Tag Archives: state parks

A New Old Birthday Camping Tradition

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A few months have passed since I posted a blog about travel, or about anything not related to my recently released books (You’ve heard, right? Check out the links in the left sidebar.). A few things have changed in these months — I moved back to Texas, I got engaged, I got married, I became a step-mom, I moved again. Life is busy. Life is wonderful.

Last weekend was my first camping trip with my new family — my husband and four step-sons (ages 5, 7, 9, and 12). I’m so very outnumbered, but in general the boys do a good job of reminding each other to speak differently and keep the body noises to a minimum in the presence of a lady. We received lots of fun camping gear as wedding presents, and all six of us were excited to venture out on our first trip now that the weather is turning warmer.

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Scoping out the best spot for our tents

In the past few years I’ve become accustomed to camping with a few friends or by myself, so it was a challenge to me to come up with all the food for six people for the weekend and make sure we didn’t forget anything important for meal preparation. I’m ok by myself winging it with peanut butter and honey sandwiches all weekend — I knew the boys, however, would not be satisfied with such little sustenance and variety. I planned and packed accordingly, and the boys ate like they were starving all weekend (heaven help us during the teen years). Of course, I had more than one cup of coffee from my trusty percolator during the weekend.

In the woods is the best place to drink coffee.

In the woods is the best place to drink coffee.

This was my third camping trip in a row on the first weekend of April. Two years ago my sister, brother-in-law, and I took my niece camping on spring break/Easter in the mountains of North Carolina. Last year my friend Jen and I went camping on Easter/my birthday in the Columbia River Gorge and the Oregon Coast. And this year, I decided that three years in a row means it’s now a tradition. From here out, our family will make every attempt to go camping on the first weekend of April/Easter/my birthday. It’s the beginning of a family tradition, and a very good tradition indeed.

Hiking through a nearby meadow

Hiking through a nearby meadow

It was also our first trip with the boys where we used our new Texas State Parks annual pass. The past two years I’ve made good use of a National Parks annual pass. On our honeymoon Stephen and I phased out the National Parks pass a few days before it expired, and we purchased a State Parks pass to use over this year with the boys. So far we’ve visited (either as a couple or with the boys) Dinosaur Valley State Park, Monahans Sandhills, Davis Mountains, and now we’ve camped at Cleburne State Park. The boys enjoyed running around in the wilderness, climbing trees, playing in the dirt and the rocks — we didn’t even have time to take them to the lake this weekend at Cleburne, but they had a blast. With it being only 45 minutes from our house, I’m sure this will be a favorite camping spot for years to come.

Here’s to a new family tradition and the years to come!

A second round of Easter egg hunts -- lots of great hiding places in the trees

A second round of Easter egg hunts — lots of great hiding places in the trees

We also hunted for bugs.

We also hunted for bugs.

My fave part of camping -- sitting and being still. For a moment.

My fave part of camping — sitting and being still. For a moment.

Glow sticks after sundown

Glow sticks after sundown

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Wallowa Lake, at last

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The second try was a charm for me and Wallowa Lake. After hearing extensively from my friend Marilyn about the state park in northeastern Oregon and the beauty of the Wallowa Mountains, Wallowa Lake, and the Wallowa River, I had attempted to drive over there and camp in June, but was turned back by snow (!!). Marilyn has given me excellent travel advice on Oregon in the past (she introduced me to Cannon Beach, for instance, and many great places in central Oregon, as I wrote about here), and the area is special to her and her family, so I was excited to be able to visit Wallowa Lake with Marilyn herself for an overnight trip this past week.

smoky skies in the Wallowa Mountains

 

the view along the opposite edge of the lake, the peaks of the “Little Alps” behind us

 

The weather was fine, but the skies around the Wallowa Mountains were hazy with smoke from the Cache Creek fire that continues to smolder after burning 73,000 acres. My photos of the mountains aren’t as nice as those you see with perfect blue skies and the crisp outlines of the 8,000+ foot peaks known as the “Little Alps,” but I was more concerned with capturing my memories of the area than perfect photos.

a great spot for drinking morning coffee — on the Wallowa River near the Wallowa Lake Lodge

We spent the afternoon wandering around in the forest near the West Fork of the Wallowa River looking for a waterfall Marilyn had visited years back with her family. Somehow we managed to spend three hours hiking around the area in search of a waterfall about twenty minutes’ walk from the road — we’re blaming it on bad directions from a well meaning local, when we should have gone with Marilyn’s gut instincts, which turned out to be correct three hours later.

three hours later…

Despite being lost, it was a gorgeous day for a walk, great weather, fall colors on the trees, and good conversation. The next morning we drank our coffee on chairs under some trees on our hotel lawn, with a sun-sparkling view of the river running into the lake and the peaceful sound of the water. More walking, more talking, more taking in the forest and river and mountains — it’s a wonderful area, and I wish I’d had more time to spend there earlier in the summer.

My plan in June had been to stay in a yurt at the state park — there are two yurts available amidst the tent sites, and when I saw the campgrounds I was even sadder that my camping trip was preempted. It’s a lovely location and would be a great place to camp.

This time around, Marilyn and I stayed in the Wallowa Lake Lodge, built as a hunting lodge in 1923. It’s the oldest hotel I’ve stayed in in recent years — a decade older than the Stone Village Tourist Camp I stayed at in Fort Davis, Texas, last March. The interior of the Wallowa Lake Lodge was recently refurbished, and the rooms have a charming antique appeal. The fixtures and the decor are so quaint and unique, yet everything worked well in the bathroom. No phones or televisions in the rooms, but they do have wi-fi.

the charming Wallowa Lake Lodge

There’s one telephone in a booth in the lobby — Marilyn told me it used to be the only phone available in the entire lake area, and when they first started camping here decades ago, she would have to come to the hotel if she needed to make a phone call.

I promise the Oregon State Parks don’t pay me, people, but once again I’d like to recommend this latest park I’ve visited, Wallowa Lake State Park. I truly have loved visiting each park I’ve been to in Oregon.

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Writing Retreat in Bend, Oregon

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As I said in my previous post, I booked a yurt in Central Oregon for a little writing getaway and had to take the only reservation available between June and October. In my mind, June is late enough in the year to qualify as summer, but my mind still isn’t used to winters in the Northwest — winters that last longer than mid February, like I grew up knowing in Texas. So last week’s trip to Wallowa Lake got snowed out, and I regrouped for Bend this week.

Oregon, oh you wonderful, beautiful, amazing Oregon, I cannot begin to decide on a favorite spot in all the state. I have a deep fondness for the coast and for the Columbia River Gorge, but now Bend and Central Oregon are competing for my affections. I couldn’t have picked a better spot for a writing retreat, and thankfully the weather cooperated this time around. I spent four days camping in a yurt at Tumalo State Park on the Deschutes River just outside of Bend — it was a little more crowded and noisier than Ft Stevens was in early April, but it proved to be perfect nevertheless. Easy access to town, to gas and food, to the highways and byways leading to all the glorious wonders of our Creator’s creation nearby.

the Deschutes River at Tumalo State Park

I got to have dinner the first evening with friends I hadn’t seen in a few years, and they showered me with recommendations and maps and tour information for the remainder of my time. Look for a post on Cascade Lakes Byway soon, a spectacular driving tour I wouldn’t have taken if it weren’t for their suggestion. They also gave me a copy of a guide for a walking tour in historic downtown Bend — and unlike some towns that claim “historic” downtown areas, I felt Bend actually qualified, with its architecture dating to the early twentieth century and its ties to the Oregon lumber mill industry. (Random facts gleaned from the Heritage Walk info: Clark Gable once worked at the Brooks-Scanlon mill, and Amelia Earhart’s home with her husband G.P. Putnam is on the tour.)

Drake Park in Bend, Oregon

For a good 360-degree view of Bend, the desert and Blue Mountains to the east, and the snow covered peaks of the Cascades to the west, I walked up Pilot Butte one afternoon. Don’t make the mistake, like I did, of calling it a “mountain” to a local. I guess it’s bigger than a hill but doesn’t qualify as a mountain when you’re in sight of the Three Sisters, Mt Washington, Mt Bachelor, and the like. Whatever you call it, it’s a good way to get an overview of the surrounding areas, with great interpretive displays (and a restroom, for the record) at the summit.

And lest I be accused of just gallivanting around Oregon every chance I get, I actually did write each morning in my yurt. I kept my regular writing schedule, working breakfast to lunch time, and put more words on the page each day than I had been averaging the previous week. A productive and beneficial writing retreat, indeed.

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Oregon Trail and a Change of Plans

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After my friend Jen and I stayed in a yurt at Ft Stevens State Park in Oregon in April, I had the idea to try out another couple of state parks with yurts as a writing retreat while working on West Texas Interlude. Yurts are a perfect way to camp and write — they have locks on the door, so I feel safe camping by myself and being all solitary and writerly, and they have electricity, so I can plug in my laptop. Perfect.

They’re so perfect, they’re extremely popular and booked out months in advance. So, when I got around to looking for places to stay and write this summer, my options were limited. Very limited. I had two dates available in June at two parks, or I could wait until October. I quickly booked the June dates.

And so, on Tuesday morning I set out for Wallowa Lake in northeastern Oregon — Oregon’s “dry side,” the half of the state that, unlike Portland and the coast, gets lots of sun and little precipitation. Except when I set off, it was pouring rain in Kennewick — and it poured on me all the way to the Blue Mountains, where the rain changed to snow. Snow on June 5.

No worries, I thought, I’ll just make my first stop of the trip, and surely it will clear up and I’ll be able to enjoy the Wallowa Mountains and Wallowa Lake this afternoon and tomorrow in a less rainy/snowy/cloudy haze.

That first stop was the Oregon Trail Interpretive Center outside Baker City, a fantastic little visitor center that I highly recommend if you’re ever in northeastern Oregon. They accept the National Parks Annual Pass, which was the main reason I went out of my way to see it on this trip — why not drive a little further if you don’t have to pay the $8 entrance fee?

at the top of Flagstaff Hill

I do, however, recommend not going on a day with high winds and rain, so that you can walk the 2 mile path from the interpretive center on Flagstaff Hill down to the ruts from the Oregon Trail. Just standing at the top of the hill to take a couple of photos of covered wagons was miserable for me — the hood of my rain jacket alternately flew over my eyes and threatened to strangle me, or it violently jerked me backwards. As much as I wanted to make the walk, I was too chicken/lazy/reasonable to do it.

view of the location of old Oregon Trail ruts, from the top of Flagstaff Hill

A few facts I learned at the interpretive center: One out of every ten people who started the trail died along the way. That adds up to one grave for every 80 yards of the 2,000 mile trail. The “prairie schooner” style wagons had a wagon bed 4 feet by 10 feet in size — that’s the same size as one of the raised garden beds at Quinault Community Garden (pretty big for a garden bed, small for a vehicle that holds all your earthly possessions). Some single men skipped the wagon and oxen all together and just walked the trail to Oregon, pushing their belongings in a wheel barrow. For 2,000 miles. That is a heart bent on emigrating.

By the time I finished up at the Oregon Trail and made my way back to La Grande and the turn-off to Wallowa Lake, the forecast hadn’t cleared up like I’d so optimistically assumed it would. Thick clouds still surrounded the mountains, and the online reports still called for a flood watch on the Grande Ronde River until late that afternoon. Snow and rain showers would continue through the night — the snow would be at levels above 4,500 feet, and the campground where I’d booked my yurt was at 4,600 feet. So much for the dry side of Oregon.

As much as I would love to say I’d camped in the snow in June, I’d already had enough driving on slick roads with busily flip-flopping windshield wipers for one day, and I didn’t relish giving up the interstate for a 2-lane mountain road for the next hour and a half in those conditions. Not for an overnight trip where I wouldn’t even see the mountains because of all the clouds and fog surrounding me. I headed for home (back through the snow in the Blues) and will try again next week for a writing retreat at a yurt in Bend, Oregon.

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60 Hikes Within 60 Miles

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For anyone reading this in the North Texas area, I would like to recommend the guidebook 60 Hikes Within 60 Miles: Dallas/Fort Worth, by Joanie Sanchez.  I picked it up on a whim when I was browsing through a bookstore in downtown Fort Worth last spring, and it’s turned out to be a fun guide to have on my shelf when I’m back home.  My mom and I have been making a point of trying out different day hikes from the book when we get a chance, all on the western half of the map of the Metroplex, since we’re more of a Fort Worth bunch than Dallas.  So far we’ve done walks in Lake Mineral Wells State Park, the Trinity River Trail in Oakmont Park, and a modified (read: much shorter) walk in Dinosaur Valley State Park.

We did the Dinosaur Valley trip one fine day last month with my little cousins, one of whom asked a while back to legally change his first name to T-Rex.  The state park is along the Paluxy River, and though quite chilly at 40-something degrees in October, the day was sunny and beautiful for a walk in the woods by the river.  At one point along the dirt path, I said something about how we were hiking, and little 4-year-old T-Rex said to me, “But I don’t know how to hike.  I’ve never been hiking before.”

“Well, we’re doing it right now,” I said.  “This is hiking.”

A new vocabulary word.  What’s the difference between hiking and walking?

My mother probably didn’t consider herself much of a hiker until I subjected her to—and she survived—two days of extreme heat and height and rocky trails in Tiger Leaping Gorge a couple of years back (click here to read part 1, part 2, part 3, and part 4 of that trip).  Now she says she can do any hikes North Texas has to throw at her—nothing could compare in difficulty to the high road above the Yangtze River in northern Yunnan.

Next up for us from 60 Hikes Within 60 Miles?  We’re still trying to decide between Cleburne State Park, the Fort Worth Nature Center, and the Caddo-LBJ National Grasslands.

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