So we never got to Olympic National Park, but Washington Park turned out to be just as good, in my opinion. We hiked the rocky coast of Fidalgo Island, saw otters, bald eagles, seals, and ospreys, took a sea kayak trip around some nearby islands, and generally relaxed prior to starting back east. Oregon Juncos and Mountain Chickadees fluttered in and out of the campsite, and we spotted several deer.

Our guide for the kayaking, Jake, was a Washington native that was soon to head off to college in Plymouth, NH. As we were the only people on this tour, we enjoyed his full attention, and he was eager to hear about New England and our trip. He pointed out seals, explained about the different kinds of kelp (we even got to taste some—tastes salty, FYI), found a kelp crab to show us, and helped me identify some seabirds along the way. He even invited us to come see him play soccer at Plymouth State! We had a beautiful day and a great time. 

Russ met a fellow camper—a cabinetmaker—who had completely customized a Mercedes van into a camper for himself and his wife. Russ was entranced—not only by the gorgeous cabinetry, but also at the fittings and systems, which were very well thought out. (When Russ admires someone’s woodworking skills, you know they are top-notch.) Even I had to admit, it was a work of art.

We were delighted, when on our third evening, another T@b pulled into the spot behind us! Sally had a slightly more beefed-up, ‘off-road’ version of our T@b 320. We started comparing campers right away, and even helped her with a problem she’d been having with her refrigerator propane setting. She and Russ have been having long bicycling discussions, as she loves to mountain bike. 

I will be sorry to leave this place, with its bright coastal light, sea air, and towering evergreens, but more adventures await!

I think I’ve mentioned how hard it is to find a campsite anywhere along the northwest coast. I’d struggled for over a week to find a spot in Olympic National Park, our intended destination before heading back home, with no luck. Finally, Russ said, “Why don’t we go to Anacortes?” 

So, relying on his good luck (he does have the most ridiculously good luck), we drove to Port Townsend, took the ferry across to Whidbey Island, and then drove north to Washington Park in Anacortes. Washington Park is VERY popular, and I hadn’t been able to make a reservation, so we were hoping to snag one of the first-come first-served sites. On our first drive-through, we could not find anything. Then, Russ started checking the calendars on reserved sites—and promptly found one (with hookups for electricity and water) that was empty for five days! Like I say, some people have all the luck.

Astoria, and the end of our westbound odyssey! I went ahead and set up our campground on the Washington shore, just across the bridge from Oregon,

then returned to await Russ’s arrival at the Columbia River Maritime Museum, on the Riverwalk in Astoria. Of course, I let everyone know that he was arriving. I even approached one of the two Coast Guard cutters that were docked there, and asked the seaman on watch if they might blow their horn when Russ came in. He said that he would need to contact his commanding officer, but returned a couple of minutes later to say that they could do that. 

Russ had texted ahead to let me know when he was getting close, so by the time he came in sight, there were people all up and down the riverwalk that were clapping and cheering, and a good-sized crowd outside the museum. And as soon as they saw him, the Coast Guard horns went off! Russ was delighted, especially when many people came over to shake his hand, congratulate him, and ask about his trip. Even some of the Coast Guard crewmen came down to the dock to talk to him! (And let me tell you, these Coast Guard seamen were serious dudes! This particular ship was known along the west coast all the way down to Central America for its success in intercepting drugs.)

Russ celebrated with a “wee drop” of Redbreast, his favorite Irish whiskey, and then we walked into town for a nice dinner. 

A fine end to the Trans-America Bike Route!

I really thought Russ would beat me to the campsite—he was already three + hours on the road when I left the RV park in Lincoln City, and I stopped at two wildlife areas along the way (without much sighting of wildlife). But it was when I decided to take the Three Capes scenic route (only an extra four minutes, according to Apple Maps) that I really got delayed. Halfway around the loop, I came across emergency crews dealing with a downed power line. I had to backtrack eight miles or so, then take the inland road to Tillamook.

As it was, I had just set up camp in the dreary, featureless RV park when Russ pulled in. I was primed for a seafood dinner—last night I was so tired out by my fruitless search for a camping site in Olympic National Park that I gave up hopes of dinner out, and ordered a pizza delivery. So I told Russ to hurry up his shower, and we headed back into town to the Old Oregon Smokehouse, an unassuming, counter service fish and chips place that I’d been assured was THE place for seafood in Tillamook. It did not disappoint. We both had the most delicious, fresh prawns and fries, and had a great conversation with the cook afterwards (they were about to close). He even gave us free samples of their famous clam chowder, and I can tell you, that fame is well deserved!

After that, it was time for the highlight of any trip to Tillamook:

The Tillamook Creamery!

You can tour their facilities, where they make cheese, ice cream, and other dairy products, but we headed straight for the ice cream stand. It took a little convincing to make the young woman at the counter understand that Russ wanted TWO three-scoop dishes of Oregon Black Cherry ice cream (because they wouldn’t just sell him a half gallon container), but we finally got our orders and went outside to enjoy (yes, I got some too).

Like I say, enjoy what the day hands you!

I had no idea it would be so hard to find a place to stay on the Oregon coast. Luckily, the day I left McKenzie, I got a call from an RV park in Lincoln City—they had just had a cancellation, and had one spot open. It was a bit south of where I planned to meet Russ, but it would get me through the weekend. In fact, it was a very nice RV park, with an ocean view, and close to a public beach access, which we immediately took advantage of.

I gotta say, driving to the Oregon coast is NOTHING like driving to the Jersey shore! You have no idea you are getting near the shore until, suddenly, there it is! The mountains and forests go right to the ocean.

The next morning, there were free bagels and donuts in the main building (they even had a spa with a hot tub!). There, I met a very nice lady who told me I should visit the beach that morning, as they were having an unusually low tide. The beach is known for its tidepools, and for its abundance of agates, which can be found at low tide. So I gathered up the doggies and off we went!

There were lots of people looking for agates. I found a small, nearly all white one, and gave it to a little girl who was way more excited about it than I was. Moe doesn’t like the water much, but he LOVED running on the beach!

And then it was off to meet Russ in Tillamook, for his last leg to Astoria and the end of his western trip.

The transition from dry central Oregon to the coastal rainforests is pretty abrupt:

You climb over a mountain, and BAM! everything is covered in moss! I lucked out again, and got one of the first-come, first-served sites at McKenzie Bridge Campground, in the Willamette National Forest. The campground is primitive, but lovely—right on the McKenzie River.

Russ met me there, and that night at dinner, we met the owner of one of the many rafting companies in the area. We’d enjoyed our first rafting trip in Colorado so much that we signed up on the spot for a three-hour rafting trip down the McKenzie the next day.

No pictures, because my iphone… But we had a blast! Our guide came up with lots of nifty maneuvers to make the rapids more fun, and I was introduced to a new river ’tradition’—making lots of noise every time you go under a bridge. He also pointed out some of the quirky things people along the river do—like the guy who ties cold beers to a rope suspended over the river for rafters and kayakers to snag as they go by. Shoutout to Oregon Whitewater Adventures and our guide ’Tater’ for a great time!

Leaving McKenzie, we were reminded again of how devastating western wildfires can be. In 2020, the Holiday Farm fire, started when high winds downed power lines, burned over 173,000 acres and destroyed the town of Blue Lake.

The date should have warned me. Today was a day of getting lost, and found, and getting lost again.  In the morning, I took the dogs for a hike up the mountain, through mixed evergreen forest. Every firest has its own distinctive smell: this one has a woody, warm, caramel scent, with just a slight resin-y tang. We’ve not yet hit the coastal rainforests, and these woods are open, with many small, flowery meadows. One trail joined another, and another, and then another. I took to marking my turns with arrows made of broken sticks. Still, when I headed back, I managed to miss one turn and walked quite a distance until I realized my mistake and backtracked to the right trail. Relieved, I set off—and missed another turn. By now, it was nearly three hours on the trail, and I was getting tired and annoyed. In the nick of time, I found the last turn and my campsite.

After lunch, I decided that I really should go see the Painted Hills, back in Mitchell. My camp neighbors assured me that there was a much quicker way there following one of the gravel forest roads, and although they were a bit sketchy on directions, I figured I could find it without too much trouble. That was my first mistake.  My second mistake was trying to find my way without any cell service. After THREE HOURS of wrong turns, including a few miles on a closed road and a very confusing detour, I finally found my way back to Mitchell, and tired, grumpy, thirsty, and hungry, I decided to have dinner at the same restaurant where Russ had eaten the night before. Thank goodness they had an outside dining area, and were very dog friendly, as the boys were with me. I also filled the car with gas, which I was worried about. 

After dinner, in a somewhat better mood, I decided not to waste all that driving, and set out to see the painted hills as the sun was setting.  That, at least, was worth all the bother. See for yourself. 

However, I was not about to chance a repeat of the afternoon, so I drove back to camp the way I’d originally come: 38 miles west of Mitchell, then 16 miles back toward Mitchell on the only paved road to Walton Lake. 

Hopefully, I will have an easier time driving to my next campsite at McKenzie Bridge!

On a blistering hot day, we left Clyde Holliday—Russ hoping to make it to Mitchell and the legendary Spok’n Bike Hostel, and me hoping to find a spot at Lake Walton in the Ochoco National Forest. Along the way, I made a stop at the John Day Fossil Beds and Thomas Condon Paleontology Center, just outside of Dayville. 

The drive, through Picture Gorge and over Sheep Rock summit, was so amazing that I nearly forgot the heat. At the center I took a short hike to an overlook above the center to stretch our legs, then put the dogs in the camper with the vent open and the windows closed against the heat (it was still cool from the AC we’d been running up until our departure). Even so, I could barely get through the exhibits before people were reporting dogs “dangerously overheating” outside. They were barking, as per usual, but otherwise fine. I went back out through the gauntlet of disapproving stares and got back on the road. 

I should say that the exhibits were very interesting, and divided into the major paleontological eras in which fossils have been found. Most of central Oregon is rich in fossils—the three separate areas of the John Day Fossil Beds only cover a tiny segment. You could watch paleontologists at work at the Condon Center, though having worked in archaeology, I knew there was only so long you wanted to watch someone painstakingly chipping away at a rock matrix with dental picks and tooth brushes. 

Leaving the fossil beds, the heat just slammed down, and I quickly abandoned my idea of stopping at the Painted Rocks area and hiking in to get pictures. Instead, I headed to Walton Lake, hoping the Subaru wouldn’t overheat and that I could get a site there. Indeed, none of the reservable sites were available; I was aiming for one of the non-reservable sites. 

The first camp area looked crowded, so I headed around the lake to the sites on the far side. And there, close to the toilets, was the perfect, shaded site! I quickly backed up the camper, leveled it, opened the windows to air it out, then unhitched the car to drive back to the fee station and pay for two nights.  Success!!

Well, not quite.  On my return, I saw the ‘Reserved’ tag I’d somehow missed the first time around. So I had to undo everything and set off in search again. Fortunately, I found an open site just three places down.  Not as much shade, but…. I set up camp, put out my site tag (which has the wrong site # on it) and decided I’d let the rangers figure it out.

And then it was time for lunch. Now all I have to do is wait half an hour until it’s safe   to take a dip in the lake (do parents still do that?)—the first body of water I’ve found out west that isn’t pure, icy snow melt. 

Whew, it’s hot! Hope Russ is OK. No cell service here. 

P.S.: the lake was fabulous!

Heading down from Brownlee Campground to the Brownlee Dam, the landscape quickly turned from forest to desert. The reservoir behind Brownlee Dam looked so out of place in this dry landscape, like someone had dumped a bucket of water at the base of an anthill. Across the Oxbow Dam, and I was in the high desert of Oregon. Up Hell’s Canyon, I felt sorry for Russ, who would ride that route the next day in 103 degree heat.

Then, suddenly the landscape changed again, and I climbed into the Wallowa-Whitman National Forest and over the three Blue Mountain peaks Russ would have to conquer. Down the other side, and back into dry land, although this time the entire valley floor was heavily irrigated for farmland. Strange to see a lush green field on one side of the road and dry sagebrush on the other. 

I was happy to find plenty of available campsites at Clyde Holliday State Park, along the John Day River just west of the town of John Day. I was surprised to find the park was beautifully landscaped and shaded, with well-spaced sites equipped with water and electric hookups. It had very much the look of a suburban recreational park (which is half of the park), but it also has this very nice campground. The only drawback? CLOUDS OF FIERCE, BLOOD HUNGRY MOSQUITOS. Ugh. My camper’s screens are not that great—one of my least favorite features of the T@b—and I was finally forced to close all the windows and keep the AC running almost all the time in order to keep the interior liveable.

But the campground had a more pleasant surprise for me. The first evening, just before dark, I saw a scurrying movement out my camper window. There, on the gravel path beside my camper, was a covey of California Quail, those comic little birds with the comma-shaped feathers sprouting out of their heads. I had my binoculars and was out of that camper before you could say SQUEEE! There were four adults (which I got to watch taking dust baths) and at least 14 downy baby chicks, scurrying around after tasty bits. I did think 14 was an awfully big brood, so I looked it up—while California Quail can have even larger broods, those youngsters were probably from more than one nest, gathered together in a crèche looked over by multiple adults. California Quail females have even been known to lay eggs in other females’ nests. 

On Sunday, I headed back into John Day to see the Kam Wah Chung State Heritage Site, a busy Chinese general store, herbal apothecary, and community center in its day. The nearly hour-long tours are free, but limited to eight people at a time. Inside is a treasure trove of artifacts from the 1940s and earlier.

Kam Wah Chung has been translated variously as “Golden Flower of Prosperity” or “Golden Chinese Outpost”—the latter is currently accepted as most accurate. The small stone building was originally constructed in 1865 as a military fort, but was leased by Lung On and Ing (‘Doc’) Hay in 1887, and it quickly became the center of a bustling Chinatown. Lung On was a savvy businessman, and Ing Hay, despite never learning to speak or write English, became respected as a healer well beyond the Chinese community. So when the Chinese population dwindled after the gold boom ended, both men stayed. Lung On left the building and business to Ing Hay when he died. Years later, Ing Hay left to receive medical treatment in Portland, locked the building and left his nephew instructions to watch over it. He never returned. Thus, the interior stayed almost untouched until the property was sold to the town and later turned into a museum. Their whole story is one of success and respect gained against all the odds, in a time when anti-Chinese sentiment ran strong.

The Chinese apothecary left by Ing Hay is fascinating. It is the largest collection of Chinese herbal medicine in the United States, and it has been completely cataloged by the Oregon College of Oriental Medicine. Those archives, complete with Ing Hay’s handwritten prescriptions and a listing of all of the raw ingredients found at the site, can be seen in the Kam Wah Chung Medical Archive at www.kwc.ocom.edu. 

The elderly greeter, a retired forest ranger, even showed me some of the artifacts found by residents and give to him over the years, including miniscule single-dose medicine bottles, intricately decorated perfume and snuff bottles, and even an unusual bronzed and carved small gourd, a good luck charm.

WHITEBIRD to Brownlee Campground, down 95 along the Salmon and Little Salmon Rivers. Oh, that Salmon River Valley! Steep hillsides swoop down on either side, their evergreen-crowned summits giving way to open, wildflower paved lower slopes. Sometimes the hills swoop across, only to knuckle under and end abruptly in a ribbed knob, like the paws of some gigantic beast. 

In Council I found a really well stocked grocery, where I replenished my dwindling supplies. The road turns slightly west from there, leaving the river valley and running through a broad valley, then up into drier, broadly hilly terrain. The last few miles toward Brownlee follow state route 71, a twisty, winding road that descends toward the Brownlee Dam. The campground lies a few miles above the dam, along a small creek under towering ponderosa pines, with their deeply etched bark. I am nearly alone at the campground, as the holiday weekend is over.

However, that isolation included no cell service, and I needed to let Russ know where I was. At the recommendation of the camp rangers, I headed back the way I’d come. Before I found a cell signal, I passed a wildlife management area and decided to take a look. The dirt road passes through open grazing land, up to some spectacular views of the mountains to the north. But no cell signal.

So back to the main road. I had to drive 13 miles back the way I’d come to get a message out to Russ. Hoping he would get it, I returned to camp, and took the boys for a short walk before dinner. There is no sound here but the birds and the creek. Perfect!

The next day, despite some drizzle, I set out on a trail that led up through forested slopes to open meadows. Wildflowers in every hue carpeted the margins of the trail, and grew in profusion across the open meadows.

The rain stopped just before I decided to turn back, where I promptly took the wrong road. Fortunately, the road I chose led back to the camp, but much closer to the main road. Along the way I passed the burial site of a small girl who had perished on her family’s journey along the Oregon Trail.  Nothing but the blackened stump of a huge ponderosa pine (and the park sign) remains to mark the spot.

Back at camp, the day had turned sultry, and the pups and I settled in for a nice nap, to await the cool of the evening. A quick supper, some reading, and then bed.

Next morning was bright and sunny, so I set out again up the trail, to photograph the profusion of wildflowers in a better light.

I discovered the biggest puffball mushroom I’ve ever seen—this thing was the size of a soccer ball! I also discovered there was about a 50-yard stretch of trail where I could get messages. To my relief, Russ was fine, and heading my way.

I may have gotten over-enthusiastic in the bright sunshine: At yesterday’s turnaround, I decided to head further up the mountain, and while the scenery was great, I over-extended myself and poor old Scooby, who had to be carried in my backpack for a while. When my back gave out, we all took a breather in the shade.

It was a struggle to get back to camp and to Russ, who must have arrived half an hour after I set out on my hike. I was so hot that I simply marched past him, shedding clothes along the way, until I reached the creek and waded straight in (did I mention there was no one else in the whole campground at that point?). Freezing cold water never felt so good! I was glad I’d thought to put my spare water jug in the creek—it too was nice and cold.