On the beach at Eagle

Eagle Lake Journal
June 15 - 23, 2002

We gather for a week of calming...

Two Weeks Before
Getting Ready
Determined to avoid the pile-up of chores on the last few days before the trip. I pulled the trailer out of storage and parked it under the pines and eucalyptus at the bottom of the lot two weeks early. Down there loading my clothes into my own closet, arranging sweats and t-shirts on hangers and organizing socks and underwear into little drawers, I'm struck that this isn't really camping - more like unpacking into a room at a nice resort.

Kathy

The Week Before
Gathering
By phone and email the clan checks in. Tom has rented a motorhome for the week - he and Kathy are coming! Although Matt is off in Germany, and Mary and the kids will be following him less than two weeks after the campout, Mary is determined to come, bringing the tent trailer on her own. Barbara and Sebastian, both frantic at work, say they will be there Saturday, followed on Wednesday by her sister Sue and niece Jennifer. Jean will come from Saturday through Tuesday, but Ian can't make it until Wednesday. Rich and Meagan will get there late Tuesday night, and Tom's old friends, Rene and Judy Borloz, will arrive on Friday. Missy and her friend Kelly will show up midweek sometime.

Saturday
We load up and head for the lake

. . .we have the sense that the whole lake; the curving green of grass and pines around the shore, the clear water, puffy clouds, calls of grebes, heron, loon - the soaring pelicans - all are ours alone

Despite all the preparations, it is 11am before we are able to roll out our little convoy. Hilda has been caught up by the demon that always attacks workers with last minute responsibilities when we have the audacity to schedule a vacation, and doesn't get home until 11pm on Friday night. So we are both dragging a bit when we head out, me carrying our new-to-us bright red We-no-nah canoe and pulling the Coachmen trailer, and Hilda driving the Explorer and pulling Sharlot the sailboat with the old Coleman canoe tied down on top. Hilda makes sure we check the secureness of that arrangement when we stop for lunch at the McDonalds on Lincoln way in Auburn. After another stop at the Gold Run rest area, we are up and over the mountains, and then down through Reno, with its ever-spreading ring of ticky-tacky despoiling the desert. We shut that out with rolled up windows and the CD playing our new travel music mix.

Sundowner time

But heading north on 395 after a last stop for gas we are out into the clean desert. When the windows go down at the bug station, and the smell of sage drifts in, they stay that way up through Long Valley, through Doyle, past a partially dried-up Honey Lake, and finally up and over A-1 to the Lake, all the while letting in desert fragrance, and then the sweet pines.

When we arrive, Jean is already in camp. The adjacent group site is uninhabited, and remains that way until Friday, so for most of the week we have the sense that the whole lake; the curving green of grass and pines around the shore, the clear water, puffy clouds, calls of grebes, heron, loon - the soaring pelicans - all are ours alone.

Barbara and Seby arrive in the evening and set up. Hilda and I pour gin and tonics for all, and share our BBQ chicken. There is good laughter and joy at being here, but we are all early to bed.

Seby and Barbara

Sunday
We take to the lake
We begin to assemble watercraft on the lakeshore. I am pleased to find that I can carry our We-no-nah canoe alone on my shoulders from the truck to the shore - it must be 30 pounds lighter than the Coleman. Barbara and Seby carry her Folboat kayak down in packages, and I help Seby carry his kayak. The lake is lower this year, and there are no reeds at all, just green grass to the fine sandy shore. There are a few rocks though, and I soon learn that while the Coleman can ooze over them with little or no damage, they make scratches in the fiberglass of the We-no-nah unless we have it fully floating when we get in and out.

Tom and Kathy

Sharlet gets launched, and I enjoy a nice sail back to camp. But the wind picks up enough to make sailing uncomfortably exciting in the afternoons for the first couple of days, though. Most of the camp enjoys a long afternoon nap - Hilda and I are down at 1pm and not up till 4. Tom and Kathy arrive in late afternoon, and Tom wiggles the big motorhome into a cozy spot between the trees. We BBQ a steak, then to bed for what turns out to be a very cold night.

Monday
A drive through mountain meadows to Chester

Pelican flyover

Early morning coffee by the lake is a tradition with me. I haul out a chair, book, and binoculars and enjoy the sun and crisp air, and the evolving show on that huge horizontal stage of lake and shore. A pelican approaches, flying up the shore - I wonder if I can hear the squeaky whoosh of its wing feathers as it flies by - yes, but it is so distant the sound is delayed - flap, flap - squeak, squeak, flap, flap -squeak, squeak.

Wildflowers at Goodrich Creek

Hilda and I need to stock up on groceries, and we need a step for the trailer door. The Bay area gang has rave reviews for the Holiday market in Chester where they all stopped on the way through. Although we don't recall anything special regarding grocery stores in Chester - perhaps they were high on mountain air and the vacation's first day - we head that way to revisit the mountain meadows of what was our home territory for six years. It is a gorgeous drive. We point out historical spots to each other - this is where we turned off to get firewood, there is where we collected landscaping rocks, here is Fredonyer Pass where we went cross-country skiing. We are struck once again with our good fortune in having been able to live in such a beautiful area for a while, and once again begin to talk of the possibility of returning. White pelicans wheel high over Chester - they like the north end of Almanor. We find our step - a patio end table I will cut down - get a snack and groceries, and head back stopping for wildflower photos at Goodrich Creek. To accommodate fishermen, the barbed wire is fastened to the fence posts with a simple and workable removable staple system.

Mary, her Mom, and the kids in camp

Back at camp we find that Mary has arrived with her mother, Theresa, and the kids. Tom and Seby have helped her start to set up, and we help her finish. Soon we are all on the beach with folding chairs, books, sunscreen, etc. But after five minutes in the chair I am compelled to go play with the kids. Jaclyn and Jeremy and I paddle around in the clear water, spotting golf balls, while Zach dives for them. We spot many that are too deep for him to get to, and Jaclyn sees a single white sandal. We turn back to find it, and when I pick it up with the paddle we discover it to be inhabited with leaches. But there is no shrieking - the kids are used to examining creatures with their biologist father.

An onshore breeze builds up and created mini-breakers on the shore. Windblown and desiccated, the adults retreat with books and chairs to the tree line, where we listen to the two-toned white noise of the soft breakers and the breeze in the pines.

Zach and Jaclyn heading up from the beach

Eventually Mary and the kids troop back to camp. There the kids have a miniature village of mud huts, with a river (replenished by buckets of water from the spigot), and a fish-drying rack. We have supper together at the long set of tables by Mary's camp. The kids, finished before the adults, play by banging sticks on a nearby table. I collect three frisbees, give them some quick rules, and they are off through the camp doing frisbee golf.

At dusk some of us slip off for a paddle - Barbara and Seby in their kayaks, me and the kids in the We-no-nah. As we shove off we wave exaggerated goodbyes, and Tom hollers. "Write if you get work!". We paddle around the rocky headlands and are in the light of a half moon as we round pelican island. The shadowy shape of a muskarat slipping by near the canoe inspires discussion of "Eagle Ugly". I suggest that his poor diet of stuff scooped from the bottom of the lake (like single white sandals, Jacklyn suggests) is responsible for the rising bubbles seen occasionally. Creative discussion from the kids regarding Eagle Ugly's appearance, habitat, and activities continues throughout the week. Tom's light leads us back to shore, and Jaclyn spots the two tall trees in the moonlight. A race develops with Seby. I tell the kids I'm tired and need to slow down. Jaclyn, in the middle, says, "No, no! - you can't disappoint your grandchildren!"

Early morning coffee paddle

Tuesday
Diving for golf balls
I am up early and the camp is quiet. I head out for a solo coffee paddle just after sunup. This starts a pattern that will last the week. I catch a couple of good photos of pelicans, a heron, and the grebes in the morning light. I return with senses fully tuned in to the light, the bright sky, and the sounds of the water and the birds. Wading the canoe to shore through the shallow water I'm delighted with the bright sparkles of sunlight between my toes. A natural high.

We join the grandkids on the beach. Today I've got my swim fins and am telling them of plans for a golf ball recovery expedition. I mention that Hilda is bringing down my diving goggles, really meaning dive mask. Jeremy turns to look as she walks up, carrying the two old dive masks in her hands, and exclaims, "Those are huge!" (Thinking of one for each eye). I put on the fins and mask and joke with Tom as I back into the water about Lloyd Bridges in "Sea Hunt". The kids head out in the Coleman to spot the balls, and I retrieve them, which of course requires some swimming back and forth under the canoe and some sea monster pretending. The feel of the fins and the smell of the rubber mask takes me back to being 12 years old, and spending the day snorkling in the American or Russian River. We collect 30 golf balls and pile them on the sand. Later, returning from an evening paddle, Rich will notice them in the moonlight and say, "Look, a turtle was here!"

Rich and Meagan, who arrived late last night, have slept late and eventually emerge to launch kayaks and head out with Barbara and Seby. Hilda and I folllow, finding them on the beach beyond the marina, after an exciting trip through the swallow tunnel.

Wednesday
Sailing with grandkids

Missy and Kelly

Missy and Kelly arrived today, and set up camp near us with their infectious laughter ringing through the trees. Ian and his friend Dee also arrive with her parent's motorhome. They set up camp with a hammock and canopy, looking pretty cozy.

The strong winds of earlier in the week have calmed, and I had a great sail with all three Speth kids to pelican island where we met Barbara and Seby in kayaks. On the return of course a race develops, with Seby winning in the light tail wind. Barbara kindly hung back to give grandpa some remnant of respect.

Barbara's sister Sue and niece Jennifer are here and enjoying the camping.

Thursday
Grandpa overdoes it
Lots of canoeing and sailing today. Rides for Rich, Seby, Barbara, and Kathy - maybe more. Also some relaxing reading under the trees by the lake. But I was exhausted by the end of the day, and we were happily in bed by eight.

Friday
A great sail and a fine thunderstorm

Pair of white pelicans

I canoe off into the mist with my coffee on a cold morning, and sighted a pair of great blue herons. Hilda and I sat and read for a while by the lake, then off for a paddle. Returning from that, and with a nice breeze inviting us, we pull up the sails and head out for a reach across the lake, tack once and sail all the way back, bear off at the point, then to shore, with the wind behind us and a thunderstorm building up from the southwest. The first drops hit as we stand in Barbara's camp deciding whether or not it will rain, and we all scurry around getting gear under cover and tarps rigged, enjoying the fresh smell of the rain. We also enjoy a fine nap, drifting off to the rumble of the passing storm.

. . .Rich hollers, "An Eagle, a bald eagle!"

Tom and I have strung out hoses and a 200 foot collection of extension cords, plugged into the outlet in the restroom under the sign saying "…not for battery charging" to charge our batteries and avoid tripping to the dump station for fresh water. A ranger drives in and walks through the camp. We fear we are busted. But he is only kindly relaying a message from the ranger station that Rene has called to say that their daughter Michelle is having her baby, and they won't be driving up to the lake.

Saturday
The Fred's Road Expedition

Meagan paddles up Pine Creek on Fred's Road Expedition

A fine day. Seby had brought a book describing California canoeing spots, and it mentions a put-in near Spaulding on the west side of the lake accessed by Fred's Road. To my surprise, despite a generally previously established pattern of relaxed arising, the Fred's Road Expedition members are actually up early, preparing snacks and loading up watercraft. They include Hilda and I and Jennifer, who will paddle the We-no-na, and Barbara, Seby, Meagan and Rich in kayaks. We load two of them on the boat trailer, pulled by the explorer with the canoe on top, and Seby leads off, carrying his and Barbara's boats. We are heading up A-1 by 8:30, cross Pine Creek, the only surface water flowing into the lake, and soon turn right onto Spaulding road through scattered pines and sagebrush. After about a quarter mile we follow Seby through an open gate in the barbed wire and split cedar fence on the left onto an unmarked but well-used dirt track, which we assume is Fred's Road. The pines fall behind us and we end up on open grassland, heading toward a shallow bay of the lake largely filled with tulles. We park next to the put-in, which is on a bank at the mouth of Pine Creek, here a wide curving estuary of the lake carved into old dune sands and bars deposited when the lake was at higher stages.

Seby in Fred's Road cabin

As soon as our five-boat flotilla starts to paddle up the stream we are struck by the variety of birds and bird sounds. They wheel overhead and perch on the grass and sage on the sandy stream banks. Around a bend we enjoy a family of small ducks with both parents and at least eight balls of down. As we glide by, they flee up the bank to escape our threat. Around another bend and we watch a flock of a dozen or so yellow-headed blackbirds. My eye is glued to the viewfinder trying to line up a photo, when Rich hollers, "An eagle - a bald eagle!", and there he is, heading low across the stream in front of us, white tail and head bright in the sunlight. Barbara says she thinks he is perched in a pine up ahead, and soon we are out of the boats, have pulled our feet out of the sucking stream-side muck, and are heading in slippery sandals up the sagebrush slope beneath the pines. Barbara catches a glimpse of a pair of eagles in the trees, but they are elusive, and we turn to exploring a couple of log cabins - one in ruins, the other very nicely restored.

We reach the end of the paddle-able water, then paddle back around the bends and toward the open water of the bay. Rich spots a night heron, hunkered down for his daytime rest on the shady side of the stream bank. We are able to drift closely by without disturbing its snooze.

Out on the bay, we spread out and drift with the gentle breeze through the tulles, soon mostly lost to sight of each other. Terns fly overhead, western grebes and small brown duck-like birds (eared grebes?) paddle in the water. Unidentifiable brown birds with yellow breasts perch among the tules - perhaps feeding on the dragonfly nymphs or larvae that are emerging or shedding.

Rich and Meagan on Fred's Road Expedition

We re-group. Eagle-eyed Rich points out a nest, built of tulles, on what appears to be a raft of tulles, with five or six brown-speckled buff eggs. Black terns wheel, scolding, overhead. Rich says he had seen a couple of these nests. The first one he noticed because he had first seen a muskrat on it. When he got closer and saw the eggs, he thought perhaps the muskrat was stealing them. But a later field guide lookup said that the terns may build their nests on muskrat nests. So we must read more and learn about that relationship.

As we haul the boats up at the take-out, Seb points out a pair of eagles - black dots wheeling high against the blue sky and towering clouds.

Back at camp we lunch and have a small nap. Then I sit with Hilda under the lakeside trees, determined to get in some more relaxing reading. But inviting stringers of ripples from the building afternoon breeze reach out across the lake, and soon I am off in Sharlet, dancing across the waves, getting soaked and well cooled off. I find Rich, who happily volunteers to help crew the boat back to the marina and take it out. We meet Hilda and Meagan at the sandy, low water ramp. With Sharlet up on the trailer I pull a couple of cold Heinekens from an insulating pile of life jackets - "Special boat-rigging fluid," I announce. We share sips, heads still filled with the wind and the waves.

Later in warm and dry sweats, Hilda and I sit at the lakeshore with Tom. A second SBRF slips down easily while the sun slips in and out of clouds, a cool wind ripples the lake, and we enjoy the glow of the afternoon and the remembered week.

Jeremy doin' smores

In the evening a pot-luck dinner is shared, smores are prepared at the fire, and a five-boat last paddle is had under a bright moon. We slip back to shore, guided by Rich's tiki torches reflecting in the water next to Tom's canopy. We stretch out the evening. As Hilda and I head late for bed, tents glow in the night, and Tom and Kathy are playing poker by candlelight in the motorhome - "I'll see your Lasix and raise you the Metamucil".

Sunday
Sayng goodbye 'till next year
I'm in the sun on the lakeshore finishing morning coffee. Rich and Barbara have carried down kayaks, and paddled off with Meagan into the mist. As they walked down to the lake, I heard Rich say, "Next year we will come for the full week!" The three kayaks are now little dots heading around the boulders and trees of the point, with occasional sun glints off the wet paddle blades. By mid morning I am thinking of pancakes cooked on the Coleman stove set up on the table outside the trailer, then lashing down the boats and collecting gear. So many things done this week with good people. So many things not gotten to - flying kites, perhaps building a new one, more bike rides, expeditions to the ice caves, perhaps Lassen Park and the subway cave. I look up at the squeaky whisper of a pelican winging overhead, take in the smooth blue and green curve of the lake shore, and head up to camp. Perhaps next year.

Loading up
Meagan is back from a last paddle, and taking a bath in her and Rich's little shower tent. From inside, she calls to Rich to please remove a potato bug. Tom, Kathy and I take down the canopy by the lake and are amazed and pleased to get it folded and back in its store bag. A big green SUV, clean from the city and with windows rolled up, cruises through, checking out the campground. I hope they get those windows down and discover the scent of pine and all the sounds we have enjoyed this week.