trinityriveradventureinn

A Late Season for Steelhead

Tue, 11 Feb 2020 22:20:38 GMT

But fishing's picking up and the upper Trinity is busy!

Happy Mid-winter!

I had to use this drift boat shot because it is easily the coolest boat we've ever seen on the river. The owner (shown) also has First Love Tattoo in Red Bluff and he painted his boat. As I said when it first slid into the water across fro m us, "Wow, wow, wow." I ran for my camera.

The steelhead season's been slow to heat up but has improved recently. We had a large number of boats at the put-in a few days ago and it took a while for them to spread out and get going but that was a rarity. Usually, we might see one to three over there in the morning.

This is a good spot for practice and many times, guides give newcomers lessons right here. It's not uncommon for our guests to sit nearby to watch and learn; the bolder ones even ask for pointers as they go by. It is a pretty generous world with fly fishers and I love how they're willing to share their knowledge since with fly fishing, it's all about local knowledge and what hatches are occurring currently.

We have had Buf (boof), our newest in such a long and beloved string of great dogs, for a bit over a year now. She was a fat, round ball of fur not more than a few pounds when we picked her up in Alturas (if you're going to rescue a mutt, might as well drive way to hell and gone to pick her up). She is a mix of lab/border collie/Aussie and Great Pyrenees so we had no idea what to expect as she grew. Up until this winter, she was medium tall, lean and mostly had medium length fur. Her tail was rat-like (Steph goes crazy when I say this but it's true). But in early winter, that tail's fur grew into a magnificent, long swoosh. She has always had a wild set of standing waves across her back where the fur is much longer, as are her bloomers along the back of her legs. Thank goodness that appears to be where the Great Pyrenees kicked in and not her overall size. Even I can't believe it but at times, she's a lap dog.

Throughout summer and fall, Steph, Buf and I rode our motorcycles all over the place. We shopped in Redding because the sidecar and my bike's saddlebags hold a lot. We went up 3, over to Weed and down 5 to 299 and home, all in one day. And we went to Weaverville most Sundays. This was so Steph could go to church at a really neat place where humanity and kindness are stressed. We both need a reminder in a world gone mad that there are still good folks around and they're doing good stuff. Toward that end, Steph joined the church's Green Team to help reduce waste and green up the buildings. We invested in a bunch of LED lights for the church and Steph installed them.

Buf and I go to church, but not in. I figure if she can't go, I won't. We have bigger fish to fry which means we sit on 299 outside the church and look for log trucks and Walmart trucks and other motorcycles. She is goofy over all of them and one day, while I sat on Steph's bike with her sidecar open, Buf slowly eased up onto my lap. She's much bigger than she looks here and I can't figure out how she does it but she curls into a tiny ball when she wants to. So there she sat on my lap, lying in wait for her favorites and when they passed by, she reared up and barked her appreciation. Everyone in the church knew when several big bikes roared past and they knew Buf approved; she howled at the end of her rating barks.

She's a young girl with boundless energy so we run her alongside our bikes (Steph gets the harrowing duty of holding the leash) and we hit the Benton dog park next to the airport in Redding. What a fantastic thing dog parks are! She knows a few miles away where we're headed and even though she's secured with a harness in the back seat, she pounds us with a forepaw and starts talking; she knows.

Every day is an adventure with her and when the Kuhfahl family with their big black lab, King, spent Christmas at Sow's Ear, the two dogs ran non-stop. It was such a hoot watching them and when the whole family was in the hot tub, both dogs lunged up repeatedly, considering the odds on whether they'd fit, too, maybe. Probably not, though. They had too much fun ripping it up. We hated to see that family leave!

Winter can be a drab period here. There's not a lot of color which may explain how, just before my birthday in January, I finally decided it was time to break out the semi-permanent hair colors I've been sitting on for quite a while. I used a packet of green batik dye to color my hair in the '60s and it was really pretty. My arts & crafts teacher even sort of approved of the project (good, since I swiped the packet from class). Back then, green hair was enough to warrant mention in the Petaluma newspaper. The local happenings columnist asked if he'd been seeing things when he spotted that wild green-haired girl walking up D Street. I was on my way home from a great weekend of hitchhiking to San Francisco where I attended not one but two Fillmore Auditorium concerts (maybe The Blues Project and B. B. King; I saw both there).

No concerts loomed in the near future here, but my hair colors started calling to me so I asked Steph if he would help me apply the colors--midnight blue, jam, pink and sea glass green. He reluctantly signed on and we learned as we went. It became such fun and we tried all sorts of approaches, most of which worked. The best thing about this stuff is the colors fade true with each shampoo, giving infinite variations. Steph's patience and attention to detail were really something; he did a terrific job.

I was due to get a new driver's license the day after the big project so there I was with this outrageous combination of some strands that bled from the deep blue into jam into pink tips, others that were solid colors and around the face, more sea glass (a tribute to my old teacher). When our friend Laurie asked what DMV put down for my hair color, I said, "Drugs." Not quite accurate but also a tribute to my first coloring job. Jeez, that wasn't the first, come to think of it. I visited an old family friend in Hollywood in the early '60s and bought a cheapo hair coloring for black hair that turned mine a shocking purple. I guess it was always in my blood.

For Christmas, I gave Steph an Instant Pot. I wasn't sure he'd go for it but, like my hair coloring, he has risen to the occasion in a grand manner. Yesterday, he moved a batch of fresh yogurt from the Pot into jars. He has made the best black beans EVER; steel-cut oats with apples; pot roast; stews and much more. It's been a struggle to not eat too much because he's always whipping up something new. He also revived and increased his cast iron cookware after a brief visit to my sister Jan's. She's always used hers and we fell into the ease of non-stick but cast iron is so much better for us. Arroz con pollo was Steph's most recent dish and it was succulent. He used green and red bell peppers, lots of onion, chicken base, brown rice, freshly-ground cumin, saffron and, of course, chicken. He also has started using a pig-shaped molcajete which I have owned for almost 50 years, but I never used it for its intended purpose. Steph grinds herbs in the pig which I just get such a kick out of.

My Christmas present from Steph was another chainsaw, but it's specialized. It's a battery-operated pole saw and the chainsaw can be removed for small cutting jobs. With a very powerful battery and a long operating time per charge, it will make so many maintenance jobs that I love to do far easier.

But our big gift to both of us was a great home gym! It takes up one of the three big river-facing windows in the living room so there is no ignoring it and we're both highly smitten. It has two towers and weight stacks plus a bench that can be used in several ways and the whole thing allows us to get in an excellent workout without a long drive to a gym. We had planned to join White Wolf again in Weaverville but the drive bugged me and certainly held back how often I went. I loved it, but when Costco offered the FTX, we jumped. The older you get, the more important it is to do heavy, weight-bearing exercises. We already knew that but got a kick out of a woman we just read about who is in her 80s and she beat the crap out of an intruder with her broom. Interviewed for this story, she flexed her muscles and bragged about her workouts. You rock, lady!

LOWER RATES ARE HERE!

We have officially entered our Quiet Season for Sow's Ear. This means the nightly rate starts at $125 for 1-2 people who use 1-2 beds (cleaning drops to $65 for them) and for a party up to 6 the rate's $145 with an $85 cleaning fee. You can hang out, fish, eavesdrop on fishers (!) and have a super time with your dog. They run free and Buf is the official greeter, guaranteed to produce near-catatonic dogs by evening.

The photo above shows two intriguing items. The birdhouse that hangs over our deck had a visitor recently. A nuthatch landed on the porch and took a look at the digs inside, crawling all over while peeking outside frequently. Once it was back outside, it stayed a while more. As you can see, it has electricity already but in the hopes of actually attracting a nesting pair, I plan to remove the lights and hang it a bit higher. Just in case the nuthatch comes back with the partner, I sprinkled birdseed inside and out.

Beyond the birdhouse is a fly fisher who was bank fishing. No guide, no boat. I watched him for quite a while. I'm convinced there is nothing more peaceful and relaxing than seeing a fisher work the water unless we consider the fisher's view. I'm pretty sure he knows he's got the plum position. You can have it, too. Come on up.
See you up here, heidi

FIRE

trinityrivercabins@gmail.com (Heidi Tiura) — Wed, 08 Aug 2018 06:40:07 GMT

Living in a mandatory evac area, fire isn't our biggest fear

Although we aren't really the last two people on earth, it sure has felt like it. Our little community of Bucktail is silent. Nobody is on the river. Not one occasional lost driver turning around in our driveway.

July 23rd the Carr Fire erupted into the history books by raging along Highway 299 and the north side of Whiskeytown Lake. Each day it grew with a hellish speed and erratic determination that left firefighters grappling to make sense of it. Redding residents have always been aware of threats of fire but rested secure in the knowledge wildland fires stay in the mountains.

This monster spun that knowledge into vapor when all emergency personnel--battalions of firefighters, Sheriff's deputies, BLM and Forest Service employees, California Highway Patrol officers and every single other agency--suspended their efforts of fighting the fire and managing their areas of purview and instead rushed to vacate residences throughout the region from Whiskeytown Lake well into the city limits of Redding. In mere hours hundreds of homes and several lives were wiped out of existence.

We don't watch TV so our news source was the internet and as long as we had power, we had news. The scenes were horrifying and weighed on us as the fire expanded its reach. Steph and I both have firefighting experience--he as a pro as well as a volunteer and I as a founding member of the Loma Mar VFD east of Pescadero in the redwoods and then in Lewiston. It doesn't make much sense to live in a remote and forested area without doing so. To be a volunteer firefighter in California requires a vast number of hours of training and a lot of that was studying the science of fire. There are some generalities one can apply to make sense of what appears to be without form and from that basis, you move forward in establishing how to fight it.

But with the Carr Fire we were introduced to new behavior, new terms--pyrocumulus, fire tornadoes--and new rules which distilled down to this: Nothing you once believed can be counted on and there is no such thing as being a safe distance from the threats because in a matter of hours or days the fire will find you and your only hope is the wind, that fickle and outrageously powerful element. You may survive or you may soon be ash. It all depends on the wind.

With these sobering thoughts, Steph and I decided not to evacuate as the fire closed ranks on the mountains flanking Lewiston to the east. It wasn't a decision made easily.

We already had one fire pump, a decent amount of brush line and an adjustable nozzle. Each summer it's set up with a hard line into the river and the hose snakes along the rosemary by what I laughingly refer to as our lawn. Our place has quite a reputation thanks to Steph's fondness for firing up the pump and drenching unsuspecting paddlers as they pass. One never gets used to how cold this river is, even in the middle of a very hot summer and this certainly has been the hottest we've ever experienced. I use the pump to do a large watering very fast. Right before a mandatory evacuation was ordered throughout a large swath of Trinity, we invested in a second pump.

Mandatory evacuations usually aren't as absolute as they sound. You can stay behind if you like but when the situation is deemed truly life-threatening the area is locked down. You can get out if fire doesn't engulf your exit road but you can't get back in. From then on a kind of martial law takes place. This has all been new for us and each day has presented a changing palette of rules.

Through Katie Quinn, whose husband Mel is the LVFD Chief, we've received community emails with updates. She's passed on information regarding air support to fight the fire because these mountains are so steep and heavily wooded that a land assault is next to impossible. You soon learn the sound of the various tankers, helos, spotter planes and the days when none flew were sickening. Inversions held smoke in and that grounded aircraft. On days when it sounded as though we were living through the Blitz, we took heart. But each day, the fire NE of us grew and came closer.

The power was off for hours at a time so we minimized opening the refrigerator or freezer and since no power meant no internet and that meant no news nor phones since our cell phones only operate over the internet here, we needed a generator. This was a purchase we debated for years but it was made clear we needed one so we did what anyone with a brain and the ability to heft their weight and then some would do. We stole one. That was our neighbor Carolyn's and she's a friend but Steph was anxious to let her know what we'd done. When she finally called he spilled the beans. That's fine he was told and he was relieved to hear it. Then he explained she'd have to buy it back from us when we're done.
"I just hope you give me a good price," she said.

One of the many things we couldn't do was send or receive mail or packages but we did order a generator of our own. Due 8/13 we hope it gets a chance to be introduced to its new home.

Some of our neighbors have beautiful yards and they take great pride in them. Our closest neighbor, Larry, is an organic gardener and he's turned a small parcel into a marvelous little farm complete with an orchard, raised beds with vegetables, lots and lots of potted plants and flowers, two pygmy goats and some chickens. A neighbor up the road was enlisted to feed the animals and we were instructed to let the goats loose if the fire got so close and fierce that we had to leave. I took on the watering and was delighted to find Larry planted heirloom tomatoes along with many other vegetables. They've augmented our diet nicely.

Once I was watering Larry's it seemed the next places down the road deserved it. Then the next. Then the next. The butterfly bushes were a priority since they feed so many creatures. Today I left at around 11 and finally rolled back in on my bike with my bucket of tools around 3. My tools deserve mention: I carried a crescent wrench because almost everyone here had leaky faucets. (All have crappy hoses. Those new soft hoses that Costco sold earlier in the summer are IT. I bought one and am a solid fan.) Some had decent nozzles while others didn't so I brought one of my beloved brass nozzles. I needed pruners for some plants; stuff like that. And a 38 caliber pistol. While that's not usually in my gardening tools, when I stopped at one of the houses a few days ago I heard loud banging upstairs even though the owner was long gone. Louder than a coon might make ransacking the place, it prompted me to knock and yell the owner's name for no good reason.

That was unnerving enough that I rode my bike back home to ask Steph to call 911. Several units rolled on the call and they were able to walk right in but found no one but a cat. She doesn't have a cat. So either someone was squatting up there, with or without a cat, or the place is haunted Big Time. Either way, I brought my gun because there is little that's more unsettling than knocking around deserted homes and hearing what you shouldn't be hearing.

Steph and I wet down our place each day as far as we could reach with the fire pumps. As I sprayed high into the way-too-high to reach tall oaks and evergreens I kept saying to myself, "Pissing up a slack rope." It was as good an effort as we could muster, especially soaking stacked wood piles and the lower vegetation. The pumps would definitely help against the embers that can travel miles from an active fire and ignite an entirely new area. We could eliminate them and we could present a considerable front for oncoming flames but for how long?

And what about our animals? Every time things got dicey we sequestered them inside. We discussed how to load the cats. Who would drive what. We'd loaded our motorcycles in the trailer and it was attached to the truck. Steph declared I'd leave with the truck and the animals first and he'd follow later. I quit arguing and figured I'd do whatever I needed to do. Then there was the Apache. I considered moving her to Weaverville before the lockdown but where do you leave a '57 Chevy pickup so she'll be safe? I figured I'd throw a bicycle in the Apache and run her several miles away and then ride back if there was a need and I had time. The Subaru had the rest of the essentials the truck didn't have and that would be Steph's escape. With all of this sort of decided, we resumed our routines.

This has been my summer to propagate. I have pots filled with jasmine, rosemary, crape myrtle and lavender cuttings. I worked with my worm farm and did my best to keep the frogs from infiltrating it. They remain tough competitors. While Steph worked around our place clearing the brush we've known needed to go but never quite had or made the time to get rid of it until now, I watered. We witnessed the Daily Afternoon Gut-Wrencher from our deck on the fireline closest to us. As afternoon winds grew and the smoke exploded and air fire power attacked it, we sat there taking pictures and quietly rehearsing steps to take should it come to it.

Scenes of Redding's carnage, the devastation around Whiskeytown Lake and other fires we've witnessed ran in a loop sometimes and I tried to see ways to fight and survive. I knew Steph was wrapped up in logistics a good deal of the time. Nothing spoken but I knew from his expression and the manner in which he walked around outside. Step One. Step Two. Step 2-B when 2 fails...

We had a good amount of food in the refrigerator and freezers but I run a constant inventory in my mind because I shop in Redding. Deciding what to cook, what needs to be eaten, how to make something last is a constant when one lives at sea on a boat and this has been pretty similar. The cabbage that has browning edges is trimmed and that's thrown into the salad to stretch the lettuce mix. Thank goodness we have an extra dried Parmesan and Romano because it adds to just about everything. Cut down on eggs? Stretch the tomatoes? (That was before I began to bring home the harvest falling off the neighbors' plants.)

Often guests leave food behind. Sometimes it goes to the dogs, sometimes to the neighbors and if we can't decide it might end up in a freezer. Thanks to this combination we had some very eclectic breakfasts. An omelet featured goat cheese with herbs left behind by women about to hike into the Alps. It was the same with strawberries, but a whole box of corn dogs remains frozen and untouched. We'd probably have hit them right before eating pine cones but think they would be better served going to a corn dog aficionado.

We're much like Brits. Stiff upper lip. We'll weather this storm. But not without our toddies. We stocked up before the lockdown so the Afternoon Gut Wrenchers became cocktail time. I considered this medicinal and frequently thought of my mother and our great old friend Ardie. Both would have just lost it at the news we decided to stick it out and so in this regard I suppose it's good they are gone.

We set up our firefighting clothing within easy reach. Over the many days, we didn't speak a whole lot. No room for extraneous words mostly, but every once in a while Steph would remind me of solid fire fighting advice.
"If you have to use a fog [spray pattern] to get out, you've waited too long."
"Remember to watch your line." Brush fire hose isn't jacketed like structure hose which is the only reason we can haul a couple of hundred feet of charged line but it is vulnerable.
"Make sure your shirt under the canvas one is cotton. No synthetic." In high heat synthetics melt.

So does mascara. In the 70s I was on the nozzle on a propane tank fire drill at CDF in Belmont not far from Hillcrest Juvenile Hall. (I still consider it a miracle I never ended up in Hillcrest, as did my parents.) Two hose teams brought in overlapping fogs. The goal was to push back the deafening fire that was thundering against a cinder block wall and back toward us. Once we were past the valve the chief could turn the gas off. He jumped the gun, reached through the fog and the flames erupted through the opening and around us before they cut the supply line. Being the only woman to go through the training back then no one had thought to warn me about makeup.

Four nights ago, we went to bed after having watched bombers carpet the forested ridge to the NE with red retardant. That was the first time the sky glowed a fierce orange but still no visible flames. When I went to bed I rested my head on the pillow and realized I had a perfect little view through the bedroom and open bathroom window of the most active fire spot we'd been watching from the deck for all that time. And it was then that I saw the first flames.

We learned later fire crews put down a 20,000 foot hose lay to get up that mountain. As far as we know, this is nothing anyone on the multiple-state crew had ever done before and it was only possible by augmenting the flow with engines interspersed along the way. The basic principle of hydraulics is the farther you are from the pump and the higher you go, the more pressure you lose. Yes, it's nearly impossible to fight a fire such as this on the ground and yet ground crews have toiled in conditions that are dreadful to contemplate. Almost every day has been well over 100 degrees and many--far too many--were over 110. Dozer operators clawed a wide track up there that looks as though an interstate highway miraculously appeared.

Thinking about it, many miracles on miracles occurred throughout the two weeks and just today the threat to Lewiston has lessened considerably. This is especially beneficial since the Mendocino Complex Fires have become California's largest wildfire in history and much of the air support we benefited from has flown to the south. And this evening as I sat writing, we learned the evacuation order for the Lewiston area has been rescinded. People can come home. They have homes waiting for them. Some of them even have ripe tomatoes.

We have vast appreciation for all of the agencies' personnel who took part and are still taking part in this battle. And for our friend Taylor Santo who provided the best fire intel via sites I might have drowned in before getting to the pertinent links. She also has given us up to date back-channel information thanks to her firefighting background, equipment and computer brilliance.

And then there is Travis Finch who owns Velocity Technology, our ISP up here. What began as his high school project now provides internet, TV service and is launching a vast fiber optic system for Trinity County. Without his tireless efforts to keep the internet functioning we'd have been the dark in more ways than one.

And finally, the friends and family who have reached out have been heartwarming and delightful. I finally discovered a good use for Facebook which allowed me to post pictures and updates for many in an instant. That was so cool. We've heard from folks all the way back to our days at Neah Bay fighting the gray whale hunt. People who stayed with us 10 years ago; many from our whale watching days. And a select few who have lived through similar experiences and whose counsel was grounding: You'll get through this. It will get better. I have said before the guests we've had this summer (before we had to send them packing) have been so remarkable that we have the beginnings of deep bonds with many and they've been in close contact throughout.

All of these people have made a tough time better and we smile in thinking of them but our biggest thanks of all go to the wind . For any number of reasons or no reason at all, you let us remain safe. Thank You.

And now it's time to write checks and sort clothing and household items to donate to those who didn't fare as well. We mourn the people, animals, homes and so much more lost and our best way to go forward is to clear defensible spaces, help one another, be open and question everything.
It's the right way to live and as long as we're here, we might as well do it right.

First Salmon Sighting; Watching Beaver & Otter; Butterflies and Some Great Guests

trinityrivercabins@gmail.com (Heidi Tiura) — Thu, 28 Jun 2018 02:11:16 GMT

With a very special story about Squid, the cat

This is another of my very long newsletters but I haven't written one in quite a while so maybe take it in stages. A page a day should see you into early August but each story pays dividends.

I'm starting this newsletter with stories about recent guests. Some have been here a full week which provided the opportunity to get to know them a bit as well as for them to really settle into and enjoy Sow's Ear and the area. Dan Hamilton and his brothers were here in May. Dan is a master brewer and involved in the crafting of Buoy Beer in Astoria, Oregon. I lived there for several years so he also brought a bit of the reunion spirit my way, along with some of his great beer.

The brothers were quite a kick, telling stories that may or not have been entirely accurate, but they often resulted in peals of laughter; fishing; touring the area and hanging out on the porch. That porch charms a lot of people, including the guys. Here is what Dan wrote after leaving: "S ow's Ear is exactly our sort of place for the kind of annual reunion our family needs. About every minute or so one of us would comment on the peaceful and ever-present music of the Trinity River . I especially took in the layered soundtrack of the abundant bird life. As we were getting ready to leave, I set my two brothers on the road early because I wanted to sit alone on the front porch to soak up the views and river music."

The Sisters dazzled us for several reasons. They are a group of nine women who attended grade school in Santa Rosa. Now in their mid-fifties, they have convened from all over California, Oregon and farther every two years since reaching adulthood. I must mention #9 couldn't make it this year due to family obligations but she was mentioned throughout the weekend as though being conjured by the rest. It's well-documented that people who enjoy longterm relationships generally are happier and live longer. They can be less judgmental and find it easier to let small aggravations go rather than dwelling on them. Knowing this, I was eager to get to know them and hear their stories but have to admit I botched noting some of their names so I'm excluding all of them.

Minutes after arrival, they'd brought in and stowed all of their food and gear. They had everything you could possibly imagine necessary for a 3-night sleepover, except cots. Actually, they didn't technically need cots but two of them slept on the porch. We'd just purchased ultra-cool adult-sized cots that are wonderfully supportive and comfy and can also firmly hook together for bunk beds, so we offered them and they were readily accepted. Those cots are available for all of Sow's Ear's guests and I'm pretty sure kids will gravitate to them. As you'll see below, Bisco sure has.

Each cot has an entire pocket storage system that hangs from the side. It can hold clothing, Calvin and Hobbes books, water bottles (or a few beers), flashlights and an arsenal of squirt guns. Well, that's how I'll pack the pockets. Tomorrow is the Strawberry full moon and I have my first cataract surgery in the morning (those eagle eyes of age 40 sure took a long hike with no return in my 50s). Steph and I plan to put the cots on our lawn to moon gaze but he may find it's a bit damp out there; he doesn't know about the squirt guns.

The sisters' individuality stood out as much as their unshakable bond of love and respect for each other. One rode her BMW motorcycle out from Colorado to attend, but that was nothing. She and her husband have ridden their motorcycles all the way to the Arctic Circle, camping along the way. A few years ago, they rode all the way to South America. Holy Moly.

Another began telling us about her life by saying she's a mother of two girls (all who have kids are richly proud of them), but for several years when she was younger, she pushed jets on the tarmac. She holds those years as some of her best and most thrilling; certainly the most unique.

One is a breast cancer survivor who now works in the field; who better to understand the challenges faced with a cancer diagnosis? She was one of two of the group who took me up on the free stand-up paddleboard lessons and their adventurous spirit was obvious. (Not surprisingly, they were also the porch sleepers.) We were at Lewiston Lake and there were intermittent squalls with powerful winds that day, but after a brief lesson, they headed out unfazed and not only stayed upright, they zipped right along. We don't see that every day.

Several have worked in offices and stores; one managed an office. And one who planned to have kids but discovered she was infertile has adopted 7 kids. She and her husband live in Redding and the other sisters all remarked on how their house is immaculate and runs with a level of efficiency rarely seen elsewhere. If you didn't know they had 7 kids you couldn't tell when you entered their home. When I asked how she does it I was told, "They all have jobs and they do them." The recurring thread of strong bonds was everywhere. I asked how she and her husband ended up with SEVEN KIDS but I already had a hint gleaned for how we at one time had 6 cats and 2 dogs. Someone needs a home and love and care and you can provide it. The 7th kid's circumstances were especially heartwarming. In a family with lots of girls, their boy "needed a brother."

The Eschens were a quiet and somewhat reclusive family of five who spent hours on our patio, reading books in the shade and quietly conversing. Perhaps "somewhat reclusive" isn't accurate. They appeared to be fully self-contained, the same as RVs that have the beds, a toilet, shower and stove. As such, they didn't need us and we understood this. Some guests just want to hang. They frequented the hot tub a lot at night and we could hear them happily chatting and laughing. That is one of the best sounds for us because it means their vacation is what it should be: relaxing and fun.

Tom, Colleen, Linda and Ken spent a week with us and their patterns were soon established. Colleen and Linda fell in love with the porch at Sow's Ear and they set their up command center with lounges to maximize the river view and sounds, cell phones (we finally have cell service here via the internet!), a tablet, books and beverages. They loved watching the daily parade of deer that come to eat the honeysuckle that grows up the big pine tree in front. I've nurtured that honeysuckle for years but it's been a struggle. Any other honeysuckle in the world is an invasive climber but oh, no, not this one. So I put chicken wire around it the first 6 feet and occasionally wired branches higher, hoping it would go higher instead of allowing itself to be consumed by the deer. Over ten years later, it has received the message and is finally going up. I trotted into our place and said with astonishment, "Baby! The honeysuckle on the pine is finally going up !"
Sometimes, the excitement around here is almost too much to handle.

The ladies also walked daily and their meanders usually were across the bridge and over to the Bucktail put-in. They had pleasant chats with the neighbors, fitting in as though they'd lived here for years. Tom's and Ken's activities were fairly covert; I suspect they were plotting a coup but can't say more. They went out exploring but stayed inside a good deal. Peaceful naps were perhaps daily but when we did run into each other they had lots of questions and were lively conversationalists. All four were captivated by the incredible bird calls and songs that fill the air.

On their last day here we had them all down for a river sit and some wine. Their bonds are truly remarkable, dating back many decades. Long and happy marriages ("Just one each?" I asked with incredulity as though they had just told me they flew in last night from Mars). Well-adjusted kids. The innate ability to let much of life's frustrations drift away without letting them cause mischief.

All evening river sits offer the chance of spotting river otters who live directly across from our place and recently, we've been seeing beavers. Both species are tricky to spot at first, but it gets easier as you notice their pattern of swimming. We're always curious which leads to new discoveries which led to Steph reading more on beavers this afternoon. He learned beavers show more of their bodies than otters and are stouter. With river otters, we usually just see the head unless it comes out of the water and moseys about on the bank.

Old timers around here have told us about otters across the river directly across from our place who had a ball in the winter on a makeshift snow slide! They'd climb way up the bank, flop on their bellies and rip down the icy track to the water, landing with a grand splash. We haven't seen that yet but are well beyond ready to witness such wild antics.

Both species glide smoothly in the water and if we're lucky, they'll climb onto the bank so we can check their tails to confirm the species (much wider tail on the beavers). The other day, everyone got excited watching what turned out to be a very large and well-fed beaver and that was our reminder to break out our binoculars. (I need to put mine in my cot storage pockets but it'll be tight with all of those squirt guns.) About that well-fed part: I watched a beaver a few years ago as it swam by with a very large tree branch. It headed downriver then turned and came upstream before it and the branch disappeared into a hole we hadn't even noticed before. When docking a boat in any sort of wind and current, a prudent captain does the same thing. Round to, head upstream which affords better control and head into home with dinner.

Some folks can observe nature and be non-plussed. We don't have much in common with them but Tom, Colleen. Linda and Ken were in sync. With our excitement over the shared beaver adventure neatly tucked in all of our memory banks, they headed back to Sow's Ear and Steph and I went in to cook dinner. Basking in the lovely visits on both sides of the Trinity, we both declared our guests were an elixir, a tonic for the soul. You can't be around these people without feeling at ease and better for the experience.

Our cat Alvin took up birding this spring and proved to be very good at it. I'm still mad at him for this. In order to strengthen our riverbank, we decided to let the native grasses and mints grow taller and Alvin spent hours down there, hiding in the dense greenery, or as Alvin put it, his duck blind. Every spring, we see squadrons of tiny ducks and geese with one or both parents. Each brood is large because there are many predators. We didn't want to add to the threats but Alvin was patient and ruthless.

When I walked into the kitchen and stepped on a poor little dead duckling my first words were, "DAMN IT, ALVIN!" Next came a larger gosling. Then another duck. But at least one very lucky duckling survived the trip inside our cabin. Alvin was nowhere to be seen but I saw something small and fuzzy move over by the window. There was a serious little duck with a large mosquito hawk in its beak. I guess it figured as long as it was in here, might as well do some hunting, too. I cupped the bird in my hands, took it down to the river and tossed it in. It dove so deeply I worried it might not hook up with its mother but she quickly got into position with the rest of the ducklings and when our visitor surfaced they were reunited and beat feet for the distant shore.

Knowing we couldn't allow Alvin's massacres to continue, Steph cut down the grasses until the birds had grown larger. They're now big enough to put up a better fight but we've noticed they aren't hanging out off our bank as much as before, even though it's quickly filling back in with tall plants. To make sure Alvin understands our zero-tolerance policy, I opened his invitation from Ducks Unlimited and tore it up right in front of his eyes. He was, as usual, unimpressed.

Alvin takes his cues from Alfred E. Newman ("What? Me worry?"). The thing around his neck is his house arrest ankle bracelet/tracking device but it kept falling off. OK, it's really his shock collar which allows him no more than a 90' radius from the center of our cabin because he ranged too far up the mountain where danger lurks. I wish the collar had a zapper button I could push when he goes birding but it doesn't.

With way more going on than I can possibly cover here, plus Squid's momentous events (below), we haven't done much river watching looking for salmon. This also takes a good eye and patience. You look for a longish shadow that doesn't appear to be moving and then does (this sometimes results in many minutes spent stalking what does indeed turn out to be a rock). Or the fish can be swimming ever so slowly, working upstream. Yesterday, Steph and I took a break from chores and sat outside. He got the first salmon spotting of the year award when he found about a 24-incher not far from our bank.

Beaver, otter and fish are all interesting to observe but butterflies are another story. They mass around our gardens and with the butterfly bushes just opening their nectar-rich blossoms, we have some very happy butterflies of all sizes. There are the tiny periwinkle-colored ones that sometimes appear in vast clouds. Monarchs; black, yellow and sapphire blue ones. When I cut a fuchsia-toned cluster of oleander blooms, one of those blue-spotted guys that had been feeding on the bush perked up and followed me to Sow's Ear where I planned to put the cutting in a bud vase. It sipped nectar as we walked.

Several years ago, I rooted small branches of butterfly bush and several of them are now by the hot tub and well over my head high. Steph took the picture of me watering yesterday to show their very first blossoms of the year. They started opening in the afternoon and throughout summer we'll see increasing numbers of the graceful, fluttering insects.

I don't always hit a home run with plants, and they take a very long time to settle in, but those butterfly bushes are a big win. They feed us by attracting and feeding the butterflies.

Next comes a small frog story. About an inch long, I estimate. We have big, fat toads who appear mostly in the night but the little frogs are day trippers and somehow they got wind of my worm farm which lives inside to shield it from summer's heat. I've removed the lid to add compost and found a frog squirreled away. These aren't fishing worms. Nor are they frog worms. They're my deluxe compost eaters and fertilizer makers and I'm pretty protective of them so out go the frogs but man, are they sneaky. When I removed a couple of trays to scoop out some finished worm castings, I discovered a frog had squirmed in there, too; it was a tight fit.

Try explaining to a frog about You Catch 'Em ponds, drawing the correlation to the worm farm and driving in the message they are not to go fishin' in my pond. They look at me as though to say, "Did you just fly in from Mars?"

My day Tuesday became by backfilling the grave Steph dug for our regal flame-point cat Squid, but the job wasn't a sad event. Allow me to explain.

Squid has quite a history. She was born in the Moss Landing Cemetery and was surprisingly independent even as a young kitten. She came to us via Vickie, the crazy cat lady who was the source of two of our cats. We'd come in from a whale watching cruise every so often and there Vick would be, a kitten in her arms.

Now, at nearly 15 years old and with weakening kidneys over the last few years, Squid's needed special meds daily but she's been well worth it and until last week, she thrived. Royalty commands a lot of attention and she's received it in abundance. It's been pretty cool getting to live with a real queen.

Squid's plummet from vibrant health took a day. She became incontinent, lost interest in any delectable food presented and skulked around like a fugitive. A lady does not accept the indignities of incontinence gladly.

The next morning, we called Neal, our vet, for the dreadful one-way trip but he was booked all of that day (Friday) and so we all had to wait until Monday afternoon. Throughout the weekend, Steph and I were lost in our own thoughts.

I went over every possibility for her rapid decline and kidney failure did seem most obvious. My only other guess was a longshot--maybe she had a wickedly powerful urinary tract infection--but her kidneys appeared to be the culprit and Neal and Steph arranged for euthanization without comparing notes. It seemed that obvious.

Before heading to the vet, Steph dug the grave in a peaceful, shady and beautiful spot under the elegant silk tree that is about to burst forth with its puffs of what appear to be bright pink silken threads. I mulled over which colorful fabric to choose to lightly wrap Squid in. I kept forgetting to breathe and had to force conscious deep breaths, expelling the air through pursed lips. Though Steph and I had spoken little, we covered the things we could do to make her as comfortable as possible. We did them all and came as much to terms with her loss as one can. Who doesn't want more happy times?

Squid became a seasoned traveler when we spent much of last ski season in Lake Tahoe. The commutes back and forth were nearly 6 hours one way and with 4 cats and 2 large dogs in one vehicle along with us, she established her place and no one challenged her. You just didn't do that. She'd occasionally rise, stretch, walk around and check the views out the window. She was into it.

As it has been with all of our animals, their names morph into others and sometimes they have several. Recently, I realized Squid's plaintive little cry is very close to a distant hawk's call. Pyooohh, pyooohh...

I held Squid/Distant Hawk on the short drive to the vet. As it was with the Tahoe runs, she was engaged in everything we passed, scrutinizing the deer, the horses, the trees. I agonized over how such an alert life could almost be over and at the vet's, I voiced my concern and asked through tears was there any other possible cause for her symptoms?

Shifting gears from euthanasia, Neal asked for a full detailing of the previous four days. I said she started peeing little bits and sometimes puddles as she walked around our cabin with a confused air. We cleaned up the spots and placed towels on our bed because she usually sleeps between our heads but she wanted nothing to do with us.

Next day, she remained incontinent, drank very little water, ate nothing and started napping in odd spots in the garden. This pattern continued all weekend and she noticeably lost weight in mere hours. Would she even make it to Monday?

Neal took her temperature and it was up a few degrees. As she battled him, fiercely resisting the physical, she let loose with her signature growl which is more akin to a really mean pit bull's growl. I pointed out how alert she was on the drive and noted her strength.

"You're right," he nodded. "This does not strike me as a cat who's ready to go." I swelled with hope but Steph remained cautious. He's protective of Squid and of me so it was doubly hard for him to face what appeared to be inevitable.

Neal decided we should leave Squid for a few hours while he hydrated her subcutaneously and then captured a urine sample so we went home and once again barely said a thing to each other but I was thrilled. She had a chance and she is a fighter. She is Distant Hawk, after all, and that means she's a warrior.

When we picked Squid up that evening, Neal showed us the urine specimen that would travel from Lewiston out to Eureka and down the coast before ending up at the overnight lab in Sacramento and producing results by morning. The liquid was dark brown, not the lightly-tinged yellow of a healthy cat. Neal said it might just be that Squid had a UTI. Steph asked if it would show with such dark urine and Neal nodded. "Absolutely."

I gathered her in my arms and headed out the door before anyone had second thoughts because she and I didn't. Steph gave her a shot of antibiotics upon arrival home and she even ate a bit before stretching out for a nap but we wouldn't be out of the woods until morning. Bisco was due for her rabies shot so Steph took her in at 0830 for two reasons: she needed the shot to renew her license and we have a deep and pathetic belief veterinarians should receive as much of our money as possible. He made sure my phone was on in case the news was in from the lab. Again, my breathing was forced as I tried to be in the moment, even if the moment was brutally painful.

The news was good. Her kidneys have weakened more but she has stronger meds for them now, along with a powerful antibiotic for the UTI. But she needed to eat and hadn't consumed nearly enough. Late last night, I pondered what we could do before remembering Steph force-fed our other warrior cat, Katmandu, for months as he revived from the devastation of 6 months of chemo. Mixing the food with water, Steph filled a large syringe, wrapped Katmandu in a towel and fed him. He did this 4 or 5 times a day for all of those months; no wonder he's my hero.

So Squid got her first forced feeding this morning and we both were involved holding down our little bundle of joy. She got a lot in despite spitting a lot out and I went to some bother washing her nicely before she was released. She had the predictable response to the feeding. It's a very good thing that a cat can't hire a hit man. But her anger passed and minutes after the feeding, she was grooming on the deck and once again tolerated our presence.

With her afternoon feeding, I had an epiphany: let Distant Hawk clean all that food off herself. She was out on the deck, eating as it were, for quite a while. I'd say this was at least a 100-calorie job. Once the antibiotics take hold and she's gotten the solid boost of the feedings, we're sure she'll do it the old way and fire us.

I can't wait to hear her purring between our heads tonight. Every so often, she does what we call a sing-purr. It's a several syllable lilting sigh that ends with a delightfully happy trill. Hearing that, you know everything's going to be okay. And it is.

It Took a Kid and An Enormous Fish to Make Me Write This Post

trinityrivercabins@gmail.com (Heidi Tiura) — Thu, 12 Oct 2017 00:49:05 GMT

Writing is great; finding the time is trickier. (The span between my last newsletter and this might be a good indication.)

Some of you have wondered what happened to our newsletter and as I considered all that's gone on even in the past several months, I found it daunting to attempt an explanation complete with solely a roundup of the more germane items, let alone my typical roundabout way of telling one story that includes several more and ultimately takes a very long time. But this story is a good one and I can tackle it fairly succinctly, so here goes:

What kid doesn't dream of catching a big fish? Make the kid someone whose grandfather is quite a fisherman and a man the kid is very fond of and you have the goal of a childhood and maybe a lifetime. That was the position Noah Telford found himself in last week when he and his brother and their parents arrived for several days at Sow's Ear. Noah is the fisher of the family and he got right to it while his younger brother Ari, the social director, set about meeting the locals. Ari takes his job seriously; on just their first morning here, he trotted up to Steph, whom he had met earlier, and exclaimed, "I STILL haven't met Heidi!"

Noah had no luck fishing that day so I told him how guests from Holland had located a productive spot on our bank and brought fresh trout up to Sow's Ear for their breakfasts. It was worth checking out and that's what Noah did the next morning. Long before we actually saw Noah's fish, Ari came barreling past our place, announcing Noah had caught a huge fish. "Probably a salmon!" he yelled out breathlessly as he ran up to their cabin.

Things happened pretty fast, but I think Ari then ran back to his brother next, grabbed the fish on its leader, and came to show us. He was so sweetly and genuinely excited for Noah and still maintained fishing was not for him, but when it comes to PR work, Ari is a natural.

Neither Steph nor I knew what kind of fish Noah had caught, other than enormous. It makes people, especially those up here fishing, laugh when we tell them we don't fish because we don't have time for it. We have fished, but mostly ocean. We will fish again, but I'm pretty sure we'll get into fly fishing here when we clear our calendars enough to pursue it. As we already know, it is an all-consuming sport that mixes passion and skill with entomology. We'll have a steep learning curve except for the passion part.

We figured Noah's fish was a trout and guessed it could be a German brown even though they are often described as ugly. Compared with a rainbow trout, or a coho or king salmon, maybe they are ugly, but look at the deep greens and black spots, each surrounded by a halo. I'd say it's an attractive fish, but at the time, my main question was whether it was dead. The boys said yes but when I lifted it, I felt a solid jolt. Noah, Steph and I joined forces to dispatch the living fish and I began a gutting and packaging for travel lesson with Noah soon after because the family planned to BBQ it that night after they got home.

I showed Noah the slow version of cleaning his fish. He slit it starting at the anal opening, working up to the gills. Next, he cut up and out from the base of the gills. We pulled out and examined the guts rather than tearing out the gills and guts in one move. That's faster, but our way stretched out the job and allowed him to see how things were attached. As we worked, Noah told me about his grandfather's love of fishing and how he couldn't wait to tell him what had just happened on the Trinity. I was impressed by the boy's thoughtful nature and obvious affection for his grandfather.

Meanwhile, Noah's parents and Steph did some searches and discovered this was a German brown trout. Browns started arriving to the US through stocking programs as early as 1893; they came from Europe, North Africa and western Asia. (They're aggressive fish and we've been told biologists would like to see them removed from the rivers, so I guess Noah did his part.)

I posted the picture above on our Trinity River Adventure Inn Cabins's Facebook site and Scott Dias, a fishing guide and owned of Old Bridge Rafting who knows this river well, was quite impressed. He noted, " Wow; there's not too many browns like that in the river anymore. That's a nice one." What kid wouldn't love to hear that about his catch?

According to the California Department of Fish and Wildlife, "brown trout are known to be wary and targeting larger fish is widely considered a challenging, yet rewarding fishing opportunity." Ari surely has included this line in his press release (along with Scott's, above) following their Trinity adventure and I know Noah would agree.

Reservations for our Trinity River cabins have been brisk and varied. We've housed or are housing a helitack fire crew that was temporarily sent up here from Mammoth; a very sweet family that included three generations who were here to have a big memorial for one of their beloved matriarchs; a man who is heading up the demolition and remediation of homesites' grounds after the homes were lost in a very fast-moving fire around Labor Day; and fishers who are heading up now to seek and possibly even catch some prized Trinity River steelhead. That season is just getting into gear and although many dates are already booked, we do have openings.

Our Dunsmuir Alpine Fish & Ski Haus has hosted some very happy Upper Sacramento River and McCloud River fishers this fall. It's gotten nibbles for part of the Christmas holiday week but it often books in its entirety. If that's of interest, the Mt. Shasta Ski Park is probably your daily destination. Its sale was completed last spring and although we won't be teaching skiing there this year (we have Lake Tahoe and Alpine Meadows and Squaw Valley in our sights this winter), the ski park will definitely have some cool new things to offer and it is a great family-friendly place.

So, if you haven't booked yet, get moving! Drop us an email or call us at 530.778.3444. See you up here, somewhere. Happy Trails, heidi

Labor Day Weekend Reflections on a Dragonfly

trinityrivercabins@gmail.com (Heidi Tiura) — Sun, 04 Sep 2016 22:58:09 GMT

Was it dead? The dragonfly was upside down as it floated by me

I was giving a SUP lesson to a guest when I saw the dragonfly. We have an eddy on our side of the river and the beautiful creature was slowly being transported upstream. I had my student gently push it toward me so I could carefully lift it. Although it was motionless, I thought maybe since its mouth was above water it hadn't drowned, but who knows how long it had been stuck that way, its gold filigree wings serving as shackles binding it to the current?

As my paddleboard student worked up and down along the shoreline, getting a feel for the board while kneeling, I took the dragonfly to our pumphouse roof and gently turned it right side up, leaving it there after studying its body. It was magnificent. A truly breathtakingly stunning insect in full bloom. It was about 5" across, its body the color of celestial marvels, but the wings were what held my eye longest. I've studied them and drawn their distinctive curves and veins for our embroidered clothing, always captivated by the beauty and mystery. How can something that weighs no more than a whisper and appears so fragile jettison the dragonfly at such dizzying speeds?

The dragonfly's life span is brief. After crawling up from the river bottom, they break out of their fierce-looking carapace. It served them so well over winter in the murky world where they were one of the tiniest but toughest predators, but the next stage is airborne and the heavy exterior is left behind.

Free of their river armor and terribly vulnerable, they unfurl those tiny wings and if they're lucky, the moist body and wings dry so they can fly away before a predator snatches them. For a few glorious months, they conduct aerial ballets, feed and mate.

Dragonfly sex can be wickedly violent and if the large but inert dragonfly on our pumphouse was a female, it's possible a male had caused her fall into the water. Females lay their eggs on plants in the water, or directly onto the water. It's possible she blew the touch and go of laying an egg, although it could be a bit early for that. Since this one was upside down, I lean toward a mishap with a male, but who knows?

By late fall, the brief life of a dragonfly is over. The airborne river sprites are gone and the only dragonfly we might see is a dead one on the ground.

I was able to be a part of one dragonfly's very first day as we know them. Several years ago, our cat Alvin trotted into the cabin with a newly-hatched dragonfly in his mouth. I got it away from him and held it in the sun, watching the dewy creature move ever so slightly. Were there internal injuries? Would it be able to fly? I took the picture you see at the top of this newsletter and then placed the vulnerable little thing up high in a planter where birds wouldn't easily see it. After several minutes, it launched from the greenery and zoomed away, taking a tiny part of me up into the sky on its virgin flight. What joy!

After my SUP student was standing and paddling with ease, I left her to it and checked out the pumphouse dragonfly. Still no movement. But I've rescued a couple of dragonflies from the river on kayak trips and each time, I put them on my straw hat so they could dry off and fly away if they lived. They did, so maybe this one would as well. I placed a pot of petunias by it as cover and checked back a few times over the next hour. On my last visit, the ER was empty.

That was about three weeks ago. Recently, Steph and I watched twilight drift down as we sat on the patio. Dragonflies were everywhere; they skimmed the river, swirled in the air closer to eye level and as we gazed up, we saw what was for me the largest concentration of them ever. Not even in the fall as we run the river and are surrounded by huge masses of the dazzling golden-winged acrobats have I seen the sheer numbers as we did a week ago. They spun so high and in such an astounding, fluid mass that it looked fake. But it wasn't fake and it was wonderful.

There was a time when I might have waxed eloquent on the possibility this marvelous display was for my efforts on behalf of waterlogged dragonflies, but not now. They were living their lives completely free of the complications of human thought. They are wild and don't think about us. It is as it should be for them.

Just the briefest memory of that twilight spectacle is enough to give me an aerial view of the magical event. Maybe it's because I have flown paragliders off mountain tops and ridden the air's currents over wild country. Once, I shared the sky with two bald eagles doing the same thing, wafting back and forth on the thermals, below me . So I have some experience that might help spirit my thoughts skyward.
But it's entirely possible that I rise solely on the strength of thousands of sparkling gossamer wings.

Finally! Water Fun with Guests is Here, plus big news about the Bucktail ramp and La Grange Cafe

trinityrivercabins@gmail.com (Heidi Tiura) — Thu, 21 Jul 2016 20:48:40 GMT

...and our dogs have taken up running the river on SUPs!

This is the briefest of newsletters because July is our busiest month and I am lucky if I get to half of my outside and office chores before hitting the river or lake with guests. Here are some important highlights:

Bucktail access to put in or take out river craft is now limited to weekends only into September. Trinity River Restoration Project is increasing wetlands above us and will be changing the entrance road to the river. In the meantime, they're adding an alcove just above the Bucktail bridge so we can launch rafts on weekdays. The river's flow may preclude retrievals there, but the main run we do is from our place to Steel Bridge Road, so this works for us.

La Grange Cafe in Weaverville is open again! New owners took over earlier this year and we just had a delightful dinner there. Our server was Casey, who was professional, efficient and friendly. Perfect combination. Call them at 530.623.5325 for reservations, or go to their Facebook page. Ignore the sites that say La Grange is closed.

Our cabins are pretty solidly booked, but there are some openings. Your best shot is to call us for availability, or wait until the middle of August. The Miner's just got a beautiful new river porch railing with stainless steel horizontal wires below the handrail and custom-framed lattice at both ends. It's the same design as Alpen Glow's deck and it's fantastic. I'd love to put a photo of it in here, but my porch shots are all safely in a new phone I can't decipher and the river's calling; I am nothing if not subservient to the river gods.

We are currently taking the Cowells--some of our favorite people--on yet another river trip, which will make 4 in as many days. A few times, I have taken a double kayak so our dogs can join us (they are way too good at guilt-tripping me with scowls as I grab my gear and promise we'll do something fun soon, just not right now). But on the trip when this picture was taken, one and then both dogs hopped on Steph's SUP and he then took on some exciting water. These conditions would be an enormous challenge for anyone on a SUP, but for a leg amputee who has many additional challenges balancing on a SUP and with dogs?! It is such an incredible sight that even as I took pictures, I was agog. They stayed up and dry throughout the run.

Bisco and Scupper are experienced river kayakers, though, and their lake SUPs have taught them to respect the reduced stability of a SUP compared to a kayak. So when Steph bravely put them on his board and headed downriver, it was impressive to see how relaxed, yet poised, they were.
See you up here! heidi, Steph and the gang

The Trinity River's Wild Spring, Alpen Glow's New Deck & More

trinityrivercabins@gmail.com (Heidi Tiura) — Wed, 18 May 2016 22:24:20 GMT

Our spring timetable made perfect sense as we skied last winter, but then...

Happy Spring!
SKIING & SNOWBALLS (not the good kind): Since we had a ski season and have gone without for several years, after the holidays Steph announced it was finally our time to play. We had pretty big work plans at our Trinity River cabins after the Ski Park closed in early spring, so I agreed with him. We moved our menagerie north to our Fish & Ski Haus in Dunsmuir and skied almost all of the days we were there. It was a pure kick in the pants and then it was time to tackle our spring projects. Everything was more or less set when we experienced the well-known snowball effect, as you will see.

THE BIG SPRING PROJECTS COLLIDE WITH THE BIG RELEASE FROM THE DAM (and how it grew): We still really want to sell the Thistle Lane cabins and semi-retire, running just 3 vacation rentals: Sow's Ear by us, the Birdhouse on Steel Bridge Road and the Haus in Dunsmuir. However, Alpen Glow's old deck was proving too much for prospective buyers to contemplate replacing. We did get an offer and went it into escrow, but the buyer backed out for this very reason, so we decided to do the job ourselves (I use this term loosely), as well as removing a smaller deck upstairs that nobody used and replacing it with a window. But just as Steph had set up a carpenter he likes to work with, we got the news we'd have a very large river release, right about at the start of the deck job. Every spring, there is a release of water from Trinity dam to flush the river of accumulated debris (which it definitely accomplishes) and to improve fish habitat, along with various projects carried out with this goal in mind (ask any 10 people whether this is successful or not and you'll get 10 different answers). A major concern centers around how much water should be released and this year, following a severe, multi-year drought, the opinions have more heat than usual.

This has been deemed a wet year and so more water will be released than on a regular or dry year, even if it leaves places at the northern end of Trinity Lake high and dry. But the quantity of the release is decided by the feds and they said let her rip, so she is. But the forecasted maximum was quite big and in previous years, they've even released more than was planned, which does little to ease one's concerns. The picture above was our view just a few days ago. It shows the Trinity River at over 10,000 CFS (cubic feet per second from the dam; I think it got up to 10,400). Can you imagine the force of that water spewing out at the dam? It could cut you in half.

We had two of these high pulses and in between it's still been high enough to jump our bank and climb some of our stairs. The faster and higher river loosens logs that were wedged in somewhere upriver over the past three years, if not more. It's not uncommon to look out the window and see an entire large tree go zipping by.

Many things just downriver of us and above our bridge out of Bucktail (several hundred yards from our place) have changed since we had a 10K CFS or higher release. An overflow area that was built to channel water away from the bridge and back into the river below the bridge was sabotaged by a detour pipe that was way too small for the job, so instead of easing the pressure above the bridge, it made it worse. The river came to within 6" of the surface of our patio and we had a moat worthy of a Scottish castle around our pump house. Inside the moat were two sump pumps. Those pumps ran 24 hours a day for many days, and every few hours around the clock, Steph or I would fire up the fire pump and drain the interior.

Following that year, the engineers redesigned the bypass and after that project was done, we didn't have another wet year or big release. This meant we couldn't count on how high the same amount of water would come. Even though we thought it wouldn't impact our pump house, we couldn't be sure, so it was sandbagging time instead of construction time on Alpen Glow's projects, which have to be finished before Memorial Day weekend. Steph filled a bunch of sandbags and arranged them around our pump house. That is heavy and tiring work; again, I was of no help. Then he set up sump pumps and staged our fire pump nearby, but we hoped the pumps wouldn't be needed.

There is a bit of an uneasy feeling as the water rises over several days and grows louder with each day. That would have been enough to hold all of our attention, especially at night as the dam released more water (on several occasions they have announced after the fact that they let out more than they meant to!), but just as the high flow hit, Steph was up to his ears on Alpen Glow's 50' by 13' deck, which was completely replaced and wonderfully changed. (I thought a wide set of stairs to the lawn and river would really add to it, and we wanted to open up the view as much as possible, so Steph planned to run stainless steel wires horizontally instead of the vertical wood balusters. See the pictures at the bottom of this newsletter.)

The job stalled repeatedly but eventually, with the help of two pro carpenters at various times (Brian Vaughan to start and Scott Dias to finish), Steph managed to be at Alpen Glow to work and here to take care of our place as the high flow hit. Our pump house was wet at the bottom, but the electrical components were safely above the water. And the guys have done a beautiful, if exhausting, job on the deck. Today, Steph and Scott are finishing the downriver side of it and the overall accomplishment is nothing short of extraordinary, as you'll see below.

Note I haven't been included in this project, a fact I can barely stand to type. One of the things we put off last winter, figuring spring would be an ideal time for it, was my getting a new knee. The one I had operated on last December was simply shot and outrageously painful, but it didn't keep me from skiing. I got pretty good at drilling in hard on right turns (which mostly works the left knee) so I could take it a bit easier on the left turns, which were just bone-jarring for the right knee. (Ironically, Steph said I have never skied better than this season.) Add the occasional washboard-textured icy run and you can picture the grimace on my face trying to dig my skis into the impenetrable surface. But then there were those sunny days and sleek runs devoid of other skiers, and days when we met interesting people from all over, mostly as we all played in the snow with our dogs. Neither of us (nor our dogs) would have sacrificed our ski season for a prudent, midwinter knee replacement.

As with Steph and his knee replacement, I had the surgery at Fairchild Medical Center in Yreka because they have a very low infection rate. Too many friends of ours have experienced devastating infections and replaced replacements. One dear friend was bedridden for almost two years from an infection during a hip replacement and that operation is usually a piece of cake compared with a knee. Fairchild has a great track record, but they also have very strict rules. One tiny scratch on the right leg and I'd have been out. But before we went north, there was a mountain of old decking to haul up to the truck, load, be driven to our place and unloaded. Almost every piece of wood had screws, nails or a twisted, ragged joist hanger. The guys had enough on their hands with the deck, so I called dibs, put on my knee brace and went to work. Man, was I careful! Even so, my total involvement was doing the spring mowing and loading and unloading several truckloads of old deck. It adds up to practically nothing compared with Steph's accomplishments.

We spent a few nights at our Dunsmuir place after the operation and then came home with me in a goofball origami position in the back of the Escape so I could keep my right leg elevated. Surgery is painful, of course, but the real work comes with the physical therapy. Steph put me through the paces from the exercise sheet provided by the hospital, and it was several days before I went to the physical therapist in Weaverville. Mark, the owner, ran me through the various exercises and gauged how well I could flatten and bend my knee. Those two factors are the ballgame. He kept glancing at Steph as I worked and after several minutes of quizzical looks, he announced, "Ridiculous. You're two months ahead of the norm." At the next week's appointment I was four months ahead. Last week, on my third session with Mark, I apologized that I was having a down day. I had gotten caught out in the heat hauling hoses to water up and down the hillside at Sow's Ear and it really took it out of me. " Nobody would be hauling hoses anywhere after a couple of weeks," Mark said. I'm figure I'm done with pro PT, but keep it up at home between handling reservations, hauling hoses, weeding, working on the dreaded accounting and stuff like this newsletter.

I credit Steph for much of my PT success because he is so diligent and has been here every day at 4 PM, despite all of the projects he has going on at Alpen Glow. Who rushes home from a day of grueling work, grabs mats, his clipboard and weights and then spends the next 40 minutes supervising his wife's PT? Also, I got lucky. Some people have both knees done and one goes well while the other doesn't.
My gratitude is boundless.

GREETING TRINITY VISITORS: We often have guests who come to Trinity because of fond childhood memories, but we had an unusual twist a couple of weeks ago when the Hages came to Sow's Ear for a week. Greg and his wife brought his mom who is in her 90s. She and her husband had a place in French Gulch, which is just off 299 down near Whiskeytown Lake, but they never came up here!

Better late than never, they came, explored and sometimes sat by the hot tub while enjoying a beer in the afternoon, watching the river rise and all of the birdlife that has burst to life. In one afternoon, we had the ospreys who nest just upriver of us put on quite a show close by overhead, including a fly-by with a fish in one's talons; ravens hooting it up in the pine and oak trees by the hot tub; a large number of Canada geese swam by with a flotilla of fuzzy chicks; and a bunch of the male mergansers that will be long gone by the time their chicks hatch rode the eddy upriver on our side.

Not to be outdone by the birds, our dog Scupper joined Greg and his mom on one of their afternoon beer sits. As evidence of his affection for visitors, Scuppie ran inside for a toy and proudly brought Purple Bear outside and over to them. Purple Bear lost his stuffing years ago, right after we found him alongside the road. Then he looked brand new, with a plucky little bow tied around his neck.

But Bisco, our lab/border collie, has a thing about stuffing. It doesn't belong there. So she ripped poor Purple bear open and out came his puffy filling which I immediately stuffed back in and securely stitched shut. So Bisco gutted him again. I stuffed him again. We did this dance maybe 4 times before I saw Bisco's wisdom; Purple Bear wasn't meant to be stuffed. But he remains one of Scupper's fond friends and it was endearing to see him pass by newer and fancier toys to get Purple Bear and take him out to greet the guests.

FOR SALE: GREAT INCOME PROPERTY ON THE WILD & SCENIC TRINITY RIVER
We continually hit a couple of snags with our attempts to sell the Thistle Lane property complete as Trinity River Adventure Inn. People loved the property, the different cabins and the river view. I'm pretty sure every one of our fishing guests would love to have this property (who wouldn't want to live where steelhead fishing is in wading distance?). But even with my promise of strong, ongoing training and support to take over TRAI, they were intimidated. Most wanted to live in Alpen Glow. One couple had older parents they'd have put in the Carriage House, while others thought maybe they'd rent the Carriage House full-time. Almost everyone either considered renting the Miner's Cabin as it is now, or keeping it as a guest cabin. But aside from the dreamers who really weren't serious shoppers, few wanted the full-time demands of a full-time business, especially if they planned to live in Alpen Glow.

So we have removed the business from the listing and now the property is offered for sale as income property. The price has been substantially reduced to $624,900.00, despite the expensive new work on Alpen Glow. That will be a lot simpler than running the entire vacation cabin and river adventure business, but if a buyer wants to continue renting some or all of the cabins, I'll train them. And of course, Steph is here to guide them on the (great) multiple water sources and other items new owners need to know. So just in case you, or someone you know, is looking for a great place on an outstanding stretch of the Trinity River, send them to Terri Townzen, our realtor. Her cell # is 530.524.6801.

Trinity Fishing & Tubbing/Dunsmuir & Skiing Shasta

trinityrivercabins@gmail.com (Heidi Tiura) — Fri, 18 Mar 2016 01:59:11 GMT

A real winter edging into spring is giving us something for everyone!

This is a terrific time of year even though it gives one a sort of sensory whiplash as we jolt from massive rains to warm and sunny days and then back to very chilly throughout Trinity and Siskiyou counties. We have a couple of really cold days when clothing has to be layered and up on Shasta, the snowfall coats everything in glistening white. But then you notice rioting daffodils sprinkle the countryside and tiny violets are in bloom.

Our Trinity guests the past month or so have caught some of the wild steelhead that are fresh from the sea and prolific well into April; celebrated milestones such as a 40th birthday; and escaped from cities to spend some quiet time by the river.

It is an odd contradiction that the wild steelhead come later in the season on the Trinity and are the most exciting to catch, but a lot of fishers don't know about this timing and miss out on them, having come up in the more popular months of November-January. The picture of Phil above was taken in the middle of February when he and his buddy Brian Miller fished with guide Greg Hector. Since the hatchery just released their smolt and German brown trout go crazy for them, it's also a very good time for German browns.

Dunsmuir guests have gotten the chance to ski Shasta and there have been many epic days, some of which Steph and I were lucky enough to catch. Having not had a ski season for 2 years, we felt we deserved longer stays up north and yet the Fish & Ski Haus is a vacation rental, so we worked out a cool bunkhouse option. Guests can rent the downstairs with its 2 bedrooms and 4 beds; full bath and laundry; and kitchen privileges upstairs for a mere fraction of the cost of renting the whole Haus ($35 per person per night if you bring a sleeping bag!). Last week, we hosted coaches for the Auburn ski and board teams. They were up there for the regional championships and had a grand time both on and off the mountain. (One reason they wanted to stay in Dunsmuir was because they discovered the Dunsmuir Brewery Works on their last visit and loved it.)

Then there was the birthday celebration for Mindi, and it was unusual because she and her girlfriends from college days left their husbands and kids at home. The ladies were able to sleep in, wear PJs all day if they wanted to and linger over gourmet meals each prepared and brought so that all they had to do was minimal prep. We put an E-Z Up over the hot tub so they could even enjoy it in the rain, and on sunny days they walked, jogged and ran all over Bucktail. Conversations wafted to us from their cabin's front porch and the hot tub and they seemed to truly enjoy themselves. It added up to a lovely birthday celebration.

Another of our Dunsmuir guests was Mike Sack, who bought Sanctuary Cruises from us. We have always been proud of what we created in Moss Landing and the strong conservation message we spread to our passengers. We started the company after losing a National Science Foundation grant because we stood up to our government's shameful approval of the Makah Indian's resumption of whaling despite numerous legal and moral conflicts. We took our self-appointed roles as ambassadors for creatures with no voice seriously and for me, having never had kids, I consider Sanctuary my legacy. It is one of life's true pleasures to say Mike and his partner, Dorris, continue that legacy.

Today is a special day regarding our shared conservation efforts. We created a lot of what we called foot soldiers in the whales' navy, explaining to them that places like Sea World were doing a terrible thing with orcas. Those animals range thousands of miles in the ocean and to cage them in parks and make them do tricks for people was wrong, wrong, wrong.

A 2015 Trinity guest delighted us with tales of her boycott of San Diego's Sea World (which was not taken well by her parents, who live nearby and are frequent customers when they have guests, many of whom were treated to the reasons for her boycott). We all agreed the time for an end to orcas in captivity had come, but it was the movie Blackfish that tipped the scales irrevocably in favor of the tuxedos. While the movie had some inaccuracies, it had a lot of painful truths. Sea World tried, but failed, to make them go away. And three years after the movie was released, Sea World has agreed to quit breeding killer whales in captivity and will evolve from the trained seal type of shows to more rescues of marine mammals in distress, such as dolphins that beach themselves and sea lions starving due to domoic acid poisoning (the reason most of the California coast had no Dungeness crab season for 2015-2016). So kudos to Sea World finally getting the message and Sanctuary Cruises for continuing to spread the word on what's going on out there where few see or understand what's happening.

An exciting side note: Mike is currently prepping his beautiful ketch to add her services to the company. Soon, folks will be able to sail or motor cruise on the Monterey Bay to be with whales and dolphins on the greenest vessels on the bay (Mike still uses bio-diesel and we were the first company on the Monterey Bay to use it).

It wasn't until we were riding the ski lift up Douglas a couple of weeks ago that I learned Mike was a ski bum in Utah the same year I bugged out after having run my T-shirt and sailboard shops there for 8 years. "Bum" may be an overstatement since Mike did work and live at Snowbird, one of Utah's premier ski resorts, during his year there. Isn't it funny how things work out? Over 25 years later, there we were, skiing Shasta and discovering our common Utah roots long before we'd both headed to sea.

From now until Memorial Day Weekend we have our lowest rates of the year at all of our vacation rentals, so take a load off and come visit. Mention this newsletter and we will give you an even better rate! Fish for those wild steelhead; hike with your dog; sleep until noon; or ski one of the most astounding mountains in the world (you can see it well over 50 miles away as you approach). You can even do all but sleeping until noon in one day and we've had Trinity guests who have done it, although I'd suggest keeping it to 1 or 2 adventures in a day so that you go home refreshed and invigorated. That is a spectacular feeling and you'll love it.
See you up here, heidi & the gang

Dear Heidi & Steph...

trinityrivercabins@gmail.com (Heidi Tiura) — Mon, 01 Feb 2016 03:05:16 GMT

Thanks so much for a wonderful weekend!

Guests such as the ones we recently hosted at our Trinity River cabins as well as Dunsmuir's Alpine Fish & Ski Haus have reminded us how rewarding it can be to provide cool places and special touches one might not expect. Here is what one couple had to say:

"We enjoyed your beautiful cozy cabin & gorgeous nature surroundings. We especially loved walking up Browns Mountain Road with our dog!
Thanks for lending your own wading boots - it was Nina's first time fly fishing and we had a blast! We also loved relaxing in the hot tub. Thanks for the immunity powder. [We gave them some spa salts that are supposed to improve immunity, which may or may not work, but they are very pretty purple crystals and they smell great!]
Once again, thanks for everything. We hope to be back soon! Best, Ben & Nina"

Then there is Anouk, a French-Canadian who just left our Dunsmuir Haus. She and her party were there to ski and they had a wonderful time. We carried on an email conversation during their stay and here are highlights:

"Great day of skiing!"

"We have been to Shasta before, a few years back, and this past Christmas. I just love it here!"

"I want to come back this summer for some fishing; I have yet to see this area in the summer."
"Loved having the fire pit last night."
"You both have been amazing hosts, thank you so much for the kindness and hospitality! By the way, we love the fleece sheets!"

All of our Dunsmuir guests have been there to ski and board now that we have an excellent snow season. Those who had not been to the Ski Park before were utterly amazed at the low rates, friendly staff and wildly diverse mountain that has everything from a cute little bunny hill to steep and exciting black diamond runs.

Aouk was sorry dogs aren't welcomed up on the slopes at the Ski Park, and while we'd love to bring them up to the outdoor bar and patios, we understand dogs and novice skiers and boarders don't mix. Our dogs love the social aspects of taking a tour around the parking lots during our ski breaks. They have other dog friends from previous years, so they get to catch up on the news and then there is the occasional runaway hot dog that rolls off a tailgater's BBQ and under a truck. Our dogs have perfected the one shoulder slide and grab.

Anouk's group, having stayed over the weekend, only paid about $165 per night, plus lodging taxes and the cleaning fee. Between our rates and the Ski Park's, it is easily the best deal all round. The Haus' kitchen is so well-equipped, you won't want to dine out, but if you do, there are several outstanding options within walking distance of our place.

Our Trinity cabins start at $125 a night and while our biggest cabin, Alpen Glow, easily sleeps 7 guests, we have special rates for smaller parties. We are already a bit over halfway booked for Valentine's Weekend (Alpen Glow and the Birdhouse are still available), but as is usually the case prior to a three-day weekend, the weekend before is kind of quiet. So if you're interested in a ski trip to Dunsmuir or a fishing or general re-charging trip to the Trinity River, give us a call or email us. Mention this newsletter and we will throw in a 20% lodging discount!
See you up here somewhere! heidi & Steph

Christmas, New Year's, Fishing, SUP Trips & Skiing!

trinityrivercabins@gmail.com (Heidi Tiura) — Mon, 04 Jan 2016 03:38:31 GMT

Trinity has gotten nice snow; fishing report; and Mt. Shasta skiing is great

We ended 2015 with several snowfalls throughout Northern California, which made a lot of us very happy. Guests were able to easily get to their Trinity cabins and our Alpine Fish & Ski Haus in Dunsmuir and they made the most of it. Reports range from romantic getaways where they barely left their nest of a cabin to fishing the icy Trinity to skiing in that most wondrous substance: fresh powder, on Mt. Shasta.

Long-time return guests and friends Taylor & Laurie Santo brought their three dogs, Rosie, Kodi & Jaxson, to celebrate Laurie's 50th birthday, as well as to further Jaxson's Trinity adventures. Last summer, he joined me on my kayak on Lewiston Lake, then he tried out lake stand-up paddle boarding (SUP pup) and he even ran some gentle rapids with me on the river on my kayak. This time, dressed in his red Ruffwear down coat, Jax took a short spin on my SUP up on the lake before Steph, Laurie and I headed out for a very cold but refreshing trip up the lake. It was the perfect antidote for too little exercise , so much food and let's not forget that eggnog!

Taylor wasn't far from Kodi in her reaction to the very cold water. Kodi, a very furry chow, crawled under their rig to avoid the lake and soon after launch, Taylor, "No Boundaries Rosie" and Kodi were back at our cabin, taking a nap. Laurie was treated to a couple of bald eagles on the two-mile paddle as well as one or two golden eagles. She impressed us by working as close as possible to the eagles and taking their pictures, all while balancing on the SUP she hasn't been on since summer! Looking up is tricky on a SUP; it throws one's balance off, but the threats of frigid water and a near-hypothermic paddle back to the truck proved adequate inspiration for Laurie to pull it off.

The End of the Year Trinity Fishing Report

From what our guests are telling us, steelhead fishing has been slow to moderate the past month. A fair surprise for us was two parties who come every year and usually catch a good number of fish each were skunked. Other recent guests did better, but all might agree that steelhead fishing is an art not ever truly mastered because of the many variables, including luck. Just when you think you've nailed it and your fish count seems to support the theory, nothing that has worked in the past works for you. Fish seem a distant memory and you long for that zing! of your line. I guess once you have embraced not catching fish as well as catching them, you could consider yourself on the way to mastering the art. Wax on. Wax off.

Herb Burton, who owns Trinity Fly Shop and knows these waters and their fish better than almost anyone, offers excellent insights in his blog. Check this one out for wisdom on handling slow fishing periods as well as how to protect your fish once netted or beached in order to make sure its release is successful. That is the goal, to catch and release the wild fish unharmed. In return, a small part of you goes with it, wild, free and alive.

Anthony Manning was one of the successful steelheaders to end the year on the Trinity. He reported landing some 23 and 24 inchers, but when Steph dropped by the cabin to deliver toilet paper, he found Anthony buck naked, or close to it, on the porch. He'd taken a dunk in the river and was lucky enough to be able to go back to the Miner's to peel off his waders and Popsicle clothing, change, warm up and I'll bet you anything, head back out. That's a steelheader.

Stay in Dunsmuir, Ski Shasta!

I am not whining when I say thanks to knee surgery early December, I missed the Ski Park's first opening day in 3 years (they did open last season, but only for a few slushy days before closing). It might seem as though I'm whining when I tell you Steph was there to catch the opening and ski several runs, but in this case, I figure at least one of us made it. Truth is, even with my flashy new brace, I'm a week or two out from getting on my Icelantic skis I call my Jammie Cats. And I should add Steph did some maintenance at the Haus while he was up north.

But there may be a correlation on the drought, the ski park's dismal last couple of years and the fact Steph bought new skis right before the drought hit. He couldn't wait to ski these skis especially because he's always coveted Kneissl skis and although they are no longer sold in the U.S., he found a new pair in Vermont. I'm sure the logic is inescapable to you: LUST>PURCHASE>ANTICIPATION>DROUGHT.

But Steph and the rest of us had suffered enough, so we're having a very nice winter now. Above-average snowpack in the Sierra and all of the higher elevations in the northern state are white. The Ski Park is once again enchanting people who are weary of Tahoe's long lines, rude employees and crazy-expensive lift tickets. The adult weekend and holiday rate ticket at Shasta is $54 and mid-week is only $39!

All of our recent Dunsmuir guests at the Fish & Ski Haus skied and said it was fantastic. Each time I heard this, part of me smiled and part of me felt like Anthony Manning with his waders filled with ice water. So maybe I am whining a bit, but if you're looking for a grand adventure, stay at the Haus, dine at Dunsmuir Brewery Works and toss a few porters back for me (after all, you can walk to the Haus from DBW) and of course, Ski Shasta.

Call or email us to check on availability for any of our places and enjoy your January.

Happy New Year & here's to 2016 being filled with good health & great fun!

The Thanksgiving Stand-Up Paddle Board Game

trinityrivercabins@gmail.com (Heidi Tiura) — Fri, 11 Dec 2015 19:33:26 GMT

Living at its best includes time spent on the edge.

Regardless of age, people should keep taking up new challenges. In fact, the older you are and the more secure your position, the higher the need to be a beginner again. Stumbling, not always knowing what to do next, and occasionally flopping spectacularly are all good for the body and brain. Mostly.

Steph and I wanted to celebrate Thanksgiving with a paddle down the river and there was only one option for people who might join us. They would need to be experienced warm weather paddlers ready to make the move to a far less hospitable environment, where a dump into the frigid river couldn't be quickly ameliorated by hopping back on the board and warming up in the hot sun. This time, falling into the cold river would be followed by getting back on the SUP and chilling even further in the wintry air.

So of our growing list of adventurous river SUP cohorts, there was only one family hardy enough to join us and that was the Cowells, the Brit transplants who introduced us to stand-up paddleboarding.

There was a pall over our expectations for their visit and it was a big one. Gillian, the mom, has myasthenia gravis, an autoimmune disease that can cause weakness and rapid fatigue of muscles under voluntary control. It is serious and unpredictable, coming and going, but never gone. Gillian hadn't had much in the way of symptoms until fall, in fact, we had no idea she even had MG until it resurfaced then. Her doctor increased the medications and she reported she was able to swallow easier than in recent weeks, this being a big part of the troubles MG can cause. So what could we expect in the way of paddling? We all agreed to keep options open and take it as it came; no expectations.

The Cowells came up for several days and we shared a very fun Thanksgiving dinner that was highlighted by a turkey that I had no clue on for cooking time because I chose this of all days to cook a bird using a technique new to me. Rather than brining the bird for a day or more in salt water (revered by some and vilified by others), I did a dry rub and let the bird sit uncovered and splayed in the refrigerator for about a day.

The rub was my own creation after the requisite salt, pepper and bit of brown sugar. I added lots of fresh herbs growing around here (rosemary, thyme, sage) plus a bunch of turmeric, some smoked paprika, garlic and onion powder and more. The guide I read on dry rub turkey said start it high (500 degrees for 30 minutes), then turn down to 350 and absolutely do not tent it early or late in the cooking (death to a crispy skin). So as the turkey darkened and passed its ETA on the table by about an hour, we weren't sure where we were headed.

Luckily, we had a good amount of wine to tide us over and let's not forget laced eggnog. Brits may not care about Thanksgiving (I suspect even ex-pats view this as the holiday for the country that got away), but they are fond of their holiday spirits. By the time the bird's little timer popped out, we were ready for anything, which was good. We had a few surprises.

The sweet potatoes topped with marshmallows were covered and warming in the brand new gas stove at Sow's Ear, where the Cowells were staying. They amazed us all when the marshmallows, which had not touched the lid, rose and stuck to the lid as though spray painted. (I think it was a condensation rising thing, enhanced by the long wait for the turkey.)

Then there was daughter Laura's dinner. She eats none of the traditional meal and was served curry and rice by her mother. Laura is off to college next year and it's anyone's guess whether she will starve or find herself lodging behind an Indian restaurant. No fan of cold weather, Laura spent the weekend cuddled up with her laptop, working on college entrance material.

Ashley and her mom, the avid SUPers of the family, had been counting the days until they could get back up here and on the water. With her typical cheery optimism, Gillian had us order her an NRS inflatable SUP just like the one we got for Ashley, and she got to try it out for the first time Friday, when we went up to Lewiston Lake for a paddle.

It was sunny and while not warm, certainly not cold. We donned variations on wetsuits, plus gloves and booties and paddled quite a distance up the lake before turning around. As always, Duncan canoed, providing photography services as well as transporting the eggnog. Gillian said she felt fine, which supports my theory we can do far more than one might think, as long it's what we want or have to do. In this case, it was want, and she wanted to SUP, but there was no commitment to a river run the next day.

Ashley, our Go For It, Damn the Torpedoes Girl who is game for everything, helped me clean up a bunch of tree limbs we'd stowed under the blue spruce on our patio. As I cut, she stacked them for the fire pit and then transported a bunch to the wood shed for Sow's Ear. Without looking, I knew what I'd find up there. Precisely stacked wood climbing to the ceiling. She is as tall as she is energetic. She is also a young woman of few words. We knew she'd do anything to get on the river again, but she was mute on the subject, hoping to make it, but respecting her mom's needs.

Saturday was also sunny and we started our day by taking the dogs across the river for a good run. Duncan, Gillian and Ashley joined us and we detoured to the spot just below Bucktail Hole so I could show them where Steph and I had cleared out a bunch of brush extending into the narrow slot where we had enough water to clear the way- too-close rocks. We figured with such low water, which is our winter normal until rains beef up the flow, who needed more challenges?

Two fly fishing guides were about to pass by so we watched them. I longed to be headed downriver too, but was content knowing Steph and I would run the river again soon, and we were completely good with however Gillian wanted to play it. Maybe another lake trip? I doubted Duncan would want to take his precious Bell canoe down the river, and of course he'd have Gillian's welfare in mind. But then he announced he was OK with a river run and we were off to the races! We hurried back to our cabins to suit up.

We've expanded our gear to include nice knee and elbow pads for ourselves and guests. Add them to the helmets, gloves and booties and you have a team of frog gladiators or maybe Mutant Ninja Turtles.

Steph, Gillian and Ashley's SUPs have assorted fin sizes. They opted for the 2" size. Steph carved my Ironhide's fin down to a nub no more than 2" and for all of us, our initial experience with such limited tracking support came as we hopped aboard, made a few runs up and down the river in front of our cabin. and then took off with Duncan canoeing and the four of us on our SUPs. It was great having Duncan and his canoe as a safety net, especially if Gillian had trouble.

The joys and dangers of running the river on a SUP include the fact there is no way to stop and examine each bit as you go. Steph insisted on leading and guiding, generously offering to be the crash test dummy as he picked his way along the narrow, deeper channels of the river. (Unfortunately, this resulted in no face-on photos of him. I plan to set that straight next trip we make.) For the first time in our 11 years here, there was one point where he chose an entirely different course, one that would never have panned out in previous years, and it proved to be a wise decision.

There are several bouncy and exciting spots on this run and they were a complete gas. It was as exciting, challenging, rewarding and over the top fun as ever, enhanced even more by the fact this was a crisp November day. All of us enjoyed it and nobody fell in. But the greatest part of this trip, in particular, was Gillian.

How many 50-year-old women do you know who have a serious medical condition, and who have never before run a very cold river in the winter when it is at its shallowest, but when presented with the opportunity, seized it like the brass ring on the merry-go-round?

This paddle would scare the bejeezus out of just about any sane person in perfect health. As our neighbors said to each other when we drove past them the day before, truck piled high with canoe and SUPs, "Who would be crazy enough to go on the water with those things now?" But that was for the lake paddle, which really was a mild adventure. Running the river was the brass ring highlight for us all because we got to witness Gillian's reclaiming of her true self.

That made for a very special Thanksgiving, and one we'll always remember.

That about wraps it up except that we have had a lot of rain and even some snow here, which is wonderful. Better yet, Shasta is wearing her white petticoat again and there is hope of a true ski season.

To get ready for it, I finally got my knee operated on last week ("polishing the turd," as the surgeon put it) and am getting a brace that will be my best friend SUPing and skiing. As an early Christmas present, I also got a new doc who understands that a life well-lived includes pushing boundaries far beyond what might be viewed as absolute limitations. When he charged into the exam room and asked with exuberance, "Where is this wild person!?" I knew I was in good hands.

If you're looking for a really different Christmas present this year, consider an inflatable or hard SUP. We have the best prices of the year on SUP packages now and can ship to your recipient or hold them up here for a later pick-up. And a gift certificate for lodging or our SUP Boot Camp that takes a paddler from baby steps to a river run, can be used anytime, not just when it's frosty outside!
See you up here, heidi (and Steph and the lovely if slightly misbehaved occasionally animals)

Fall on the Trinity River

trinityrivercabins@gmail.com (Heidi Tiura) — Wed, 18 Nov 2015 23:12:53 GMT

Fishing, leaf duty, and thoughts on Thanksgiving

This is the time of year when we have steelhead fishers who have been staying with us for so many years that it's as though we're hosting a long string of family members. Jeremy Wright and his dad, Lee, are two of those special people. Although Lee is retired, he was a school teacher, as is Jeremy. They are kind, friendly and they make time for this father/son trip, as do others in their party of dear friends. You just feel better being around these guys.

All of our cabins, as well as our Dunsmuir place, Alpine Fish & Ski Haus, have lots of trees in common and many are deciduous, so the task of raking, mulching and moving leaves seems never-ending. It's great exercise, though, and the smell of leaves shredded for mulch is heavenly, especially the walnuts.' The patio at the Dunsmuir place has a metal shed in one corner and the acorns dropping on the roof seem to have given our dog Scupper PTSD. He loves the Haus, the town, the park along the river where we take them to run and the restaurants that welcome dogs on their patios, but the acorns falling on the metal roof? Nope. On numerous occasions, he has wiggled his way out of the garden and patio areas and sought refuge under our truck.

Steph completed the ski fence along the lower garden and it's a kick! People walk by, stop, take a picture with their phones and post it on their Facebook pages all the time. But this has slowed, and possibly stopped, Scupper's escapes.

With more of a normal winter predicted, the Haus will become our ski place for Mt. Shasta, as well as guests. Just 20 minutes from the ski park, it's perfect for skiers, and we often host parties that meet from the north and south since it's just a few minutes off I-5. You can see the Haus and ski fence on our Dunsmuir page.

This Thanksgiving, we will have the Cowell family from Morgan Hill staying at Sow's Ear, our vacation cabin next to us. They got us into stand-up paddle boards (SUPs) and we all graduated to running the river on SUPs this year. We're hoping to winter SUP by bundling up and strapping on protective gear more commonly seen on skaters and soccer players, because the usual low winter water means our fins can catch a rock and send us flying. I did this on a particularly fast and rocky spot a month and a half ago and the evidence is just now fading, hence the elbow pads, knee pads and wrist guards, along with custom-fitted helmets!

It will be crazy cold, but there is something really special about cheating the seasons and doing something one might not expect. We're testing out using our SUPs without fins at all, but if that fails and common sense kicks in, we may just paddle Lewiston lake. It's gorgeous in winter and the bird watching is spectacular. We were up there a few days ago and had a golden eagle soaring over our heads the closest we have ever seen one. There are also bald eagles, osprey, egrets, cormorants and more.

We will have a very nice improvement in Sow's Ear when the Cowells come this time, but I can't blow the surprise. I'll just leave it with this: it took Steph a week of hard labor and made a huge improvement in a major part of the cabin that all of our guests will appreciate!

Did you happen to see the video of a great white shark attacking what I believe was a sea lion at Alcatraz on the San Francisco Bay? Scroll down to the video. The footage was taken from our catamaran, known as Princess of Whales during her time with us. Now she's Hornblower Hybrid, one of the greenest vessels in the world, and she runs some of the Alcatraz trips. This is our first time to appear in Al Jazeera's news, albeit by proxy: http://america.aljazeera.com/watch/shows/america-tonight/articles/2015/11/16/what-california-wildlife-tells-us-about-godzilla-el-nino.html

Thanksgiving is a time to reflect on the year and give thanks for the good things that have happened. The terrorist attacks in Paris were gut-wrenching and we were saddened at the lives lost, or changed forever by injuries and losses of those dear to them. We had several Paris dwellers stay at Sow's Ear over Christmas 3 years ago and they joined us for hikes with our dogs, kayaking on Lewiston Lake and the free Christmas dinner Sharron at La Grange Cafe' put on, which Steph and I did volunteer duty for. We've stayed in touch with the frogs, as I called them (I explained to them it was a term of endearment, but it took a while for them to accept it). There have been two attacks in Paris since they were here that have prompted us to fire off anxious emails asking if they were OK.

This time, I was writing the first email seconds after reading the headline in the news last week and we learned one of them was only 3 walking minutes from one of the mass shootings. Three minutes. And your life can change in a second. We are grateful all of our frogs, not just those in Paris, are all right. And we hope you and yours are as well.

Happy Thanksgiving, heidi, Steph, Bisco, Scupper, Chigger, Possum, Squid and Alvin Coolidge