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NOT ALL THERE: A PDX Short Film

Once Upon A Time

My sister Rosemary A./Jeanette D./Glennie B./Me/ My brother Jim A./Fred D. Occasionally another kid would move in, then out, but we were the regulars. 

     As quite a young lad (see photo) I lived in a logging camp sited at the West edge of the Cascade Mountains, between farm and forest. We didn't have Mounties but we did have a choker setter who worked naked except for caulk boots and a hard hat; we had a blacksmith who would pick up, with his bare fingers, a hot coal from his forge to light his pipe; thanks to a local farmer, we had a free range herd of cattle with a bull who regularly tried to kill us. It was a great place to grow up.

  Living in the country, occasionally we all had interesting events -- since I was the youngest of the bunch my events were often solo events. I had my own real hatchet (steel head, wooden handle) which I used to nearly chop off a finger and which I was going to use to whang Lonnie in the head; I was thwarted by my mother -- just as well I suppose, but he totally deserved it. *

    An irrigation ditch ran on the other side of the gravel access road. My brother used the ditch to try and drown me. Later I used the ditch water to put out a fire which I had started while playing forest fire. I learned early on that some adventures are more fun in thought than in deed. 

   

* ( I have a major question about this: Why did I have the hatchet? As I recall my parents weren't blase' about murder and self-amputation. I didn't try to kill Lonnie and cut off my finger at the same time, so there are two possibilities: 1 -- I tried to cut off my finger and my parents thought: "Well, the young lad has seven more fingers and two thumbs and he's unlikely to chop all of them off so he can keep his hatchet" Then I tried to kill Lonnie, they decided I wasn't a reliable hatchet wielder, and the hatchet was taken away. or 2 -- I tried to kill Lonnie and they thought: "Well, the young lad didn't actually kill Lonnie (even though Lonnie is obnoxious). But our boy probably won't try to murder anyone else, so he can keep his hatchet." Then I tried to cut off a finger and they thought: " The kid has seven more fingers and two thumbs -- if he tries to chop them all off it'll cost us a fortune in medical bills getting him stitched back together -- We'd better take away his hatchet!" so they did. There are no other explanations for the hatchet.

The young "hatchet man" after an adventure gone awry. I'm sure my mother didn't send me out wearing a ragged play suit -- I must have torn the suit during my adventure. 

Our logging camp was right at the edge of the mountains. Logging was "up the hill" (My Dad: "Yeah, I have to go up the hill tomorrow and work on that miserable Skagit" -- My dad was the millwright for the logging operation.) Except for logging trucks thundering down a road 50 yards from the housing, and other equipment moving up or down the hill. actual logging, including the noise, was never part of camp. But the hills and mountains of "up the hill" started at the very east end of camp: climb over the fence and you started climbing the hills. 

One hill in particular always fascinated me. It was much like every other hill (or mountain if you will) that reached up just east of us. Snow Peak. It looked like everything else up there. It wasn't particularly higher. It would get snow, but so did everything else, including camp. There was nothing to distinguish it. It was always: "You, know that hill just to the right of Snow Peak." "That thing just this side of Snow Peak." and so on. Why did Snow Peak warrant a name, but nothing else did? Why was it so special? I began to doubt that it actually was named Snow Peak -- that the name "Snow Peak" was just a local fable -- less interesting than the Dunkelberger Gravel Bar, or Sasquatch And The Bear -- just a boring fable. (this opinion is sort of confirmed because "Snow Peak" doesn't earn an entry in Oregon Geographic Names a 1000 page tome.)

I pondered the problem while we lived there, but when we moved I largely forgot about it. The Snow Peak problem went to a back burner, then off the stove and into a cupboard, then into the basement where it gathered dust until a few months ago when I came into Facebook contact with Jeanette D. and Fred D. (in the top photo -- they're both older now). My interest in Snow Peak was re-awakened and I suggested to dw that we have a short and mild adventure -- find it, drive as close as possible, and climb it. 

Snow Peak-- Picture taken a couple of miles west of where camp was (camp is long gone)

     So we did. I tried to find information on the web -- essentially there isn't any. One site: "Drive to the gate and park (don't block the road) --- and so to summit". Oregon Atlas & Gazetteer is reasonably detailed and it shows many roads, with little indication if any of them are passable in a small car. I bought a copy of the appropriate Big Sky Maps (AKA guesstimap) which had more detail but still no clue re: driveability. The area is festooned with roads, but nearly all of them are old logging roads (some still active), and nearly all of them are impassable except with a big 4-wheel drive rig -- many are blocked with a log or two barring entry -- our Toyota sedan is a fine car but not much of a brush/rock busting vehicle.  We chose two possible access roads and decided to wing it 

    After waiting two weeks for a break in the fall rains, we drove to Stayton (an easy hour and a half drive), made several wrong turns, found the proper access road, and started up the hill. The road was paved, if narrow, and we indeed found the gate, which was closed and posted "No Trespassing" but not locked. We could have parked and started up, but round trip would have been eight+ miles and since I was being annoyed with plantar fasciitis that seemed too far. We needed to rethink. On our way out we stopped and talked with a young man who was working on a generator (his house was off the grid by miles) He told us there was another road on the other side of Neal Creek which might work,  

"Just cross that bridge that's a mile or so back there. I started to drive up there once but it's real narrow so I just turned around. Good luck though."

    The road is very narrow. Strictly one lane with occasional places where vehicles could pass. It is paved though. This first day was a reconnoiter day and we drove to a fork where the pavement ended; one fork went up hill (totally impassable -- a parked giant four wheel drive pickup didn't try it); the other fork seemed to be a good gravel road (again very narrow) heading down hill. We started walking to see if the uphill branch would work. After only two hundred yards we met three hunters. A nice trio: father, uncle, and son. The son was 35 or so. The father and son were hikers and the son had climbed (hiked into) Snow Peak -- we had really lucked out. He gave us precise directions, knew how far the walk is (one mile), noted the rock scramble at the summit -- and just like that we knew where to go and how long it would take.  

    We returned to Stayton, poked around a bit (two art galleries with decent displays but nothing exciting), a good bookstore (library castoffs but a nice selection) manned by a VERY chatty volunteer, a brew pub with good beer but no food, however a regular food truck came in the afternoon (we returned at five for dinner and a pint) and a tired motel a mile north of town. 

Snow Peak Brew Pub -- we  had to stop here. 

The Snow Peak porter was very good, the IPA was just OK, too hoppy in my opinion. The burger and fries from the food wagon (The Runaway) were surprisingly good. 

   

That night in the motel room (inspired by the room) we began reminiscing about some of the bad rooms we've stayed in during our travels and the bad food we've experienced (a cafe in Rome where we hung around outside warning people away -- a cafe in SE Oregon where the catsup bottle was clogged with mold -- for some examples) Finally dw said: "Why don't we talk about some good things?" 

    "Well," I said, "The linens in this room are clean and there don't seem to be any fleas or bedbugs. The carpet needs a good vacuuming but the blood stain is small and I could hide it with my boot. It doesn't smell -- or only a little -- and it's quiet. We've done much worse." In all we had a good night's sleep. 

   Next morning we drove to the trail head (an easy hour), did the mile hike, the short rock scramble, and so to summit. Snow Peak is the high point of an extinct shield volcano rim just on the West edge of the Cascade Range. The view is stunning. In spite of some haze and left over forest fire smoke, we could see Mt. Adams (possibly Mt. Rainier) south to the Three Sisters. On a clear day I'm sure we could have seen Crater Lake rim and perhaps further south to Mt. McLoughlin. We could see across the Willamette Valley to the Coast Range -- it's a wonderful short hike. We were exhilarated. 

    

    We hiked out and drove home -- with a mild disappointment (for me) at Mt. Angel -- site of Oregon's largest Octoberfest. I wanted a bratwurst and spaetzle but nothing was available. Sigh. In all a mild low-key adventure but we really enjoyed it. 

Start of the trail

Scramble to the summit

Part of the foundation for the long gone fire lookout

Scramble to the summit

Oh me of little faith -- it really is Snow Peak

The view North -- The other side of the crater rim

Mt. Jefferson

Summit, and view West

On the top

from "Ithaka" -- C.P. Cavafy

     Hope your road is a long one. 

     May there be many summer mornings, when

     with what pleasure, what joy

     you enter harbors you're seeing for the first time --

Aristotle:   Bald people are not mutilated (I'm not bald but this is still good to know)

Because they frequently contain botulism, if you eat, in a few hours, 1400 Slim Jims -- it can kill you. I'm not convinced that it would be the botulism that kills you. 

And speaking of food: (from Twitter) A serious question: if someone is telling me a sad story and crying, how long should I wait before I take a bit of my corn dog?

And so it goes. 

Defense lawyer GEORGE ROBINSON - Closing Argument that raised REASONABLE...

Via De La Plata, Part VI: Salamanca And A Conga Line

Fall, 2017

We arrived at Fuenterroble de Salvatierra with its famous albergue which was started by Don Blas Rodriguez who did much of the work reviving the camino in this region. The main albergue building is stuffed with books, memorabilia, pieces of art, tack for the horse carts stored in an adjoining shed, and just stuff. Assorted ramshackle out-buildings are full of lumber and pieces of metal, large and small -- an array of tools (carpenter, metal working, and gardening -- both hand and power) and what seems to be plain junk, untouched for years. Other sheds have 20 horse carts, highly painted and decorated, used in parades. It's an interesting place.
   We got into town too late for lunch and too early for dinner, but we did find baguette sandwiches in a local bar (Asador El Pesebra) and they were wonderful. Mine was bacon-like pork  plus a bunch of other stuff, and dw's was queso and pimento and a bunch of other stuff. They both were really good.
    The small town was quiet but we wandered around doing our usual afternoon paseo. The church was supposed to be nice, but it was closed. Next to the church was a layered replica of a section of a Roman road showing how the roads were made. That was interesting. There were some horses grazing in a field. That wasn't interesting. We wandered back to the albergue and had some quiet time in our room. Then dinner with grapes for desert. The grapes had seeds too small to spit out, so if we happened to poop along the trail we would be like Johnny Appleseed with grapes instead of apples.

On the way to Morille I asked dw if she wanted to stop for a rest in a shady spot. (it was getting hot)
   She said: "I'm hot and tired, but I'm good for awhile and there's nothing ahead. --- That's a metaphor for life and the best we can hope for."
   A bit later I said: "There's a car coming. --- There're two cars coming."
   dw: "There're three more coming."

Pico de la Duna cross

   "I think the second one that just passed was a hearse."
   "Probably a peregrino trying to cross the Meseta."

Before Morille we crossed the high point of the VDLP -- Pico de la Duena -- the highest point between Sevilla and Astorga. To mark the spot there's an iron cross atop a tall pole, where, since Celtic and Roman times, pilgrims have left a stone to ensure a safe passage across the mountains and to give thanks for a safe passage. The pole is behind a fence so the best you can do is throw a rock at the cross. We did, and we had a safe passage so it worked, but the rock throwing seemed irreverent.

Morille -- A librarian. Marion? 

We spent the night in Morille, a bedroom community for Salamanca. Like most bedroom communities there was nothing in town. One bar and that was it. Surprisingly there were several pieces of public art -- we thought some were very good. In the church yard was a modern Adoration of the Christ Child which we both liked, but it was crapped up with an unneeded explanatory sign stuck on the Christ Child. Sort of like nailing an explanation in the middle of Nude Descending a Staircase.

   On the way to Salamanca we stopped at Miranda de Azan looking for some coffee. After a bit we found an open bar. As we left the bartender came out, stopped us, and told us how to find a shortcut that saved us one or two kilometers. We managed to understand and follow his directions. This wasn't an unusual event. Throughout the walk we consistently found people were generous with their time in interacting with pilgrims -- even with peregrinos like us who barely spoke their language.

The top of the last hill before Salamanca has a fine view of the city and a plaque explaining the Battle of Salamanca (part of the 1812 Peninsula War) where Wellington crushed the French forces. Both the English and the French were prancing around in Spain as a result of Napoleon's Grand Plan which actually didn't work out very well -- for Napoleon and for Spain (Both the French and the English cheerfully shot up Spain and everyone in it)
   Leading into Salamanca, a Roman bridge crosses the Rio Tormes, and on the town end, a large stone bear with all his corners worn off stands on a pedestal.

The Vague Bear

   DJA: "Oh, that bear statue is the symbol of Salamanca. It pre-dates the Romans."
   dw: "So, who made it?"
   DJA: "I dunno. The Celts or somebody -- whoever the Romans stomped on."
   dw: "So losers made it."
   DJA: " Yeah. And that's probably why it looks so vague."

Art Nouveau/Deco Museum

Plateresque -- Called for it's resemblance to 

worked silver. 

We took a day off and toured the city: the Library (the sea shell building -- Casa de las Conchas), The Cathedral, the Art Nouveau/Art Deco Museum: It has a nice collection of styles, figurines, dolls, etc. although it is thin in drawing and painting. The collection is large, but so-so we thought. The building is stunning -- It has a large Tiffany style leaded glass central dome, and a monster 150' x 20' window -- also leaded glass -- forming one wall. It is amazing. We saw the small modern art museum, and the museum at the University. (University: 1218) It's a beautiful city.

   We visited the Convento De San Esteban with it's 100 foot high retablo. A museum room with assorted paintings, carvings, relics, monstrances and so on, and one highly unusual piece: a 2' tall statue of Archangel Michael literally stomping the crap out of the devil -- photos not allowed. Any description is inadequate.

?

They'll probably wear scrubs when doctoring. 

   As usual we did our paseo, ending near the University at a sidewalk table with a beer and a snack. We had taken our first sips and were enjoying the warm evening when we heard some chanting/yelling and then a group (20+) of University men marched by. Daubed with paint -- face, hair, and clothes -- all in a line. The one in front held his crotch, and each one following had his hand between the legs and holding the crotch of the guy ahead. Sort of like a conga line, except instead of hands on waist, it was hands on dick. The point was unclear. Over the next twenty minutes four additional groups marched by, smeared with paint and chanting. It seemed to be a final exam march. All but the first group were mixed sex and each painted group was followed by a group chanting but unpainted. In all there were a couple of hundred marchers. Earlier we watched a group of medical students -- in costume but mostly unpainted -- marching and celebrating the end of the term.  A wonderful, interesting, and beautiful city to take a rest day.

Plaza Mayor, Salamance -- temporary exhibit

______________________________________

The largest domestic pig on record, "Big Bill", weighed 2,552 lbs. (1,158 kilos) If he was a truffle pig, I bet he ate every truffle he found. "Some Pig!" -- "Humble" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cZLT9KTWugw

___________________________

Puttock: Any of several birds of prey.
Futtock: Curved timbers forming the lower part of a ships frame.
Buttock: The fleshy, lower part of a person's torso. AKA -- your ass.
English can be odd, but how did this happen?
___________________________

Frankenstein entered a body building competition, but found he had seriously misunderstood the objective.
________

The word "nun" is just an "n" doing a forward roll.
________

What do you call a bear with no ears? --- A "B"

And so it goes.