Travel with Linda & Ernie

Lower Salmon River trip '05

2007-02-16T11:42:00.000-08:00

This is a trip Linda and I took down the Lower Salmon River in the summer of 2005. The story as seen here was published in The River Journal in two part after the trip. The Picture is Linda and I above Blue Canyon On the Lower Salmon.

As I entered the chute of the rapid, the raft, for a reason I don’t understand, turned around so it was facing the shore as we went through. I started to push hard on the oars. That’s harder than pulling, so the effort I needed to get into the eddy was hard. We were over the rapid but the current was still churning white. We started past the sandy shore where I wanted to land, pushing until muscles that weren’t used to this kind of activity started to scream back. As I passed the other boats from our party, pulled up on the bank, I nosed into the eddy but the speed still took the boat to a rocky point at the far end of the sand bar. The 14-foot, blue inflatable raft hit full broadside into the rocks. They stopped us and several guys from shore ran out and grabbed the lines; we were home for the night, no damage, no injuries and with everyone we started with.
Like most people, I find learning a new skill in front of an audience uncomfortable at best and downright embarrassing at worst. But everyone was encouraging. I had to remind myself that the intention was to land here… and I did. Maybe not with grace and ease, but I had landed here.
I wanted to lie down in the sand with my hands behind my head and look up at the hills and sky. I laid back and, as my hands traveled to the back of my head, my right arm stopped about halfway there. A pain blasted through my pectoral muscle from pushing so hard on the oars and wouldn’t let that arm move any higher. My excitement of the moment hid my discomfort. So, I had to settle for sitting up…. and drinking a cold beer. I was where I wanted to be and my arm moved far enough for the task at hand—drinking beer— so all was well.
I had never been on a raft trip and the new adventure was proving to be exhilarating. As usual when facing a new challenge, the excitement was mixed with a bit of anxiety.
This is a quite a safe river in late July and our trip leaders were all very experienced so I felt secure under the circumstances. In addition, there were several skilled river runners in the party. However, the force of whitewater always commands respect and diligence when making passage. As my landing experience showed, even a moderate rapid with current can spell disaster to the inexperienced or unwary.
We had arrived at Pine Bar, on the Lower Salmon River, that morning. Once there, coolers full of ice, food, beverages and enough water for 20 people for four days were placed on the arid river’s edge, as the rafts were inflated and rowing frames attached.
I looked at how different this place was from home just a few hours to the north. Vegetation was sparse and mostly brown. Few trees were standing on the hills and the brush that chokes our forests was not to be found at all.
Our plan was to take everything we took in out with us. We knew that for this to remain the pristine area it is we would have to “take only pictures and leave only footprints.” The valley is so dry that anything left, even buried, will last for decades.
The Nez Perce Indians who lived on the Salmon River called it “Natsoh Koos," which means "Chinook Salmon Water" after the fish that once thrived here. Early explorers dubbed it the "River of No Return" due to the difficulties they experienced trying to transport wooden boats upstream through roaring rapids. Lewis and Clark attempted to use the river as a waterway to the Pacific Ocean, but were thwarted in their attempt because of all the whitewater.
Now it was our turn at the river. When we were loaded and in the water it occurred to me the only difference between adults and children when they get in the water is children take longer before splashing each other than adults do. It was happy fun that was a major part of the next four days.
As I sat on the fine white sand, listening to good-natured teasing and joking from my expedition mates, I couldn’t help but wonder what the rocks and sand would tell me if they talked. An adventurous spirit exudes from the canyon walls and piques my anticipation of what is to come.
It’s possible that people passed, or maybe lived, here as long as 8,000 years ago. What history have these towering rock structures seen and heard?
This waterway is the longest (425 miles) free-flowing river in the lower U.S., one of the few in the nation that contains no dams. It flows through the second deepest gorge on the continent. Only the Snake River in Hells Canyon is deeper. The Salmon's canyon is deeper than the Grand Canyon, and for approximately 180 miles, the Salmon Canyon is more than a mile deep.
I had just experienced a minor miscalculation and learned how fast one can get in trouble even in a small rapid.
Whitewater rapids are classified from 1 to 6; this trip features 1 through 3, meaning only some technical skill will be needed.
As we continued, we passed over several rapids, some that created a great deal of excitement, but when we came to Snowhole Canyon and the rapids of the same name we put into shore to scout. This was the first time we had scouted before we dropped over.
The experienced members of our group said that it changes. In high water the turbulence and the drop requires acute attention. In lower water rocks are exposed in the middle of the fast-moving water and rafts need to cross the current in the drop to be safe. On this day the water was between those extremes. This is a class 3, but a boat against a rock can still be pushed, damaged or even flipped over, dumping its occupants and cargo into, and at the mercy of, the torrent.
Back on the water we started getting into position. The first raft over entered the current, adjusted slightly by an expert oarsman, and disappeared over the drop. It took a minute but they re-appeared in the pool below and we knew they were safe.
The next craft over was an inflatable kayak. I had been eyeing this craft during the float and wanted to try it. The couple in it situated the little vessel just right and dropped out of sight. We sat and waited for what seemed forever. Cheers from people still on shore told us they were safe.
This was going to be the biggest water I had been through. With my previous experience in mind, I was quite comfortable when one of our boat mates took the oars.
He set us up just right. The raft accelerated and bounced slightly. As we dropped over the top, the hole and the high curl we were entering came into view. In the surge of white water I felt our ride twist, stretch and bend. Water was over and in the boat, obliterating our view. When it cleared, we were in the pool below the drop. Wet, delighted and safe below the roar of Snowhole Rapids.
After the thrill of Snowhole Rapids, my trip-mates and I were again floating lazily down the Salmon River, this pool and drop paradise that was the backdrop to my first whitewater rafting trip.
As we continued down the Lower Salmon we saw stone huts and remnants of mining equipment from the old days, when Chinese miners used this as their highway. I remembered reading of wooden scows with a two-man crew making their way around the rocks and through the valleys in an attempt to get rich in this primitive land. Those boats weren’t as forgiving as our inflatable rafts. A slight mistake and they could be broken into kindling by the force of the water.
Throughout the trip I had been eyeing an inflatable kayak and, one afternoon, Linda and I got a chance to spend a little time in it. A little to my surprise, I could never get comfortable in it as others had. We were working the boat in a slight rapid when a wave from the side hit me and washed me overboard. I didn’t see it coming at all and Linda didn’t know I was gone until I called to her. One of the rafts came over and helped me up. The discomfort of an unusual sitting position combined with the ease in which I was dumped, left me kind of unnerved.
We floated on, knowing that China Bend Rapids, a big drop, was just ahead. Linda and I talked of giving up the kayak for the safety of a raft. She felt I needed to “get back on the horse.” I wasn’t so sure.
When not dealing with heavy currents, we studied the basalt columns as we passed. Some were perfectly vertical. Others leaned. In a couple of places the columns were on their side and we could only see the ends stacked like cordwood drying in hot sun. A few looked as if some huge force had pushed on them, leaving them with a face that was strangely distressed and tortured.
Colors in the rocks ranged from red to blue to a turquoise green. Sometimes they were carved and polished, like freeform sculptures standing right next to a rugged, uneven stone.
Since our first day on the river we had been listening to the descending song of the Canyon wren. Those little brown birds were flitting in and out of the rocks trying to hide, yet were giving away their location with their unique song.
It appeared to be a good year for Chukar production, or reproduction that is. The hens, with their half-grown chicks, made large coveys that were crawling over, under and though the rocks as we went by. When the water was quiet we heard their “chuck chuck” voice coming from both shores most of the time.
And then, over the sound of birds, we heard it. My adrenaline started flowing faster than a waterfall. I knew it was the roar of China Bend Rapids.
China’s main chute was on the left between shore and a large rock that stuck several feet out of the water. The rafts had to make that run just right to be successful. In the kayak we could run further out, but the turbulence was going to be quite extreme for our skills.
We dropped over just to the right of the rock and shot across the river toward the opposite shore. Water was hitting us from every direction and at one point I grabbed a strap and hung on. We bounced and churned until we came out the bottom.
I was hoping to hear cheers over the noise of the water. Sure enough they started, and then stopped with a gasp. We spun the little inflatable around just in time to see one of the rafts hit the big rock. With the driving force of the water slamming against the boat and the stone trying to stop it, it rolled up, ever so slowly and flipped upside down into the chute.
I saw the oarsman’s head pop up in front of the upturned raft. He then disappeared. No one else from the boat came into view. As we pulled closer, he remerged from one side of the inverted craft. His experience had taught him to look to see if anyone was still under the boat. It was empty. He came out and moved to the stern. There he found his wife and the other couple who had been riding inside. Fortunately they all washed clear of the rock and floated out of the whitewater into the pool below. Our boat was lowest in the water, so Linda and I started looking for debris, but found nothing.
With one man on the bottom of the upturned boat and two more in the water, they righted it on just the second try. Cheers went up as the crew climbed back in and all were ready to continue.
We had been given a reminder of the power of even moderate rapids. It was one of those whitewater incidences that can happen even to a careful, experienced oarsman. The only loss was one of Rachel’s sandals. Of course, the loss of one sandal is only a subtle difference from a loss of a pair.
Geologists say of Blue Canyon, Lower Salmon River, “The rocks in this canyon are the oldest in the Lower Salmon, at about 200 million years of age. They contain a variety of mollusk shells in limestone beds.”
It’s through this canyon the last few miles of the Salmon River flows. We made our way through the old blue-black rocks, sometimes feeling like we could touch both sides at the same time. It’s a slot, sometimes only 70 to 80 feet wide and 800 to 1,000 feet high.
Above us on narrow ledges were Rocky Mountain Big Horn Sheep bounding about like children on a flat grassy playground.
At the slide area I marveled at boulders too big to be hauled by anything man has been able to create, yet looking as if they were casually tossed onto the slope, and could be pushed on into the river with minimal effort. During high water, I understand, this area is too turbulent to pass, even though there are no real rapids.
As we exited a bend near the end of Blue Canyon a high wall appeared, crossing in front of us. It was the west side of Hells Canyon.
Floating out into the Snake River we looked back at the confluence of those two huge canyons… one of the most awesome places I have ever been.
The two deepest canyons on the continent, I think Steve put it best: “I realize how insignificant I am when I see those canyons.”
Now Oregon was on our left and Idaho on our right. Soon we would cross into Washington to the west and land for the last time.
We had traveled over 60 miles on two rivers in three states. Twenty people together, forced, by choice, into a rather feral atmosphere and yet somehow respecting each other’s strengths and weaknesses. And having a wonderfully fun time, often laughing until we hurt. We also respected the pristine rivers and valleys we had come through. We really did “take only pictures and leave only footprints in the sand.” Except, of course, for one of Rachel’s sandals, which by now is probably trying to choke a turbine in a Columbia River dam.
I had learned enough of this new challenge to know I wanted to learn more. I still can’t figure out why that raft turned around on the first day. Nonetheless, the power of the river and the ghosts of the canyon challenging the ghosts of my past had created a rich experience.

Linda and Ernie on Hurricane Ridge

2007-02-01T21:02:00.000-08:00

Photo by Noah Huston

Hurricane Ridge

2007-02-01T20:46:00.000-08:00

This is a trip Linda and I took with Noah a couple years ago.

The day dawned with bright sunshine on the bay in front of Ana and Noah’s apartment. Across the water was Port Orchard and behind it, in the distance, Mt. Rainer was wearing the pink robe of the morning sun.
As Noah fixed coffee it was easy to see his excitement. “It’s going to be a great day up on Hurricane Ridge.” he grinned.
Linda and I had driven over to see their first apartment the week after Christmas, a time when no one can count on a sunny day.
The only disappointing part of the day was Ana had to work and couldn’t go with us. So after she caught the ferry to Seattle, we started the two-hour drive to Port Angeles, then up to our destination.
The Olympic Peninsula was saturated with green. Puget Sound rains had left all the trees damp, making the colors vibrant and almost shiny as we drove north past the Bangor Submarine Base.
Noah’s enthusiasm to show us someplace we had never seen was fun to watch.
Linda and I have driven around the Olympic Range and we had looked up at the snow-covered crown from the ferry in the middle of the Sound, but we have never been into the mountains. Hurricane Ridge is one of the few places you can drive to at the very edge of the wilderness.
As we drove, some clouds started to appear in the brilliant blue sky. We passed Sequim and commented about how it is often mispronounced. (If you have never been there, it has only one syllable.)
There was still a feeling of exhilaration in the car. Linda and I were going to a place we have always wanted to see and Noah was getting to show off one of his favorite playgrounds.
For a while the sky was blue with some gray, but as we wound around the peninsula it started to be gray with some blue. Noah watched the sky and I thought I saw a bit of disappointment in him as I took off my, now unneeded, sunglasses. I wanted to let him know that we could still have a good time with a low soggy ceiling. I spotted a local winery and said we would need to stop on our way back. It got a smile out of him.
By the time we were in Port Angeles the sky had fallen. The town was so socked in it was hard to see the end of the piers along the waterfront.
At one of the main intersections we took a left and were on the road to Hurricane Ridge. I was still quite excited about finally getting to see it, but as we started to climb the fog got thicker until we could hardly see the tops of the grand old trees along the way.
Noah was now voicing his disappointment in the day.
As I looked at the murkiness swirling around us, I remembered a similar drive Linda and I had taken a few years ago. It was my chance to show her the Ross Creek Cedars above Bull Lake in Montana. She had never been there. As we drove along the valley floor the clouds settled down upon us. I was looking forward to showing her the view of the mountains across the valley as we ascended out of the canyon toward the grove. But on that day we couldn’t see across the road, let alone across the valley. Just as we reached the last vista we would get, we came out above the fog. The mountains jutted out of the heavy vapor we had driven through and glistened in the bright sun shining out of a blue Montana sky. I wondered if the same might happen in the Olympic Range.
Noah was trying to be upbeat but, I sensed, was feeling the thickness of the weather we were in. Then, almost like driving through a wall, the atmosphere we had been in cleared. The only thing between us and miles of panorama was clear mountain air.
We pulled off the road at the first chance to see what we had come through. All around us were hills and ridges and below us the heavy fog we had been in was now a beautiful, white angora blanket. The blanket had tucked itself into all the valleys and what was left fluffed out across the Strait of Juan de Fuca. We couldn’t see Victoria, BC to the north, hidden under the gauzy white, but on the horizon to the east was Mt. Baker in the Cascade Range.
The spruces, pines, hemlocks, cedars, firs and more each gave us their interpretation of green. The textures of those greens, everything from lacy boughs to long needles, gave every slope its own character. The vivid blue above was a contrast to the greens that surrounded us, and the soft white below.
The brightest thing I saw was Noah’s face. His passion for the day was back. I was as glad for him that the fog had stayed below, as I was to see this new place. I put my sunglasses back on again.
We drove on up the road. Winter in the Pacific Northwest was considerably warmer than usual that late December day. And, as one would expect, there was much less snow than normal. This became obvious as we passed snow removal equipment parked along the road, waiting to be used. The apparatus was really just a self-propelled snow blower, one that could chew through a ten foot snow drift and blow it hundreds of feet off the road into the gorge below. But, setting there in about four inches of snow, it looked like a severe case of overkill, kind of like showing up at a whistle-whittling contest with a broadsword and battle-axe.
The road ended at the edge of the wilderness area. It was a 17- mile drive and 5,500 feet of elevation from Port Angeles. Looking around we saw ridge stacked on ridge with glacier-bearing peaks scattered around just for accent.
We spent some time strolling through the woods, up and over to a thrilling view, and then another. We weren’t there long, maybe a couple of hours, just long enough for us to want to go back. Go back either with snowshoes or hiking boots and packs depending on the time of year. I could easily understand Noah’s love for the place.
Going back down we enjoyed the scenery from the opposite angle until we entered the thick murkiness we had driven out of on the way up. The sunglasses were once again stored over the visor.
We did stop at that winery and tasted some of their reds. My favorite was a Nouveau Syrah. We bought a couple of bottles and headed back to Ana and Noah’s charming first apartment over the bay.
We had just had an introduction to someplace we knew we would get to know much better.
Oh yes, Sequim, to the natives, is “Squim.”

The Basilica of San Francesco

2007-01-07T18:49:00.000-08:00

Walking through Assisi

2007-01-07T18:45:00.000-08:00

One of the many sights as we walked the streets of Assisi

Assisi

2007-01-07T18:40:00.000-08:00

The medieval town of Assisi, a historical and spiritual wonder. Taken from the square in front of the Basilica

The last few days

2007-01-07T16:51:00.000-08:00

The stop in Perugia was not planned but turned out to be a real treat. We had plans to go to Assisi but did not have a room for the night. Both Linda and Ana had tried to get rooms but never received replies to their emails. Noah and I looked at the map and decided Perugia was a slightly larger town and near enough to be a good stop.
After driving all day through a valley with castles and fortresses on nearly every hill we passed, we arrived in town after dark. In searching for a hotel,we discovered the city center in part of the old medieval town. This part of town is still a working town, not a tourist sight or museum, it was quite a find. Before we found a room we decided to spend some time there the next morning before going to Assisi.
The walls and battlements of the ancient city now house shops and business necessary for everyday life. We also found ourselves driving on very narrow streets, at times wondering if we would need to pull in the mirrors on the Mini Cooper to get through. In addition to the narrowness they were steep. Noah made it look easy and didn't get a scratch on the Mini.
After walking and driving the hills, we headed for our next destination, Assisi. As we approached the town, still about 10 miles out, we could see it on the slope to our left. From that distance it looked like a set for a movie about medieval times.
Getting closer it was exactly what it had looked like from a distance. The walls and buildings are still much as they were centuries ago. We drove around the town to parking above. Incorporated in the parking garage are Roman walls from the ninth and tenth centuries.
Walking down into town is a real walk back in time. The town looks much like it did when Francis walked the street in the late twelfth century. Electricity has been added and cars make their way between the buildings, still it feels ancient.
We found a great cafe for lunch then headed on down to the Basilica of San Francesco. This too is a working town, so normal modern life is juxtaposed to the arched stone walls. Narrow stairways make passage possible off the streets to the buildings above or below. We passed at least three churches all still holding regular services. One was built on the sight where St. Francis lived his adult life.
I couldn't help but feel the presence of San Francesco. A man who cared deeply for and was connected to the earth and all it's living creatures. A man who is still remembered today, nearly eight hundred years after his death, as a peace figure.
Francis was a warrior who decided peace was the only acceptable choice in all affairs, civil, social and political. He lived and taught peace as a spiritually connected lifestyle. Today the world peace march ends at the Basilica that bears his name.
Assisi was another of those wonderful surprises on this trip. I hope to make a pilgrimage back for study and reflection someday.
As we left I kept looking back. I don't know what I was looking for but I couldn't stop. I didn't start focusing on our drive to Roma until Assisi was out of sight.
Roma, Rome we say, is all I expected. Every where we looked was a new and wonderful sight. Buildings, sculptures, castles, fountains and bridges each a work of art. In two days we didn't see much but much more than this post can hold.
The old ruins around the Coliseum are absolutely incredible. As we walked the Palatine hills we discovered more and each discovery was more magnificent than the last. We wandered until we knew it was time to close the sight for the day as we kept finding new old stuff. We wondered if a Roman solder on horse back would come looking for us and tell us to leave, but instead someone came through blowing a whistle and telling us the shortest way out.
A day at the Vatican is an overdose of visual art. The Basilica of San Pietro is not only huge, but every part of every wall, ceiling, and floor is a visual smorgasbord. Columns six feet wide of solid marble surround the square that fronts the building. Speaking of marble, it is everywhere steps, streets, curbs to say nothing of every part of each structure.
Moving into the Museum and the Sistine Chapel was more of the same. The paintings and tapestries depict scenes of all parts of Catholic faith. Many are violent, but many also are inspiring for any faith and all are beautifully presented.
I thought about the Catholic faith as I walked and looked. It is easy to point out all of the terrible things the church has done in the name of God. But, I also realize it is the major conduit through which the teachings and stories of Jesus have come to us. Those teachings have influenced the world for over two thousand years. Granted often it has sometimes been used as a negative influence, but there also are the teachings of love. St. Francis reminds us of the wonderful teachings that have come to us through this conduit. For those teachings and other spiritual works I'm thankful.
Just as we had throughout this trip,we ate wonderful Italian cuisine and drank terrific wines. After three nights in Rome we had three uneventful flights home. Uneventful does not mean easy, that many hours on a plane is hard under any circumstance but nothing unexpected happened on our way home.
We have more to post but jet lag has caught up with us again so will write more later.

fun shots of Rome

2007-01-07T16:37:00.000-08:00

I had to get these lemons with the Coliseum in the back ground. The wall below the lemon trees is part of the Roman ruins.

Rome and sharing the camera

2007-01-07T16:30:00.000-08:00

I think I get credit for this shot. Ana took several from here but I waited until the evening light to get this one. We were having a lot of fun shooting different interpretations of the same image.

2007-01-07T16:25:00.000-08:00

We all took shots from different angles and using different light. I think Noah took this shot of Augusta's summer home. Ana was also shooting a lot and she may deserve the credit. I'm sure it isn't one of Linda's or mine.

Rome Coliseum

2007-01-07T16:20:00.000-08:00

Inside the Coliseum. I didn't realize how much brick the Romans used, but it was in all the ruins we saw along with stone and morter.

One of the Halls in the Vatican Museum

2007-01-07T16:12:00.000-08:00

We walked through this hall on our way to the

Sistine Chapel. We were amazed at the number of paintings on the walls and ceiling. There were numerous halls like this one. Sculptures tapestries lined them all.

2007-01-03T21:45:00.000-08:00

We embarked on the ferry leaving Olbia, Sardegna for Livorno on mainland Italy. The seas were calm and the ship was like a cruise ship. There were several levels for car space and three others that had cabins, sleeper chairs and large open areas with tables, where people congregated to eat, drink, converse, watch TV and each other. There is no smoking in any building in Italy inspite of the amount of smoking that people seem to do. There was a large part of the top deck that was open and lots of people and their dogs congregated there. There was smoking allowed outside. Yes, dogs. It was amazing to see the number of people traveling with their dogs who just walked along with them throughout the ship, including laying at their feet in the lunchroom. There were no canine conflicts and people did a good job of cleaning up solids. The ferry ride was about 7 hours long and we cruised north following the coast of Corsica. It is a long island with snowcapped mountains with various sized communities interspersed along the coastline. We crossed paths with several other cargo and cruise ships or ferries as we journeyed north. The mainland wasn’t visible until we got closer to our destination.
We drove off the ferry and onto the autostrada towards Pisa. Noah has a GPS and it was a very valuable tool to help us get to where we were going without too many trips to Circleville. As we drove down a beautiful tree lined road, we noticed some pink and green umbrellas dotting the landscape. Under the umbrellas were women dressed in very short skirts, long boots with high heels, fishnet stockings and form fitting sweaters. As we drove by one woman, we noticed her conversing with a gentleman in a car that had stopped. To ask directions, no doubt. Just a little further down the road was an empty chair with an umbrella leaning against it. A friendly country we decided.
By the time we arrived in Pisa, it was pouring rain. The tower is still leaning. The massive marble structure is an architectural feat. It is surrounded by other massive marble churches and buildings with sculpted details. It was dark, pouring rain and too late, to get the tours, so we took a couple of pictures and headed off to find our hotel in Bologna. It was an elegant room with a small balcony. We got winter rates so it was quite the deal. It was just a sleeping spot as we were on to Venice early the next morning.
I started this post yesterday while riding in the car but quit as the countryside became more interesting than the writing.
This will be just a few notes on the last couple of days as we’ll be visiting Perugia and Assisi today and then to Rome.
Venice was an incredible experience. It was everything we expected and more…more beautiful, old, filled with magnificent buildings adorned with paintings, mosaics and statues, filled with people and expensive. We had been wandering the city and thought we’d stop for a glass of wine in San Marco piazza. It would have been 4.80 euro for each of us just to sit at a table. We decided to keep walking, buy a bottle of wine for 4 euro and go back to the room and rest. Finding a dinner reservation for New Year’s Eve was a challenge. We had checked some while we were walking and then Ana and I set out on a mission and combed the area where we were, braved some dark alleys and bridges over less than favorably aromatic canals, but found the perfect place, just next to the Opera house where we enjoyed a gourmet dinner before joining the throngs of people at San Marco Piazza. There was a band, with a big band type composition playing Latin flavored jazz rhythmically setting the mood for the night. The crowd moved towards the canal front for the fireworks and it was like being part of an amoeba that was moving, more as one than individual bodies. The fireworks display was one of the best I’ve ever seen, a couple of men had champagne bottles which they popped at midnight and one of them offered us cups and shared a toast to the new year. They spoke a little English and we made New Year’s wishes in Italian. The music with the fireworks started out with opera and then went to mostly American music, which was a surprise to us. A most memorable New Year’s Eve to say the least.
We took the long vaporetti ride back to the parking garage via the Grand Canal. Most of the city was closed for the holiday. The Grand Canal is truly that, with gondolas cruising the canals, amazing building, churches and people watching. We all commented that we saw more fur coats in that 24 hours than perhaps in our lifetimes. Our next destination was Assisi and Noah plotted a course for us using his GPS. We decided to stop just before there in a town called Perugia. The drive through the countryside was amazing. We went along east side from Venice to Ravenna where we had lunch at an Indian restaurant. It was a real taste change from all of the Italian food we had been enjoying.
From Ravenna we drove inland through amazing farmland, rolling hills and past structures that we are sure we roadhouses in medieval times. Looking out over the landscape there would be higher points that often had a castle, church or fortress like structure on top. Noah and Ernie were speculating that the valley we drove through had probably been strategic in battles and/or travel for troops back in the day.
We arrived in Perugia and found that there is a more modern city below but that the upper part of the city is truly medieval. We were looking for a hotel and drove through some “streets”, cobblestone and lined with buildings made of huge block that felt more like a tunnel. There were times that we were not sure that the kids MiniCooper would fit through the opening!
We finally found a stop for the night and are going back to explore the old part of Perugia before moving on to Assisi and then to Rome tonight.
Don’t know how much more we’ll have time to post before we leave on Friday…

Food, wine and culture

2006-12-28T23:18:00.000-08:00

We had our first meal at Bernardo’s, one of the kids’ favorites. Bernardo’s is a family
owned place where everyone feels like family. Ana and Noah and their friends eat their regularly and when they come in they know which wine they will order. We will never think of pizza the same again. Here it comes with a very thin crust, little or no tomato sauce and a wide variety of toppings including vegetables, salciccia, fresh or cured, proscuitto or panchetta. They even have one that is called an American that has french fries on top. Haven’t tried that one yet. Appetizers come as a plate of cheeses and meats, olives, and other antipastas. The house wines come in glass pitchers. A litre of vino rossi (red wine) is 6 euro. It is a dry, full bodied,very tasty wine. They also have vino blanco (white wine) that is also very good. It is generally more dry than most American whites and we have enjoyed that as well.
Sardegna has many wineries and each of the wines that we have sampled from them are excellant. A couple of our favorites so far are Dolia’s Monica diSardegna from Dolianova,Italy and Tanca Farra by Sella Mosca and Cannonau both from wineries in Alghero. Gambino wines are grown in volcanic soil on Mt Etna and are smooth, full bodied wines with both red and white varieties that we have savored.
When you go to a ristorante here, they expect you to stay for awhile. Some restaurants charge a sitting fee of about 2 euro, but then the table is yours for the night. There is no rushing of your orders, food and pressure about who needs that table next. The general pace of the daily living activities of the culture are more leisurely than ours. Food comes out when it is done and you may get a main course before the appetizer. If my food comes out before yours, then I eat when mine is there and you eat when yours comes out. After dinner at Bernardo’s a glass of lemon crème is served. It is a lemoncello based appertif that his wife, Pasquelina makes. When we were leaving the first night she also had us taste the cappuccino crème and the papaya crème. All are made with fresh fruits or other ingredients and grain alcohol. These drinks are served to help settle your meal.
There is another after dinner drink that is native to Sardengna. The Mirto berry grows wild here and is made into an appertif that is dual purposed…flavor and to help digest the food.
We went back to Bernardo’s the day after Xmas for lunch and when Ana walked in and asked if they were open, they said “ for you, yes” The plan was to give their friends Jenny and Cassie a taste of Italian pizza, but alas, they don’t make pizza for lunch. The pizzas are cooked in a wood oven that takes awhile to get and keep hot, so they don’t keep it going all day. Alas, we had to order from their leftover Christmas dinner and whatever else we wanted. Ernie had the last serving of lasagna and he said it was the best he’d ever had. Again, there was very little tomato sauce, not as much filling, but it was very flavorful and rich with cheeses.
Lemons, oranges and limes grow wild on trees on the island and are very fresh, the tomatoes are very rich with flavor. Food is more subtly spiced yet a delight to the taste buds. Perhaps like so many other things we do in the US, we’ve gotten used to the more is better theory for food seasoning as well.
We bought fresh gnocchi, ravioli, Genovese pesto and fresh produce for a salad at the SuperMercati(supermarket) for Xmas dinner. We left the pannetina with two loaves of foccacia, four loaves of rustica and two others for about 6 euro. We made a stop at the open market in town for clams and a butcher shop for more salsiccia(sausage). In the open market there is a meat market that has whole pig legs hanging, along with a boar’s head and a boar’s leg with the fur still on it. Ana knows enough Italian to order and get us by. The conversations of the Italians are fast and intense with feeling and expression. The passionate energy of their exchanges are in stark contrast to many of our more staid conversations. It is not unusual to see men in spirited conversation sitting with their caffe or wine or walking down the street. Women are often arm in arm as they walk along the piazza talking as they go.
Fashions here vary from the most contemporary to traditional. Generally they dress up more than the Americans, though you see lots of jeans but with high heeled, pointed toe boots on the women instead of more casual shoes. Most of the young people look like ours with the baggy jeans and sweatshirts for the guys and short skirts and skimpy tops for the girls.
The one area where the passion and aggression is very evident is in the driving. Everything that you might have heard about the crazy Italian drivers is true…and Ana has become one. You really have to to survive. The roads are very narrow, even in the countryside. As you can see from the picture of a street in Tempio, it is amazing that cars fit through the narrow cobblestone streets in the towns and the cars seems to go at two speeds….fast and braked. I have to wonder how long brakes last here as they are used often and hard.
Ernie and I just returned from another walk to the beach. After treasure hunting in the sand, I found a rock that was the perfect recliner to allow me to watch the clouds and seagulls fly around, see a sailboat as it cruised the opposite shore and breathe and breathe again and enjoy the sea.

2006-12-27T12:48:00.000-08:00

Here we are looking out in amazement at the The fortresses are built right into the
beauty and aged ruins and land. rock. This shows early to WW II build-
ing techniques. The mountains in the
background are on Corsica.

2006-12-27T00:56:00.000-08:00

When Italy gave the Island of Caprera to Giuseppe Garibaldi after he unified the country he never left. He built a large home and compound and spent his last twenty years or so living and hiking around and through the rocks or fishing in the sea. The home is now a museum dedicated to the history of Italy and one of their greatest heroes.
On Christmas day we went hiking on Caprera, The museum wasn’t open but there are several old ruins dating back to prehistory which made for fun exploring. The ruins, mostly relics of war, are built out of the stones and in the caves that make the island. During the Napoleonic wars some of the forts were added on to or rebuilt then abandoned again. During WWII, once again the ruins were brought into service with more additions. This time concrete was used for construction, and mortar held the stones rather than dry stacking. The last additions were left to the elements after the war. During that war the forts were manned but never used.
The islands that make up this group of archipelagos are now a National Park. The park includes La Maddalena, Caprera, Stephano and other small rocks in the sea.
Garibaldi brought boars and other wild animals to the islands. Today only the boars still roam and are hunted on this island, but only when population control is needed. It was one of these boars that we ate at a “pig roast” last Saturday. Matt, a ship mate of Noah’s had several of his division over for a holiday party on Sardenia. His wife Rosa is from Sicily and everything was authentic Italian .
Christmas eve was spent with friends here. A couple of young women the kids know from the states were completing a semester abroad near Paris and came down to visit. In addition some of their local friends from the ship came over for a “family Christmas” We ate, had a gift exchange and enjoyed the holiday and this part of the world.
We are planning more trips around the area and, hopefully, a trip back to Garibaldi’s mansion on Caprera. We leave this Saturday for out trip to the mainland.

2006-12-26T11:39:00.000-08:00

Ana and Noah threw a party last week and we were able to meet several of their friends. This shot was taken on the front porch.

2006-12-26T11:37:00.000-08:00

Ana and Linda waiting for lunch in one of the local ristorantes

2006-12-26T11:33:00.000-08:00

One of the many wind-swept rocks on these islands. We have found all kinds of shapes some that we could only post with an XXX rateing. This rock is about the size of a dump truck.

2006-12-26T11:13:00.000-08:00

The main piazza in LaMaddalena with the harbor on the left.

2006-12-26T11:11:00.000-08:00

One of the market streets in town

2006-12-26T11:07:00.000-08:00

A boat in the harbor of downtown LaMaddalena

La Maddalena

2006-12-22T02:12:00.000-08:00

All around are rocks, huge wind swept free form sandstone sculptures created by the tenacious Mediterranean breezes that buffet these islands nearly constantly in the fall and winter. This is the Island of La Maddalena a small archipelago off the northeast coast of Sardinia. The temperatures are moderate not giving a lot of rain, surprisingly, but the wind is constant.
The native junipers are tough ragged bushes that have adapted well to the shallow soil and minimal moisture. Their local neighbors are Palm trees and cacti that are hold onto the earth by gripping the stones making up the landscape. Pines, we haven’t been able identify yet, break the horizon in several sizes and shapes.
Smaller plants that also grow wild including the herbs thyme and rosemary. The thyme is a little farther inland but the rosemary bushes around us are huge. Sometimes several feet across and five to six feet high. One would think the native grass’ would be short, close the earth for protection from the wind, and there are some of those. But, in addition is tall wide blade swords reaching up nine to ten feet with beautiful brush -like seed heads on inch thick stalks two feet taller. I don’t know how many varieties of the tall grass there is but we keep seeing new ones as we walk and drive the island. Wild aloe grow to four to feet next to the grass and trees. Mirto, a large bush with blue berries, clings to the stones. A local liqueur is made of these native berries and is bottled in cork bottles from the local Cork Oak trees found on Sardinia.
When this land was first occupied by modern man in the early eighteenth century each man was given as much property as he could build a wall around. Guess what was used for these asymmetrical walls that line the island partitioning old claims to the land. Small stone and concrete cottages with tile roofs dot the hills used as homes and out buildings of these old settlers. Later building construction passed from stone to concrete to block and mortar of today. Still the roofs are tile, held together with a sand and cement seal. I can’t help but wonder how much the gables, slopes, ridges and valleys that top the houses but weigh. All the windows and doors have louvered shutters for protection from the big winds when they come on shore.
Sheep and fishing was the original form of income on this island. Merchants that support those industries built the town on the seafront. The old town dating from the early seventeen hundreds is a mix of two to three story buildings and narrow streets only wide enough for one small car. One he first floor are shops with business’ and homes in the upper stories.
More later about the people and our travels here.
.

2006-12-20T21:54:00.000-08:00

Here are some pictures of LaMaddalena. It is an interestng contrast of new and old. There are rocks they think might be 3 million years old, Samrt Cars, paved roads, cobblestone roads made of thick granite, sidewalks that are made of tile, elderly ladies in wool coats and babuhkas and youngsters in modern clothes. We are off to Sasseri, a town on Sardenia today and will write more later. I may have to attach the photos later too as the page is coming up in Italian and finding what we need to make it work is a challenge! We are not sure we have the pictures on yet but will get them if they are not.
Areviderci for now.

Adventures in Travel

2006-12-19T06:13:00.000-08:00

The windstorm woke me up about 11:30 PM. It was easy since I was so excited about getting going on our trip, but it was also quite a blow outside. Turning on the porch light , I looked outside. Small branches were scattered about the yard but there was not other damage. I turned out the light and sat in the dark to meditate.
A few minutes later, I looked out again but the light didn’t turn on. I checked the clock and it was off also. I lit an oil lamp and waited for the power to come back on.
We didn’t have to be at the airport until five in the evening, so there wasn’t any concern except for possible damage from the wind, I stayed up the rest of the night and Linda came down about three. Since electricity runs our well, we didn’t want to use too much water, so no showers, but a little for coffee was safe.
As the sun arose, we assumed the power would be up soon, but did talk about contingencies. We called around and the Spokane airport was open as was SeaTac. However we learned that the storm was causing devastation around the Northwest. We finished getting ready and made sure everything was as done as it could be under the circumstances.
By early afternoon, still no power so we figured out we needed to find someplace to shower. We were planning to leave our car with Linda’s sister Carol so called her to take showers at her place. Her power had only blinked out for a few seconds, getting clean there became the plan.
Linda had organized the flights so there would be plenty of time to get from one to the other. For the first leg, we would get to Seattle about 9 PM and get a good nights sleep, shower and get ready before nheeding to be back at the airport to check in by six am for the next flight.
After showering at Carol’s, she took us to meet Tome, our ride to the Spokane airport. The storm had knocked out power in much of Coeur d’Alene and Spokane. At check in, the board said our flight was still scheduled to leave on time at 7:55 PM, however, the ticket agent said that they expected it to be delayed. As it came closer to check in and the delays were continuing, we started to wonder about renting a car to get us there on time. When they did say it would not fly for an hour, we started to weigh the options. The passes were in terrible shape yet we didn’t know if or when our plane would leave. An agent said she thought we would fly but that SeaTac was losing power off and on so we couldn’t leave Spokane until we knew we had clearance to land in SeaTac. After fourteen dollars worth of wine, one glass apiece, it was announced that we would leave at nine. AT nine they said, ten. At ten they had us board and then shortly deplane. By now it was too late to rent a car so this flight was our only chance. At 11 we were back on the plane and heading west. So much for dinner and a good night’s sleep.
As we flew into Seattle, there were several very dark spots in the city.
We checked and our plane to New York was still scheduled to fly at 8 AM the next morning. It was now after midnight and we needed to be back to check in by 6 AM. We had a reservation about a mile away so caught a cab hoping to get a little sleep and a shower. The cab driver wondered if our motel had power.
As we pulled up to the dark motel, it sank in that Seattle was unplugged. There was a camp light on at the desk, we went in. An employee with a flashlight took us to our room where there was no light, heat or hot water, but a bed.
We caught a nap and headed back to the airport without a shower, shave or breakfast. Or dinner for that matter. A line had already begun for check-in even though it was only 5:30 AM. With several barricades, they created a queue line and we became part of a temporary community of stranded travelers.
It was announced that our flight would leave about 9. Our line did not move and we just stood or sat on the floor and got to know the folks around us. At 9 we were allowed to check in but that process was slow because the computers were down most of the time. Power was still out in parts of the airport causing a great deal of chaos in the place. To add to it all, most of the people who had flights the day before that had been cancelled were there to try again adding to the bedlam.
Security was another bottleneck. Once past there we headed for the gate. Linda stopped to get a couple of breakfast sandwiches, yum, yum and I went to the concourse to get to get in line.
Our plan had included a five hour layover in New York City but we were already two hours late. After boarding we waited on the tarmac for two more hours waiting for more passengers to get through the mazes and clearance to leave. We watched our original plans for a meal , walking to loosen up stiff legs and perhaps a chance to freshen up a bit at JFK wither away. A little after 11 we were in the air and getting away from eh devastation of the worst storm in over fifty years to hit the northwest.
As we flew into New York, it was obvious is was not unplugged as the lights were on all around us for miles and miles. We did have plenty of time to catch our flight for Italy, but not quite as planned. We had about an hour to get from one terminal to another and go through security once again and find our gate. It was fine though we didn’t feel at all ready for another long stretch ion a plane but we didn’t have any option .
We arrived in Rome right on time as if nothing else had happened. The only catch was that one of our bags still isn’t here. After the last couple of days that seemed inconsequential. Someone is looking for it.
One quick flight of about an hour and we were on the island of Sardinia with the kids. A short ferry ride to their place in LaMaddalena and this part of the trip was over. Two days with only airplane food, stiff from no movement, no showers but we were still welcomed here.
The kids are great and have a lovely home. We are still very excited that we made the trip and hope that the worst weather and travel experiences are behind us.
Boy, this post is getting long. I’ll write about these wonderful islands and life here next time.
Right now I need to buy some new clothes so I have another outfit until our lost bag shows up.

Getting ready to go to Italy

2006-12-11T21:07:00.000-08:00

About 4 pm the other day we got a call from Ana. It was one of those "I'm so excited you're coming I can't sleep calls."

If it is four here that means she was rattling around the house at midnight in their home on the island of La Maddalena.

The picture at the right is their view and will be ours for the Holidays.

Our plan is to travel La Maddalena, and the Island of Sardinia. After Christmas, we will go to the mainland from Livorno through Pisa to Bologna, Then to Venice for New Years and head to Rome passing through Assisi.

We will try to keep posts here as we go, but the quality of the wine and food will determine how much time there will be for this stuff.

We will start posting early next week sometime after the 18th or 19th.

Have a great Holiday Season.

2006-12-07T15:01:00.000-08:00

Another picture on the way to Rossland BC

Picture Postcards on the way to Rossland BC

2006-12-07T06:35:00.001-08:00

Picture Postcards on the way to Rossland by Ernie Hawks
for the River Journal, 6 December 2006
Linda and I had just celebrated our birthdays, and a quick road trip seemed like it would be a good present to ourselves.
At the suggestion of a friend we decided on Rossland, British Columbia. I hadn’t been there for years and Linda had never been.
We traveled north up the Purcell Trench for Salmo pass. This isn’t the quickest route, but quickest wasn’t part of the plan.
At Creston we headed west through the marshland that makes up the Creston Valley Wildlife Management Area. The 17,000-acre, internationally accredited wetland is home to 370 bird, mammal, reptile, amphibian and fish species. We didn’t stop to walk any of the miles of trails since all the tall grass was winter yellow and some had started to lie down.
Starting up the pass we drove through spruce, golden tamaracks, and more and more into winter. It wasn’t long before we had our first real winter driving of the year. The clouds created a ceiling but the top of the peaks around us were generally clear. At the summit is Stag Leap Provincial Park, which is over 5,200 ft. Here, next to a quiet, frozen mountain lake, is a post card perfect log cabin used as a warming hut for cross country skiers and snow boarders. I waded into the knee-deep snow, camera in hand, to get my own “post card” of the cabin.
On the west side of the pass Linda drove down the six to eight percent grades. I, with camera ready, searched for perfect pictures. The road was slick with slush, and a truck was following us when I saw several Bighorn Sheep on a talus slope above the road. As I was putting a telephoto lens on the camera, Linda maneuvered us down the hill to a turnout. After the truck passed she took us back up to the base of the slope and pulled off.
Resting the camera on the top of the car, I started shooting at rams as they butted each other, discussing who was alpha. Two stood in conflict as another blocked my view. He was checking out the guy with a camera. Just then Linda shouted, “Look, they’re about to do it.” All of a sudden all the rams in my viewfinder left and headed for a ewe who seemed to enjoy the attention. For the rams she turned out to be a tease, this time, but she still kept their focus, and ours, for an hour or so.
We gave up trying to get some “big horn porn” and started on down the hill. Ahead of us the valley was a perfect glacial trench with extremely steep slopes on both sides and a round valley floor. High up on each side were hanging valleys where smaller glaciers had once lived. I wondered how many of them held small lakes.
Leaving the valley near the town of Salmo, we headed west toward Trail. Driving through the lowlands of the Kootenays, passing small communities along the way, we came to the Columbia River. A few miles upstream we were in Trail. A huge smelter on a bench above the river dominates city center. It is the largest employer in the area; it may be keeping Trail and Rossland from becoming ghost towns. Just below the smelter we started up the hill to our destination of the day. The road between the two towns is about six miles, and the elevation gain is nearly two thousand feet.
Rossland is a quaint old mining town hanging on steep slopes just below Red Mountain Ski Resort. This small village is dotted with turn-of-the-century architecture on inclines that would thrill a skate boarder. During the tourist season a real old mine can be toured along with a mining museum.
We found a fun restaurant and pub for a meal, then wandered some of the shops before a long soak in the hot tub at our motel. We had had a good day just the way we wanted it: a three-hour drive that took eight, lots of views and time for just us.
In the morning we headed home down the Columbia River into Washington. There were many fall sights and I photographed some. While shooting a country lane lined with trees of every fall color, I needed some falling leaves. It was cold and Linda sat patiently in the car. I enlisted her to stand out of camera view and shake tree branches to encourage falling leaves. She helped Mother Nature, and I got a few shots.
A trip past Old Fort Spokane, a short shopping stop in the Spokane Valley and we were home late that afternoon.
We were relaxed by the outing and agreed we needed to get away from our home projects more. Plus, we live in a great place for a quick relaxing road trip.