Steadman Vacation: Oswald West

Oregonians don't need an introduction to Oswald West State Park. It embodies everything the Oregon coast is: big trees, eroding cliffs, foggy beaches and surfers.

My father is amazed by the bravery of my mom. The shoes come off and the historic West coast sojourn begins.

Tippiness was left in CT.

Oregon Family Vacation Part two

There many more pictures from the trips of Candy and Dale as well as Jim and Kathy so I'll try to just put out the pictures without the fluff. I don't mean to suggest it wasn't good fun, but the pictures can tell the story. The following are pictures from our stay at Beverly Beach. Candy didn't want to leave Chuck out of the morning's pancake feast.

Devil's Punchbowl was an incredible place. The punchbowl itself was a cavernous hole eaten away by the waves. We were lucky enough to happen by it at low tide and were able to walk right into it. In some pictures are the sweeping flats of tidepools. Great time at a great spot!

Random photos

I don't know why but I thought this was a cool photo.

First Boundary Waters Trip

Summer began on Memorial day with a rafting trip down Oregon's John Day river. On Labor Day we had ended up in Minnesota's Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness (BWCAW). We knew with Jamie's impending school schedule about to bog her down, we had to get of town. We hiked a trail at Angleworm lake about 15 miles north of Ely, Minnesota. The Boundary Water's did not dissappoint. Despite the fact that I had to pick up a permit at the ranger station where a booming ranger made me sit through a ten minute movie on the ethics of leave no trace, we made it to the trail ready for an overnight hike.

This is a place of true desolation. When the early pioneers spoke of conquering the "howling wilderness," I'd like to think this is where they were. Because the overwhelming majority of people in the BW canoe we saw only two parties of backpackers in close to 14 miles. Unheard of in western Oregon.

Despite a few areas with boardwalks the trail was primitive and in several places tough enough to follow that it required some common sense route finding. I had a guidebook for the trail with me (cheat sheet) that helped in the few confusing spots. It wasn't until I took a good look at the map, a few miles in at the first overlook, that I realized the size of the wilderness we skirted. My one map was one of many for the area. Looking out over the swell of endless woods and distant lakeshores it dawned on us that the entire sweeping expanse was still in the bounds of our single map. From then on each step gained a bit of gravity.

A few miles in we came to a narrow valley, crossing the outlet of a swamp on a weathered beaver dam. Steps later, as I ducked under tree I heard a p-crack! and realized instantly that I had snapped the tip off my fishing rod. A little inspection proved it true and the broken piece was nowhere in sight. A little while on we came to a gorgeous lakefront campsite where we filtered some more water (temps were in the upper 80's) and fished a bit with the broken rod that still worked fine. Within the next mile I lost the entire upper portion of my rod. I have no idea where it happened but it did. Hopes for a smallmouth dinner were dashed.

Turning from Angleworm Lake, the trail passes Whisky Jack Lake, a small secluded lake, with another great campsite surprisingly occupied. Our legs were feeling the ache and Whisky Jack looked like the place to make camp. The site of tents, orange and white against the usual greens and grays seemed almost intrusive or startling. No one was around however and we took a break to refuel for the inevitable two miles further toward the next shot at a site.

As it had been some time since our last outing, our feet had gone soft, and both Jamie and I were nursing either aches or blisters when we came across the first sign of moose. We had been passing many large pines, reminiscent of Oregon's Doug firs, along series of overlooks into swampy valleys when Jamie noticed a large pile of moose scat directly on the trail. We found another a little further on in some thick woods. Further still in a muddy stretch were the hoof prints of a moose capable of cradling a grapefruit. It was unnerving that an animal of such size and infamous crankiness was sharing the same trail as us. Chuck, plodding on behind us seemed a joke of a defense.

Near the shores of Home Lake we passed the group of the Whisky Jack site and claimed to have seen no other campsites on their walk. Despite the despiriting news there was a cairn not far ahead showing an old trail to the lake. The campsite there hadn't been used in over a year it seemed. A downed fir, lay across a ring of rocks and weeds that was the old firepit. However there was a nice bed of moss that would fit our tent perfect and a sloping granite face that led to a shallow protected bay. Jamie and I explored a little further just to make sure we weren't missing any obvious camps and eventually backtracked to put up camp.

Night came slow. The strong winds of the day couldn't penetrate our cove. We watched a couple canoes fight the wind down lake, and Chuck be tormented by boisterous chipmunks. We took a swim, relaxed and had a look around. Balsam fir took advantage of the sunlight on the lake shore growing dense enough to keep us in camp. To our right was a typcial low spot filled with cadaverous black spruce worming up from the muck, somehow keeping their sickly limbs. Our dinner of Thai noodles left something to be desired. Shortly after finishing the Minnesotas famous mosquitoes came out for a late season feast. After some time trying to find a suitable limb to hang our food from we retired to the tent for wine and scrabble.

The following morning we were quick to be on our way. A loon passed by our cove as we made some tea, definitely not holding its own against coffee, and ate a sludgy mixture of dried cranberries and oatmeal. Then it was on to more rocks, more quiet woods away from the lake as we made the turn South for the seven miles to the trail head. A few miles into the day Jamie replaced her boots with a pair of sandals she had brought along and gave a sigh of relief as her heel blisters recieved some much needed air. We topped a ridge after an expanse of woods with no water in sight. I was a bit turned around without a lake to use as a guide. After taking out the map it was clear the expanse in front of us was Northwest not south. We got our bearings, found Angleworm once again, ate lunch and readied for the home stretch.

As I came up a swell and out onto the parking lot I almost stepped on the lost piece to my fishing rod, most likely found by the group camping on Whisky Jack lake. They left it directly in my path. As soon as I picked it up I heard a voice say "ah your other half at last." It was a guy with a tree stand on his back and a compound bow in his hands. Naturally we asked him what he was going for. Bear he said.

Political Frustrations

OK Bush nabbed the coveted seat in 2000 but we all know about that heist. Then in 2004, deep in the muck of Iraq, Americans displayed their lack of foresight handing Bush a bigger shovel. Now here we are–2008; the year decorated with the promise of hope could be heading over the same troubled waters. And it’s the same Americans like you and I behind the wheel.

On one hand not much has changed. The American middle class is continuing to pay for a war they’re more than unsure of. Jobs continue to disintegrate, companies continue to leave. Roe continues to argue with Wade and the powers that be continue to debate the use of our last wilderness. Four dollar gas, while seemingly new on the scene, is simply a catalyst for worn down debates.

On the other hand much has changed. Obama and Palin have shaken up the vision for America. The social anxieties the candidates have stirred up are pushing us to the brink of another big mistake. Just a few months ago Obama met with nearly 80,000 in Portland, Oregon. He had energized America with a recipe for fundamental change. Clinton supporters, so utterly devastated, were soothed and it seemed unity was finally taking shape. While Americans continue to wrestle with race and feminism, the Grand Ol’ Party has once again poisoned a pure idea for power, attempting to marry their ideals to the female vote using the most chauvinist tactic in history. They picked a trophy wife.

Palin scares the heck out of me. Not because she’s a woman. Not because she can take care of five kids, head the PTA and Alaska while I still struggle to take care of my dog. She is scary because she represents much of what Bush was in 2000–ordinary folk you can sit and have a beer with. Combined with her hard edged policy, she has the GOP drooling. Pro-life, pro-oil, pro guns. She’s a perfect ten. If she put on a cowboy hat Dick Cheney would probably go into cardiac arrest. What is un-nerving in this election, as in the past, is that the American people, women in particular, may see that here is a mom like me with convictions and responsibilities just like me. There in lies the problem. Americans need to feel a connection to their candidate. Who can blame us. How many look at a Harvard Law student and finish their sentence with ‘just like me.’ Unfortunately our need to relate to a candidate clouds the issues at stake. There is a foreign policy nightmare that needs fixing, a cataclysmic climate problem and standing water still festering in Louisiana basements. The American obsession with citizen by day and super-hero by night has gone too far. It’s time for us to admit we need a team of cautious, thoughtful, and qualified individuals who are ready to take on the conservative quagmire.

We elected a president based on his normalcy. We elected a president that stuck to his decisions unwaveringly. Our president showed us time and again that he was unwilling to compromise, and in the process somehow made that look like strength and courage. The same party that brought us such gems as Ann Coulter and Lisa Murkowski, now delivers Sarah Palin. She has made it clear her stance on abortion will not bend, creationism should be taught in schools, the arctic needs drilling and the Iraq war must be "won." She doesn’t sound like the kind of person who is looking forward to sitting down at the round table and making some compromises. And with her hard nosed image you have to feel for poor Levi, who went and got her daughter pregnant. That’s like filing suit against Judge Judy before realizing you have to testify on her TV show.

Luckily for all those who seek rational candidates to fill positions of power, she does come with baggage. And I’m not talking about her family life. If there is one thing that bothers me, it is pork-barrel spending. Oil? Pork? Alaskans have yet to see a difference, they just want more of them. If indeed the facts line up, and she can be linked to the infamous "bridge to Nowhere," the most delicious of metaphors has taken shape. I have been to Ketchikan and would argue for its status as somewhere. But Gravina Island across the Narrows from the city really is nowhere. And I think I know what nowhere is like, I chose to live in the middle of it while my friends were somewhere else. I could never go back to Ketchikan had that colossal expanse been allowed to be built with taxpayers money. Had it been, one thing is for sure. The Republicans would have held their convention on it.

Oregon Family Vacation

There are so many pictures of great areas that both the Pogatshnik's and the Steadman's visited that I will forgo much of my rambling and save the space for photos. We'll begin in order with Candy and Dale's road trip to Portland.

We left Portland the morning after their arrival with temps quickly climbing into the 80's before noon. When we stepped out of the car at the rim of the Pacific we were greeted by howling winds and a temp. at 57 degrees.

The lighthouse at Yaquina head was one of the most scenic any of us had ever visited. The lighthouse sits atop cliffs overlooking 50,000 plus common murres and cormorants nesting on the sea stacks. Harbor seals lounged on distant rocks while US Fish and Wildlife volunteers pointed spotting scopes at hatching sea birds for us tourists. It was an intense place with winds that day that could easily send your hat into the sea.

Our goal for the day was to eventually make it to Beverley Beach Campground where we had a campground reserved for us. The following are images from that particular beach. We had thought the winds were strong out on Yaquina head, but we had no idea how strong they would become with the advancing evening. Because the camp host sold us firewood he probably cut the day before, Jamie and I took to the beach to gather driftwood. Out on the sand we met a northerly breeze we had to literally lean into. It was a sandstorm that felt as if it were eroding our legs as we walked. We settled for wood in a little alcove of big logs and waited for sunset back in the shelter of camp.