Here are a couple of pictures from our hike to Puerto Viejo or Old Port. When this area produced commercial amounts of sugar cane the shipments left via rowboat at this port. Large shipping vessels anchored off shore. There are bits of old infrastructure to admire such as the stone quay and dry set rock fences and roads and even the remnants of a turtle cannery but I am always blinded by the dramatic landscape. Here the last vestiges of the mountains crash into the sea. Sea lions blubber about on the rocks below while verdin, black throated sparrow, and a cactus wren sing courtship songs. Sometimes the wind carries the sea lion’s grunts and groan all the way up to our perch. The cardon cactii stand watch like lighthouses on cliff edges. The palo verde, nipped by the harsh salt wind, grows close to the ground with octopus like tentacles.
Traditionally visitors approached this area from the north but a recent hotel development has caused confusion (putting it mildly) and animosity about access. Guards and scary looking dogs patrol the area now and a massive amount of vital mangrove habitat was destroyed, threatening the endangered Belding’s Yellowthroat. Best to steer clear even if the road is open. We decided to see what the walk was like from the south and found it to be easy and rather more pleasant because we could avoid all views of the unsightly hotel and its environmental destruction. Yes, our heads are firmly in the sand. From where we parked and walked there was very little evidence of the massive development all around. The area remains a very wild pocket, one of the last, between Todos Santos and Cabo San Lucas. Scat all around and game trails onto sheer cliff faces indicated coyotes and/or bobcats make regular excursions into the deep canyons. I hope the area stays protected.
Recently I took my rings in to a guy to be resized. Abel works in an 8′ by 8′ space behind a rack of shoes in Todos Santos. I showed him my rings and asked if he could resize them. He wondered why since they appeared to fit fine and I explained that when I exercise my fingers swell and recently they were swelling so much the rings hurt my hands. I was worried he wouldn’t be able to resize them because one is white gold and the other is palladium but it was easy. Right then and there he put them on a thingy and beat them with a hammer. Beat, check, beat, check. Twenty minutes later they were cleaned polished and just a little but bigger. Thank you, Abel.
We went for a late afternoon walk in the hills with our Montana buddies Aldo and Bequia yesterday. Huge discovery of two burrowing owls on the road as we drove home. The owls were very patient and allowed us all a good look through the binoculars while Burt shined a flashlight. Burrowing owls live underground and prefer to stay close to the ground. They have long legs for walking. Here in baja this species is easy to identify because the other owls are either much bigger or much smaller or have long ears. The squatty head is also a clue to who it is. I played the iBird call but didn’t receive a response. I guess they weren’t fooled.
Burt heads into the mountains on a guided hike Wednesday AM. I’ll be holding down the fort around here alone. I just landed a paying gig as a backup singer so I’ll also be doing that while he’s gone. Side work is a good thing.
Burt pulled out the map and said, “There’s gotta be an easier place to hike in the mountains.” Well we got lost but found what he was looking for anyway. Burt’s original goal was the end of the road about 8 miles south of where we landed but we can’t complain. Rancho Santo Domingo is at the end of a different road and on a trail head into the Sierra de la Laguna. Chito is the current occupant and resident guide. He sent us on our way and we did a short exploratory walk. His dog, I called it bones, followed us. Bones’s love for Olive was unrequited. I guess she prefers men with more meat on their frame. Up the hill from the very old and well shaded ranch house we found a mature orchard with ripe toronjas (grapefruits) and flowering mango trees. The trail followed the arroyo up into the mountains. Birds were sparse because of the heat but this water hole was fantastic.
We turned back early. I am still tired from Sunday’s expedition and we had a music date with Tom. We can visit this place again when we have more time and energy. On our way back down Burt spotted the Cape Robin! I missed it but I can trust Burt knows a robin when he sees one.
Burt’s finally had enough of our annual slog on the skirts of Titi Mountain. I think. We’ve made an annual trek up there every year for the last four year. This year I cried. Between losing the way, the heat, hunger, and the darn beta-blockers I had my work cut out for me. I knew I would be miserable on an uphill hike through the thorn forest and I tried to take it like a big person but the first 40 minutes were really discouraging. I almost quit.
The start of this marathon is a very poor ranch deep in the desert at the edge of an arroyo. In the past the house has been vacant but this year the owners were there with their three skeletal dogs. The burro that rubbed his head on our car all night long last year was not seen. The owners speak a version of Baja Spanish that I find impenetrable. We exchanged pleasantries where every other word was Mande? or Como? What? Hi? What? How are you? Say that again? Great? You? What? Painful. Then the man says, “You play violin.” I heard that. We played music once here 4 years ago and everyone within 10 square miles remembers. Does this make us famous. In a word, yes. At the time it seemed like we were torturing them. Maybe we were. Today he seemed to remember it fondly. He asked if I had brought my violin and seemed disappointed when I said no. Maybe he was just being polite.
This route is located in a spot our friends the deer hunters showed us four years ago. Angel and Ramon agreed to let us tag along while they hunted. That day we covered twice as much ground in the same amount of time. We were faster then but we also had a guide dragging us over and under and through vegetation. On our own we wallow a bit trying to figure out where to go. The area is very wild but also heavily grazed by cattle. There are microtrails everywhere created by cows stomping their way to every green shoot or puddle of water. Cows make trails that are too short for the average gringo. Tree limbs, vines and cactus hang about at the four foot level. Constantly we find ourselves trying to decide if we should climb over a log, pass under that nasty vine, or through the chest high weeds. All this obstacle course like maneuvering while headed uphill. It’s not an enjoyable walk; it is more like an expedition. About an hour in there is a native palm oasis. Things get more enjoyable there.
The thing that keeps us going, besides the annual grudge match, is that we hope to find some of Baja’s endemic birds that live at the higher elevations. Today we had our eyes and ears peeled for the cape robin, the Baird’s junco, and the isolated population of acorn woodpeckers. All of these birds are subspecies of birds found elsewhere but the ones here in Baja have been left isolated by the ocean and the desert. They don’t migrate. They all look slightly different from tehir more mobile colleagues.
At 2:30 and after 4 hours of trudging with ample and lengthy breaks we turned for home. My phone said we’d walked 3 miles. I believe it was closer to 2 but it felt more like 5. So three is a nice compromise. At the turnaround point we had not seen any of our birds. We did find a nice persimmon tree on the edge of the palm oasis and it was full of butter butts (yellow rumped warblers) and orange crowned warblers. The fruit tree is a relic of the sugar processing days. At the ridge there was a sugar cane processing plant. Local people hiked 6 miles every day to work it back in the late 1800s. The workers planted fruit trees on their route. On our way back down, just before the persimmons, Burt spotted a woodpecker. I got my binoculars on it just as it flew and I was 90% certain it was our clown faced acorn woodpecker. Then Burt spotted another one and this next one held still and we both confirmed it was the bird we were looking for. Yippee. All tears were worth it.
We are getting stronger but recovery days are still rough. That is my conclusion after another steep all day hike. Sunday we covered 10 miles. Monday I hardly moved. Sunday and Monday were spent in a campground (free) at the foot of Swift Dam. Fifty two years ago a dam at this location failed and killed at least 28 people. Knowing this a person might get the heebeejeebees staying under a dam. Well, maybe if the reservoir was full I’d worry but the reservoir was very low. Not much chance of a failure when there’s hardly any water.
I tried to find more information about the dam’s failure and the current dam’s purpose but there isn’t much out there on the internet. Fourteen or more inches of rain fell in twenty-four hours up and down the front. Dams were over topped everywhere and two failed on the Blackfeet Reservation. Flood damage ranged from Helena to the Canadian border. Most of the dead were on the Blackfeet Reservation where the two dams failed. There’s a detailed article in the Great Falls Tribune from the 50th Anniversary of the disaster. A new novel was just published with the dam failure as a plot point, too.
The current dam is owned by an irrigation company or cooperative. I’m guessing that’s why the site access is so ‘accessible.’ Unlike Bureau of Reclamation or DoE dams there are no warning signs or even rules posted. Any half able bodied and semi-intrepid person can scramble down to the top of the dam and take a stroll across. It’s feels like a transgression against the rule makers of the world to freely walk out onto this dam. One could fall. A person might jump. Here you are free to take your chances. Nobody, real or electronic, is watching. I liked it. We wondered all around. I even pretended we were water molecules floating over the spillway. I stopped before things got too real.
The fishing in this area is productive but access is tricky. First of all, one side of the river is Blackfeet Nation. You’ll need a permit from them to fish that side. Secondly it’s very brushy. I was too tired to deal with the brush. Ten miles the previous day made me impatient for fishing. After tangling my line one more time than I could tolerate (twice), I walked back to camp. Burt caught some beauties which I happily ate.
The hiking is gorgeous but there is a lot of horse activity. Horses make for messy trails. The Olvis quite like following horses. Trail apples all day long. I’m less enthused about horse poop all day.
More bears were spotted. And a band of kestrels. Seven headed south to Baja. We gave them our regards.
Today we are parked under the Fresno dam on the Milk River. This is in the plains of Montana. The mountains are two hours west. We are headed east to find some birds. Opening day is Thursday. It’s 90 degrees but we are parked under a cottonwood tree and the wind is blowing. And there’s internet access via Verizon.
We’ve been out of range and on the move. A lot has happened since I last had the opportunity to write. We popped into Helena and played Bridge and visited Ruby. Ruby was carried across the Rio Grande river from Mexico into Texas by her grandfather when she was an infant 95 years ago. Her mother was homesick and had returned to Mexico to visit her family. Ruby was accidentally born in Mexico. Her older and younger siblings were all born stateside. What a predicament. Eventually the family settled in Pompeii’s Pillar, MT. When Ruby went to Carroll College (in Helena, MT) in the 40s to become a nurse she finally became a citizen. Burt’s known her for 30ish years. We dropped by her apartment and sang her Cancion Mixteca. While in Helena we also did a couple of hikes and caught up on our laundry.
Burt got us a gig at Buffalo Joe’s up in Dupuyer and so we headed north to camp and sing along Montana’s Rocky Mountain Front. The Front is my favorite scenic area in Montana. Massive cliffs that are the remnants of once undersea reefs jut out into the plains. The edge of big sky country starts here and continues for 1,000 or more miles into the Dakotas and Canada. The land is famous for dinosaur fossils. On the drive up we stopped at the overlook into Egg Mountain. Egg Mountain is a spot full of nesting dinosaur fossils. There are eggs, hatched and unhatched, and parents, and foraging predators all found in one concentrated locale. It’s similar to when birds gather together and nest in one place. While pondering the eggs we couldn’t see Burt found a fossil in the making. It’s a recently deceased red fox. I was tempted to add it to my collection of dead things but it was just a little too ‘damp’ and smelly.
Finally we made it to a campsite along the North Fork of the Teton River. With the towering reefs above our heads we strolled along some abandoned beaver ponds and plotted out a hike for the next day. Burt had remembered reading about Wright Mountain in one of Rosemary and Ed’s guidebooks while we were catching up on laundry and showers. Wright Mountain was just a ways further up the road from where we were camped.
The next day dawned cool and cloudy. That’s a good thing. I cannot recommend undertaking this hike in summer. A 2007 burn removed all shade and there is no water. The route is very steep. I was essentially miserable and delighted at the same time. The propranolol (beta blocker) makes walking uphill very difficult. Every step is a negotiation. The mental effort reminds me of the tricks I’d play to finish marathons. Just 100 more steps. Try a little slower. That’s not pain….Meanwhile I was very happy to be taking a hike in real mountains. I thought maybe I’d even make it to the top of a real mountain. Delusional thinking brought on by summit fever.
About two hours in we encountered a man on his way down. This guy was very perky and friendly but he said three things that hilariously sapped us of all will to go on. In the course of telling is what a great hike it was he mentioned that the trail above was much steeper than what we had already done (nobody asked), he mentioned that it looked like rain, maybe even hail (nobody asked), and he mentioned that the trail was really loose because the mules had torn it up (nobody asked). He made it sound like a nightmare and he out right stated, “of course you are planning to turn around at the saddle and not go to the top.” Hey buddy, “Nobody asked for your advice!” But alas, he was right. We got to the saddle and saw some heavy clouds and a very exposed trail heading even more steeply up into the scree. I could hardly put ten steps together at this point. We sat down and did what we do best. We ate. By my calculations we accomplished 3 miles and 2,000′ of elevation gain. We had another mile and 1,400′ more if we were to reach the top. It was not our destiny that day. Mount Wright is out there mocking me.
So team Gypsy Carpenters turned around and they were glad they did. The decent was rough. We had to rest twice going downhill. One time we nearly fell asleep. We must be maturing. In the end we were both satisfied with our accomplishment. The next day we did another uphill hike but only for a mile and a half. Clary Coulee is a gulch between the limestone fins of the front. In the cool coulee air we found unburned trees and a diverse flock of birds. Mountain chickadees and juncos and jays and a cooper’s hawk among other birds. I was wiped out from the day before but dutifully made my bird list and entered it into eBird.
That afternoon (Friday) we arrived in Dupuyer. We had a show to do. The Gypsy Carpenters put up their new sound system and put on the dog. Buffalo Joe’s attracts a diverse clientele. Hutterites (a clan of germanic collective living folks) and Blackfeet and motorcyclists and ranchers and young people and old were in town for a Friday night out. Some of the older Hutterite men looked like their heads were going to explode with delight when I sang the Bare Necessities. I’m not sure what they were thinking about but I was thinking about a bear and all the bears that live in the Dupuyer area. Burt says those Hutterite men are still singing that song out on their huge corporate ranches. With big smiles on their faces.
Next morning we woke up and the man with the plan decided we better head over the Great Divide and get our boat and bring it back east for a trip to eastern Montana. Bird season is upon us and there’s fishing to be done. So we left the gNash in Dupuyer and headed to Whitefish to collect the Sea King. We stopped in and saw Jen and ate an early dinner at the restaurant where she works. The next next day we hooked up and headed back into the woods just a wee bit north of Dupuyer. We visited Swift Dam. There’s a reservoir and more hikes and maybe some trout. That’s a whole ‘nother post.
The Yaak is far away. Even if you are in Montana it is far away. So far from the average life that only once before have I passed through. That was after a float trip on the Kootenai River, a river that marks the southern boundary of the mystical area called the Yaak. I must have been tired because on that trip I was unimpressed. It was green. There were trees. I wanted to go home. I was blind but now I see.
The Yaak is a temperate rainforest. It’s been heavily logged and roaded but still contains some jewels of wilderness. Wild-ness and biodiversity abound. Cell service does not penetrate its boundaries. This pocket of our great globe is layer upon layer of organisms. The soil below your hiking boots is comprised of more organisms than entire watersheds out on the dryer side of the mountains. Burt read a book about the area and since we were going to be close (a mere 3 hours away) we decided to spend a few days hiking and camping. We were joined for much of the trip by Burt’s daughter, Jen and her dog, Lupita.
We camped at a simple Forest Service campground. At $7 a night this is one of the last vestiges of affordable government owned campgrounds we’ve found. So many have been turned over to corporate minders now and their profit models. It was a telling sign of how far off the beaten track we had come. We snugged the gNash up under some darn tall trees next to the Yaak River. The act of snuggling precipitated a minor kerfuffle in the Gypsy Carpenters relationship. All is not always smooth betwixt us two. A periodic venting of hostilities must occur. Parking a trailer is a great way to find that release if you’re feeling a little pressurized. Things smoothed out just fine.
Jen and Lupita arrived the next day. Jen had backpacked in the area a while back and she fondly remembered the Fish Lake area. That’s where we headed. We have not seen much of the Yaak but this was one of the nicest day hikes I have ever taken. The 3.5 mile trail into Fish Lakes is gentle and passes through a diversity of landscapes. There are trees and scree slopes and babbling brooks. Moss, lichen, ferns, rotten logs. There is a great gray owl waiting to fly over your head as you pass by. There are flocks of Cedar Waxwings catching flies over the lake. A thunderstorm will roll in on cue. Grouse for the dogs to flush. This hike alone is worth the effort. I felt like we were seeing what used to be and is now so hard to find.
I found shelter from the thunderstorm under a massive hemlock. Rain and hail did not reach me. It was cozy. Burt and Jen were off a ways fishing and found their own trees. The joke was on us. We stayed dry during the storm but the saturated vegetation soaked us immediately when we resumed our walk. Here are some pictures. The gray owl was too fast.
We’re still up in the north end Flathead Valley. Rain again after a couple of partly cloudy days. Our Mexican tans are fading but our leisure time activities continue. This week we played Bridge twice and took a couple more hikes. Today, while Burt lends a hand helping build a place with his daughter’s boyfriend, I did the taxes. Better late than never. Actually, we had a perfectly legal extension. I could do them on time from Mexico because all the information I seek is on-line somewhere but I prefer waiting until I have paper in hand and the mail doesn’t reach Mexico. Usually. This year Sue brought it down in May but today was the first suitably rainy day with Burt out of the house. As usual I did my best to get them right but being self-employed makes for some bewildering tax questions.
This week’s hike idea came courtesy of Jen. Jen formerly guided backpacking trips in Glacier National Park but since the park forbids canine companions we have to hike on the perimeter. Stanton Lake is just across Hwy 2 from the boundary and located in the Great Bear Wilderness area. Jen had never done it but heard it was a great walk for dogs with nice views. As usual we birded for a portion of the walk, ate snacks, and broke up a dog fight. Okay, the dog fight was not usual. Olive is a bit of a tyrant around smaller dogs on leashes. Normally we do not see many dogs smaller than Olive hiking in the wilderness on a leash. A couple of days ago Olive tried to kill a very small and insecure Chihuahua type dog. It wasn’t remotely funny. What an Ass-hat she can be. The other dog parents were very understanding and had hardly an evil word for us or Olive. Despite the nastiness and length of the altercation there was no sign of visible injuries to the kitten sized dog. Olive was leashed from that moment onward.
The hike culminates at the head of Stanton Like about 2 miles from the trailhead. You can see Great Northern Mountain to the south and a few peaks in Glacier National Park to the north. On the lake we spotted a pair of looms and a lone baby loon. Loons are not prolific reproducers. They lay one or three eggs a year so this was a happy spot. I also found a lovely white crab spider eating a fly. AT the head of the lake the brush along the trail became menacingly high and thick. You wouldn’t see bear in here until it was gnawing on your leg. Also not funny, last week a guy crashed into a bear near here on his mountain bike and was summarily dispatched by the bear. Species unknown. So the idea of crashing into a bear does not appeal. We took the heavy brush as a cue to turn back towards the car.
Dear reader Pat and friends and clients Bonnie and Rolf and Howard and Carol spent a week hiking here last year and almost every day was filled with view impairing and lung clogging smoke. At least the rain is preventing that this year.
Next up we’re heading into the Yaak. Notorious and remote the Yaak harbors weirdness and possibly Bigfoot. Transmission might be delayed. Late next week we’ll be back in Helena for doctor’s appointments and gigs.
Today (Tuesday) we are in Whitefish, Montana. Locally known as Whiteflesh due to the pervasive, low-hanging clouds, Whitefish is another Montana spot I have only rarely visited. We were brought up to this northwestern nook big sky country because it is currently the home of Burt’s daughter Jen. Added bonus: Jan has a huge fenced yard and a spot to park the gNash. Even if she was merely a friend she’d be high on the visitation list. Jen took us on a walk at Woods Lake this fine drizzly day. Sixty-four degrees and mostly cloudy. Perfect hiking weather. We’ve all been thrilled to find ourselves in Montana during a wet summer rather than one bedeviled with fires and public land closures and thick smoke. There’s still time for all that but this week of July rain has surely delayed if not eliminated the fire season.
Last night we picked pie cherries from a neighbor’s tree. Today we’re going to have to do it again because we ate the whole pie. Pies must be made and eaten while the season is upon us. Today’s hike was about 3.3 miles. We took an hour to cover the first mile because there were so many birds to try and see and Burt found a ball of mating garter snakes. The ball fell apart as soon as I tried to get a picture but we saw at least 6 distinct snakes. Apparently a fertile female attracts males from all around and they all get at it in one big blob. Since time was an issue (Jen has a job) we finished the last 2.3 miles in 40 minutes. Yay, me. Now I am pooped.
There are presently 5 dogs at this RVers Nirvana. Three dogs (Olive, Elvis, and Plum) are visiting. Lupita, a 3 month old heeler is Jen and Robin’s new canine companion. Lupita is darling. Pita is trying to make Olive love her but so far Olive remains uninterested in her attention. Olive prefers a more mature, tall, dark, handsome dog. We took 4 dogs on this morning’s hike and they were admirably well behaved. A swarm of kids on mountain bikes did not cause a row. Lupita won most of the attention and that was just fine with kid-despising Olive. Not one pup ran off during our almost 2 hour walk. And no fast moving mountain bikers were chased. Coincidentally, this trail system was discussed at length during the trail event where we played music. I can attest that the system is well signed and mapped. They even have posted numbers to refer to if you happen to become lost or hurt. You can call EMS (presuming you have cell coverage) and tell them you were mauled by a bear at sign #77. The EMTs will know where to find you.
This week we popped in to visit a pair of musician friends in Seeley Lake. Pete and Rachel are naturalist types and musicians. We have a lot of common friends. They are also considering building a home so we had professional reasons for the visit to. If you are considering using our services in 2017 now is the time to contact us. We are busily consulting with several possible clients on some jobs in interesting locales.
I have never spent much time on the west side on Montana’s continental divide. It’s heavily wooded and reminds me of the eastern seaboard. I always miss the open desert but I am quickly liking this shady summer weather. This week was cool and rainy. My main impression is there are a lot of leaves in the way of any birds I am trying to identify. After many years of mainly desert living this is a difficult adjustment. On the up side there is water everywhere and the dogs are having fun wallowing in mud and staying hydrated on our walks. The other difficulty to birding is the change is species. Even a robin proved confusing when we first arrived. It’s been a while since we’ve regularly seen robins. Pete and Rachel are avid and much better birders than us. Rachel is a bigwig in the USFS so she had to work but we went wandering with Pete and he taught us some of the local calls. It is even more apparent here that you must learn the calls of the birds to have success. I am doomed to be mediocre.
Morrell Falls is on the west side of the Swan Range. It is a wide and gentle mile and a half to a dramatic cascade. On our way Pete pointed out the strange mono-tonal call of the varied thrush. It sounds just like a dog whistle. In fact Pete’s dog whistle confused both Burt and me. We sat at the foot of the waterfall and watched a dipper and pondered the sad state of American politics. All three of us are horrified by the anti-science factions. Sometimes I wonder if our society will become like Cambodia and round up scientists and kill them.
Aside from appreciating the dampness and fecundity we ate well and played some music. We even did a micro-gig in the rafters of a lodge for a trail organization.
The pipessewa flower pictured below was pointed out by Pete. It used to be used to flavor root beer. I think it is darn pretty.