Birds and Water Pistols

Rounding out the last of the posts about the Cabin, I have a quick thing about birds. Well, members of the genus Cyanocitta.

As a kid we used to set peanuts up on the railing of the deck to lure the blue jays down. Once they got to a peanut, we, as children, would blast them with water pistols. As entertaining as this was for us, the jays never seemed to phased, as if this was just part of getting such easy free food.

They were/are smart and tough, vocal and generally unafraid of many things.

But they don't look like the blue jays from the baseball team's logo:

There's no white and the crest doesn't eff around.

Also, the book that has local flora and fauna kept referring to them as Steller Jays.

That's what I found on doing some research after returning home.

This is a blue jay:

And what we have at the Cabin are Steller jays. They're very closely related, as the only two species in the genus Cyanocitta. Cyanocitta is in the Corvid family of passerines, some of the smartest and most adaptable birds on Earth. Crows and ravens are likely the best known Corvids. Jays, crows, and magpies are the major subgroups of the family.

Here's a map of the range of the two Cyanocitta, with the Steller jay on the western half:

Then I thought, Aren't bluebirds a thing?

And they are:

That's a western bluebird, the one that lives in California. These are also passerines, just nor corvids, rather, they are thrushes (if that means anything to you).

Back to the beginning of the conversation/post: how cruel is it to blast black jays with water pistols after luring them out into the opening?

In general, and not that this is a justification but, birds are gangster AF.

So I feel a little less bad about it all.

RIP John Lewis, American Hero

Celebrate him. Put him on currency.

Remember him.

I missed my opportunity to have Cass meet him, but that was before I knew his hero status, which is a failure of AP US History class. Or curriculum.

Anyway: American Hero John Lewis as moved on.

Peace be with him.

Life Cycle of a Visitor

I've mentioned the photo corkboard in the past that lives on one of the Cabin's walls. This time, we set my mom up on the steps where my Nana, her grandmother, posed for a picture, and we put Camille in her arms. We took a Polaroid of the two of them and then put it up on the board, close to the picture of Nana.

My mom next to her grandmother, while holding her own granddaughter. This is kind of the point of this post.

My mom traveled to the Cabin as a kid, her first visit at age 8 or 9. 

Then she brought her kids, my brother and I, to the Cabin. We got to hang out alone (as a family) and then with her mom, our grandmother (who herself brought her own kids to the Cabin).

Now I bring my kids to the Cabin, to visit their grandmother, my mom.

My mom went from the kid, to the parent, to the grandparent.

I'm on Part Two of that cycle.

Corrie's family Farm, in northern Texas, has been in the family longer, but rarely is there a spot where the family can pose generation after generation to take pictures and compare over the decades.

More of my privilege showing...

Advanced Darkness

For discerning fans of Spongebob, the term Advanced Darkness resonates. Originating in the "Rock Bottom" episode, the line has wormed its way into regular conversation around these parts, and when referring to night at the Cabin, it really resonates.

Living in a city right now, with streetlights and shops surrounding our apartment building, REAL darkness is rare.

Never are light beams in short supply; never are the meager-est quanta of photons fully needed to get by.

Have you ever been in darkness so advanced that the only way to know if your eyes are open is your own body sense, since both open and shut look exactly the same?

It's something we take for granted, that there's a difference between having your eyes open or shut. City boy Cassius was, at some point one night, wailing away. I got upstairs as noticed that the desk-lamp we set up before we found all the nightlights seemed to be blasting him. He was fully turned around in bed and trying to bury his face where his feet should have been.

"Let me turn that light off," I said, and, despite his positioning, he sounded reluctant. Once I clicked it off, my own eyes hadn't adjusted and in the first seconds it was off, it was a definitely a can't-tell-open-or-shut-eyes situation.

For me and for Cass, as I learned because he let out a terrified bellow about turning the light back on. I realized then that that was probably the darkest he's ever viscerally experienced.

We retired the lamp once we found the nightlights, and one evening I helped him to the bathroom. Afterwards, once I noticed that it was a few minutes after four, I carried him outside to peep the stars.

HOLY COW! Mars never looked as red as that night. It would have been a spectacular night for a time-lapse pic that Corrie and I had been practicing. That kind of night never again materialized for us, but in the future we're planning on taking advantage of the fact that the Park is open 24 hours during the summer months.

Our Little Patch of Sky

The night sky is so spectacular in the area of Mill Creek, that my dad used to try and plan our trips during the new moon, so the sky was as awesome as possible. We used to head to the meadow at night and check out the stars.

Now the brook is gone and the meadow has reverted to wetlands, and while the certified Dark Sky zone is still on hit, the view from the deck is obstructed by trees. It's still pretty cool, but it is our Little Patch of Sky, and it's in this patch that I spotted the appearance of a new constellation that I have named.

I stared to take pictures of Our Little Patch of Sky at different times of day specifically for a purpose like this post.

Here we go:

8:34 am

1:18 pm

4:49 pm

6:11 pm

7:50 pm

9:06 pm

The first celestial object that makes up the constellation I discovered/interpreted anew is visible in the picture above, in the lower left section of the X. It was the first object we could see, and I'm pretty sure it's Venus. I'll post a mock up of the constellation when I can figure out how to print out a blank star-chart and draw it in.

I call it Vaggitarius.

By 10:30 pm the sky is nice, and by 3:30 am, Mars is a red light amongst a cityscape of lights.

Lassen Volcanic Visits

Monday

Sulphur Works; Manzanita Lake; Upper Meadow

My mom joined us on the first day of trips to the national park, and we did a few easy things: Sulphur Works; and Manzanita Lake. They're on opposite ends of the main road through the park. There are other entrances, and next visit we'll be needing to see those, but CA Rt 89 North heads through the Park; the boiling mud pits of Sulphur Works are the first thing past the visitor's center.

The Summit Lakes trail is found there, and we'll do that hike in due time. It's short, but with a heavy elevation change. 

The boiling mud is always cool to see, and being on the road itself makes for an easy walk:

Grandma and Cass

(Not sure if the video will work here...)

From there we drove the road, which winds around Lassen Peak, the world's largest plug dome volcano. Here's a view from the road below the Devastated Area, the side of the volcano having blown and then sloughed off:

At the northern end of the road is a park exit, and Manzanita Lake. We got out and walked around, eventually pausing for a picnic table and snack.

Alpine lakes are beautiful respites, and Manzanita Lake is nor different. This spot has the heaviest visitation rates of Lassen Volcanic's many, many lakes, even though it looks sparsely visited this day.

Fallen logs can provide plenty of fun for young folks.

Afterwards, on the drive back the way we came, on the way out of the park, we stopped at Upper Meadow, a emerald patch of flatness surrounded by volcanic heritage:

Corrie and Cass

Lassen Peak on the left

The storm was cruising in, as thunder was audible the for entirety of the quick stop. We got rained on during the rest of the drive through the park, but as we descended in elevation, and while on the other side of the peak, the weather was sunny and hot by the time we made it back to the Cabin.

Wednesday

Terrace Lake, Shadow Lake, Cliff Lake

We decided to try one of the "Lake Hikes" the park offers. The round-trip mileage was over 3 miles, and the elevation change was around 700 feet, and it was rated a 2 in difficulty, so we were confident that Cass could do it without much assistance. My mom stuck around the Cabin pulling plumber-waiting duty.

The hike starts from between the Lassen Peak entrance and the Kings Creek Falls entrance. There are three lakes along the trail, none of which is as big as Manzanita Lake from Monday. These lakes are, in order, Terrace Lake, Shadow Lake, and Cliff Lake. Having seen them, the naming scheme makes little sense. 

Once parking the car and hitting the trail, you notice right away: the hike is pretty much ALL downhill. That means the hike out will be all UP. That reality dawns about five minutes in, but you can't process it until you set out for the return.

The first lake shows up as you come around a bend, and is breathtaking:

It doesn't seem to deep, and you get the sense that you might be able to wade across it. Terrace Lake does not disappoint.

Away and up a little hill, Shadow Lake appears down the way, just a few steep swicthbacking minutes away:

The path around is well worn and obvious, and the depth is noticeable, as the blueness of the lake-floor darkens to VERY dark a few meters from shore:

Maybe ten minutes further along in Cliff Lake, or, more accurately, the remnants of Cliff Lake, or Cliff Pond:

The sand comprises much of the ground above, but the noticeable green is from the very bottom of the lake, the silt and dirt that accumulated growing new grasses. The water itself is coffee-like in color.

We turned back and headed to Shadow Lake for a snack:

At one point during our break I turned and looked over our shoulder. The sky behind was inky with storm, and very dark. Thunder began to sound as the storm rolled in. We got a move on.

There is difficulty on an uphill-hightailing for more than a mile, but we made it, only getting a little rain as we made it to the car. Some clouds began to shroud Lassen Peak:

As we drove back to the Cabin, my legs felt like jelly, quivering. Cass, who walked the whole way, save for one vertical switchback, was in his seat with his second wind, dancing in place and singing the praises of Alpine life. 

Kids...am I right?

Thursday

Kings Creek Falls

This remains one of the more popular attractions at the park, and maybe the most popular attraction without its own parking lot. And rightfully so.

We tried to arrive early enough so we could easily park, as well as beat the foot traffic. This mostly worked.

The path is large in the beginning, as the trail arcs away from the street parking above, and snakes beside a meadow. Once the switchbacking starts over dust covered rocky path, the sound of waterfalls thunders away just out of sight. You can't really see anything until you get towards the bottom of the path, to the main falls. I've listed the series of waterfalls visible on the hike in the order that I saw them.

The first is at the spot where the switchbacking finally ends and the return trail one-ways itself back up. It was beautiful:

From there, one path continues with the creek to more spectacular locales, while another follows upstream, along a steep stairwell, the one-way return trip: six flights of stairs up and out.

We went downstream, to the look out point at the proper Kings Creek Falls:

What you really learn on the hike, though, is that rather than a single waterfall, this was more of a system of waterfalls of different kinds as the snow melt works its way to lower elevations.

As you work your way up the stairs, more of the waterfalling areas become visible:

And further up, the falls keep coming:

Just behind the very top of the rocky stairwell, the falling action is gentle, but there:

That looks like five distinct waterfalls, all part of the system. It was the prize that kept giving; as you kept walking, you kept getting new beautiful sights.

Here's Cass on the dusty stairs:

Beers at the park's visitor center never tasted as good as those Wednesday and Thursday afternoons.

Family Time

We arrived on July 15th, and my mom arrived on the 19th. My brother and his wife made it the next day, and the Gillans were set to come the same day: my mom had wanted to take the family Christmas card photo on Tuesday, the 21st. We still took the picture, but without Norm and Holly and their boys.

Those days before my mom got there had a different feeling, like the kind of family isolation I felt when we came as a kid: it's just you and your immediates, and the forest. I saw my son doing things I remember doing:

Walking down to the "resort," the title given to the general store/restaurant a half mile down the road, shirtless because it was too hot...

...or similarly, hiking through the forest in similar fashion:

Why the long pants, bruh?

Corrie and I stayed up late each night, watching the stars come out and laughed and talked. The "stars coming out" was a serious thing that I took for granted, and I'll be posting something about the Advanced Darkness later.

Because the land is a certified Dark Sky zone, it's crazy dark at night, and eventually the sky is spectacular. I have some nifty pics of our little patch of sky that I'll share later.

When my mom arrived, the feeling changed to the one I had whenever we were up hear with my own grandma. I appreciate it different now: extra hands to help with the kids. Supremely important.

We went to the Park on Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Tuesday my brother was there, and we ran some errands in Chester that day and took the picture.

The times were mellow, screenless (mostly), and hot in the sun.

One day, I gathered up the kids and walked down to the water Pipe, a walk my brother and I did daily with our grandma:

We used to drink out of it from time to time, usually against the protests of the adults. This time: no drinking.

We ate at the same ancient table that five generations have eaten at...

And chilled outside for snacks:

Like a pine-scented dream, the hours pass timelessly.

The plan is to help instill the kind of wonder in the Cabin in our own kids.

Summer of Road Trips, Part 2

Five years ago, minus a five days, I wrote about a different Summer of Road Trips, before we had any tiny humans living with us.

This summer we spent even more time in the car, with drives to the Farm in Clarendon, Texas (about 40 hours), and to the Cabin near Lassen Peak (about 20 more).

On this trip, Cassius's third and Camille's first, I learned more than I had ever known about the land, the summer tract of recreation homes in the community called Mill Creek, and about how it all finally settled into the hands of the residences. We took two nice long hikes in Lassen Volcanic National Park, and even named a new constellation.

The Gillan contingent had to bail because of exposure to the virus, which left Cass without his cousins but made for quieter evenings.

Discovered Backstory

Someone gathered as much information about the current residents of the Mill Creek community, took excerpts of the Land Swap documents, and bound everything into a handy book to make available to the participating cabin owners. This is the book that helped me understand the area to which I've been visiting since I was a child.

A nearly nine mile road was carved into the wilderness in Lassen National Forest connecting CA route 36 halfway between Red Bluff and Susanville back in the 1920s. Land on this road was surveyed for recreational cabins to be used during the summer months as primarily second homes in three different waves: first in 1925, again in 1932, and lastly in 1947. By the last round of surveying, there were 122 cabin properties spread over nearly a square mile of pine forest. It takes its name, Mill Creek, by its proximity to the eponymous creek, on its way south from a spectacular water fall in Lassen Volcanic park.

People could sign up for a spot as long as they promised to build a permanent summer structure within two years and put down some money. My mother's grandfather, after flooding ruined a different summer cabin refuge in the Siskiyou mountains, swooped in in 1961 and bought the rights to the lot from a struggling pair of couples looking to divest themselves of the property.

My great grandfather and his family finished building the Cabin itself, and by 1962, a forest destination became a fixture of my mom's childhood. Later she brought her kids, myself and my brother, and occasionally we'd stay with my grandmother after my folks would leave. Now we bring our kids, and my mom is the grandmother.

In 1997 it was decided that a reasonable Land Swap could happen. The petition in the 1980s had been denied, but by '97 it seemed like a good plan. The deal didn't finish until 2005, but that's because this kind of thing is complicated.

First, residences petition for a Land Swap. The idea is that the lots, and the community of Mill Creek itself, were all on National Forest land, the lots being leased from the feds, and if residents wanted to change that, to actually own the land, they would need to: 1) get it appraised to determine its value; 2) and then 2) find a similarly priced piece of land that held value that the Forestry Service may want.

This turned into a win-win-win for everyone in the end, because the land that was found available was a part of the Ishi's homeland. Ishi was a native, the last of the Yahi, who discovered the modern world rather late in the game, eventually moving to San Francisco and living in a museum. Anyway, it seemed like the owners of the Ishi land were excited to see it transformed into a lasting heritage site, the Forestry Service was keen to do this same thing, and the residents of Mill Creek had an opportunity to get the deeds to the land itself.

By 2005, the final cost to each resident was around ten-thousand bucks, and the deal was done. Crazy.

On the edge of the wilderness, we get to return each year. How lucky are my kids? As a birthright, they have access to The Farm and The Cabin...

...hey, I think that's my privilege showing...

Second Road Trip of the Summer

As the novel coronavirus ravages most of the country, we're heading to an outpost in the wilderness.

Right now, we're in Sacramento, and soon will be leaving for the area around Mt. Lassen.

My brother still has the cubist painting I made for him back in the pre-9/11 times of 2001:

Maybe the hotspot will work well enough for us to play inline while up there...