushy, like maybe FIP, but we shall see.  He also has patches of what look like ringworm, so I quickly bathed him in antifungal shampoo before taking him up.

I think the guy feeding the strays should be charged with negligance as he will not help get them fixed and will not help the sick kittens yet continues to feed.  So sad.

Since Sunday, 14 local kittens and two adults, have left our area, through my hands.  Eight of those came from the cemetery colony.  Two were from the south Corvallis seed warehouse.  Three more kittens and the two adults came from an Albany yard, where they lived as strays.  And lastly, there was the above sick kitten from Lebanon.

Can't forget Jack, the wonderful Siamese boy I found with the leg over his collar and badly injured from that.  He's recovering at Heartland.  He's super wonderful if you are considering adoption.  Go ask Heartland about Jack. Make sure they know he's being thought of, watched and is loved.  I want him to end up in a great loving home.

Getting that many kittens and cats out of here, off the streets, that's a victory, if you ask me, a victory in this long brutal war.

Eight More Local Kittens to Portland Area Rescues





Busy few days for me.  That's for sure.  Am worn out totally.  Today, I returned the last of the four cats, fixed last Sunday, to the cemetery colony.  I don't like taking them back there.  Killer road.  Speed freak territory.  She was the adult gray tabby mother to I don't know how many small kittens, all under two pounds . She had stayed in a rabbit hutch since caught, then after she was fixed, eating and eating and eating, sometimes three or four cans of cat food a day.  I figure she'd had a rough life and a big litter and gave her whatever she wanted.

I saw the gray tux female lounging on the porch when I returned her.  But I didn't see the black tux male or the little gray tux teen male who were also fixed.  And I didn't see hide nor hair of the two kittens, at least, I didn't catch--the orange tabby tux and the gray tux little guy.  I wonder if they're alive.

I drove on then to Peoria road.  Someone had dumped off a tame calico who then had kittens.  I dropped off a trap.  They are going to feed in it, tied open, until we trap the five kittens and hopefully the roam in male.  The mom is tame enough to put in a carrier.

Then I met up with some Lebanon women who had taken a very ill kitten out of a man's yard who feeds strays and will not get them fixed.  He joked around about the kitten, said he wanted the kitten back "when you guys get it well" and the women retorted "Fat chance.  You'll be lucky if we don't turn you in."

I gave them eye ointment, but later, I arranged for a Portland rescue with the means to get him in to see a vet, to take him.  He's going tomorrow.

I haven't seen the kitten yet, but I guess his eye is in bad shape.

Then I had to hurriedly prepare the six kittens from the cemetery colony for transfer to Wilsonville.  I cleaned out their ears of mites, washing some of their ears out with running warm water, they were so impacted. I treated each with drops of ivermectin, clipped nails, flea treated and roundwormed each.  We vaccinated all six once up there.

I also took up Billy and Ahab, the two brothers from the Albany colony.  Simon, the third brother, is leaving tomorrow with Kahlua and Sambi, for a Siamese rescue in WA state. 

So the all 8 went up and afterwards, Karmen and I went out to eat.  I had forgotten to eat all day.  I forgot to say, I kept those three Albany females here all night so they'd get proper watching and care after surgery.  I took them home just  before noon, and also flea treated and roundwormed the three kittens, who were crawling in fleas.  I felt sorry for them.

So it was a full day for sure.  Just Sunday through tomorrow, 14 local kittens will move out and on.  Just in four days, 14 more local kittens leaving for better, hopefully, lives.  That's pretty darn fantastic.  And it has taken effort from quite a few very wonderful people to make it happen.  Including little old me!



Donovan, Dotty and Jodie, three cemetery colony kittens who today went to Portland area rescues.


Grayson, the skinniest most pathetic one of the six cemetery kittens. He was also very scared and growled to beat the band. He needs love!



Cemetery colony big black tux male fixed last Sunday at the FCCO.



Calico cemetery colony kitten, trapped with a kitten too small to be fixed, who remained in my garage, while the calico went to be fixed at the FCCO.  Afterwards a Portland rescue took her, to give her a better life.  They also took a gray tabby male kitten from the cemetery colony.



Donovan, LIttle Stud, Black Billy and Dottie, now in northern rescues.


Little Stud, one of the male kittens, a tabby tux!



Dottie and Jodie, two girl kittens from the cemetery colony.  Yes, Karmen named one kitten after me!



Dottie and Ahab.  Dottie is from the cemetery colony and Ahab from an Albany colony.


Baby, one of three owned Albany females fixed yesterday, not in good shape, alive in fleas, not well cared for.



Second Albany female, from same household, fixed yesterday.



Third Albany female, young, URI, alive in fleas, but at least spayed. Yes, Heartland flea treated her and I wormed her. Owners, my goodness, that is your responsibility!

The Day Be Long

Oh how long was today, and on it goes.  Fog has blurred and lulled my brain now.  I welcome it.

I was up all night trapping, at the cemetery colony, then the Corvallis business colony and even way down at the seed warehouse.  I realized early I would catch mainly kittens too little for fixing at the cemetery colony.  But I never give up and so I tried my best to fill the quota of nine reservations any way I could.  I even set a trap in my yard, for that Siamese, roaming through hungry now and then. 

I caught fixed cats at the Corvallis River business, but I met a nice guy in a night super, middle of the night, who was polite and friendly and who put me at ease immediately.

I caught the black fixed male twice and the upper area brown tabby fixed female too.  Then finally when I pulled the traps I found the rest, including the teens I was after, up in the briars and I spent time with them, talking to them, fed them, grooming those two to trust me to be trapped. 

I caught nothing at the seed warehouse and not surprising.  But was suprised that in a very short time there, saw three of the cats I'm still after--A lynx point Siamese, a long hair black male with hair loss and a short hair black young cat.

Course my radar was up for them and not so much for any other cats.

I came back by the cemetery colony worn out, running late, was already 7:30 a.m. and I needed to head to Portland with who I had, and saw a light gray kitten with white feet running off into the brambles, scared.  I saw the reason.  Two kittens were in one trap.  I was elated.  But my elation was short lived.  Only one was possibly big enough to be fixed.  The other was a third her size.

Once home I got in gear, and despite hissing from the two kitten trap, I just reached on in and pulled out the smaller one and put him into the garage cage that already held four other too small kittens.  I got the brown tabby girl kitten away from her mom, whom she'd been hutched with, and got the mom in a carrier and loaded.  I took the biggest kitten, 2.8 lbs, out of the big carrier he was in, and put him in a small trap, for easier transport.  Off I went.  I left five pound and a halfers in the garage cage and went up with two adult females, an adult male, a gray tabby teen male, a gray tabby male kitten and the muted calico kitten.

I got up to the clinic right on time.  I was exhausted, caffiene wearing low, no sleep since the night before.  I had brought a blanket and intended to sleep the day away in my car.  After registering the cats, a rescue group approached and offered so kindly to take the two youngest I'd brought, the dilute calico and the gray tabby male.  I was overwhelmed with this offer.  They pledged to return for them at 4:30.  They were there with other cats being fixed.

I tried to sleep then, laid out in the back of my filthy stinky car.  My leg hurt.  Everything hurt.  The smell was bad in there, from spilled bait, urine.  I used a cage cover and my coat for a pillow.  I slept.  Two, three hours, but wakened overheated.  The weather had changed, was now hot out, and humid.  I was sweating and miserable.  I tried to sleep off and on throughout the very long day.  Clouds would roll in, giving me relief from sun, but bringing humidity.  I thought I could just die.  But through the day, I got bits of sleep here and there.  Enough to get home on.  Enough to get me through loading the four cats I did bring home, and following a rescue woman through Portland streets to get around the I5 closure near the Rose Quarter.  I would never have figured out how to get south around that without her leading the way.

Am home now, filthy still, worn out, happy I caught so many, worried over having so many kittens, five in my bathroom, six now in the garage because the gray kitten went in a trap over at the colony while I was gone.  He too is under two pounds.  Kind of overwhelmed.  Totally worn out.

However, put an end to another kitten production factory.  The Lebanon Kitten Factory people are now working on solving another situation a couple blocks from them.  I love that.  They're super nice people and wanting to make a difference too.

Kittens, Kittens, Kittens!

Kittens are everywhere!  This kitten season is awful!!  I'm trapping a new colony, was supposed to be seven kittens and two adults.  But I'm lost now, cannot figure out who is who or who should be who, in the dark and the maze of gray tabbies.  I do know who I have caught, at least.  I've caught nine!

I caught a mother who was thought to be a male, but she had two kittens around her. I caught her in the same trap as one of her kittens, whom I quickly took out and tamed, a sweet little six week old spotted tabby girl, who wants a real home.

That was last night.

Today I went to the coast with my Silverton cat lady corgi lady buddy.  It was heaven!  We just went to the first beach we found, down below where this photo below was taken.  We climbed down the trail, set up some beach chairs, ate our lunch, took a walk, took a nap, took another short walk, came home.  Was so relaxing!

Yaquina Bay Bridge in Newport, OR

Jetty and Beach.

Corgi Walker Friend

I came back and caught first a small gray tabby, about 2.8 pounds.  Whether the FCCO will do him tomorrow or not, don't know, will take him.

Then I caught the other adult female, a gray tux.  Yay.

Then I caught two in one trap, a teen and a one and half pounder  Ah, I thought, must be the brown tabby girl kitten's sibling.  Check that one off.

But then, I find two more pound and a halfers in another trap.  Uh oh.  Adding up the under weight numbers here.

Then I catch a big huge angry black tux male.  Daddy.  One of them.

Wondering if I'd catch my limit of keepers here, I slip off to the River Business colony.  Complicated to trap there nights, have to first check in with the night guy, then drive back to set or check a trap.  Time consuming.  Inefficient.  Stupid waste of time.  I set one anyway.  So much bullshit there.  Might have to fill out a dozen forms to use a can of bait, you know?  That sort of complication that can fry your will and make you crazy.

I think my chances there are nil to less than nil.  So I head off to the seed warehouse.  I've had two traps there since before harvest, tied open.  Haven't been back.  It's all a mess now, with seed comnig in and being processed, bagged, stacked, shipped out.  Boy am I glad I got those kittens and Juno out before that happened.  I set two traps anyhow.

The mom that was formerly thought to be a male, with two of her kittens.  They're all caught now.

Pound and a half club tabby kittens.

Sweet Gray tux female, now caught.

Brown tabby female kitten with mom eyeing me from inside the carrier.

Saddest little teen in the world.  Gonna be ok kiddo.

Going to be a marathon.  Good thing I slept 12 hours last night.  Really good thing.

Partial Book Review: Darkness at Noon, by Arthur Koestler

If I were to simplify as summary, Arthur Koestler's excellent book, Darkness at Noon, it might be with these lyrics from a The Who song:  "Meet the new boss.  Same as the old boss."  Those lines accurately describe the book's story line, that of a purge of counter revolutionaries in an unnamed country.  The story begins as a former party member is arrested.  Rubashov, who was part of the revolution, crucial to its formation and execution, is now on the outs with the party in power following the revolution.  The glorious change envisioned has become a monster, with a brutally tight grip and no humor, with a paranoid leader Rubashov once labored with to produce change.  The change produced however became unrecognizable, an enemy of questions, the boogie man following you in the dark.

Grave questions are addressed throughout, as his imprisonment is explained to him by a former colleague, now his captor, who advises him to sign a confession or he will be liquidated administratively.  He flashes back in memories, like to his secretary, with whom he slept, taken away and accused of counterrevolutionary behavior, once she has become a librarian, and the libraries too are being purged and books rewritten with new histories of the same events and people, to suit the party.  Her defense is Ruboshov himself and yet he will not rise to defend her and is convinced to deny her, for the greater good of his own personal safety and of the party.  She is executed, undefended and innocent.  Somehow Rubashov has justified his actions in this event, with grandiose philosophies that it is not man that is important but mankind.

At the urging of his former friend, now his captor, Rubashov capitulates quickly and signs a confession.  However his friend disappears and his case is turned over to a vile and brutal young officer who believes only in torture and violence to advance himself in the party cause and produce confessions through these means.  He discovered his means in the face of defiance from peasant farmers who buried and hid their crops from the party, who wanted the crops turned over to feed the urban masses.  When it was discovered how easily peasants capitulated if forced to stand waiting for 24 or 48 hours prior to interrogation, and if, by going even further, greater results were obtained, Gletkin determined this was the way.

I have not yet finished this book, that I purchased for $1 at a thrift store, that is worth its weight in gold for the understanding it imparts and its deep dissection of revolution and political psychology.  The book came stained with a partially now fully detached cover.

I know how it will likely end.  Rubashov will be "liquidated".  Koestler, the author, was a fighter himself, had experienced prison and was a veteran of the Spanish Revolution.  He was captured by the Fascists and condemned to death but the British brokered his release.  Hemingway's book "For Whom the Bell Tolls", a gripping book detailing a few days with a band of Spanish rebels, fighting the fascists, and an American dynamiter, was written about the Spanish Revolution as Hemingway also was a warrior and wrote about war.

Meet the new boss.  Same as the old Boss.  These lines are from The Who song "Won't Get Fooled Again."

From Wikipedia:

Won't Get Fooled Again" is a song by the rock band The Who which was written by Pete Townshend. The original version of the song appears as the final track on the album Who's Next. The 1971 single release (a drastically edited version at three-and-a-half minutes in length) reached #9 on the UK Singles Chart, #15 on the Billboard Hot 100 and #14 on the Australian Singles Chart (Go-Set).^[1] It is a perennial favorite on classic rock radio stations and concert staple for the band.

Townshend stated in 2006 that: "It is not precisely a song that decries revolution – it suggests that we will indeed fight in the streets – but that revolution, like all action, can have results we cannot predict. Don't expect to see what you expect to see. Expect nothing and you might gain everything. The song was meant to let politicians and revolutionaries alike know that what lay in the centre of my life was not for sale, and could not be co-opted into any obvious cause. [...] From 1971 – when I wrote Won't Get Fooled Again – to 1985, there was a transition in me from refusal to be co-opted by activists, to a refusal to be judged by people I found jaded and compliant in Thatcher's Britain."^[4]