I saw the light

I had spent the day out on the peninsula that separates Humboldt Bay from the Pacific. Fog had started forming by the time I left, so I drove with the headlights on even though the sun hadn’t set. 

I found a good place to park in town and climbed into the back of the Rolling Steel Tent to make dinner.

Then the van’s dome light blinked twice. Huh? What new electrical gremlin was that?

But the blinking triggered a thought: Did I forget to turn off the headlights?

Yup, I had.

So, did the van have a special reminder system other than the chime when you open the driver door? (I had climbed directly into the back, not using the door.) I checked the owners’ manual. There was no mention of such a thing. And I had already pushed the button that would keep the dome light off when the doors are open. So maybe a  mystical force was responsible. A Battery Saving Fairy, perhaps. Or maybe the Patron Saint of Those with Their Head Up Their Butt.

Alas, t'was but a dream

Last night I had a dream wherein I had an important, complex problem to solve. I was successful and felt much better. Yay! It worked!

I was carrying that positive feeling as I woke up, and for a few seconds I thought I had actually solved the problem. But then I realized not only had I not solved the problem, but also that the problem didn’t exist in the real world. Not actually having the problem felt better than having solved it.

Sight sea-ing

The professionals versus the amateurs

The tide is out

Am I a threat?

I’ve spent the past week in Crescent City, California. And I’ve parked at night in four different spots several blocks from each other. No problems—until last night.

A police officer came by while I was still up. Oh crap, what now? He said someone had called about a suspicious van. His tone of voice seemed to convey he thought this was a silly thing he had to do.

He was very nice about it. Almost Sheriff Andy Taylor-like. He asked a few non-confrontational questions. I explained I traveled around the West full time. He nodded agreeably and asked for my ID. “New Mexico, huh?” He gave my ID back and said it’s okay to sleep in a vehicle but that one needed to move after 72 hours. Then he wished me a good night.

So I got wondering why someone would think I was suspicious. After all, there are people in camper vans and RVs all over this town.  Some of them had parked in the same spot I was. (It’s a good spot because there’s almost no road crown, so it’s rather level. There’s a chain-link enclosed playing field on one side of the street and some small businesses on the other, so there are no neighbors nearby, peeking out windows.) Did someone think the plain white Rolling Steel Tent looked like a creeper van? Did they see me pull up and not get out of the van? (What’s he doing in there?) Or was it just some paranoid citizen. After all, paranoia seems rather justified these days.

Whatever the reason, I took it as a sign it was time to move on. Then I woke up to dense fog that has stayed all morning. Another sign. So I’ll head out this afternoon when the fog might have cleared and driving will be safer.

Summer nightowl

I love the amount of daylight we have in summer—except for one thing. I stay up later and later. For example, last night I didn’t get to bed until 1:15. The night before it was 1:40. But no damage, because I don’t need to be up with the sun. When the rooster crows or a loud truck drives by I just return to the embrace of Morpheus until I’m good and ready to get up. Of course, the later I sleep the later I feel the urge to go to sleep. Oh well.

Brainy laundromat

I tried a new-to-me laundromat this morning. Even though it has been around a while it was clean and quiet, all the machines worked, the dispensers were stocked and there were plenty of baskets. 

Unlike most laundromats, there weren’t signs everywhere declaring rules, policies, disclaimers or warnings. However, there were small cards on the soap dispenser explaining Clorox and Bounce are not detergents but a whitener and fabric softener respectively. 

The decor featured posters from bygone local events, nature pictures and, quite uniquely for a laundromat, these two posters:

But it makes sense since this laundromat is near a university. And I’m guessing the Clorox and Bounce notices were for young people who might not have done their own laundry before, or who hadn’t been bombarded with commercials for those products as kids.

Anyway, thumbs up for Eastside Laundromat, near Cal Poly Humboldt, Arcata CA, sharing a building with Froth Coffee.

Peace

Windy and chilly but still a fine place to get away from the craziness of life. Clam Beach, McKinleyville CA.

Adventures in budget foods: salmon vs salmon

I like salmon. A lot. The fresher the better. But when I was a kid I thought salmon was icky because of the patties my budget-crunched and seasoning-averse mother made from the bright pink stuff in a can. Well, after exploring kippers, sardines and anchovies, I figured it was time to revisit canned salmon.

First up was the Polar brand, packed in brine and its own juice. The tin says it’s farm-raised in either Norway or Chile. I was expecting these to have a pronounced flavor and aroma, but they were surprisingly and disappointingly mild. In fact, it seemed like it could have been any number of fish. Such is farm-raised salmon, I guess. A solid meh.

On the other hand, Safe Catch brand (with its upside-down can) is “100% sustainably wild caught” Pacific pink salmon. It also boasts that it tests each fish to assure the lowest mercury level. And that no salt is added. Sounds great, right? At least better than the farm-raised Polar salmon.

Um, no.

Not only did it have almost zero flavor, it had terrible mouth feel. It was like chewing something manufactured from sawdust, plaster, and grease. Maybe this particular salmon had spent its life feeding on the Great Pacific Garbage Patch.  The only thing keeping my sample from getting a total ick rating was it tasting like nothing instead of something awful.

I guess to make this taste test complete I should try the version of salmon that comes in tall cans — the salmon of my youth. But, being at the coast, I’d much rather splurge on salmon right off the boat.

Lost and found

I found this Post-It note on the ground. I wonder what the story is. Was the note lost accidentally? Was it tossed? Or was it a message left for whomever found it?

A day of self-education

I’m one of the people who hang out at the Arcata Bird Sanctuary a couple of times a week. On one side of the parking area is Arcata Bay, which is the most northern part of Humboldt Bay. (A bay with a bay?) On the other side of the lot is a collection of various wetland features. A lake, some ponds, a slough, some marshy bits, a creek, a channel…

As I walked a trail through the wetlands I wondered what the difference was between a marsh and a slough. Is there an actual difference? Are they synonymous? So I looked it up. And ended up feeling not that enlightened. 

A slough is generally a stagnant or slow-moving wetland area, often a backwater or side channel of a larger water body, with variable vegetation and sometimes more open water. A marsh, on the other hand, is characterized by abundant grasses and reeds, is more consistently wet, and lacks trees. Both are wetland types, but differ in water movement, dominant vegetation, and ecological function.

A slough is a wetland, usually a swamp or shallow lake system, often a backwater to a larger body of water such as a lake or river

A marsh is a wetland frequently or continually inundated with water, characterized by emergent soft-stemmed vegetation

Water in sloughs is often stagnant or slow-moving, sometimes only flowing seasonally

Marshes generally have standing or slow-moving water, but are more consistently wet throughout the year

Sloughs can have a mix of aquatic plants, sometimes with more open water and less dense vegetation; may include some trees or shrubs depending on location

Marshes are dominated by grasses, reeds, and other soft-stemmed plants, with few or no trees

Sloughs serve as important backwaters for wildlife, supporting fish, birds, and other species, especially during migration

Marshes provide habitat for diverse plant and animal life, help recharge groundwater, and filter pollutants

In summary, the biologic and hydrologic differences between sloughs and marshes are more subtle than my layman’s and occasional visitor’s mind can distinguish. But I can appreciate being there on a sunny day with mild temperatures and enough breeze to keep the bugs off.

I had another question: Is pond scum a form of algae? So I looked that up too.

Yes, it’s one of the many forms of algae. And though I didn’t think to ask, I also learned what algae is—as well as learning the singular of algae is alga.

“Pond scum” is generally a type of algae. The term most commonly refers to filamentous algae, which are green, hair-like organisms that form dense mats or slimy clumps on the surface of ponds and other still waters. These algae do not have leaves, roots, stems, or flowers, but instead consist of fine filaments that can mat together and float when gases get trapped in the mass.

But then there’s this:

However, it's worth noting that not everything that looks like pond scum is algae. Sometimes, floating aquatic plants like duckweed or watermeal can be mistaken for pond scum, but these are actually small flowering plants, not algae.

Watermeal?

Watermeal (Wolffia spp.) is the smallest flowering plant in the world. It is a tiny, rootless, free-floating aquatic plant found on the surface of still or slow-moving waters such as ponds, lakes, marshes, and sloughs.

A simple touch test can help differentiate: algae are usually slimy or form matting strands, while watermeal feels gritty.

I wasn’t going to fight my way through cattails to feel the green stuff covering the slough/marsh/pond/whatever. So I’ll just keep calling it pond scum.

Odd encounters

Last night, at about 10:30, I was still up when there was a rapitty-rap-rap on the side of the Rolling Steel Tent. I was surprised but not alarmed. I had heard what sounded like three or four young people approaching, chatting and laughing, enjoying the night. One of them knocked as they passed by. What was knock about? Don’t know, don’t really care. No harm was done.

Then today, as I was hanging out in a beach parking lot, I happened to turn my head to look out the rear window at the exact moment a woman drove by flashing a peace sign (not the British version of the middle finger). Was her greeting meant for me? Was she another Californian welcoming me to their state? Probably not, but hey, I’m all for peace and good vibes.

Adventures in budget foods: holy mackerel

Back when I wrote about sardines I mentioned I had used them for bait with which I caught a mackerel off the Southern California coast. Now, as if the universe wanted me to step up the food chain from sardines, I saw these mackerel fillets in the market.

This product came from Morocco, where the mackerel might be either an Atlantic or Mediterranean species. Fish and Morocco had never paired up in my mind before, but oh yeah, lots of coastline.

The listed ingredients are mackerel, olive oil, and salt. The salt was almost imperceptible. So was the fish. The predominant flavor was olive oil. So nothing offensive here—unless you consider extremely mild flavors a culinary affront. I think mackerel is solidly okay, but why bother when there are more flavorful alternatives?

The naps are back

On April 20th I wrote that things had changed and I seldom nap anymore. Well, things have changed again. The past couple of weeks I’ve enjoyed long, deep, luxurious naps each day. In fact, after I post this I’ll take today’s nap.

Um, okay

Less view

It was foggy when I rolled into Crescent City CA at about noon yesterday. It cleared up some by mid-afternoon, then fogged right up again as the sun set. I’m writing this at about 9 AM and the mist is a little thinner than when I woke up at 5:30. I suppose today’s weather will follow the same pattern. Such is life along the coast in the Pacific Northwest. I’m okay with it. (Although I’m even more okay with some sunshine.)

Give and take

I had picked up some groceries (including some anchovies) and was waiting in the small store’s only open checkout line. There was one person with a full cart in front of me, a woman behind me with a few items. 

A second clerk hustled by and opened a second register. The woman behind me backed up as if to use that register, but she gestured for me to go ahead of her. Oh. That was nice. Thank you.

But as I maneuvered into the new lane, and as she adjusted her position to let me in, she accidentally ran her cart into my Achilles tendon. No big deal, no harm done, but it was as if some cosmic force was saying, “You got a favor there, but I need to collect a little tax from you in order to maintain balance in the universe.”

In a marsh on a gray morning

Just hangin’

Howdy to you, too

I was at a beach day use area shortly after sunrise, depositing my trash in a bin, when a guy walked by and cheerily said, “Welcome to California.” He had noticed my New Mexico license plate. Its unique yellow color (or the alternate turquoise) is kind of hard to ignore when most plates are predominantly white.

Just the other day I had commented to a fellow nomad that I wondered what types of reactions—from positive to neutral to negative—my out-of-state plate elicited. Well, this data sample of one was friendly. Nice way to start a day.

Adventures in budget foods: anchovies

Here we go, more tinned fish. This time it’s the one I’ve been dreading the most—though I don’t know why. I imagine I’ve had anchovies before in one form or another. Caesar salad, fish sauce, pasta… But the thought of them still pushes my ick button. Time to be a man and just go for it.

I found these anchovies in Safeway, hiding among sardines, kippers, oysters, and a million permutations of tuna. They’re imported from Spain. (Anchovies are popular on tapas.) The ingredients are anchovies, salt and olive oil.

I struggled to open the can. It had a pull top, but the metal was thicker than a typical US can and there wasn’t much can to hold onto. And since it’s filled to the brim with olive oil I ended up spilling some of it.

The anchovies were much firmer than the fall-apart sardines. And, wow, they were salty. Almost too salty. The fish were kind of a secondary part of the flavor. But, yeah, they were tasty and not at all off-putting. Some crackers helped mute the salt. I skipped the hot sauce this time. It was unneeded.

So, I surprised myself. I actually liked the anchovies better than the kippers and sardines. I kinda regret not trying them decades ago. Now, when someone offers me pizza with sardines I won’t be rejecting it.

What happened here?

When I first visited Trinidad, California, in 2014 the large sea stack in the bay — Pewetol Island — was thickly topped with trees. Like this:

Now it looks like this:

What happened? Was it a fire? If so, how did the fire start? Lightning? A blown ember? Someone scaling the island and accidentally or intentionally starting a blaze? So I looked it up. Here’s what the web told me:

The trees on Pewetole Island were denuded primarily due to a fire event. In September 2016, a fire burned on Pewetole Island, torching trees and sending embers toward the shore. Burned debris continued to fall from the island, indicating significant damage to the island’s vegetation, including the trees

There are no indications of any ongoing investigations into the origin of the fire. The available information states that the cause of the fire was undetermined at the time, and there have been no updates or reports suggesting that an active investigation is still underway. 

Now that I know that no one knows, one question remains: how to pronounce Pewetol. I guess I’ll need to ask a local.

A happy day

I woke up to a clear sky. Mmmmm, nice. So I went to Trinidad (in California, not the Caribbean) got a breakfast burrito from the hot bar in Murphy’s Market, parked on a bluff overlooking the Pacific, and had my meal. Then I went for a walk in the woods.

There was a trail down to the beach. The tide was low, leaving a stretch of firm sand for easy walking. It was Saturday, so there were a few dozen other people — and some very happy dogs — enjoying the beach. I found a comfortable place to sit and be hypnotized by the waves.

A young couple asked if I would take their picture. “It’s an old film camera,” she said apologetically. I replied that I grew up with film cameras and was not intimidated.

I sat a little longer and a small dog came up and sniffed around. I gave my universal canine greeting, “Hi pup.” It peed on my foot. Oh well, a day can’t be 100% perfect.

Misnomer

These photos are from my visit to Sequoia Park in Eureka, California the other day. However, there are no sequoia trees there. Plenty of redwoods but no sequoias. 

Although the two trees are of the same subfamily, they exist in different environments. Sequoias are found at elevations above 3,000 feet, like in Sequoia National Park in the Sierra Nevada mountains. Redwoods are found below 3,000 feet, like in the coastal regions of the Pacific Northwest.

Redwoods can grow taller than sequoias, but sequoias can grow thicker. Sequoias also have much thicker bark. In football terms (because why not) redwoods are receivers and sequoias are linemen—though I’ve never seen either tree run.

There’s a small zoo at Sequoia Park featuring animals of the region, like bears, coyotes and otters. I haven’t been to a zoo since the early 80s because seeing animals in captivity depresses me. However, they have a sky walk among the redwoods. It’s mighty tempting. I’ve been on a similar treetop walkway at Trees of Mystery (the roadside attraction north of here with colossal Paul Bunyan & Babe statues) but it wasn’t as high. It was cheaper than admission to the Zoo, though. If I were a serious content creator I would’ve sprung for the $23 non-resident old fart admission to get cool photos from up in the trees, but these shots from Trees of Mystery will give you the general idea.

Eureka standoff

I came to a 4-way stop at exactly the same time as vehicles arrived at the other three stops. Hmmm.

Ordinarily, the one on the right has the right of way. But we were each on another driver’s right.

Okay, then the one turning right has the right of way. But it seemed no one wanted to turn right.

The clock ticked.

I gestured to the driver on my right. They didn’t move.

Tick tick tick…

No one moved. We were all being good drivers. We were all being polite.

Tick tick tick…

Someone needed to take the initiative. So I did. (Besides, I had the largest vehicle.)

When I had rolled a few feet into the intersection the driver opposite me made their move—a left turn in front of me. I hit my brakes and let them go.

Despite this, I’ve come to like 4-way stops. I can roll up to them, scan to see if anyone is coming, and if not, I can do a “California stop” and continue on. (Illegal, but it keeps traffic moving.) But in situations like today’s, it would speed things up if one of the drivers was an entitled jerk who insists on going first whether they have the right of way or not.

Into the forest again