Days 339 & 340 – 06/07 July 2010: Silicon Valley

During my day of more scenic driving, I get a text from Petra, one of my Salt Lake City ‘brides’ from the Green Tortoise trip. She works as a nanny in Cupertino, a small town to the west of San José at the heart of Silicon Valley. Cupertino is home to Apple amongst others, while the nearby Mountain View has a Google Avenue.

Being the home of the IT giants of the world, and with a good public (state) school in the area, house prices are eye watering. The house that Petra lives and works in has been valued at $4m, even though it is an indistinct American suburb house, perhaps slightly larger than average. There is nothing overtly appealing about the town, a kind of typical shopping plaza suburbia. In fact, when I join Petra in the evening, the shopping plaza nearest my motel didn’t even have a restaurant that didn’t serve drinks in paper cups. Eventually, we drive to one of the more upmarket plazas and have a pizza in a popular bar restaurant.

The next day, I meet up with Petra again to take a walk up a trail overlooking Mountain View and some of Silicon Valley’s more palatial homes hidden away in the hills.

After our walk, I go on to Santa Cruz on Petra’s recommendation. This is a popular tourist resort and surfer’s area, but I don’t arrive until the end of the afternoon. As I am flying out tomorrow, I don’t have very much energy left for exploring, though I do walk down to the pier for dinner. With sea otters circling below the pier scavenging leftovers, there is a line of expensive seafood restaurants on the pier. However, from the one I choose, I am served a fish that seems less than fresh, an anti-climatic end to my stay in the good old USA...

Silicon Valley

Silicon Valley Palaces

Google Avenue

Some of California in Pictures...Click Here 

Days 338 – 05 July 2010: Biting the Bullet

At breakfast, I chat for a while with the Native American bass player from the camp band. Improbably, he is called Gordon McQuirrie, so perhaps there was some integration with Scottish settlers in his ancestry. He works at the camp fulltime and when I mention that I will have to find work when I get home, he says that they are always looking for people at Kamp Klamath. I am sure that the pay isn’t great, but I am beginning to see my life as a choice between wealth and fun. Gordon is hoping to buy land to build on some day, but I have my doubts that his Kamp Klamath salary will ever be enough for him to buy anything in this part of California.

Also on the patio at breakfast is a family from Oregon with two teenage girls. The eldest of the two, who may be 15 or 16, spent much of last night screaming hysterically and sparking some angry complaints from neighbouring campers. It was something to do with her boyfriend in Oregon apparently. This morning though, she seems perfectly cheery.

I overhear the family talking about doing the jet boat ride and wondering what it is. Explaining what little I know about the water propulsion system that a jet boat uses, recommending the Klamath trip I had done, while mentioning that jet boats are especially popular in New Zealand. This leads me onto other things in New Zealand, like my stop at the Hobbiton set from the Lord of the Rings films. ‘Are hobbits real?’, asks last night’s hysterical screamer. She then tells me that I have a nice smile, which pretty much puts an end to the conversation as I am taken aback by being flirted with by a teenage girl in front of her parents. I am not sure if the parents were in any way embarrassed, or if it’s not unusual in these here parts.

Leaving Kamp Klamath, my Sat Nav directs me to cross a bridge that was washed away by the river in 1964 and is now just a bridge head monument. I am going to drive through Six Rivers Forest National Park, but this is a more direct route than I planned.

Driving the valley roads overlooking the rivers is another dangerous drive, not because of any shear drops, but because there are so many places where I want to stop. I have fallen in love a little with north California.

I will be leaving the US in a few days, having given up on the idea of going from coast to coast as I only had funds for six weeks in the US and haven’t even managed to leave the west coast. I start heading back to San Francisco. 

I stay in Weaverville, a historic gold rush town, and the county seat of Trinity County. However, first impressions are that it is now a town of lodges and motels, being conveniently placed for visitors to the forests and rivers nearby.

Day 337 – 4th of July 2010: The Wild River

I went to the 4^th of July BBQ last night, but had a few too many beers while chatting to Lauren and Douglas. By the time I hear the camp band, which I later learned consisted of Douglas on guitar, his Native Indian BBQ sous chef on bass and the sous chef’s ten year old son on drums, I am in my tent and ready to sleep. The incessant primitive quality of the boy’s playing, the beat never changing no matter what the song, gives the music a psychedelic quality. Given the setting, I can’t help but think of the film Deliverance, but this time with magic mushrooms. Apparently a bear staged an impromptu stage invasion during the gig too.

I wake up to the sound of woodpeckers on the tree next to my tent, like a woodland alarm clock.

On the jet boat, the pilot takes us first to the mouth of the Klamath, which is lagoon like as it is cut off from the sea by the lower tides. He tells us that Great White Sharks are sometime found here, though at this time of year, they have been chased away by the warrior kings of the ocean, the Orca.

The boat is large for a jet boat, fitting about twenty people, so this isn’t going to be quite so hair raising as those in New Zealand, which are swung and jumped around within inches of rocks. However, the Klamath is like a vast wilderness sanctuary, the real wild, not a parkland set aside for tourism. There are even wild cows and bulls here. However, the highlight must have been seeing Golden Eagles and Bald Eagles. These were both nearly extinct when I was a child, so I never expected to see any in my life, but one swoops down right past the boat, mistaking a floating log for a possible catch.

The other boats on the river are small fishing boats, taking eager anglers to some of the wildest fishing spots in the country. We have to be considerate when passing the fishing boats as they reel in the magnificent river salmon. However, this doesn’t stop the pilot from spinning us around a few times and giving us a good drenching. The best trick though is the ‘turbo brake’. This is when he suddenly puts the jet flow in reverse throwing up the rear of the boat, threatening to fling the passengers out of their seats.

After the boat ride I visit ‘The Trees of Mystery’, one of the commercialised attractions in Redwood. The car park of the large gift shop features a giant talking carving of Paul Bunyan, the mythological lumber jack created by an ad agency about a hundred years ago. The trail through the woods features a number of timber oddities. Redwoods have the ability to grow out of eachother, like the Candlabra tree, which spawned a series of new trees after it fell. The trunk of the fallen tree lies overhead across the path, with younger trees taking root within it and shooting straight up. Other Redwoods twist into odd shapes, but the centre piece of the trail is the ‘Cathedral Tree’, nine trees in one like towers ascending from one base forming a cove. I descend from the top of the trail via the bubble car lift to get a good overhead view of the forest, but the air in northern California can be cool and moist from the sea, even in July, and the windows of the bubble car are fogged up.

I spend the evening chatting to camp commander Douglas and with Lauren too, the latter of whom tells me that his experience in the army has turned him into a communist. I think that is just what people here like to call themselves when they have a strong rebellious streak.

Eagle's Nest

 

Golden Eagle...or possibly a Kestrel

Wild Bull

 

camera fogged up after the boat ride

 

Day 336 – 03 July 2010: Big Lagoon

This morning I rent a kayak to go across the Big Lagoon, 9.5 miles in circumference and 3.5 miles in length along the shore. The woman who runs the kayak hire warns me that the wind is due to pick up in the afternoon to 35 mph inshore and probably higher here, and advises me not to do the whole circumference. She emphasises later that the kayaks are designed to be paddled into the wind, if I should get caught out.

I hadn’t necessarily planned to go all the way to the other end, but as I paddle along the western shore and go around each bend, I feel the urge to at least reach the next one. After an hour and a half paddling into the wind, after some cigarette stops, I reach the north end of the lagoon. The ocean only climbs into the lagoon at the very highest of tides. I climb up onto the beach and there is no man or beast in site. The water here is too cold to swim in, but even if it weren’t, the rip tides that cause waves to crash onto the beach could batter a body. It’s a brown foamy tide here, so is the prettiest sea view either.

On the way back with the wind pushing me east, I try to keep along the west bank as far as I can, surfing the current now rippling with small waves, before trying to attack across the lagoon back to the south end of the lagoon. For the first half hour, I make good progress, paddling only on my left side to keep the wind from turning me around. I’m having fun now and for a while I think I will get back to the south end in just an hour.

However, the wind picks up violently and my attempts to paddle across the wind back towards the west bank are a waste of energy. I wind up in the sand marsh shallows of a creek flowing into the lagoon from the east. I get out to walk, dragging the kayak behind me. I take off my crocs as they are dragging water and sand with me, but then I cut my foot on a rock hidden by the shiny surface of the floor.

Fed up, I decide to get back into the kayak for one last heaving attack into the wind. I can’t take a break from paddling as I will just get blown backwards into the shallows. This saunter across the lagoon turns into a lot more exercise than I had planned for. Eventually, the wind dies down and as I enter the cove of the boat launch area, I am finally sheltered. I mention my little adventure to the kayak rental woman, who repeats that I should always paddle into the wind, which would be fine if I only wanted to go in one direction.

I have come to a point in my trip where my money is running out and I don’t know exactly where to go next. My rental car has to be back in a few days, which means that I will probably not have enough time to visit Oregon, which Stewart in LA had highly recommended I visit. My original plan when I landed in LA was to end up on the east coast about a month later. Five weeks later I am still on the west coast of California.

To rent a car and leave it on the opposite side of the US works out to be too expensive for me. I consider catching trains, but Amtrak seems to have a ‘can’t get there from here’ network. I even think about getting a Greyhound bus across to Miami, but I have heard too many horror stories about who might be my fellow passengers. Apparently I’ll be lucky to get off the bus still wearing all my clothes, nevermind my guitar or luggage. Hmm, perhaps I am ready to go back to normal life.

Tomorrow I will be taking a jet boat ride down the Klamath River. The Klamath originates in Oregon and its mouth lies at the centre of west coast of Redwood National Park.

I head north to find a campsite nearer the river and the first one I see signs for is called ‘Kamp Klamath’. It is only a few dollars more than the woodland campsite by Dry Lagoon Beach I stayed at last night and has hot showers and a café restaurant overlooking a field by the bank of the river. I spend the rest of the day sat in the patio seating of the café pretending to look at emails while I listen to other people chatter. Most of the people on the patio work at the campsite and are preparing a fourth of July BBQ feast for tonight.

The man chopping carrots for the salad turns out to be a competent German and Russian speaker, chatting amiably with a Swiss man. He eventually volunteers the information, in English, that he served with the US Army as a tank gunner and also as an intelligence analyst, which seems an odd combination. Like Charlie, my Green Tortoise bus driver, he is somewhat embittered by his experience in the Army, feeling that the American people have been fooled by the US media about the country’s role in the world and its supposed enemies.

Lauren, as I eventually learn he is called, also speaks Korean, having served there at one time in his military career. Asked by the Swiss man if he had been an officer, he responds ostentatiously in Korean, before translating, that he doesn’t care for officers.

Meanwhile, Commander Douglas, the camp’s boss, happily guts a huge sea bass, pointing it toward me in mock attack.

notice in men's showers

Day 335 – 02 July 2010: I’ve been to Hollywood, I’ve been to Redwood

The family opposite are not any quieter in the morning, nor any less friendly, offering me their leftover tortilla chips for breakfast while they pack up. They are still trying to place my accent and the little girls come over to say superfluous hellos to get me to say something.

I overhear the younger lady, presumably the mother and also the main vocal force of the family, say that she once took in a cat which, on the first day she had it, crapped on her bible. I think about telling her how I once crapped on a yak, but given her frequent references to the bible, I decide she may not share my sense of humour.

The boys had still not risen and are refusing to. ‘Get Up!’ shouts the mom, volume no obstacle, but the boys won’t budge even after a crescendo of orders to arise. Eventually though, the sound waves defeat their attempts to rest in and the eldest, who I have learned is a fourteen year old called Marcus, emerges from his tent visibly cranky. I missed the prevocational context, but he starts shouting at one his younger sisters ‘shithead, shithead, shithead’ and then, after his mother tells him to stop swearing, ‘kaka, kaka, kaka’. ‘You’ve lost your allowance for a month’, shouts his mom, which elicits whispering under Marcus’s breath. ‘Stop whining you fourteen year old baby!’ bellows Mom. ‘Yeah, stop whining, you fourteen year old baby!’ repeats his sister. ‘Stop that’, exclaims Mom.

The older woman, presumably the Aunty, seems to have much more control over the kids, and is calmer, but only marginally. ‘Did you accuse me of smoking dope?’ she asks Marcus.

‘I said you were smoking a roach’.

‘Don’t accuse me of smokin’ no roaches!’

‘I said roach, not roaches’, protests Marcus.

Aunty, who walks awkwardly due to a slight back defect or injury, asks Marcus if he wants to box. ‘I’ll come at you like a steamboat!’ she says in reinforcement.

‘I’ll come at you like a spider monkey!’ replies Marcus. It’s not clear if Aunty knows what these are, and there follows a discussion about what other fantastic creatures he might come at her like. It is still not 9 a.m.

Eventually I leave them to it to go down to the lake to take a dip. However, it is not perfect swimming, as the edge of the lake is a flooded end of the car park. There are plenty of hiking trails that surround the lake which come recommended by my Frommer’s Guidebook but, as I am keen to get to Redwood to find a camping spot, I only go for a short walk along the lakeside watching the water-skiers pierce the waters across the lake.

The drive to Redwood National Park should take three or four hours, but I find that the area designated as the park, which is an amalgamation of State Parks, doesn’t cover all of the attractions the area has to offer. I stop first at the ‘Loghouse’, a cosy tunnel bungalow carved out of a felled Redwood, next to a roadside giftshop. Nearby is the ‘Grandfather Tree’, a very wide Redwood in the grounds of a giftshop stopover. Next, I stop to see the living ‘Chimney Tree’, a hollow Redwood with a doorway which is seemingly alive, though I am not sure if this is just the greenery growing out of it. The gift shop here is closed though.

After discovering that all of the National Park campsites are full for the weekend, I am directed to a first come, first serve site hidden in the woods by Dry Lagoon Beach. Though it does have drop toilets, the site is deep in the woods and I have to walk a dense forest trail to get to my pitch. At $20, it isn’t much cheaper than a private campsite would be.

I got some pot noodles and tins of fruit and tuna, but with no cooking utensils and no can opener, I have to make do with a granola bar dinner.

at Lake Mendocino

 

the roads of Redwood