Dirty naked hippies; McCreedy hot springs, diamond peak, and Summer Lake Hot Springs

11/27/16

The view from my bedroom window

                I sat atop the rocky outcrop looking at the reservoir below, while I sipped my boiling hot coffee.  The sun rose through the clouds, looking like the moon in a clear night sky.  I beat the sun today.  I stared at an eagle as it cruised the top of the water looking for an easy catch for its breakfast. The air was crisp and calm.  As I breathed out the steam from my breath created a cloud that joined the surrounding mist.  We would leave around eleven and go to the hot springs.  Yesterday we scoped out the springs across salt creek, today we would explore them.  We would soak content, like pigs in a warm summer wallow.

                I started the bus, warmed it up for ten minutes, and began my multi point turn.  Alice clung to her chair as we backed up, the cliff side was far too close for her comfort.  She confided in me after we started down the road that she had been afraid all night that the cliff we were parked on would slide away, and we would plunge to our deaths.  I spent much of my childhood on bus trips with my dad and brothers, camping out on whatever road side parking with a good view that we could find on our way to whatever final destination we were headed to.  I knew no such fear.  We rumbled down the road winding uphill towards the hot springs.

                We arrived just before noon.  Pulling off to the side of the road, I parallel parked the bus between two cars on the roadside. 

cars i parked between not pictured

We headed down the unmarked trail to the first small creek crossing.  A white oak tree lay across the water, and upstream a few large well placed, and undoubtedly slippery rocks, presented a second crossing. 

I walked James, before I put him in to his kennel.  After making a large deposit of dog shit, James was ready to go back to the bus.  It was too cold for him. 

                Alice went up stream, I went down.  We crossed the stream at our perspective places.  On the island in the center of the stream, we met on a path of round smooth rocks.  We walked together for a few hundred yards to the next crossing.  A large cedar tree lead to a snag in the center of the large rushing creek.   I walked across the slick logs, enjoying the cold air from the creek as it blew off of the top of the rushing water and over my face.  The white caps of the water lapped loudly against the logs as they smashed against the bottom of them.  After heel toe stepping down the two hundred meter pine tree, long fallen and now serving as a catwalk, we arrived on the west side of salt creek, and the less used portion of the McCreedy hot springs. 

From the snag a pine tree lay across the remaining width of the flood swollen creek.

A couple of fourty something hippies were naked in the first spring, we walked past them and on to the next pool.  So far the water in both pools looked like spoiled chocolate milk.  Through some of the clear patches there were plumes of some type of black algae.  We walked down the trail alongside the creek a half mile, 1km, looking for more soaking pools.  We found only one, however it was full of black algae plumes, and one very old, very wrinkly, very naked hippie. 

McCreedy hot springs .We turned around and headed back up stream.  This time Alice crossed far more rapidly.  I hesitated in the middle, and took a bunch of pics.  I shot a few pics on the water’s surface with my cannon waterproof camera. 

                We drove a ways, 2 hours, and took lunch at the lake overlooking diamond peak.  Tomato sandwiches with tea were a refreshing break after a long drive.  As we looked over the calm lake, snow fell on Diamond Peak, while the clouds carrying it blew over the summit.  I meditated on climbing it.  The snow flocked trees were beautiful in the afternoon sun. 

Afternoon tea came to a close, and after a few pictures of the winter wonderland that surrounded us, and letting the bus warm up, it was time to move on.  We headed towards the next hot spring.  Summer Lake hot spring, I had been to the year before with my friend Kate, sits in a valley in eastern Oregon, near the town of Paisley.  www.summerlakehotsprings.com/

                The winds buffeted the bus so hard that even at 40mph we were blown across the road.  The mountains surrounding the valley were snow caped their white winter veils ending slightly before their bases met the valley.As the sun set the winds sped in to the valley from the mountain tops. 

We rolled in to the campground and found a level pull through site, site number 7.  I hooked up and drained the grey and black water tanks, and started a load of laundry.  After I checked in with the 40 something lady in the front office whose tangled locks smelled of patchouli oil, and weed, I went back to the bus to get dressed for a swim in the large indoor pool that was supplied by spring.

                  After we were dressed, and ready for our swim, we walked the ¼ mile to the large 1900’s building that covered the indoor pool.  We stopped by the office on the way, and Alice visited with the hippy lady and got the wifi password for internet access. My mag light lit our way and I toted the backpack full of towels and water bottles as we staggered side to side like drunks in the high winds down the winding gravel path.  The old barn looked like a Gothic cathedral.  The walls made of old growth timber shown grey with age in the bluish LED beam of the Mag-light.  As we entered high arched rafters were illuminated by two upwardly focused flood lights.  Highlighting the naturally beautiful grain of the old growth beams that made up the majority of the structure. 

There were two younger couples in the water, getting ready to leave.  I walked in to the changing area, and Alice followed behind me.  The water, which filled a cement rectangular pool, flowed out continuously through a side gutter that skirted all the way around the pool, which reached a depth of 5ft.  After convincing her she would not drown, Alice stood under the inlet pipe where the hot water from the volcanic vent flowed.  I tried to get her to swim, but she was far too scared.  After an hour and a half in the mineral water it was time to get out.  A family of eight came in, and got into the water, all of them helping their father.  It looked like he had had a left sided stroke.  He slowly entered the pool, using the hand rail and the shoulder of one of his sons as a crutch.  I watched as a man who had looked hopeless and unable to move freely, smiled lopsidedly, and began to swim out in to the hot water of the pool to embrace his wife.  We were dressed, and toweled off quickly, since the wind was howling through the gaps on the barn, the building was a brisk 40 degrees F.

                Back at the bus I cooked Alice a red Barron pizza, with fresh sliced tomatoes, yellow peppers, and extra cheese added to it. 

I got down the campaign flutes, and a bottle sparkling apple cider I had hidden.  I gave her ring made of a silver spoon for her birthday gift before we went swimming, she loved it.  I was grateful.  I fell asleep full of contentment as the bus rocked in a sea of wind.

Why are naked people never hot?; McCreedy hot springs

11/26/16

We left the home RV pad early.  I woke up, visited mom and dad , collected hugs, and went to visit grams.  I promised her I would come visit her before heading south.  The final destination was the redwood forest, in particular the giant red woods.  California’s redwood forests boast, in-arguably, the biggest trees in the world.  After all America is all about the biggest and trees are no exceptions.

                The birds flitted about on grandmas porch, eager for food in the cold wet weather.  With the temps dropping below freezing at night they needed the seed to survive the cold.  A pair of red wing black birds hung from the suet feeder, squabbling and squawking at each other over the last glob of beef fat left in the feeder.  The flapping of their wings snapped through the crisp morning air.  The sun had not waited for me.  It was long up at nine am.  Grams had the kettle boiling and was up tending her wood stove.  Despite her short stature, and seemingly unending continued shrinkage, she still shuffled about the house with difficulty using the walker I had outfitted with wheels.  She used it, at times, more like a cart for hauling heavy objects than a crutch, for her that was anything over 8 pounds (4Kg).  Her silver hair fell aside as she turned with a smile, one that had been used a lot according to the wrinkles on it, to greet me.  I thought you might come by, she said cheerfully.

James scurried through the door, wagging at full speed, his tail a pendulum which had lost its tempo and now just swung like an out of control metronome.  He quickly greeted grams, who petted him on the head, as he proceeded to dart around the front room smelling everything from top to bottom.  An inspection which only a dog can do meaningfully.  I hugged her tightly, after our trip to the beach last week, I could fully grasp her ephemerallity.  Though it now appeared that she had a new and significant spring in her step from our adventure.  I had not seen her move this much in months, maybe years.   It was a quick downhill slide after her house burned to the ground, along with all of her worldly possessions a brutal start indeed to her retirement years at 78, and yet here she was smiling and full of life.  She was indeed a rose in the desert, very tough, resilient, unwaveringly so.  She was a bright spot in my life. The smell of smoke wafted over me, a remnant from the open wood stove door.  I wrapped my arms around her and soaked in her affection. 

It seemed that these days I could nearly wrap around her and my self.  Had she gotten smaller?  It must be so, I thought, but when could that have happened.  I thought about all the times I had seen my self in the mirror this morning.  The lines, the thinning hair, and the full gruff beard.  I wondered when that happened, I thought about it trying to recall when I first noticed my age.  I wondered if she ever thought the same way.  I took a breath in and the smell of lavender oil and bengay filled my nostrils.  It was grandma.

                After filling her bird feeders, sweeping the floors, and vacuuming the carpets, I sat as our coffee brewed.  I filled our cups, big cups, American sized ones, 14 oz.  Mine full of coffee, and hers an almost equal mix of coffee and cream.  All a cleaver plan I had devised to try to put more calories in her diet many months ago, that and sugar, added a few extra calories, otherwise she never ate enough.  I sipped coffee, the nasty Folgers instant stuff, as she told me about the most recent TV news.  The birds fought like teenage boys over the high school prom queen as they snagged pieces of suet and mouthfuls of seed.  Mostly the news was politics, the soap opera of choice for my grandma these days.  This morning the coffee seemed to pass by more quickly, as it usually does when someone would rather stay a while in the warmth and familiarity of somewhere they enjoy being.  The bottom of my cup peered up at me as the last few sips of the almost unbearably bitter black liquid drained from it.  After hugs, and a few pats for James, we made our way back to the pad and our bus.

             Alice groggily sat on the couch,  fresh out of her bed, as I cast off the shore lines for the bus.    First sewer, then water, then power.  The bus hummed as the diesel engine warmed up the rest of the way, the compressor ran, letting out a sharp hiss as the control valve released the excess pressure beneath, spraying out a small shower of gravel from the ground to the rear of the rig.  It was time to hit the road.  Her thick ebo accent, which I could not begin to understand, danced through my ears as I stepped in to the bus.  You know that guy who is dating a wonderful girl, but he doesn’t really have much going for him?  Just for once, I am that guy, and I gotta say, its pretty sweet. 

                We headed down the road, missing the thanksgiving return trip traffic somehow.  The new air bags and suspension on the bus made it ride like my old 1987 Cadillac Fleetwood.  After a quick scramble through the local super market we hit the highway.  Two hours later we stopped at a rest area for some light lunch, and some water.  I used the bathroom, my bathroom, and took James out for a walk.  After another short hour we were at the McCreedy hot springs.  We parked in the day use area, which was completely vacant.  We took a short hike in, about a quarter mile (1/2KM), and decided it was worth our time to make the return trip with our towels and a day pack.

            The McCreedy day use area located along highway 58 in Oregon State is virtually abandoned this time of year.  The busy season is June through September, so for me this was the perfect time of year.  Across the river from the day use area is another set of springs, the clothing optional area, where much to Alice’s surprise there were about six American sized *obese men strutting around as naked as the day they were born, though wearing a lot more calories.  How come naked people are never attractive, she asked me.  I laughed.  It was true, only attractive people have body image issues, I thought to myself.  They could not have heard us over the rush of Salt Creek, the seasonal flooding roared away.  Their hike was considerably longer than ours, and the trail considerably less developed.  However, from our vantage point it was easy to see that the springs on the other side were deeper, and less used. 

We resolved we should visit the other springs the next day.  We sat in our shallow rock pools, and watched the creek pass just on the other side of the skinny rock walls that made the soaking pools we floated in. The overcast sky obliged us with a sprinkle or two, but the heat of the spring water prevented even a hint of cold form the showers. Steam rolled from the tops of our creek side pools and was quickly swallowed up in the white caps of the flooding creek.  The rainy season had started a month ago, and the water was well above its banks.  We lay, soaking up the heat, and listening to the river.  I caught a stale and familiar scent.  Again it intruded on my nostrils, cigarette butts, I realized. I looked around.  Strewn on the beach side of the pools was a few old discarded butts, and hence Americans hatred of smokers.  Though it is littering to leave garbage, for some reason smokers just don’t see it that way.  I was instantly ready to leave.  I rousted my Alice from her zoned out, half awake, state and we headed down the trail to the bus. 

                After a quick shower, and change of clothes, I drove us to an overlook at crescent lake and cooked the salmon that my cousin Sam had given me in trade for bringing him coffee at work one day many months ago.  The fillet was more than two people possibly eat, and it cooked up perfectly with some roasted asparagus, basil leaves, and coriander, topped off with a little olive oil.  I sat in my chair overlooking the lake, watching as the rains started to shatter the smooth glassy surface of the grayish blue water.  I counted my blessings.  How lucky we were to have bellies full of food and warm beds.  I turned the furnace up to 70, and had a frosty glass of chocolate milk for desert.  The sun finally sank below the hills, concealed by a thick, now black, bank of clouds.  The perfect end, to a perfect day.