Nice guy

I was in line at the employee-owned grocery in Reedsport when I reached for my wallet and learned I had left it in the Rolling Steel Tent. So I stepped out of line and stowed my three small items out of the way.

A guy about my age with a pug and a quart of low fat milk asked if I had a problem. When I explained he offered to save my spot in line, seeing as how the store was busy with after-work shoppers. (I could have timed this better.) “Thanks, but don’t bother.”

He must have been watching me out the window as I walked to the van and back because he was retrieving my items form their hiding place as I walked up. I turned to get in line behind him and he said, “Go ahead. You were in front of me.”

“No, you go first. You have only one thing. No big deal.” After a little more you-first-no-you-first he finally acquiesced. 

The dog was sniffing around my feet so I bent over to pet it. “Yeah, he likes that,” said the man. “You have a dog?”

“Not anymore.”

“Ah, too bad. It’s sad when they pass. You should get another.”

I have a few reasons why not, but I shared the one he might accept. “I feel like it would be disloyal. Besides, I carry his ashes with me.” He nodded.

The cashier was as pleasant as the man had been, even though she was dealing with the rush. Maybe, as one of the employee owners she was thinking about how more customers mean greater profitability. 

A source of humor

A guy was already having his propane tank refilled when I approached with my mini tank. He was amused.

“Wow, that’s a tiny tank,” he chuckled. “How long does that little thing last ya?”

“I’ve seen ‘em smaller that,” remarked the attendant. “They fill in an instant. Gotta turn off the gas almost before I turn it on.”

Another man in need of propane—this time for an RV—arrived. “Aaah-ha-ha-ha-ha! It’s so dinky!”

I’m happy I don’t need much propane and that my dinky tank and I can spread a little cheer once in a while.

Farewell California, hello Oregon

Some people claim far northern California might as well be southern Oregon. Well, the line on the map is arbitrary, and I crossed the 42th parallel yesterday. If it weren’t for the California agricultural inspection station, the Welcome to Oregon sign, and the lower speed limit, it does, indeed, look the same.

And unlike California,there are the dozens and dozens of state parks, recreation areas, nature preserves and scenic lookouts along the Oregon coast, seemingly butting up to each other. Fifty-nine percent of the Oregon coast is publicly held, and public access to all beaches, including access easements through private property, is protected by law.

 

Umpqua lighthouse, Winchester Bay

Although I avoid driving on holidays, and particularly long holiday weekends, US-101 was smooth sailing. Maybe that was because they got an earlier start that I did. I had sort of planned stopping in Bandon, a little over two hours away. But by the time I got there I was still in the mood to drive. So I put in another hour and ended up in Reedsport.

I like Reedsport. I can overnight in the parking lot of the dog park. And there are good and cheap showers at the marina in nearby Manchester Bay. Furthermore I like playing with the name. Rather than the port being named after early settler Alfred W. Reed, I imagine a sport involving reeds, like the cestas in jai alai. Or a form of snorkeling. Or competitive basket weaving.

Sand dunes are a big tourist draw in this part of the coast, like from Coos Bay to Florence. The campgrounds hereabouts are packed with not only RVs but also dune buggies. So I’m glad there’s easy, free, and much quieter streetdocking in Reedsport.

Anyway, yesterday was about fireworks. The group that was setting them off near me were an odd bunch. They were silent. No chatting. No ooo’s or aaah’s. Simply standing around and setting off fireworks as if they were just doing a job. Even the kids seemed bored. They got big points, though, for cleaning up after themselves.

“Uh-yup. Fireworks.”

What? A view?

This was the Klamath River Overlook today. If you were to use your imagination you see the Klamath River emptying into the Pacific Ocean. This should not be confused with an inlet a few miles north named False Klamath, where I assume some early explorer got a little lost in fog like today’s. Anyway, for what it's worth, I’ve now been to both ends of the Klamath River, which is a happier river since its dams were removed.

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.